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A review by llamalluv
The Alien's Mail-Order Bride by Ruby Dixon
3.0
Why does this feel like a novella length retread of the first half of Jessica Clare's "Beauty and the Billionaire"?
The heroine arrives under false pretenses. In B&TB, Hunter creates a false identity (publishing house) to get Gretchen into his mostly deserted house. In this book, Nicola creates a false identity (bridal profile) to go to the backwoods farming planet.
In B&TB, Gretchen is a ghostwriter, a job she doesn't care much for, but does it just to pay her bills. In TAMOB, Nicola says she liked the new name her last mistress gave her because it reminded her of Scheherazade "a woman who had to tell stories and entertain to save her life."
They have an instant attraction, but the hero pushes away, because he's "not good with people".
She's the Sunshine to his Grump:
Gretchen and Nicola both cook and bake to relieve stress. Instead of being wowed by an impressive library, like in Disney's version, they are blown away by a fully stocked pantry.
Hunter and Emvor both tolerate shitty food, until their respective woman comes along to set them straight:
In B&TB, Gretchen walks in on Hunter naked after a shower. In TAMOB, Emvor walks in on Nicola bathing.
Hunter retreats to his roses/greenhouse. Emvor retreats to his meat stock/barn.
The silent meals together.
The lines about how the heroine finds the hero's scars sexy and how they tell a story.
-----
The lines about the hero loosening up after an orgasm and making a joke.
The foot thing. I can't even tell from reading these which excerpt is from which book:
He reached for her foot, determined to prove her wrong, and cupped her heel. He was immediately distracted by the size of her foot. She was small in comparison to him. His thumb ran along the underside of her foot, and then he slid his fingers over the arch. “Feels lovely to me.”
She shivered underneath his touch. “Your fingers are ticklish.”
-----------
I take one delicate foot in my hand and kiss the ankle. She squirms, ticklish, but doesn’t try to pull out of my grip. Her intense gaze is locked on me as I continue to move my mouth upward, from her calf to her knee, to her creamy thigh. I keep going…and there it is.
The heroine arrives under false pretenses. In B&TB, Hunter creates a false identity (publishing house) to get Gretchen into his mostly deserted house. In this book, Nicola creates a false identity (bridal profile) to go to the backwoods farming planet.
In B&TB, Gretchen is a ghostwriter, a job she doesn't care much for, but does it just to pay her bills. In TAMOB, Nicola says she liked the new name her last mistress gave her because it reminded her of Scheherazade "a woman who had to tell stories and entertain to save her life."
They have an instant attraction, but the hero pushes away, because he's "not good with people".
“I just wanted you to know that it’s not you. It’s me. It’s all me, and if I push you away it’s because I don’t know how to pull you close. I’m not . . . I’m not good with people.””
So I keep to myself. Instead of going to community gatherings, I send along some extra food with a drone. Figure as long as I make a show of being neighborly, no one’s going to bother me too much.
She's the Sunshine to his Grump:
The way her entire face lit up when she smiled, which was often. He still wanted her. Still wanted to be around her, wanted to bask in her playful smiles and teasing comments.
Nicola’s like a burst of sunshine that’s come into my life, and her smile warms me every time I see it. Turns out the cute little dent in her cheek is called a dimple, and I live for its appearance. There’s nothing that makes my day better than seeing Nicola grin so wide that she dimples up. She’s been smiling a lot more lately, too, and most of them are directed at me.
Gretchen and Nicola both cook and bake to relieve stress. Instead of being wowed by an impressive library, like in Disney's version, they are blown away by a fully stocked pantry.
Not a crumb marred the gorgeous granite countertops, and the fridge and pantry were brimming with all kinds of delicious things that she was itching to bake with.
I didn’t sleep much last night, and I know I’m going to bake up every bit of food in this kitchen with panic if he doesn’t speak to me, just a little.
Hunter and Emvor both tolerate shitty food, until their respective woman comes along to set them straight:
He frowned at her, then put his napkin down on the table. “Eldon’s cooking is sufficient.” “I can’t eat it,” she told him. “It’s not you. Trust me. I just . . . I’ll gag if I have to pretend to like another mouthful.”
Even before I reach the door, I can smell food cooking. My mouth waters. How did she make my processor smell so keffing good? I use the thing all the time, but my food never smells like that. Mine is palatable. Hers smells…incredible.
In B&TB, Gretchen walks in on Hunter naked after a shower. In TAMOB, Emvor walks in on Nicola bathing.
Hunter retreats to his roses/greenhouse. Emvor retreats to his meat stock/barn.
He gestured at the greenhouse, thick with flowers. “This is where I come to get away from things.”
I finish cleaning up around the barn and fixing some of my tools after dinner. I’m not avoiding her, I tell myself. I’m just giving her space.
The silent meals together.
Worse than that, the room was unnervingly quiet, and she wondered if Hunter even knew how to make small talk. Or did he even have to?
Quiet falls. She eats. I eat. The room is still. I’m silent, but I can’t stop thinking about her.
The lines about how the heroine finds the hero's scars sexy and how they tell a story.
She wanted to stare at his fascinating face and figure out how it had ended up the way it had. He was covered in scars on one side of his face—deep, almost pitted scars that held a story in them. She was very curious about that story.
Gretchen’s fingers touched his chest, lightly trailing along his chest hair. “I like the way you look.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he said harshly, a stab of anger flaring through him. He kept his fists clenched at his side, though he wanted nothing more than to touch her. “I know what I look like.”
“I do, too,” she said easily, and those teasing fingers trailed down his stomach, lightly swirling at his belly button. “You have dark hair and a strong nose, and scars on one side of your face. You’re taller than me, have big arms, and you turn your cheek aside when possible, like you’re trying to shield the world from your face.”
Did he truly think he was so hideous that he needed to hide who he was? The scars were not beautiful, but they were fascinating. They made him different. She liked different.
-----
It doesn’t matter to me that one side of his face is a little torn up from scars and the corner of his mouth is twisted down a bit. It means he’s got a story behind that, a past that he’s fought through. He’s a survivor. I can appreciate that. I like that a lot, actually. I just wish he liked me.
“Not handsome,” I say flatly. “We both know that’s true.”
“You are to me,” she says, and she holds tight to my hand when I try to pull away from her. “I see your scars. Don’t think that I’m blind to them. But I don’t think they’re ugly. I think they tell a story of a past you’ve overcome, just like me.
The lines about the hero loosening up after an orgasm and making a joke.
“Some of us were having too much fun,” he said wryly, her good humor restoring his. “Oh, my God, did you just make a joke? I should leave you in the dark all the time.”
“I liked that,” she tells me.
“You did?” I chuckle. “I couldn’t tell. It was impossible to hear anything over all the screaming and moaning—” Her small hand covers my mouth before I can finish, and she giggles.
“Did you just make a joke? My, Emvor gets laid and suddenly he’s a different man.” Amused, I nip at her fingers. I do feel a little different. A little lighter. Happier.
The foot thing. I can't even tell from reading these which excerpt is from which book:
He reached for her foot, determined to prove her wrong, and cupped her heel. He was immediately distracted by the size of her foot. She was small in comparison to him. His thumb ran along the underside of her foot, and then he slid his fingers over the arch. “Feels lovely to me.”
She shivered underneath his touch. “Your fingers are ticklish.”
-----------
I take one delicate foot in my hand and kiss the ankle. She squirms, ticklish, but doesn’t try to pull out of my grip. Her intense gaze is locked on me as I continue to move my mouth upward, from her calf to her knee, to her creamy thigh. I keep going…and there it is.