Summary:
I’m a bodyguard and far from ideal boyfriend material, but agreeing to this fake dating scheme might be the best bad deal I’ve ever made…
I’m a fixer. As a SEAL chief, I succeeded in impossible no-win situations. Now I’m retired and determined to improve the lives of my former military teammates through our Hollywood security firm. Plus, I get to guard intriguing people like Ambrose Sterling, creator of one of my favorite TV shows.
Of course, I want to keep Ambrose safe. When he’s attacked, I leap into action to save him and his scrappy little therapy dog.
But my good deed results in a coastal road trip with me pretending to be Ambrose’s boyfriend to keep him out of more danger.
I don’t do relationships, and I’ve never thought about dating a man before, but here I am, sizzling with every touch and dreaming about more stolen kisses.
Each night of white-hot passion brings us closer to an unbreakable bond. But I’m blue-collar, and Ambrose is Hollywood elite. I want a happy ending more than anything. Can I turn this fake boyfriend gig into the real thing, or am I just a guest star?
BAD DEAL is book three in the A-List Security series. It features a highly protective SEAL bodyguard, a suit-wearing silver fox, an adorably ugly dog, and all sorts of brand-new emotions. Get ready for all the high heat, big feels, and found family feels readers expect from this fan-favorite military romance author. Join A-List Security for this lower-angst series featuring former SEALs and the celebrity clients who win their hearts. Happy endings and no cliffhangers guaranteed!
I think I’m falling for my bodyguard co-worker. Now I need protection… from myself.
As a former SEAL intelligence officer, I’m supposed to be smart. Unfortunately, those smarts don't apply to love. I did a nice thing and took my heartbroken fellow bodyguard out for a Valentine’s dinner. Just us bros. But my plan worked a little too well, and a night that ended with a scorching kiss has turned into the most awkward morning at the office ever. Now we’re working together as bodyguards on a remote mountain movie shoot. And we’re roommates.
I’ve never been attracted to a guy before, but something about Avery calls to every protective instinct I have. We’re not dating, but every night alone together, I fall a little deeper. It's also Avery’s first time with a guy too, and while we’re both enjoying all sorts of new things together, I worry my heart will be broken when we return to civilization.
No matter how badly this may end, I can’t seem to stop wanting Avery. All of him. I want to see who he'll become if he ever manages to get out of his own way. I want to be his biggest cheerleader, best friend, and the guy he comes home to. But going from secret hookup to forever after is a big ask. Are we both brave enough to take the leap?
ROCKY START is book four in the A-List Security series. It features TWO highly protective SEAL bodyguards, a double awakening, an exploration of the sexy, lacy kind, and all sorts of brand-new emotions. Get ready for all the high heat, big feels, and found family feels readers expect from this fan-favorite military romance author. Join A-List Security for this lower-angst series featuring former SEALs and celebrity clients. Happy endings and no cliffhangers guaranteed!
Bad Deal #3
Chapter One
Ambrose
“You’re not the boss of me,” I said firmly as I maneuvered my sporty little beamer into a parking spot, loving how well this new electric model handled the tricky angle and tight fit. Hercules predictably didn’t reply but continued to silently judge me, doggie tongue lolling to one side, ridiculous tuft of hair falling in his eyes, tail thumping against his carrier. The padded bag restrained him from launching himself at me while I drove but added to his perpetually startled expression, making him seem all the more skeptical of my parking choice. “If I want to park here, I will.”
I’d become one of those dog owners who talked to his pet. My psychiatrist would be so proud of me, even if I was trying to justify ignoring the explicit parking instructions to a judgmental ten-pound Chinese Crested. The memo from security for the day’s shoot had specifically said to park behind the pharmacy because the side lot was already overtaken by equipment and staging for the TV filming.
However, the back lot was full, with some cars double parked. The idea of double parking made my chest tight. I’d likely be on set for hours, but the thought of being blocked in, not able to easily leave, had me needing a deep breath. Nope. Not happening.
The half-full lot two businesses over, serving a gift shop and clothing store, was my better bet, even if not strictly recommended. I was already running late, thanks to traffic out to this small suburb, and it wouldn’t do for me to hold up what was sure to be a long day of filming. We only had the location for a single day, and our props crew had arrived at dawn to transform the modern pharmacy into a classic sixties drugstore.
I grabbed my briefcase plus Hercules, locking the car before hurrying to the location and its bustling activity. Temporary barriers ringed the side lot, which was full of the usual assortment of trailers, tents, and other equipment needed for the filming.
“ID?” A bored young door jockey in a black security T-shirt was stationed at the barriers. The shirt showed off the kid’s anchor tattoo and prosthetic arm. Maybe he was older than I’d thought, but he was definitely new because he greeted me with a blank stare, glancing down at his clipboard and stack of neon-orange badges.
“I…uh…” I patted my pocket. Hell. My wallet was currently locked in the car console. I’d been in too much of a hurry and forgotten to grab it.
“And is that a dog?” The kid frowned, pointing at my bag. “Pretty sure those aren’t allowed on set.”
“Avery.” Another guy in a similar black security T-shirt clapped the kid on the shoulder. “This is Mr. Sterling. The Mr. Sterling. The bigwig in charge of the whole shebang. He doesn’t need ID.”
“It’s okay, Harley,” I assured the second guy. I recognized him from other shoots on location. His security company had some sort of contract for special assignments like today’s that needed more security than typical on-set filming at the studio. “I appreciate Avery being so thorough.”
Unlike the bored kid, Harley was older, closer to my age, probably in his late thirties or early forties. And I loved when he was assigned to manage a shoot’s security because he projected quiet confidence, like nothing terrible could happen on his watch. Harley was big and muscular, with more tattoos than the kid. He was the sort of guy who could easily come across as scary, but on our side, all that muscle was reassuring. And if he was excellent eye candy, well, that was simply a bonus. I widened my smile for him. Not flirty, but friendly familiarity.
“I appreciate what a good job your company does keeping us all safe.”
“We aim to please.” Harley smiled back. He had an endearing, boyish grin, at odds with his rugged face, and it never failed to transform me from polished executive to giddy teen.
“I know.” Oops. That probably wasn’t the best response, but he tended to rob me of essential brain cells. “I mean, you do great at that. Thanks for the detailed memo yesterday about security procedures.”
“Thanks. I try to at least be readable. Speaking of, did you find a spot in the rear lot?”
“I…well…” I didn’t want to outright lie, but I hated disappointing him by disobeying his careful instructions. “Close. I found something close.”
“So that’s a no, not in the lot reserved for us.” He guffawed, a mildly chiding sort of laugh. “Want me to move your car for you?”
“No, I’m fine.” I wasn’t one of those car guys who never trusted anyone else with my automotive babies. I was sure Harley was trustworthy. My refusal had more to do with not wanting to be a bother. “I’m not where I’ll get towed. No need to trouble yourself.”
“It’s not trouble. It’s my job.” Harley’s tone was matter-of-fact, but that actually made me more resolved not to ask him to move the car. I hated being an additional obligation for him on a day that was likely already jam-packed with tasks.
“Thank you, but I’m sure the car will be all right.”
“If you say so, boss.” He shrugged, attention drifting to scan the lot. There wasn’t much he missed. And I liked how he always called me boss or Mr. Sterling and not how others did it as if they wanted something, were scared of me, or were required by social convention. No, Harley always said boss naturally, fondly even, like an inside joke.
I didn’t know him nearly well enough for inside jokes, but I liked pretending. He was my polar opposite: a big, tough ex-military type who moved with innate confidence, had a young-looking face, world-weary eyes, and a plain-speaking manner that suggested humble origins. I was a neurotic TV show creator prone to overusing big words, more interested in suits than armor, and while the gossip rags labeled me a silver fox, no one had ever once called me big and tough. It had to be those differences that kept drawing me in. Curiosity. He was undoubtedly straight, any helpfulness stemming from duty, not interest, but I couldn’t deny taking more notice of security procedures when he was around.
A fact that Cressida, my older sister and fellow producer, had to point out a few hours later when the shooting slowed for a break.
“I saw your favorite guard on my way in. You must be happy,” she said breezily.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Trying to play innocent, I sat straighter in my chair. Angled to face each other, we were sitting in the shadow of one of the trailers, somewhat out of the path of traffic. But the area hummed with activity, even while on break. I didn’t need random production personnel wandering by and hearing Cressida’s teasing.
“Ambrose, you’ve had a hopeless crush for weeks now. Every time he shows up so does your smile. It’s cute.”
“Shush.” I waved my hand. It was nice to have a change from the endless talk about her daughter’s upcoming wedding, but I could do without the teasing. “He wouldn’t think so. Those military types don’t often take well to queer crushes. Not that I have one.”
“Of course not.” Eyes twinkling, she gave a subtle head shake. We were both over forty now, way too old for sibling ribbing games, yet we always seemed to fall into old patterns.
“I’d never get involved with a subordinate in any event.” My tone was all prim, a defensive edge I couldn’t manage to entirely quash.
“The studio has his contract, not us. He’s more of a coworker. I’m not saying you’ve got a chance—”
“Gee, thanks.”
Cressida gave me an epic eye roll only a sister could pull off. “I’m only agreeing with you about him being likely straight. But it’s nice to see you looking again. I thought your ex stole your crushing gene.”
“He didn’t steal a damn thing other than my dignity,” I snapped. I didn’t appreciate the reminder of my disaster of an ex, the latest example of my inability to look before I leaped. “And someday, I’ll learn how to pick them, but until then, if I want to ogle hot, ripped security guards with no intention of acting on it, I will, and I don’t need you teasing me like we’re teens. I can appreciate Harley’s masculine beauty without needing to jump the guy.”
Somewhere during my diatribe, Cressida’s eyes had widened, and as I finished, she let out a little squeak. Most unlike her. Fuck.
“He’s behind me, isn’t he?” I briefly squeezed my eyes closed. Inhaling slowly, I petted Hercules, who was napping in my lap, trying to calm my galloping pulse.
“Mr. Sterling, I’ve got a question about protesters.” Harley stepped around my chair to stand in front of us. I petted Hercules a little faster.
“Protesters?” I latched on to the potential topic change like a life raft. Harley’s impassive face showed absolutely no traces of having heard Cressida and me, but there was no way he hadn’t.
“I’ll handle it.” Cressida stood, her teal pantsuit swishing as she slid her feet back into her silver stilettos.
“What protesters?” I repeated louder this time. I loved Cressida more than life itself, but I couldn’t stand when she got all protective and bossy, which had worsened since my panic disorder diagnosis. I was doing so much better, but she couldn’t seem to see that.
“Don’t trouble yourself.” Cressida patted my arm, making me glare as she continued, “It’s probably a few signs or something. You know fans are falling all over themselves trying to guess which pair is the endgame.”
“They do love speculating and playing favorites.” Our show was famous for an ongoing love quadrangle with multiple characters entangled with each other and limited clues about who would end up with whom when all was said and done. Traveling centered around a time-hopping hero solving past mysteries, and the mix of science fiction and character-driven drama drew an exceptionally invested fandom.
“Exactly. And the season finale is drawing closer.” Cressida made a sweeping gesture, causing her ash-colored hair to fall forward over her shoulders. “People want spoilers. And we know you’ve had the episode written for months, but the fans don’t. They want to make their opinions known.”
“Loudly,” Harley added. His mouth twisted. I had no idea how he managed to stay all business when I was busy internally freaking out, but his tone remained steady and professional. “There’s a bullhorn involved. That could impact your shooting schedule.”
“I could go talk to them,” I offered. In the past, giving a few minor tidbits to fans worked to defuse their ardor as it gave them something new to obsess over and made them feel valued. “That might be quicker than calling the local cops.”
“We don’t need the cops.” Harley scowled down at me. “And you’re not going out there. This is nothing I can’t handle. Give me some of the swag I saw being handed out to the business owners. Guarantee I’ll have them gone or at least quiet in ten minutes.”
“You’re a miracle worker. Keely? We need some shirts and other swag, stat.” Cressida summoned one of the PAs hovering nearby, a young woman with a riot of dark curly hair. God, I hoped she hadn’t been around for Cressida’s earlier teasing. The last thing I wanted was to be a subject of show gossip.
“On it.” Keely bustled away, as efficient as all of Cressida’s protégés.
“I…uh…” I took advantage of the wait and Cressida being distracted by a different PA to try to speak to Harley. Try being the operative word. “Sorry about what you heard.”
“I didn’t hear anything, boss.” Harley gave a sharp, definitive nod.
Ah. So that was how he wanted to play it. Professional. Totally fine and probably for the best, and if I felt any sort of way about that, I needed to give myself a stern mental shake.
“Well, thanks. And here’s hoping your idea works.”
“It’ll work.” His confidence was one of the most appealing things about him, and I could easily see him on a military mission where failure wasn’t an option. I’d heard rumors he was a former SEAL, and I believed it. His combination of natural leadership skills and swagger made him an invaluable asset.
“Hope so.” I gave him what I hoped was a purely professional smile.
“And don’t listen to the haters,” he added as Keely headed back toward us with a pile of goodies. “Be true to your vision for the series end.”
“It’s still a ways off.” My tone became more animated, the awkwardness of him having heard me fading as I warmed to my favorite topic. “It will take a couple of seasons to play it all out. But I’m not telling fans the ending, even if they’ve got signs.”
“Good. Do right by Bishop.”
“You watch the show?” It wasn’t surprising that he knew the main character’s name, but his support for my vision seemed like more than a generic platitude.
“Of course.” He shrugged as he accepted the pile of stuff from Keely. “I watch all the ones I work on.”
“Oh. That’s cool.” I worked to keep my tone neutral, with no trace of disappointment that it wasn’t only our show. For a second, I’d felt special somehow. As if we had a connection, which was even less likely. While I was still mulling that over, Harley left to take care of the protesters, and true to his word, no bullhorn interrupted shooting, which went as late as I’d feared.
We cleared all nonessential personnel before filming a key kiss that would be the episode’s climax. It was one of those closely guarded secrets I loved. Part of what made Cressida and I such a good team was how she handled the business aspects so I could do what I enjoyed most: creating and overseeing story arcs.
After the kiss, I reviewed editing plans with our director and editor for the episode and took a moment with my phone to respond to some questions from the writing team, which was hard at work polishing my draft of the finale. Thus, I was one of the last people to leave the pharmacy location.
Continuing to mentally review the writers’ room messages, I was in a bit of a fog as I walked the couple of blocks to my car. The dimly lit lot was almost empty, but the lonely vibe didn’t bother me as I was mainly concerned with stowing Hercules’s bag in the passenger seat and getting home where I could return to my email. I tossed my phone and keys over to the driver’s seat before shutting the passenger-side door.
“Wallet. And keys,” a deep voice demanded as I rounded the back bumper.
The hard press of something blunt against my side yanked me away from my daydreams to the present. The very real, very dangerous present. I was alone, so alone, and in addition to the voice in my ear, two shadowy figures were advancing toward me.
“It’s not on me.” My voice shook as hard as my knees. “It’s—”
“Liar.” A hulking man scoffed, he and the other shadowy person blocking my escape. They were between mid-teens and late twenties. Their sloppy clothes and pulled-down hats made it hard to judge.
“No, I don’t have it.” I tried to position myself to block the passenger seat. Hercules. They could have anything else but not him. I had to be strong. Think. Think. What should I do? How was I going to get out of this?
I needed a plan, but the two men in front of me were huge, and the one behind me didn’t feel tiny either. I should scream. I should—
“Aaargh.”A fist connected with my side. Pain exploded in my gut, and there was no more thinking, no more strategy, only pain, swift and all-consuming, as I crumpled to the ground. Somebody save me. The plea flickered through my head as someone—maybe me—screamed again, and the world went dark.
Rocky Start #4
“You’re fucking adorable. Come on. We’re both single adults. Who cares if we get something fun to try out in our room later tonight? Might even help you.”
“Help me?” My voice was little more than a series of indignant squeaks at this point. But luckily, Malik seemed to have an endless stream of patience for my ridiculousness.
“Your issue getting off,” he whispered in my ear, breath hot, my body revving with memories of the night before as he continued, “Maybe you need one of those flashlight-looking things.”
“I get off,” I hissed back, matching his low tone. “Just not always using my hand.”
“Tell me everything.” He pulled me a little snugger against him, and surprise of the century, the closeness actually made me fess up.
“When my left hand doesn’t cut it, I like rubbing against things. I have this one satin pillowcase…” I had to pause because I was breathing like I was trying for a four-minute-mile split. “Why am I telling you this?”
“Because it’s hot as fuck. You like silky things? You’d look fucking amazing in those.” He jerked his head toward the model wearing the pink panties.
“You think?” My voice was all air and wonder. Apparently liking dick wasn’t the only thing I’d been keeping from myself, because suddenly, that slideshow of images made a hell of a lot more sense to me. Why I’d always reacted so strongly. I wanted that.
“I know you would, and if it’s got you all hyped, we really need to go in.” Pulling me along, he headed toward the front door of the place. “Come on, let’s go in. See if anything pretty catches your eye.”
Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open--no flashlights required! When she's not adding to her keeper shelf, she's a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.
Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.
KOBO / GOOGLE PLAY / AUDIBLE / PATREON
EMAIL: Annabeth@annabethalbert.com
Bad Deal #3
Rocky Start #4
No comments:
Post a Comment