Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
A rustle from the bed. Indigo wakes, hair tousled, silk pajamas clinging in ways that make my jaw tighten. She's rubbing sleep from her eyes, but spots me and straightens, mask slipping into place. "Up already? Don't bodyguards sleep?"
"Only when the client's not a magnet for mayhem." I close the laptop. "Coffee?"
She pads over, barefoot and unapologetic, snagging my mug from the table. Takes a sip. "Yours now. Perks of being guarded."
Annoyance flares, but damn, the way her lips curve around the rim... Focus, Hawthorne. "That's mine."
"Sharing is caring." She perches on the arm of the couch, too close. Her leg brushes mine. "Who were you talking to? Secret bodyguard club?"
"My boss. Cassian Rhodes. Updating on your situation."
Her eyes narrow, but she plays it cool. "And? Am I safe, or should I start writing my will?"
"Safe as long as you listen." I stand, needing space. Her scent—vanilla and citrus—lingers. "Ex-boyfriend's in town. Derek Voss. Did he ever mention it?"
She stiffens, mask cracking for a split second. Fear? Then it's gone. "That slime? No. Haven’t spoken in months. Since he leaked those photos that nearly ruined my career. But he's all bark. He leaked those photos to hurt me, not... this."
"People escalate." I move to the window, scanning the street below. Dawn traffic starting. "And Lila Shane—model rival. Know her?"
"Everyone knows Lila. Jealous bitch. But stalking? Please." She sets the mug down, and saunters to the kitchenette. "Want eggs and toast? Or are carbs against protocol?"
"I'm good." But I watch her—graceful, defiant. She's annoying me on purpose, poking to reclaim control. Fine. Two can play at this game.
She cracks some eggs, humming off-key. Deliberate? "So, Mr. Protocol, what's the plan? Lock me in here all day? Miss my spa appointment?"
"Spa's out. Too exposed."
She spins, whisk in hand. "Excuse me? I need that facial. My brand demands glowy skin."
"Brand can wait. Safety first."
"Oh, come on." She steps closer, eyes sparking. "You're paranoid. One fake bomb, and suddenly I'm Rapunzel?"
"It's not fake if it draws blood." I close the gap, towering over her. Damn, she smells good. "You want to glow? Do it here. Hotel sends up a masseuse that’s vetted."
She pokes my chest with her pink-tipped finger. "Vetted? You're sucking the fun out of everything. I came to Cupid City for hearts and lingerie, not a prison warden."
Heat builds—not just anger. Her proximity, the fire in her eyes... It's electric. "Fun? This is your life, princess. Not a photoshoot."
"Don't call me princess." She glares up, our breaths mingling. "I'm Indigo. And I don't need a shadow cramping my style."
"You need me more than you know." My voice drops. It’s rough, a little too rough. "That bouquet? Next could be real."
She swallows, but doesn't back down. "Fine. But if I'm stuck, you're entertaining me. Tell me more about your brothers. Seven Hawthornes? Sounds chaotic."
Diversion tactic. Annoying, but clever. "Nash is the oldest—holds the family intel. Crewe's the strategist. Sin's the wild card. Banks handles tech. Jace and Colt are the muscle twins."
"And you?" She tilts her head, lips quirking. "The grump?"
"The one who gets shit done." I snag the whisk from her, our fingers brushing. "Now eat. We review threats after."
She rolls her eyes but complies, scrambling eggs with flair. We eat in tense silence—her on the couch, me standing. Then she starts again. "So, fake boyfriend duties. We doing breakfast in bed pics for optics?"
"No."
"Why not? Scared of a little role-play?" She winks, crossing her legs. She’s breathtaking.
My blood heats. "Not scared. Professional."
"Boring." She stands, brushing past me to the bathroom. Her hips sway, and I can’t turn away. "I'm showering. Join if you want—protocol says stick close."
I know she’s joking, but damn if the temptation doesn’t punch the shit outta me. "I'll wait outside."
"Coward."
I grit my teeth, posting up by the door. The water runs, and my mind wanders—her under the spray, skin slick.
No. Job first.
A little while later, she emerges in a robe, hair wet, smelling like coconuts. "Your turn. I'll behave."
Doubt it. I shower quick, cold to kill the fire. Back out, she's on my laptop.
"Snooping?" I snap, towel around my waist.
She spins, eyes widening. Her eyes drink me in—chest, abs, ink from my military days. Heat in her gaze. "Research. Derek's file? He's uglier than I remember."
"Off limits." I grab the laptop, but she's up, blocking me.
"Share, Mack. I'm the target."
"You're the pain in my ass." I lean in, trapping her against the desk. My heart pounds, sending blood straight to my cock. It hardens, and I breathe in deep. "Move."
"Make me." She tries for defiance, but her breath catches. Her pupils dilate.
Tension snaps. I grip her arms—gentle but firm—pulling her close. "You push too far, Indigo."
"Maybe I like the pushback." Her voice is husky, and her lips part.
Fuck this. I kiss her. Hard. Claiming. She melts, her hands on my chest, nails digging. Passion explodes. She tastes like coffee and fire, moaning into my mouth.