Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“And yours,” I point out. “Don’t forget you were on a very successful streaming show.”
I can hear her smile, then turn serious again. “I’ve never had a bodyguard before, but Ruby Horizons is a very cautious company, and they take safety seriously. They think it’s a wise idea.”
“But again, that’s not bad news. That’s good news,” I say.
She sighs happily. “I’m so glad you said that because—”
There’s a siren on her end, and I can’t hear the next thing she says as I near the market, which has a line outside the door. Good for Salma. I’m glad her place is becoming more popular.
“Sorry, Haven. I didn’t hear you,” I say as I slow near the bike racks.
“I said I’m so glad you said that because now they’ve decided they’re sending one for you too.”
I always thought it was just a saying—I stop in my tracks. I thought it was along the lines of an I did a double take or I spat out my drink.
But I literally stop in my bike tracks like I’ve hit an invisible wall. “Why the hell are they sending a bodyguard for me?”
Then I catch my reflection in the window of The Slippery Dipper, next to the market, and have my answer. Except for the ink flying down my right arm—visible in my white tank top—I’m the spitting image of the woman rumored to be dating a bona fide known-around-the-world movie star.
Still. I don’t want or need a goon following me around my hometown all day.
“Because we look alike,” Haven says apologetically.
“Right, but a bodyguard is a hundred percent unnecessary. I know literally everyone in Darling Springs. And they know me. No one here confuses me for you.”
“But there are so many new people coming to town. Tourists, the crew, the press, and so on. It’ll only be for the next few days, and then for the shoot itself. It’s a good idea, like you said. Mace can only do so much,” she says, all upbeat as she sells me something I definitely don’t want.
I have enough happening in my life and business right now—managing the farm, the employees, and the deliveries, not to mention the freaking location shoot at my home and place of business.
“It sounds like a terrible idea,” I correct her. “I live a normal life in a small town. I’m not a celebrity. I’m a farmer, for bee’s sake.”
But Haven’s already making the case. “This firm is great though. It’s run by a couple former Marines and—”
I lose the rest when a pale, stocky man in jeans, a backward baseball cap, and a black T-shirt appears out of nowhere. He trots beside the bike, gets in my face, a camera around his neck.
Holy shit. Haven was right. These guys are good at staying hidden. I didn’t even see him coming.
“How’s Chris?” the man barks. “Is he here yet? Is everything good with him?”
What?
“Are you two going out tonight? Bet you’re excited to see him.”
I’m so flustered by the bizarrely mundane way he asks the questions as he snaps pictures of me that my tire smacks into the bike rack, knocking me off-kilter.
I wobble on the bicycle, the bouquets and banana bread toppling out of the basket. I slam a sneaker on the sidewalk and hop off the bike as it’s falling.
Haven’s tinny voice grows faint in my ear. “He’s already on his way to handle advance security.”
A man made only of muscle swoops in between me and the photog, catching my shoulder, then wrapping an arm around me while steadying the bike in one smooth motion. “I’ve got you,” he says. Then, to the guy, he says, “That’s enough.”
Two words. Stern. Commanding. Clear.
The photographer backs off, and before I can process what just happened, the sturdy man scoops the bouquets and the bag of banana bread from the sidewalk, slides my bike into the rack, and then whisks me away, an arm wrapped protectively around my shoulder.
My skin is buzzing.
My heart is hammering.
And my mind is whirling with brand-new fantasies of a wildly protective man who saves the day. A hero with thick thighs, flat abs, and sturdy pecs. A man with a trim beard on his chiseled jaw, and tattoos on his arms of steel.
Tattoos with geometric shapes that tickle my memory.
I steal another glance at this tall, ripped body next to mine, enjoying the view, thank you very much, up until my gaze lands squarely on a very familiar face.
My new bodyguard is none other than The One Who Ran Away.
9
HELL-FIERY
BANKS
“Are you kidding me?”
With fire in her blue eyes, she rips away from me at the corner of Main Street. I don’t grab Ripley since that’d defeat the purpose of my help. The last thing we need is a scene. The last thing I need is to get in trouble for putting hands on a client.