The Alien's Little Sister (Stolen by an Alien #8) - Amanda Milo Page 0,55

boy she’s chosen for herself.”

Inara shakes her head, lips slightly parted, eyes almost stricken. “What is wrong with you overbearing, overprotective men? You all go overboard!”

I give her a stern look. “He’s eighteen. His girl just turned legal. He’s horny. He needed that.” Plus, I like looking into the eyes of someone who’s utterly terrified of me. Who looks at me like he absolutely, one hundred percent believes I could tear him limb from limb. I’m not ashamed to admit that.

“You don’t know him. You can’t possibly know that!”

“Inara, he’s got a dick. I do fucking know that.”

Inara makes an outraged noise.

I cross my arms. “There are times when men need to be reminded to watch themselves. And during that boy-to-man transition, it’s important to change the relationship he has with his dumb-handle.”

Inara’s eyes flash. “And what would that relationship be?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Right now, he thinks with it. After he gets a visit or two from his love-interest’s closest Male of Concern, he stops thinking with his dumb-handle and starts being afraid for it. This is a crucial shift in every man’s life.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not. You have a dad and brothers. They’re your checks and balances, and I just did that for Stacy. Do you understand?”

“I understand that is medieval!” she fires back hotly. “What you’ve just done to that poor female? They’ve all done that to me, and I can tell you from experience, Matt, it’s humiliating!”

I shrug, licking the inside of my teeth. “Don’t doubt it. But tell me this.” I look her right in the eye. “You ever been hurt after your family put the fear of God into any guy you’re seeing?”

Inara’s nostrils flare at the same time her lips thin, mouth pressed flat.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

She makes a disgusted noise, and I drop my arms, striding past her. “Suck it up, buttercup. Let me grab my keys and shut shit down. Then we’ll get out of here.”

***

The ride home ain’t fun. When we get into my ride, I brace myself and ask: “So. You mad at me?”

Inara’s noise is one of disbelief or low-level horror or maybe it’s a blend of the two. In other words: not promising.

In silence, we drive back to my place.

It’s so tense there should be dents on the steering wheel where my fingers left white-knuckle gripped impressions.

We manage to make it up all the stairs, through the door of my place, close the door of my place—before the fight starts.

It goes like this:

Me: [tosses keys to the counter] “You want to tell me what your problem is?”

Pro tip: don’t start any discussion this way with a woman. Or you’re a fucking idiot.

(i.e., meet: me.)

“Far as I can see,” I continue doggedly, “I didn’t do anything to piss you off.”

Inara: [whirling around, her dorsal spines raised straight up] “You are as bad as any of my brothers!”

Me: [scoffing, offended, and rubbing at a sore spot along my temple, which is probably a woman-made tumor] “I am not!” Although, I gotta say, everything I’ve heard of her brothers, I’ve approved of. So I’m only being set off because she’s so distressed to see any similarities between me and them. “And hey,” I add, dropping my hands from my temple-tumor, “being protective isn’t bad.”

That’s when Inara’s face transforms with horror. She’s staring up at me like I’ve just admitted to being a member of a heinous terrorist cell.

“It’s not,” I insist.

“You have sisters?” she fires back, out of nowhere.

“Yeah, I do. I’ve told you I do.” I’m confused. “Why?”

Inara’s chin goes up. “And did you do that to them?”

“You’re damn right I did.”

Inara’s chin goes firm. Which is fine, because my jaw locked up the moment we started this back at work. I feel a muscle jumping in my face, and if I were a guy who decorated with mirrors and shit on the wall, I know I’d be able to see it. Feels like my jaw is trying to punch free from my skull.

“You’re a SMOTHERER!” Inara whispers stridently enough it should be a shriek.

My frown at her is intense. “I’m getting real damn sick and tired of you making it sound like caring about someone’s safety is a detrimental thing.”

“It is when you overdo it!”

“And who says I did?”

She stabs a claw into the air like an accusing finger. “Where are your sisters now? Do you hover over them? Hmm? Do you?”

“No. They’ve got their own men.” I pin her with a look. “My mom