Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
My life? Chaos, glitter, and cat fur.
His? Rules, shadows, and muscle so intense it should be illegal.
We’re total opposites.
Like "hug everyone" versus "might scowl you to death" opposites.
When my internet-famous cat gets catnapped, Thorn Stone shows up.
Scowling. Bossing. Judging.
And refusing to leave.
He calls me unprofessional.
I call him a tactical potato.
He says I need protection.
I say, “Hard pass.”
Now he’s my bodyguard—uninvited and insufferable—guarding me and my cat like it’s a military mission.
All grumpy. Growly. And… hot.
And unfortunately, very good at getting under my skin too.
He says it’s just a job.
I say he’s about to lose more than his temper.
Like maybe his bulletproof heart.
And I said I’d never fall for someone like him.
But looks like my heart didn’t get that memo.
If you love grumpy/sunshine romance, forced proximity, bodyguard heroes, laugh-out-loud banter, and spicy slow-burn love stories that melt your heart, Never Say Yes to Your Bodyguard is your next must-read!
Each book in this series is a standalone and can be read in any order. And don't forget, we are team HEA all the way!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter one
Ephemeral
“Help! Someone grabbed my PUSSY—” I’m shouting while running, so the next word, “cat,” never makes it out of my mouth as I run out of breath. And I realize just how bad I’ve messed up when the heads of practically everyone around me at the cat convention whip around. A few sets of goggly eyes fix on me. “My cat!” I yelp, pointing in the direction of the big dude clad in all black who is rapidly speeding away, throwing elbows all through the crowd and forcing it to part for him.
He has Peach Lips. She’s mine, and I’ll do anything to get her back.
Including giving chase.
In platform boots.
It’s not working out so well so far, and I realize with a horrible, gut-wrenching disappointment that even if I have decent shoes on, my five-foot-four frame is no match for the burly burglar who is heading straight for the arena’s exit.
Even if I catch up with the guy, all he’ll have to do is shove one of his meaty palms in my face, and he’ll lay me out flat. He can hold Peach Lips above his head so that I can’t reach her. He’s clearly a terrible human being who likely has an accomplice, and they probably won’t be above tossing her around while playing keep away.
The thought of something happening to her makes me want to puke.
Also, sprinting. I’m not that out of shape, but when I said platform boots, I meant the five-inch rainbow-hued with stars variety.
Honestly, it’s a shock that I haven’t faceplanted straight onto the tiled floor yet.
It’s mom-strength. When one’s child is threatened or taken, you get superhuman strength. I wish it were speed. Ugh, I wish very badly it were speed.
“That guy took my cat!” I scream again, mustering all the breath left inside me. My lungs are steaming and heaving, but I keep going, forcing my burning legs to propel me forward. “Peach Lips! That guy is trying to steal her! Someone help!’
More heads turn. I hear people start talking, and they’re staring. At me. At the exits. Looking, trying to locate her.
“There!” I point at the black-clad figure. He’s moving like a freight train, still plowing his path. The exit isn’t that much further. They’re all around the building, and this week, I’ve used pretty much every single one of them, so I know where they are. If the crowd wasn’t so thick tonight for the last night of the convention, that asshole might have gotten away long ago.
Even still, he’s gaining ground on me, and I’m dropping back.
My legs are pillars of fire, and my feet are blistered. My lungs are an inferno, but my heart is worse than all of it.
I want to drop to my hands and knees and beg.
Please. Please, don’t take my cat. I love her. I love her more than anything in the world. She’s literally all I have. My ride or die. She needs her medicine. She likes her heating pad, and she has special food because she has allergies and no teeth. She loves the sun. Her perch in our window is her favorite thing in the world. I need her. Without her, I’m lost. If I lose her, I lose what little I have left of my tattered and worn heart.
“Stop him!” I’m so hoarse by now that it’s a wonder anyone hears me.
But he does.
He comes out of the shadows, also dressed entirely in black and also a brick shithouse, mountain shadow, supervillain-himself-looking dude. He’s all muscles and square chin and black combat boots, his black T-shirt emblazoned with the white blocky letters that scream he’s SECURITY.
He’s in front of the guy fleeing with my cat tucked up under his arm like a loaf of bread as he carries her football style.
It’s appropriate then that the cat nabber gets clotheslined and football-style tackled to the ground. He doesn’t see it coming and ends up flat on his back. I’ve been running my platform boots off this whole time, so I catch up with the fray as a crowd and three more security personnel gather around and get involved.
“Please!” I hold out my arms. “My cat!”
Everyone is all oohs and awws and simpering mush as Mr. Superhero Security passes me Florida’s Ugliest Cat, legit voted for five years in a row. Ugly meaning cute. If you know, you know. Peach Lips is also a world-famous internet sensation. The thing about the ugliest cat title? It’s a badge of honor. We wear our weirdness and our differences and what some people think of as disabilities with pride.
People can be mean. They can be horrible. The internet can be a sad, judgmental place filled with nasty old trolls and people who don’t think the person reading that stuff on the other side of it all has feelings, but it can also be a great thing. A great place. A place where wondrous things can happen.