Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Troy Castelli acts like it’s my fault that we’re cooped up together in a room with one bed overlooking the ocean. I didn’t ask for a stalker to break into my house and then send me a threatening email detailing my demise. And I sure as heck didn’t request that my boss send Troy and his uber elite bodyguard skills to accompany me out of town—although I’m not mad about it.
A paid tropical vacation with a grumpy, gray-eyed bad boy in a suit isn’t exactly a burden.
But it is a giant test of my willpower.
Troy’s alpha protector tendencies drive me wild. His arrogant smirk gets under my skin. But it’s his not-so-innocent touches, heated looks and touch-her-and-die vibes that are the final strike that ignite our explosive chemistry.
The longer we’re together, the more his broody exterior slips, and I get a glimpse of the real man beneath the sculpted muscles. I’m determined not only to unearth his mysterious past but also to make him realize what we have is more than just a fling in paradise.
That is, unless my stalker gets me first.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Troy
“You don’t need a parachute to skydive. You only need a parachute to skydive twice.” Lincoln Landry smirks over the rim of his coffee mug, quite pleased with himself.
But really, when is he not?
I run a hand across my forehead, lamenting my decision not to work from home today. I could be in my sweats at my desk in the guest room, eating buttery cinnamon toast—alone. Instead, I’m here with this guy.
“It’s too early for this shit,” I say.
“Come on, Castelli. You have to admit that I’m onto something here.”
“All you’re onto, Landry, is proving you need a hobby.”
“I have plenty of hobbies.”
“He’s not lying,” Ford Landry says, coming into my office and closing the door behind him. He takes a seat across from me beside his brother.
Morning sunlight streams through my office windows, filling the space with a warm glow. The cloudless sky is the perfect shade of blue, and birds chirp just outside the glass. The day held so much promise until Lincoln walked in twenty minutes ago.
“Your wife just called,” Ford tells his brother.
Lincoln bristles. “Why is my wife calling you?”
“Because it seems that you bought me a new golf club for my birthday, but Danielle found it in the garage this morning. She wanted me to know she’d take it to Ellie this afternoon.”
“Dammit,” Lincoln groans, shaking his head. “How did she find it?”
“One of your kids lost a ball, and she was looking for it.” Ford grins. “Found the club instead.”
I rock back in my desk chair. “Something tells me that club isn’t Ford’s.”
“Hell no, it’s not Ford’s,” Lincoln says, glancing over his shoulder. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Ford says, laughing. “How could I be offended when I’m going to get so much entertainment watching Danielle fuck with you over this?”
“She was just on my case about how my sports equipment is taking over the garage and made me promise I wouldn’t buy anything else until I sorted everything I already owned. But then I saw an ad for a titanium driver. The moment I saw that beautiful shaft, I knew I had to have it. Even the screws are sexy.”
“Good thing, because it sounds like that screw is all the screwing you’ll be getting for a while,” Ford says.
“Maybe, but it was worth it. I can imagine that shaft—”
I laugh. “Sounds like a personal problem to me.”
Ford stretches his legs out in front of him, clearly amused. “So you decided to tell her it was a gift for me?”
“She saw the purchase on the credit card bill. I panicked. I was thinking on my feet.”
I snort. “Well, we know that never works well for you.”
“What doesn’t work well for me? Thinking on my feet?” Lincoln asks.
“Thinking on your feet isn’t your problem. Thinking at all is usually a struggle for you, though.”
Ford chuckles, much to his brother’s dismay. Lincoln rolls his eyes and turns his attention to his phone. Ford motions for me to give him a minute while he, too, checks his device.
I shuffle through the stack of papers I gathered before Lincoln’s grand entrance and arrange them in order of importance. The only sound aside from the birds outside is Lincoln’s fingertips frenziedly tapping out texts, presumably to his wife.
Danielle won’t be pissed. Not for long, anyway. In the fifteen-ish years I’ve known Lincoln—since the day I left the military and Ford’s family offered me a job—I’ve realized no one can stay mad at him long.
Not even me—and sometimes I try.
“Looks like you need to strap on that second parachute and head home,” I say, winking at Lincoln when he looks up.