When Miranda woke, she realized she was tied to her hotel bed, and that alien asshole was entranced by her scanner. He bent over, his tight ass jutting into the air like an invitation to kick it. His black t-shirt pulled up in back, revealing a slice of tan skin.
Tamping down panic, she wriggled her legs. They weren’t tied, and only her head ached from having her hair wadded in that towel for so long. No other discomfort. She stretched slowly, carefully, to see how far her reach extended.
Not far enough.
She scooted around a little more. The man appeared to be oblivious. Something clanked, and he tossed one of the expensive vacuum tubes to one side with no regard for the pizzas she’d delivered in order to afford it.
What the hell was he doing to her scanner?? He was going to trash it!
Her first instinct was to yell at him not to hurt her baby.
Her second instinct was to struggle wildly until the headboard broke loose and attack him with the splintered pieces. Some way to initiate first contact.
Only, he couldn’t be an alien. No fricking way. He was a garden-variety jerk with a superiority complex, and her scanners must be duds.
Therefore, she went with her third instinct: scream as loud as she could.