My Thoughts
Brooke saved Tyler's life years ago and he has spent many years searching for her. When he locates her, Ty hires her as a bodyguard to get close to her. She is shocked to see him after so many years. They are both extremely attracted to each other, but Brooke has some issues because of something that happened to her. To be with her Ty will have to accept her needs when they are intimate. She can't be with him otherwise. They make several attempts to be together, but it isn't until Ty takes control that Brooke is finally able to let go and give her heart to him.
I loved Ty. He was understanding of all that comes along with Brooke and would do anything to be with her. He never gave up on being together. My heart broke for Brooke for all that she suffered at the hands of a crazy man especially since she doesn't remember most of it.
I give For His Protection 4 hearts!
Synopsis
For years Tyler has longed, lusted and burned for the girl
who saved his life. He’ll do anything to have her—including hire her as his
bodyguard. But when the girl of his dreams turns out to have a dark streak he
never could have imagined, he’ll need more in his seductive arsenal than sweet
talk- he’ll have to find out just how far he’s prepared to go to get her.
Brooke has been through the kind of hell that doesn’t make
it into most people’s nightmares. She’s strong, she’s fierce and she believes
the only place any man belongs in her life is wedged under the toe of her shoe.
Ty is the one man to get under her skin and send her mindless with desire. He’s
also a spanner in her life that could undo everything she's worked for.
She wants him—but can a man like Ty handle the kind of
fantasies she has in mind?
Excerpt
It only happened for a few moments each day. When the sun sank
to that precise point where the city of Seattle turned pink then orange then
darkest blue. Tyler swirled his scotch and gulped it down. It didn’t burn, just
as the view from the top floor of the Black Trident building didn’t warm him
the way it should.
Nothing
fucking could.
“Ty?”
Tyler
didn’t turn but the glass in his hand came close to shattering. “Just tell me,
Saul.”
“We found
her.”
Tyler spun around,
slammed his glass down on his desk and strode to where his president flopped a
file on the conference table. His calf muscle screamed with that first step but
settled into its familiar ache. Tyler spread his hand over the folder but
didn’t open it. Could only stare at it. His heart galloped as if he’d
back-flipped his way to the table. “You’re sure, you’re absolutely sure it’s
her.”
Saul
stroked the neat gray hair on his chin. “It’s her.”
“I want to
know everything.”
Saul’s gaze
flickered for a moment but he nodded and gestured to the table. Tyler raised
his hand and let Saul pick up the file. Saul spread the papers across the
table. One shiny image caught Tyler’s eye and he dragged it closer. Blood
thrummed in his ears, almost blocking out the sound of Saul's words. Dammit, he
should have opened it when he was alone. Now he could barely stand upright.
That face staring up at him from the photo was like a punch in the gut. Even
grainy the photo portrayed her features exactly as he remembered them. Those
eyes—those lips—that halo of buttercup blonde—the image he still saw hovering
above him every time he shut his eyes. He still heard the promises flowing from
her lips into his soul. For an instant he was twenty again.
“She moved
back to the city three years ago. Changed her last name to Yates.” Saul tapped
the photo in front of Tyler. “Tuesdays and Thursdays she co-teaches women’s
self-defense classes in the mornings.” He dragged across another photo.
Tyler
watched the photo slide. The woman in the image wore camouflage pants, a black tank
and a black baseball cap, her ponytail cascading out the back. He frowned. Who
was this woman? Hardly the soft angel he remembered. Could she have changed so
much?
“Sundays
she runs fitness boot-camp.”
“Day job?”
“She works
for Crowe Security.” Saul picked up another paper and handed it to Tyler.
Tyler
scanned the document and nodded. “Good. This is good. I can use this…” He
glanced at Saul. “How many death-threats have I received this week—hell, how
many have I received today?”
Saul’s
graying brows twitched. “I haven’t kept count, Ty. But since the community
center, let’s assume it’s higher than usual.”
Tyler
grinned, slow and smug. So sue him—he liked winning—it was in his blood. This
win would be the sweetest of his life. “Give Crowe security a call. Black
Trident Enterprises’ security needs have changed, my needs have changed.”
Saul sighed
and scooped up the papers. He didn’t need to state his disapproval—Tyler heard
it all in that one breath.
“You got
something to say, Saul?”
“I’m
thinking this might not be the wisest course of action. I know how you feel
about this girl but do you really think that a woman who has gone to so much
trouble to hide, even changing her last name, is going to like this?”
Tyler
straightened and tugged his tie then shifted his gaze out the window. The ache
in his chest overtook the ever-present pain in his leg. “She had no reason to
hide from me. I sent her one letter, one letter in five years. That’s all.” He
closed his eyes briefly. That letter. He tried not to think about what he’d
written. Yet the memory filled him with equal parts shame and pain. He—Tyler
Black—so desperate, so needy. He had bared himself so completely only to be met
with endless haunting silence.
“She
doesn’t need to like it but she won’t be hiding anymore.”
* * * * *
Brooke
gazed at the man she trusted most in the world, her mentor, role-model and now
boss, Connor Crowe, as if he were hell’s one true spawn.
Oh damn, damn him, damn him.
“Exactly
where would you like that inserted?” She smiled her sweetest ice-cold smile.
“Boss.”
Connor
grinned and tossed the hot-pink Venetian mask to her. She caught it mid-air.
“You can
save that grin for your fiancée—it doesn’t work on me,” she said.
If any grin
had a hope of working on her it was Connor’s.
The man was a freaking masterpiece. Tan skin, short dark hair and muscles that
had a way of making the ladies ooze their pheromones all over themselves. If
she were interested in men, she might’ve noticed. As it was, as it had always
needed to be, their relationship was a friendship based on trust and things such
as—not fucking coming on to each other.
“Where’s my
consummate professional, Brooke? Think of it as a uniform.” Conner sprawled on
the opposite side of the limo that had been sent for her and tapped the manila
file in his lap. The smart-ass had the nerve to grin wider.
Brooke’s
jaw tightened. “I wore this thing, didn’t I?” She tugged on the glittering—yes,
freaking glittering—pink folds of the
floor-length gown itching its way over her body. “Some asshole’s Barbie fantasy. What is this, Connor? Are
you pimping me out now?”
Connor
snapped forward but didn’t touch her. Connor never touched her except when they
were training. He knew that boundary. One of the reasons he was the one ray of
hope in her world that all men weren’t evil. “Hey, anyone touches you in a way
you don’t like—hell, anyone looks at
you in a way you don’t like—and I pull you out.” He leaned back. “You told me
you could do this, Brooke. You said you could work your unique skill set but if
you can’t, if it’s too much, I’ll pull the plug now.”
He would
too. Biggest account of his career and he’d compromise it for the sake of his
protégé.
“No.”
Brooke shook her head and slipped the mask on. “I want to do this. Plus I can
handle myself, you know that.”
“Shit,
Brooke. Don’t be breaking some poor schmuck’s legs because he happens to notice
you’re stunning.”
Her cheeks
warmed. She knew he didn’t mean it as flattery. He was just stating a fact. “I
won’t, don’t worry. I’ll get this account for you. So what do I need to know?”
“According
to Saul Morgan, president of Black Trident, they’ve had some serious threats in
the last few days, most particularly toward their CEO—” He paused and looked at
her from under lowered brows. “And he’s reluctant to appear as though he can’t
look after himself. Hence you.”
Brooke
adjusted the mask, trying not to imagine what she looked like. “I’ll be his
perfect little trophy girlfriend. Want me to giggle now?”
Connor
ignored her. “His name is Ty, he’ll meet you inside and brief you after the
event. I’ll have your bags delivered to his place.”
“Fantastic.
How will I know this masqueraded peacock?”
Connor’s
mouth twitched and he handed her an invitation from his inside jacket pocket.
“He’ll be wearing a purple mask.”
“Of course
he will.” Brooke matched his smirk and took the invitation then opened the door
and slid out.
“And
Brooke?”
She ducked
her head back inside. “What?”
“Just remember,
close this deal and I make you partner.”
Brooke
swallowed and tucked a thick gold curl behind her ear. “Consider it done.”
* * * * *
Brooke
handed her invitation to the doorman and stepped into the foyer.
Holy-shit-balls these people took their masquerading seriously. Bodies pressed
around her and flowed toward a grand ballroom. Every face hid behind some
gilded, feathered, freakish, bejeweled monstrosity. A long hooked beak mask
caught her eye. She shuddered. Creepy factor of too-damn-much. Who knew people
still did this crap? She assessed the room that served as an enormous foyer,
gaze flicking corner to corner. One exterior exit, four security guards at the
door. She scanned the ceiling—and at least two cameras.
And this guy summons a bodyguard
now?
She
followed the crowd into the ballroom then paused. Her breath caught on her
lips. Hundreds of lights hung from a high ceiling, casting the throng of masked
dancers on the floor into moving, glistening night creatures. A low hypnotic
beat thundered through the floor, up her heels, along her legs. Either she’d
stepped onto a movie set or someone had slipped her acid.
A gush of
warmth blew her hair back off her shoulders. Her attention flew to the row of
open doors along the rear wall. Now this room was a problem. The rear expanse
of the ballroom opened to gardens. No security. Perfect. She stepped around the dance floor and searched the
perimeter for the purple-masked-peacock so she could keep an eye on him. Not
that she knew who or what she was protecting him from anyway. Normally she had
a little more to go on but she figured she’d find out soon enough.
Her gaze
paused mid-sweep. A prickle itched the back of her scalp. Eyes on her.
Watching, staring eyes. She turned and faced the shadowy figure standing in
front of the open doors. He stood so still the air, the room, moved around him. A sheer white curtain rose
at his back but he didn’t move, he was still as death. She couldn’t see his
eyes and something told her it was better she didn’t.
Darkness
fell over him, coating him in stripes of black. Her heart took up space in the
base of her neck, pulsing there as if her ribs had let it fly away. A mask
concealed the top half of his face. Not beaked or feathered like most of the others,
just neat and flat against strong bones.
He moved,
just one step forward—toward her. There was no mistaking it, the way his
attention fixated on her, not just with his gaze but with every flex of his
body he moved toward her. Light flowed over him and the saliva on her tongue
went dry and sticky. A black suit clung to his body. Shoulders wide but not
bulky under a simple snug jacket. The lapels, a different fabric than the rest
of the jacket, shined. No tie. Everyone wore a tie but him. Yet he looked as if
he was the one this elaborate set had been created for, the most refined attendee
of all.
She glanced
back at his face, her breathing heavy. Why would he be staring at her? He he
nodded, a slow dip and rise of his angular chin. Light hit the deep purple of
his mask.
Ah, fucking purple.
Her heart
flowed back down to its rightful place. Of
course. She glanced down at her dress. The dim, shifting light brought out
the reflective threads, made the fabric shimmer like something from Cinderella.
He’d have known her the moment she stepped in. It was his dress, after all. At
least the one he’d sent for her. Here she was thinking—whatever the hell crazy
thoughts she’d been thinking—and he was simply her client waiting for her.
She
straightened her shoulders and moved through the room, weaved around the bodies
toward him. He’d gone into statue mode again. She stood in front of him and
everything she was supposed to say left her head. He just looked at her, stared
at her too hard. His eyes were dark behind the mask, his hair neat and groomed
and slicked back from his face. But it was those eyes she couldn’t stop looking
at.
“Brooke.”
Not a
question, a promise. His lips seemed to move in slow motion when he said her
name. The way they tightened at the Br—then
parted at the k—almost as if he’d
been saving the word up on his tongue.
Intimate, too damned intimate. She drew every bit of bone and muscle in her
body up to her five-foot-ten height. He still stood taller by two or three
inches but she wasn’t small. He needed to know that now. She was tall and
strong and professional. He had no right to intimacy. He should call her by her
last name until given permission to do otherwise.
“Mr.—” She
paused. She didn’t even know his last name. “Mr. Ty?”
He smiled,
not a full smile, just a closed-lip one that tugged up at one side. “It’s just Ty.”
“I’m afraid
I haven’t been briefed properly. Can we find somewhere to talk?”
He shook
his head. Just like that he dismissed her request. “Not now. We have plenty of
time for that. Right now I need to dance.” He held out his palm. Held it out as
if he expected her to take his hand, as if he actually expected her to dance.
She took an
unsteady step back. The music droned soft enough to hear him perfectly yet the
base seemed too high. It vibrated in her calves.
“I don’t
dance. I don’t do touching either for that matter.”
He closed
the space, bringing himself even closer. She stepped back with her left foot
but stopped herself from raising her arms. No…she didn’t need to take a fighting
stance in the middle of a goddamn charity ball. She didn’t do this, didn’t let
men do this—close in on her. Get closer than she’d like. She stared at the
perfect little buttons on his shirt. His scent cut through the wash of perfume
in the air, clean—clean and crisp and expensive.
“But
Brooke, I’m expected to dance. I was guaranteed that you’d be able to blend in,
that you wouldn’t stand out, that you could be natural.”
Her lips
shook. Fuck it, was she nervous? When was the last time she’d allowed someone
to put her off balance?
“I can look
natural. I’m very good at my job.” She raised her gaze to his and forced
confidence into her lies. “Which is why you don’t want to dance with me. I’m no
good at it. It certainly won’t look natural.”
“I’ll take
my chances.” He stepped in, grasped the fingers of her right hand and placed
his other hand on her waist.
She
stiffened at the touch but it was too late—he’d swept her onto the dance floor.
The crowd closed around them but he moved them through the mass of whirling
bodies. Her senses focused in on the hand on her waist, everything in her
telling her to push it away. Her heart rose again but this time the beat was
painful. She forced herself to breathe and move with him. To not look like a
freak who’d lost it because a guy had his hand on her waist. She let him move
her. And goddamn, this man could lead. Just his hand around hers and the one on
her side and he could direct her anyway he wanted.
In and out, that’s how you breathe,
Brooke.
There’d
been a time once when she’d enjoyed dancing. She could pretend, pretend it was
still okay. They moved round then around again. Music itched through her veins.
His shoulder was firm and steady under her fingers and she held on to it. She
could do this, just as she’d learned to do so many things again. She was
Boot-camp-Brooke. She had grown men leaping at the blow of her whistle in her
Sunday classes. She wasn’t afraid of a little dancing. He tugged and her waist
pressed into his.
The contact
sent shards of ice into her belly. Fear.
But fear wasn’t something that controlled her anymore. She didn’t let it. His
warmth seeped through his shirt, through her dress and into the cold pit inside
her. There was something else here, something more instinctive than fear.
Something that gripped her frantic heart because it begged her, just begged her
for things she’d given up on. His neck hovered above her face, the skin at the
base flickering. Fast, so fast. But why should he be nervous?
“There’s
one thing I won’t tolerate in my employees, Brooke.”
Her heart
skipped. What the hell did that mean? Did he sense the way her usual
professionalism dissolved around him, how so much of her seemed to be
dissolving? “And what’s that?” It wasn't him, not this flashy prick getting to
her. It was the damn dancing, the freaking touching, the pushing of her
boundaries.
“Lies. You
lied to me.”
She tore
her gaze from his throat. “What are you talking about?”
“You said
you couldn’t dance. Now look at you.”
He spun
them for effect. Once, twice, three times. Her waist hooked to his like an anchor.
He stopped and the room spun a little. Then he dipped her.
She arched
her back and the fairy lights flickered above her face. His belt dug into her
abdomen. Ice crashed over her, spikes of fear that sank into her like teeth.
Bodies moved, a beaked masked flashed in the corner of her vision, the room
swirled, her chest heaved. He pulled her up. But now all she could see were
flashing lights. All she could feel was that rub on her abdomen. All her body
could remember was pain.
Pain she’d
never escape.
Her legs
had no muscles, her lungs had no air. Suddenly arms were around her. The crisp,
warm scent of man. Yet it didn’t scare her, it surrounded her, gave her
something to hold on to. She pressed her face into that warm skin. Were they
still spinning? She couldn’t tell, she couldn’t breathe. Then there was more
air. Warm summer air.
“Brooke?” A
husky voice called, sounding so far away.
She tore
the mask off her face and threw it to the ground. No more flashing lights, no more flashing lights. They still blinked
behind her eyelids. Someone pressed something cool into her hands. She gasped,
realized she was breathing like a lunatic.
“Try
drinking some water.”
She raised
the glass to her mouth and drank, drank without stopping, drained the whole
glass and held it out. He crouched in front of her. She’d somehow gotten
outside, sat—or had been seated—on a stone bench.
“Are you all
right?” His voice was warm and thick with concern.
Oh shit, what have I done?
She leaped
to her feet. “I’m so sorry, this is so unprofessional.”
He rose
slowly, lithely, in a way that proved there was an athlete somewhere under that
suit.
“I assure
you I’m not usually like this.” She shook her head and pressed her palm to her
hot cheek. “I’m supposed to be here to look after you and instead you had to
look after me.”
“I’m
capable of looking after myself—”
She cut in.
“I understand if you want to request someone else.”
He stood
still in front of her then bent and put her glass on the bench. When he turned
back to her his eyes were as luminous as stars. “No, it’s you I want.”
Her pulse
rose. There was something to his words. Something far more than a stranger
should mean. His words sank in and she shivered then pulled on her
Boot-camp-Brooke persona—so much better at dealing with crap than her. “If
you’re capable of looking after yourself, why am I here?”
He glanced
out at the gardens. “Since Black Trident acquired a local community building
we’ve been getting some threats. Enough to prompt us to revise security. Enough
to prompt my over-protective president to reconsider my security.”
“So that’s
it. You’re forced to have a bodyguard but don’t want to look like a wimp.”
“Something
like that,” he whispered.
She frowned
and watched him stare out into the distance. “So how do we do this then? You
want me to blend in?”
“At work
you’ll be my new PA, the rest of the time we let people assume what they like.”
He finally
turned back to her. His gaze swept over her from head to glittering heels. Her
gown may as well have been made from sparkling cling-film the way that look
made her feel.
Boot-camp-Brooke
snapped straighter. “Just remember, while you allow people to assume what they
like I’m a bodyguard, and I have boundaries, especially when it comes to
touching..”
“What if I
need to touch you?” He lowered his face toward hers. “I mean to play a part?”
She
swallowed. “Then you ask. No one touches me without my permission. Period.”
“But I have
your permission.” His long straight nose flared under his mask.
She frowned
and shook her head. A heavy, sinking feeling mixed with inexplicable heat
flowed down her center. “What are you talking about?”
His breath
touched her lips, he leaned so close. She should move back, she should strain
away but something held her still, the sense that something massive was about
to unfold before her eyes.
“You told
me once that my hands were made to touch you. That touching you was my purpose
in life.” His fingers curled around her upper arms. “Or have you forgotten
that, Brooke? Have you forgotten the things you said to me?”
Her lips
tingled and heat blasted its way through her heals, up, up through her body and
into her chest. Those brown eyes, she’d seen them before. She snatched the mask
from his face and her lungs seized.
Him.
Time
melted, folded and instead of a Seattle breeze she tasted burning rubber.
PURCHASE LINKS & SERIES ORDER
Book One: For Her Protection
Book Two: For His Protection
Preorder Available Now: Out November 5th
About the Author
After spending years imagining fictional adventures, Amber
finally found a way to turn daydreaming into a productive habit. She now spends
her days as a graphic designer but her nights writing gritty, raw, erotic
romance with heart.
She lives with her husband and children in semi-rural
Australia, where if she peers outside at the right moment she might just see a
kangaroo bounce by.
Giveaway
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