Phelan D’Shar said. D’shar’s voice was unmistakable, a smooth baritone that made her want to shiver with delight. A stream of colorful swears left Zasha’s lips as her hurried steps came to a halt twenty feet from the doors of the conference center behind her. Damn! She’d been so close to making a clean get away! After an entire day of discussions and debates, Zasha was anxious to begin her date for one, with a six pack of Rolling Rock and a stuffed crust pizza. The meeting surpassed its intended six-hour mark. It was one issue after another, until her brain throbbed inside her cranium. Mentally exhausted and overtaxed, she was desperate to leave. If it had been anyone other than Phelan, she would have pretended not to hear the call, picked up her pace, and escaped to the safety of her car. But she always had a soft spot for the alien King. He managed to carry a heavy load on his shoulders with the grace and dignity that had earned her admiration from day one. She sensed a dark sensuality lurked beneath the surface, and despite her best efforts, she longed to tap into it.
