Andie followed the cup to the stone floor and ended up in a pool of espresso, her limbs akimbo in a sort of accountant-meets-pretzel heap. A large, cinnamon-scented hand reached down to help her. Andie surveyed the hand, followed it up to the carved biceps, down the sculpted abs, to the happy, happy trail, and, "Oh, my god, you're naked." Andie bit her lip.

"I am not ..."

"I know. A god. And don't touch me," Andie said, wondering where she had come up with the ridiculous notion that Oliver should not touch her, despite the manifest assets before her and his obvious happiness in seeing her. But now that she had come up with the idea, she had to follow through. Andie rose under her own power.

"Don't touch you?" Oliver said, brow wrinkled. He eyed the TV, still playing "As the Earth Turns," waved a hand, and it clicked off. Apparently, all electric-powered gadgets obeyed his every desire.

"And ours too," Bad Andie sighed like a teenage girl at a One Direction concert.

"Stop sighing like a lovesick adolescent," Andie chided.

"Stop acting like a geriatric nun."

"Correct, Oliver. No touching. About that show ..." Andie pointed to the now dark TV.

"I missed you," Oliver said, blue light arcing in eyes, even though she was currently in coffee-marinated sweats. The way he said it made Andie's heart clench and her nether regions tighten. But wait, she needed answers first. Answers, then sex.

"Wrong order!" Bad Andie said. "Sex first. Always!"

Oliver, who seemed to agree with Bad Andie, tilted Andie's head toward his and plunged in for a deep, languorous kiss. When Oliver finished his expert oral ministrations, Andie once again found herself dizzy and weak. "Will you come back to bed?" he murmured.

"Yes," Andie said. What was it she going to ask him? There was something, she was pretty sure. Probably to kiss her like that a thousand more times. "Kiss me, please," she begged.

"Happy to oblige." Oliver lifted her easily, and the kiss remained unbroken all the way back to his bedroom. God, this man ... alien ... whatever could kiss. Andie could not hold out long enough to make it to the bed. Oliver made her wild. She pulled down on his neck. Oliver quickly got the idea (he probably had an IQ of 500, so his astuteness was no great surprise) and they both toppled to the orange shag.

"I've never made love on orange shag before," Andie said.

"Me neither," said Oliver.

"But it's your shag."

"True, but I never bring women here."

"Never?"

"Not once. Does that count as never?"

"Technically, I think it does. But I'm kind of surprised. I'd have thought you'd have women over all the time, given that you look like a movie star and smell like breakfast pastries."

"I smell like breakfast?"

"No, like cinnamon rolls or sticky buns. Good enough to eat." With no preamble, Andie began proving her theory.

"I approve of your oral ministrations to Oliver's rocket of manly love. Preparing for blast off," said Bad Andie.

"Now you're using bad romance novel euphemisms when you got all mad at me for doing it? Stop right now or I'll spend the rest of the day at the office curled up with the trial balance."

"Fine," Bad Andie grumbled. "This is all the thanks I get ..."

But Andie couldn't hear the rest as she was riveted to Oliver's ... okay, rocket of manly love seemed appropriate now.

Oliver moaned, which made her feel sexy and powerful. Suddenly, he shifted beneath her, and before she knew it, his mouth plastered on to her, um, aching lady parts.

"Prude."

Andie barely took notice of Bad Andie's reproach, busy as she was.

A moment before Andie was sure they were both going to have, um ... blast-offs ... for the record books, the room filled with gray smoke. A flash of silver light sliced through the room, followed by two explosions. Andie's heart pounded into her throat.

In a flash, the lovers parted and Oliver pulled the blanket off the bed and covered the two of them. "Mom, Dad, I thought I asked you not to smoke in my house."

Mom? Dad? What the hell? His parents just materialized in the middle of their son's bedroom. More than anything, Andie wished she could Wormhole the heck out of this room right this second. OH! MY! GOD! Her hot alien lover's parents were in the room and she was naked and so was he and ... OH! MY! GOD! HIS PARENTS!

Both Cyra and her husband wore silver bodysuits, which left little to the imagination. A platinum sapphire-encrusted circlet perched on Cyra's regal head. Oliver's father, Emerson Lieder, Andie remembered his name from the inlaid floor in The Star Enquirer lobby, looked very different from his wife, Cyra, the alien ice-queen ski-bunny. He did not have Cyra's vampire-white skin, for example. Also, his eyes were blue, but more like Oliver's warm ones than Cyra's glacier-like portals to perdition. A plethora of badges and insignia ran all the way up the right leg of his spacesuit. Captain stuff most likely. Like his wife, he looked to be about thirty-five.

Oliver clasped her hand beneath the duvet and squeezed. This did little to stop the flow of adrenaline surging through her veins. But at least the squeeze meant they were a team. And that Oliver would protect her, she was pretty sure. Because his mother looked like she'd like to fry Andie with a ray gun and ask questions later.

Andie eyed the Christmas tree in the corner, wondering if it would survive the encounter. Then she wondered why she was worried about a Christmas tree when she should be wondering about survival. If Andie didn't die from massive molecular redistribution, she might die of utter mortification. Which she was pretty sure was physically possible.

Cyra jabbed her hands into her slim hips. "What is going on here, Oliver? Are you trying to destroy this family?" she roared.

"Hello, Son." Emerson looked everywhere in the room except at the other three occupants. He shifted back and forth in his silver moon boots. Geesh, these aliens needed a better wardrobe department. They looked like refugees from fifties B-sci-fi movies.

"I do not think I have to explain what is going on, Mother. You know full well."

"That I do. My question is: WHY?"

"I will not discuss this with you. Please go."

Cyra patted her hip as if looking for a weapon. Emerson put his hand over hers and shook his head. She rolled her eyes and yanked Emerson's arm.

"What?" he said, pulling his arm away.

Cyra gave her husband one of her evil death stares. Even Andie could tell she was trying to get her husband's backing, but Emerson didn't seem to get the idea. "Oliver. You must know this ... this ... human ... is ... beneath you," Cyra spat. Was, until you two goons showed up, Andie thought bitterly. "She is a lower life form," Cyra continued, her mouth pinched as if eating a vinegar-soaked lemon-flavored gym sock.

"I resent being called 'lower,'" Andie said.

Cyra smirked. "Well, Oliver! It seems this one has some spunk. She would have to be brave to get so close to you." Andie's fingertips sparked blue. Oliver jerked his hand out of hers in alarm and snuck a peek under the covers. He pushed Andie farther under the bedspread, and at this point, Andie knew the sparkling fingertip thing was not normal. She gulped. "Tell me, Oliver," Cyra crooned, "does she have any idea what you have done to her?

"Mother ..."

"Tell her, Oliver."

"It's okay, Oliver. It won't matter," Andie said. Maybe placating them would get his parents out of the room sooner. "I'm sure once your parents get to know me they'll find out I'm all right."

Oliver turned to her, exhaled, then glared at his mother. "No. No way. That is an archaic law, and I will not abide by it. Get out now! Both of you!"

Oliver's dad spread his arms out in a universal "don't blame me" gesture.

Cyra turned to Andie. "What my dear, disobedient son has neglected to tell you, Andromeda, is that the Amu punishment for interspecies intercourse is death."

"Wow," Andie said, using bravado to conceal her fear. "I guess that keeps the birth rates down." Keeping the bedspread tucked under her arms, Andie located Oliver's Planet-B t-shirt and slipped beneath the covers to put it on. She felt stronger immediately. Being nude put one at a physical and mental disadvantage.

Cyra narrowed her eyes. "Andromeda, there are no births at all. Births sully the gene pool we have spent centuries perfecting."

Emerson gave Cyra the weirdest look. He looked stunned—as if she had found out his darkest secret.

Heat flushed through Andie's body. She leveled a hard, flinty expression at Cyra. "Like your little experiment with the Zuts?"

"Precisely," said Cyra. "A complete disaster. It will not happen again. And now, nothing remains but to enforce Amu law and obliterate you post-haste. Right, dear?" Cyra sounded downright cheerful.

"Yes, dear," Emerson said.

"I cannot let you do that," Oliver said through clenched teeth. Underneath the duvet, he wrapped his arms around Andie's torso. "Hold on tight," he whispered.

Cyra laughed. And the witch didn't even have the courtesy to laugh maniacally like Talia and all the other stereotypical villains. Cyra's laugh sounded like musical bells tinkling and echoing through snowy-mountain passes. "Son, you do amuse. However, you cannot Wormhole her to safety. Sorry, but I have brought along a Wormhole-blocker. Cyra tapped her tiara, which now had a faint glow. A gift from your father. A handy device, do you not agree?"

"If you are planning to kill Andromeda, then you will have to kill me as well," Oliver said.

Cyra tucked a stray hair that had escaped her tight bun behind her ear. "Oliver, I simply do not have time for your trivial attempt at gallantry. Can we just skip to the part where I have already listened to all your complaints, and then I ignore everything you have said and follow through with her sentence? I am to meet with Talia in a half an hour. The little minx needs a haircut and a talking-to before your upcoming nuptials. We cannot have her going rogue and threatening to kill my prize."

"Upcoming nuptials? Oliver, what is she talking about? Prize? What prize?" Andie said. "If this involves Sterling and that bizarre TV show ..."

"You told her?" Cyra said, with menacing incredulity.

"Of course not, Mother," Oliver said. "And you cannot make me marry Talia," said Oliver. "The law clearly states ..."

Andie's scalp prickled. "You two are in cahoots at keeping stuff from me?" Andie backed away from Oliver. "I hate secrets. You know this."

"No matter," Cyra said, "You will marry Talia."

Oliver's body tensed. "Why are you so sure?" Andie said, backing even further away from the naked alien hunk.

Andie did not like the direction of this conversation. "So she is your fiancé?"

"No," said Oliver.

"Yes," said Cyra.

"Well, which is it?" Andie did not say calmly.

"Andromeda," Oliver clasped her hands underneath the duvet despite the fact that they were furiously sparking with blue electricity. He moved toward her, but Andie scooted away—not an easy feat on orange shag. "I am not engaged to Talia. I am a free man. My parents merely want me to breed with her as she is my perfect genetic match."

As if this was supposed to make her feel better! "That is disgusting," said Andie, retreating as far away as she could while maintaining the safety of the blanket. "You people ... aliens ... whatevers ... are sickening. And don't you 'Andromeda' me, 'Prince' Oliver. What the hell were you thinking? Couldn't you have perhaps mentioned the minor issue about the death penalty? I mean, maybe it would be something I ought to know. In advance. So I could decide. You know, whether having sex with you was worth dying."

"I tried to resist you, Andromeda, but you are impossible to deny. If you will recall, you were quite forceful."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Andromeda said. "You are the sexiest guy I've ever seen. I knew what I was doing was wrong. I knew it was unprofessional. But I couldn't resist. But none of that excuses you keeping me in the dark about your ridiculous, narrow-minded, archaic law."

"I am the sexiest guy you have ever seen?" Oliver said.

Andie rolled her eyes. "Leave it to a guy to pick that one line out of everything I just said."

Oliver shifted his body next to Andie's as if the distance between them could be remedied by mere physical proximity. "I heard it all, Andromeda, but would it have made any difference?" Oliver whispered.

His breath warmed Andie's neck, and her entire body melted against him. "No. It would not have." Any love worth having was also worth dying for.

Cyra clapped. "Nice performance. I almost had use for my hankie. Enough. You have no idea, Oliver, the way Talia has trained for years specifically to meet your needs. You will have ecstasy with her you cannot imagine."

Burning bile rose in Andie's throat. As if it wasn't horrible enough hearing Cyra discuss Talia's "training," it was disgusting listening to his mother speak to her son about his sex life. "Go ahead. Kill me. At least I won't have to listen to your creepy alien natter anymore."

"Great. See, Oliver, she wants to die. Now hold still, Andromeda, and I promise to be quick. It should not hurt. Much." Cyra smiled and pulled a dainty cheetah-printed bejeweled Cannon from inside her spacesuit. From where Andie could not imagine. The suit was as tight as skin.

"Wait," said Oliver.

Cyra lowered the weapon. "Yes, Son?"

"I will cooperate if you promise not to kill Andromeda."

"Hmmm," mused Cyra. "She is an excellent accountant. I am very impressed with her investment analysis."

Andie's jaw unhinged, dropped, and an actual bark erupted from her throat. "You think I am going to keep working for you?"

"Oh, I do think so. As a matter of fact, I know so."

Andie crossed her arms. "No. Way."

"I will get my way. I always do. You will find your life to be much easier if you accept that fact. But since you are new to The Star Enquirer family, let me explain why exactly you will continue working for us. First, I'd hate to see what might happen to your mother if you disobey. And if you thought it was difficult to find a job before, wait and see what happens after you've provoked my displeasure. You will never work again. And the whole sordid affair about your father will be on the front page of our next issue. Oh, yes. We know all about him. And one last thing, Andromeda, the Zuts you have grown so fond of? I will send them back to the ship for further genetic experimentation."

Andie's mouth snapped closed. She clenched her teeth. "You are horrible. How could you do such a thing? They are gentle and intelligent. Why would you?"

"In the name of science, of course. They are nothing more than lab rats to me."

"What else do you do in the 'name of science?'"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean, are you abducting humans and um, probing them?"

Cyra laughed, her gleaming white teeth bared. "We have not performed scientific experiments on humans in years. So, Andromeda, do we have a deal?"

Apparently, Andie had a choice in the matter. If she were dead, she'd be no good to anyone. But alive, she had a chance to help the people (and aliens) she cared about. "What about Sterling?"

The evil alien witch queen raised her "of course perfect" eyebrows.

"What will happen to Sterling?" Andie repeated. Oliver and I had an agreement. It was part of my employment contract that you would not harass her with your malicious tabloid tactics."

"Consider your old employment agreement null and void," said Cyra. "Now there is a new agreement. One where you do whatever I say, and in return I let you live. Because I am magnanimous, I will also continue to pay you at two-thirds of your previous rate."

"What? You're cutting my pay even though you're happy with my work?"

"Pray I do not alter the agreement further."

Why did this sound so familiar? Oh right, it was like something Darth Vader said to Lando Calrissian in Star Wars: Episode V. Obviously, megalomaniacs share material.

"Emerson, the contracts." Cyra snapped her fingers with impatience.

He produced four parchments from somewhere in his skintight spacesuit and a quill. "Sign these two. One copy for each of us. The other two are for Oliver," said Cyra.

"You are making me sign a new contract?"

"Sorry, our Controller is a stickler for paperwork," Cyra says, smirking.

Oliver grabbed the scroll and unfurled it. Once opened, the paper disappeared and eerie electric blue letters floated in the air in front of him. Even backward, Andie could read what Oliver was giving up. "No, Oliver. Don't sign it. We'll figure out another way."

"Don't count on it," Cyra said. "Now sign. And I warn you to heed the non-fraternization clause this time. If you do not, it will force us to bring the problem to a permanent conclusion. Sign."

She glared at Cyra. Whatever. Andie would sign the contract. But if that alien thought she'd won, she really had no idea who she was up against. Andie would figure out a plan to keep Sterling safe, rescue Oliver from Talia's clutches, and bring down the entire alien operation. All of this would be easier to do from inside the company, anyway. But for now, she'd go along with being the poor distraught little human. She grabbed the quill and signed in midair. It was like blue light flowed from the pen instead of ink.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Cyra said. And now we'll be off. She tapped her Wormhole-blocking tiara. The glow cut off and Cyra clutched Andie's arm.

"Mother, no!" Oliver yelled. But too late.

The world shifted. Andie's stomach fell and seemed to remain in the bedroom while her body traveled into oblivion. She lost all sense of gravity and orientation. A solar wind whipped past her skin, heating her to boiling. Only this time, Andie wished she had compressed into a lump of coal.

Andie spun as fast as a pulsar and wondered where in the galaxy she would land. Or if.