Dangerous Curves

By Cherie De Sues

Selena Russo has won the coveted spot as a full-figured spokesmodel for the Rubenesque Romantix clothing line in Paris. When Selena starts getting hate mail, she ignores the warnings—models aren't known for their congeniality when they lose a big modeling gig. Especially a three-year, multimillion-dollar contract in the biggest ad campaign ever for curvy women.

Logan's a recent ex-Navy SEAL with a war injury, and his ex CO asks him to protect Selena while assuming the role of her photographer. When the death threats heat up with a dead pooch and bullets flying, Logan focuses hard on the sensual, violet-eyed beauty. It's Logan's pleasure to cover the body of a seductive, curvy temptress, both in and out of the bedroom as their romance burns up the sheets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cherie De Sues
• Release date: Sep 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301425068

Cherie De Sues

Chérie De Sues is a "critically acclaimed", "award winning" and "best selling" author of thrillers, paranormal and contemporary suspense romances. A member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), and RWA participant in both the RITA and Prism Awards. Chérie also writes under the pen name of Rose Embyrs for pagan non fiction books which have been in the top 20 bestselling books at Amazon. When Chérie takes a break from writing novels, you can find her at romance conventions, book signings, online, or traveling to research her next novel. She shares her beach cottage on Galveston Island, with her Irish terrier, Reilly.

Book preview

Dangerous Curves by Chérie De Sues

ISBN-13: 978-1449586485

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Copyright 2010 Chérie De Sues

Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

Mass Market Publishing by Black Cat Press

Smashwords Edition

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Book Blurb

Selena Russo has won the coveted spot as a full-figured spokesmodel for the Rubenesque Romantix clothing line in Paris. When Selena starts getting hate mail, she ignores the warnings—models aren't known for their congeniality when they lose a big modeling gig. Especially a three-year, multimillion-dollar contract in the biggest ad campaign ever for curvy women.

Logan's a recent ex-Navy SEAL with a war injury, and his ex CO asks him to protect Selena while assuming the role of her photographer. When the death threats heat up with a dead pooch and bullets flying, Logan focuses hard on the sensual, violet-eyed beauty. It's Logan's pleasure to cover the body of a seductive, curvy, temptress, both in and out of the bedroom as their romance burns up the sheets.

Chapter One

The attractive man sitting across the aisle watched passengers as they boarded the airplane. Selena Russo used his preoccupation to observe him again more fully. She'd been riveted earlier, when he'd walked down the aisle in snug jeans accentuating his strong thighs and long legs.

He'd met her gaze with unusual amber eyes. If she hadn't seen the cameras he carried, she would have mistaken him for a model. His strong jaw and cheekbones gave him a sculptured look, one used by numerous designer houses.

Surreptitiously, she studied his muscular chest, which strained against the white shirt he wore. The casually rolled sleeves exposed honey-colored hair on his forearms that matched the boyish tousled locks across his forehead. She wondered what his hair would feel like if she wove her fingers through the strands.

She sighed, pleased at the thought, then felt her face flush when he looked her way, catching her mid fantasy. Mortified, she turned away and heard him chuckle softly. Selena forced herself to move slowly, gracefully, as she took out a magazine. With gaze lowered, she blindly flipped through pages.

What had she been thinking, staring at him like that? Her pulse raced, and with a fingertip, she dabbed at the perspiration beading above her lip.

She hid a coy smile—all this physical reaction from only the thought of touching him. Her imagination was in high gear today. She flipped another page, stifling a sigh at her response to his masculinity. Sadly, he had no reason to feel the same carnal thoughts about her.

Selena chewed her lower lip as her self-esteem took a momentary dip. Even after all this time, there were still moments when she let others make her feel like a rube, a fake.

A full-figured model didn't garner the same attraction as the leaner models enjoyed. She had to be content making great money, traveling to exotic locations, and turning a cheek at insensitive jokes. There would always be those who snickered, or worse, but she'd survive.

Thank goodness for her father. As a family practitioner, he'd encouraged her to embrace her healthy Italian curves. While everyone else in her family had long, lean bodies made for running, she'd been voluptuous at thirteen.

Her father insisted she took after his side of the family, where the women were curvaceous. Selena looked forward to meeting the Russos, when the tour visited Rome. At last, she'd meet her Italian relatives. Her violet eyes were supposed to be a hereditary gift from her Russo ancestors.

The foot traffic died down, and passengers took their seats as the pilot gave preflight instructions to the attendants.

Within minutes, the plane climbed to thirty thousand feet for the long, transatlantic flight. She clandestinely explored her first class passenger seat, puzzled how the cushions turned into a bed for the journey. The European flight and first class accommodation would be a first for her.

She sighed, content within the soft seat, and folded her magazine into her carry-on bag. A clause in her contract guaranteed the elegance of first class for the next three years. Hairdresser, makeup artist, and wardrobe mistress too—she had entered a new chapter as a model.

She would have everything she'd worked so hard to achieve. The start of her new glamorous life waited for her in Paris. She was satisfied she'd left the death threats behind her in New York—she wouldn't give up her dreams.

There were millions of women tired of draping shapeless fabric on their luscious curves. Available clothing in the stores lacked style, or worse, supplied the same style as apparel designed for the slender. The time had come for a designer to dress women across the world, regardless of size, who wanted and needed more glamour.

The charismatic cameraman stood with a rustle of jeans, then walked toward the front of the plane. Selena inhaled a hint of his earthy cologne as the scent filled the air behind him. She leaned into the aisle, checking out his muscular butt before he disappeared into the small kitchenette.

Her body hummed deliciously at the sight. Why deny her eyes the pleasure? The man could be the template for sexy alpha male. When he vanished from her line of sight, she felt free to imagine his lovemaking as he tapped the energy of those glutes.

She took a breath and blew out some of the estrogen building up in her bloodstream. Clearly out of her league, he no doubt had his choice of beautiful, slender, and vampy women.

Kevin, one of the two bodyguards who'd been assigned to her, rose from behind her seat, moving stealthily past to the same little room between aisles. Intrigued, she tapped a polished red nail on her armrest, waiting for the two men to return. The attendants passed out drinks, nuts, and chocolate candies as she bobbed her head to keep a keen eye.

What would draw two large, muscular men to such a small space? She rose and headed toward the restroom that took her past the kitchenette, with Justin hot on her tail. Her jaw tightened. The security was unnecessary. Justin, the other of her new ex-Marine bookends, was crowding her style.

Who needed bodyguards after a couple of threatening letters?

Selena blamed her overly protective agent for her current, smothering situation; Gloria hadn't asked before making sure two bodyguards had appeared in Selena's contract. Any one of a hundred, international, full-figured models could have sent the letters. No doubt some were royally pissed she'd become the new Romantix spokesmodel.

Of course they were angry; Romantix handed her a multimillion-dollar ad campaign for a new clothing line in Paris. She would have been surprised if there were no threatening letters. Models didn't compete for congeniality awards. At twenty-four, she beat out mostly younger models, and that fact hadn't been lost on her.

Justin tailed her too closely. Selena paused to look back, giving him a withering look. He didn't blink. I'm on my way to the bathroom. What could happen?

He smiled patiently and motioned for her to lead. She sighed. Since the moment she'd met her guards, they hadn't allowed her to go anywhere alone. She purposely slowed, only steps away from the kitchen door, and heard two men talking. She casually glanced inside—the handsome stranger stood speaking with Kevin. She frowned and slid into the restroom, then took some tissues out of the box for her handbag. What would two strangers have to talk about only thirty minutes into their flight? Did they know one another? Interesting. A photographer or photojournalist, maybe . . . .

She washed her hands and applied fresh lipstick, before going out to ask that very question. She frowned. She could just hear her sister, Mira's admonishment. You're too forward, Selena. Yes, she was, while her sister was more demure. Just one of many differences between them, including the fact that Mira put all her focus on family, her marriage to Brandon, and was currently pregnant.

Her bodyguard stood vigilantly at the door as she walked past him into the kitchen. The men were gone, and she turned with a scowl, smelling a sneaky play. Justin tried an innocent face. She gave him an I don't buy it look. He hung his head.

Mr. Grant is your new photographer. We thought it best to have you meet him in Paris.

Her photographer! Heat spread across her like a firestorm.

That's fine . . . I'll just . . . go back and sit down.

Acting nonchalant, she followed the long aisle to her seat and slid in, irked as hell. If she hadn't promised Gloria to accept the bodyguards' judgment regarding matters of her safety, she'd be screaming foul.

Selena didn't glance in the new photographer's direction and had no plans to do so for the duration of the flight. If Mr. Grant and the two guard dogs wanted to control her life, no problem. Professional and cool were constant companions in her industry. She could play the isolation game as well as the next girl.

She put on her headphones, pulled out the J.D. Robb novel she'd been dying to read for weeks, and fluffed a pillow to hide her face. Her world would consist of a sensational book, red wine, and privacy.

She pressed the button for assistance, and Theresa came over quickly. The two had met as Theresa helped Selena board first class, and they'd hit it off right away.

"I would really like to have a glass of Cabernet."

Theresa winked with understanding. No problem; be right back.

Selena closed her eyes, feeling the slow burn of anger and frustration. Her photographer . . . and he had to be drop-dead gorgeous. Had to be kismet—a cosmic balance form of payback—for her getting the best spokesmodel contract in the full-figure industry. Apparently, not even the gods had respect for the hard work she'd put in to get this far in her career.

During her farewell party, Mira and Brandon had cheered, thinking her job would be all fun and games. Mira always believed Selena had an easy job. Her sister had no idea the physical and emotional strain Selena went through during photo shoots.

The public under-appreciated the positions and precarious situations she experienced regularly for the perfect shot. No one knew about the blistering heat from the intense lighting she endured for hours. The oil on a human face took only minutes to sweat off makeup that took an hour to apply. To hold a perfect posture with a sealed smile while balancing on a tree trunk or sinking into the sand could be difficult at best. To look beautiful and show clothes at their best often could be grueling and painful.

The camera blinked a single second of time, forever capturing either your failure or your success. When you were successful, people called you all the time. When you weren't, you became yesterday's news.

That wouldn't happen to her—she'd stay on the top of her career and keep pushing herself to do a better job. No more sticky romances for her. She had always been a professional and would keep her eye on her career. She'd find a steady stream of gorgeous European men. She could dance and flirt with whomever she pleased for the next three years. The photographer would have to stay off the menu.

A few minutes later, Selena sipped her glass of wine, aimed the overhead light at her book, and turned to page four. A soft jazz tune from her brother-in-law's quartet filled her ears, and she began to relax for the first time in days.

She'd had a hell of a week.

* * * * *

He got the cold shoulder, yet not an hour ago, Selena had unabashedly scanned him like a damned X-ray machine. His job for Bret's security company didn't include medical insurance for whiplash caused by a beautiful Italian-American model. Certainly not the typical model he'd been expecting either.

Logan Grant smiled wickedly. No, Selena Russo hadn't been what he expected at all. She had the curves of a voluptuous woman, not a waif with nervous eyes and a drop and give me ten attitude. She seemed a slower, more sensuous female, who took her time with life and enjoyed the ride.

She intrigued him.

Grinning at her challenge, Logan slid his gaze along her fair-skinned legs, the only part of her exposed. She'd burrowed herself from his sight in a snit, and he had no idea why. Those violet eyes pierced right through him as he'd walked down the aisle earlier. Now she hid them. Pity.

He leaned back, stimulated by his fantasy of watching her violet eyes as he moved in for a taste of those full lips. A smug, satisfied smile lingered on his mouth. He'd have plenty of time to view her curvy anatomy during the bathing suit photo shoot in Rome.

Kevin nodded in Logan's direction, and Logan narrowed his eyes at the reality of why he must be inseparable from Selena. Photographing a beautiful woman would be easier than protecting her from someone sending death threats. His job would be to do both, and he wondered why this woman kept on schedule. Did pure stubbornness keep her on the job when she knew her life could be in danger, or bravery? He hoped for brave . . . and trusting. That combination would make his job a lot easier.

He slid his hand across the Glock in the holster strapped snuggly to his ankle, reminding himself to keep his mind on business. Bret's credo had always been to keep business separate from pleasure. His ex CO, Bret Masters, believed lying with the wrong woman could mean death in a war zone.

He thought back to his meeting with the man yesterday. He hadn't seen Bret in years, but when Bret had called and said he'd needed some help, Logan had taken the next flight out.

When he'd walked into Bret's office, he'd seen how well the Lieutenant did for himself. Between Bret's smile and his attractive assistant, Logan had known immediately Bret's divorce from the jealous succubus who'd made the him miserable was final. Logan's lips had curled as he shut the office door behind him and got a good look at what money and civilian life had done to the ex-Navy SEAL. Blue, double-breasted suit, Italian loafers, a silk shirt . . . . Life was obviously good.

How in the hell are you, Logan? Bret flashed a shit-eating grin and came around his desk to wrap Logan in a manly hug. Didn't mean to keep you waiting, but I'm up to my ass in alligators today.

Nothing new there, except in the old days, we would have shot them. Logan smiled and relaxed. Time hadn't changed the easy camaraderie between them. Sit down—take a load off, you getting around okay until you heal up?

He sat and nodded, stretching his leg out with a wince. I've been shot in several places, but this is by far the worst. The new bone they put in my knee gives me hell sometimes, but yeah, I'm as good as can be expected. Still healing . . . .

Bret pursed his lips. Sorry to hear about Mack. He was a good man; we went way back. How's his wife holding up?

Better. After three months, she's sleeping through the night, but his death has been rough on her. She hadn't been calling Logan every day anymore, but he still stayed in touch. He owed her. You did a nice thing, sending her those airline tickets for the family to come to the funeral.

Bret rolled his shoulders. He saved my butt more than once, rappelled down behind enemy lines—he was a good soldier and a good friend.

They'd become SEALs at the same time, and that bond would never be broken. After the last tour, Logan had planned to pull out to start his own business. Being shot had sped up the process by a year.

Bret went behind a screen and came back with a tray with two of what looked like whiskey. They both took one.

Bret held up his glass. To Mack McBride.

Logan held his glass up, a final farewell to a fallen comrade in arms. To Mack.

He downed the smooth, hot drink, then placed his glass on the tray. Bret returned the tray behind the partition.

Let me get to the point of why I flew you out here from California on such short notice. He moved his chair closer to Logan and leaned in. A high-end clothing designer has a security issue with their new spokesmodel—she's getting death threats.

Can't they just beef up security? What's the deal? Who'd want to kill a model?

Part of the promo is a four-week photo shoot, parties, and public appearances. All the preparations are made and set in a precise schedule, and they have to use this model.

So what do you want me to do? I'm still convalescing. I'd hardly make a good bodyguard.

Apparently undaunted, Bret pressed on. How's your photography coming along? You still do that in your spare time?

Logan narrowed his eyes, seeing the path Bret had been laying out. Now he understood why Bret had asked him to bring his camera and gear. Yeah, I'm pretty good with a camera, but again, in case you didn't hear, I can't run or scale a wall.

You don't need to. You just need to stay close and oversee the two men I'm sending with you. Bret's serious gaze pierced Logan's, unwaveringly. I do need you on this security job, and you'll take lead on the photography. Besides, this is right up your alley.

Interested, Logan perked up. What do you mean?

The job is for a sexy, old-world clothing line, and they want a backdrop of all the ancient buildings and architecture. Sound like anyone we know? Four weeks paid vacation to take pictures and babysit a beautiful model in Rome, Paris, Madrid, and London.

He would have done the job simply because Bret asked, they were that close, but he could always add to his personal portfolio. The assignment would be a lifetime opportunity.

Bret, as usual, had left the worst for last. But there's one catch.

Bret had said that on more than one occasion in battle. What?

The model can't know. The client believes she'll freeze up—act different in front of the camera—if she knows you're part of her security team. Bret reached over to his desk, grabbed a manila envelope, and held it out to Logan. You have to play your part. Here's your cover story; it lists all the models and magazines you've been shooting the past couple of years. Très Chic Designs sent the envelope over to make sure you were able to, as they say, talk the talk and walk the walk.

Logan took the envelope—recruited in that moment—and Bret smiled smugly.

I'm glad to have you on this, Logan—you've always been my first choice.

Bret had always chosen him for the rough missions, and Logan had always come through for the man. He wouldn't fail now just because he found himself confronted with an unpredictable, violet-eyed vixen. His turned his attention from the in-flight comedy and noticed her eyes closed. She'd lose her novel soon to the floor. He'd guess she'd been through a lot in the last week, and the stress was catching up to her.

Unhooking the safety belt, he shook his head at Justin and Kevin. Slowly, he leaned over to put the book on the seat before the paperback fell. He inhaled the spicy floral scent from her skin. His breath on her beautiful face made her move slightly, but he hovered a second longer, enjoying the glimpse of her breast under the low-cut neckline of her knit dress.

Peeling his attention away, Logan straightened to go for a walk. He needed to cool down. Selena Russo would be a problem.

Chapter Two

Selena had changed into a spring-inspired dress on the plane, and a gentle breeze fluttered her skirt as she addressed the press outside the airport. The reporters welcomed her enthusiastically. Selena knew just enough French to be dangerous, but she held her own, delivering all the carefully rehearsed sound bites Gloria had insisted she memorize before leaving New York.

Her small speech apparently satisfied the crowd, and the reporters lunged at her with personal questions. Most of the reporters spoke English and asked about the French-based clothing company. Very understandably, Très Chic did business from Paris . . . the perfect place to kick off the tour for Rubenesque Romantix.

When she finished answering the media's questions, Justin and Kevin had to peel her away from the airport. She enjoyed the attention the new clothing received but left eagerly for the hotel. The flight had left her dehydrated and stiff. Neither looked good on a model.

On the way to the limo, she looked around for the new photographer. Where's Mr. Grant?

He's renting a car for his personal use. Justin gently persuaded her to the door of the limo.

He held the door for her, then settled in the black leather seat across from her. Would the mysterious Mr. Grant go to the dinner tonight to meet with the executives of Très Chic? Should she invite him? Selena chewed nervously on her lip as the limo pulled away from the curb.

She smoothed rose gloss over her dry lips. Grant had sat in the same section on the plane without an attempt to introduce himself. So why bother inviting him? The dinner would be in the hotel dining room. Let him figure out the logistics.

Why be steamed that he made no effort to know her? She wasn't looking for a fling, even in Paris. Besides, her heart couldn't stand the rejection.

Her focus should be on keeping her career on track, not her libido.

Selena twirled her waist-length curls around her fingers in agitation. She had to let the feeling go. The man hadn't been interested. Damn, she hadn't come here for a hook-up anyway.

Leaning back, she looked out the window as the limo drove by the Arc de Triomphe. The stone archway had bright lights directed on the rough surface. Glorious. The Eiffel Tower was too far away to see clearly yet, but they'd shoot there first tomorrow, and she'd have plenty of time to enjoy the sight.

The English-speaking driver pointed out the Champs d'Élysées, and she slid forward in her seat to see the cafés and the bistros. Maybe she'd get a specialty coffee tomorrow. The famous area bordered the Four Seasons George V Hotel where everyone touring with her would stay. The brochure also promised a private terrace and seventeenth century tapestries. Ah, Paris . . . . She couldn't wait to tour the most romantic place on earth.

Her heart fluttered with excitement the closer they got to the hotel. The building seemed more imposing in person than the pictures from her itinerary—so commanding—an excellent choice from which to market the new line of clothes.

She shivered, thrilled with her new adventure.

Kevin assisted her out of the limo and brought her through the double doors, while Justin handled the luggage arrangements. Marble sculptures and enormous vases with colorful flowers decorated the lobby. She followed Kevin to the front desk, feeling small and insignificant in the presence of so much grandeur.

Mademoiselle Russo, your suites have been prepared. If you will accompany Francoise, he will take you to your rooms.

Merci. She smiled and followed Francoise, the man clothed in cute bellhop attire, toward the elevators.

Kevin kept scanning the lobby, as if she were the president of the U.S., and his behavior made her stomach tighten. She'd traveled to another continent, and he acted as if the person who'd sent her threatening letters might have followed her here, to this very lobby.

Whatever.

The elevator made creaking sounds, and Selena shifted from foot to foot. She really needed time away from all the guarding and the public. As a print model, she'd gone unrecognized through her life. Now everything she did would always be in front of a crowd.

Selena stepped from the elevator. The wide hallway led to three carved doors. She quivered, breathless with anticipation, as the bellhop stepped ahead and opened the center one. He stood aside, allowing her to step in first. Selena caught her breath at the magnificence.

The rooms had been decorated in a striking combination of silver-gray with gold accents, and everything—bedding, canopy, furniture upholstery—matched. The décor was elegant, fit for a princess. She had numerous windows with views, two French doors leading out to the balcony, and a massive spa in the bathroom. Could she die from so much happiness?

Jennifer will bring up your bags. She will hang up your clothes, press whatever items became wrinkled during your journey, and put your other items in the dressers. Will that be all, Mademoiselle?

"Oui. Merci, Francoise." She pulled out the tip suggested on the website.

He smiled and bowed on the way out.

Kevin handed her the keycard. We'll be right next door to your left in room 225 if you need us. Please use the phone if you want to reach us, and don't go out into the hall. Make sure you lock the door when Jennifer comes in and then again when she leaves.

Beaten by their strict rules, she nodded and smiled. No point in telling Kevin his instructions were obvious and condescending. He had agreed to be her bodyguard, but that didn't mean he cared what she thought or how he made her feel. His only concern was that she survive to the end of each day.

Got that, loud and clear.

She locked the door noisily after he left, feeling a little childish. Selena slipped off her shoes, then ran over to the bed and jumped on the soft mattress.

Wahoo! She had arrived in Paris at last. She had to call Mira.

After pulling out her laptop, she positioned the global network device and two-way camera they shared, and then waited.

Mira sat tucked in the antique rocking chair with her back to the window, looking at a magazine full of baby furniture.

Hey, Mira, are you still looking for a crib that won't strangle the baby?

Mira lifted her wrist, pointing to her

Reviews for Dangerous Curves

[laurenkathryn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I'm a sucker for anything romantic, but even so I felt that this book had the right mix of romance (with erotic moments of course), mystery, action and humour.

Usually, I don't delve into erotic romances too often, don't get me wrong - I'm not a prude, but I just have other preferred interests; but I'm glad I did give this one a chance. I read it in two sittings and it was such an easy story to get into - I was hooked straight away!

I also think the book promotes really strong positive messages regarding the fashion and model industry. We are constantly hearing about the issues plus size models face in the industry when compared to stick thin less-than-size-zero models. De Sues has managed to promote a positive and influencial message to all plus sized woman - through the form of Selena Russo. Selena is such a commendable woman. She is focused, caring and just all round loveable. She has such determination that you can't help but admire her and keep reading her beautiful story.

I would recommend this to readers as I feel it has such a good story line, that doesn't just focus on one specific area. It mixes romance and sex with mystery. Additionally, you really do fall in love with characters and the romance that blossom between Selena and Logan.