BODYGUARD: Part One

By Erica Wyld

Part One of BODYGUARD, a new, three-part series from exciting author Erica Wyld.

Rescued from danger by a hunky man was never how Tiffany Durham expected the day to end. Her knight in shining armor, her bodyguard. What was it about this man? Is this what she'd been missing all these years? Their encounter was electric, their connection undeniable.

Her gorgeous rescuer is still there when she awakes the next day. It wasn't just a dream. Tiff discovers he is more than just a handsome hunk. Jamie O’Brien is a professional bodyguard. A man whose job is to protect a client list of glamorous celebrities.

Her attraction to him is magnetic. Yet this man harbors a secret that threatens to destroy their relationship. Despite her own problems, she works to resolve the turmoil that is pulling him away from her. Can she have everything she ever dreamed of, can he be more than just her bodyguard?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swordworks Books
• Release date: Aug 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463097588

Book preview

BODYGUARD - PART ONE

By Erica Wyld

the BODYGUARD

Copyright © 2015 Erica Wyld

Published by Swordworks Books

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Chapter One

This chick’s heading straight for my bed. We’re getting out here.

I think my ears deceive me. I know Chester has a reputation, but not like this. I’m doing my best to focus my woolly brain, but it's not easy. I shouldn't have swallowed that last glass of wine. Nor the five glasses before that.

He’s pulling my arm, and it hurts. He snarls at the cab driver, Gimme a hand. The stupid bitch has almost passed out.

I try to scream, to shout, but nothing comes out. I am mute, unable to speak, and it is not like me. Instead, I hold my arms around my body, as if I'm in danger of an attack from a wild animal. Which is not far from the truth. I know I put back a few drinks, but I’ve never felt like this. Did someone spike my drink?

They told me to take her home, Sir.

The driver's voice is a pleasant, low rumble. I remember him helping me into the cab. That was outside the gym where I work, after one of those corporate events. Team bonding, dopey stuff like that. I work the juice bar, and tonight they were Wall Street traders, smug corporate types. The kind who mix a lot of alcohol in their juice; I guess they think it's healthy. I should have known better when they pressed those drinks on me.

Pineapple, coconut milk, and vodka, yum! I think the last one was all vodka. The boss said he'd get us home, but Chester has other ideas. He’s a fitness coach at the gym. The guy thinks he’s a stud, but he grosses me out. He’s one of those guys who look like they're gonna have a slimy grip when they shake your hand. In fact his grip is slimy. It is not an illusion. Nor is it nice.

I hear his angry voice. Pal, I call the shots. You're the hired help, so help me get her out of the car. She’s coming home with me!

The cab door opens, and I watch the driver emerge. I open the window to clear my head, and he looks down at me. Through the ball of mush that is my brain, I register his face, and it fits with the rumble of his voice. Strong, reassuring. He's a real looker. I find it weird. I thought all cab drivers had stubbled chins, thinning hair, and a world-weary gaze. Not this one. His eyes stare at me like twin lasers.

Ma'am, do you want me to take you to your home address? Or do you want me to leave you here?

I giggle. I can't help it. He called me Ma'am, like some old lady. I'm twenty-two years of age, all high heels, miniskirts, and attitude. I live hard and play hard. No, that's not true. I'd like to live hard, although it doesn't often work, almost never, in fact. Most often, I come across idiots like Chester Blythe. Jerks. I unwrap my arms from my body and rub my face to help me think. It's hard. I’m sure they laced my drink. I don’t recall feeling like this.

I wanna...

I know what I want, to go home, but the words don't come out. I feel a hand grab my wrist from the other side of the cab, and Chester is pulling me toward him. The driver gives him a hard stare, and he releases me.

Ma'am, do you want to go with him?

No, I do not want to go with Captain Creepo. Not now, not ever, but the words won't come. I raise my free hand to the door handle for support, and it brushes the cab driver's hand. It is not a damp or slimy hand. It is dry and strong. I want that hand to touch me. All over. I know I'm a mess, and I wish I looked better. I’d like to impress him, and I don’t care he’s a cab driver. I push the hair from my face. Oh, no, I must have smudged my makeup, so I let my hair drop back to hide the damage.

I shake my head. N-n-no.

I can see his badge, and his name is Jamie O'Brien. I want cute Jamie to take me home. I want him to hit on me. I won't say no. He's way too good looking for a cab driver. Dark wavy hair, dark brown eyes, and the kind of strong face you sometimes see staring at you from the glossy magazines. Why is he driving a cab?

He's talking to Chester, who has once again grabbed my wrist. His voice is flat and hard. The lady wants to go home. Please release her wrist, Sir. You're hurting her.

No way. She’s coming with me.

I hear a grunt of pain. Through the mist swirling in front of my eyes I see Chester's arm is bent at an unnatural angle. He won't let go, and I'm twisted across the back seat. I smooth down my skirt. It’s rucked up and displaying my Victoria's Secret panties. The shout becomes a scream, and my wrist is free. Chester has fallen backward to the sidewalk. It's raining, and it’s just bad luck he fell into a pool of muddy water.

Jamie O’Brien walks around and closes the door, then returns to the driver's seat. I'll take you home, Ma'am. They gave me the address, so you can relax. We'll be there in a few minutes.

I giggle again at hearing him call me Ma'am, and then I lay back against the seat as a delicious, warm feeling comes over me. I am safe, and my white knight is driving me home. I wish it were more. I don't run across guys like him often. Like, never. Ma'am! I giggle again, and this time it is the last time. A dark blanket descends over me.

I am in a fog. Like back home in Portland, Maine, when the gray mists come rolling in off the Atlantic. Dark, hard to penetrate. I doubt I’ll ever see the place again, and that’s the way I want it. During my upbringing, solitude was a large part of my life. That’s what they call it. Solitude. I call it being lonely.

My mind wanders, and I feel scared. I'm a little girl, pushing my dolls stroller through the high street. Dense fog rolls in, and I'm lost. I shout for help, but no one comes. It's cold, and there are goose pimples on my skin. I check to make certain my coat is buttoned up tight. I'm not wearing a coat! I touch my skin, and discover I'm not wearing anything at all. I'm naked!

My eyes flick open, and he's there, staring down at me. The cab driver, I remember now his name is Jamie.

What happened? I croak.

He smiles, and some of my fear vanishes. He doesn't look like a pervert about to ravish my body. He's a hunk. Does that mean he has the go ahead to ravish my body? For him, I think I could make an exception.

His voice is that same gentle, low murmur I remember from when he dealt with Chester. You were ill, and you vomited. I had to take your clothes off, and I called a friend of mine to lend a hand. She picked up your stuff and took it away for laundering. I put you to bed and stayed. I wanted to be sure you were okay.

Deep down, I'm squirming with more emotions than I can count. Emotion number one is shame. Number two is infinitely more pleasant, the knowledge he's seen me nude. That he