Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Ford
There are three things a real man never does:
He never makes his mama cry.
He never betrays his brothers-in-arms.
He never grabs his curvy little assistant and kisses her until she’s breathless.
Of them all, I’ve only ever been tempted to do the third, and that’s because of my assistant. She’s out-of-this-world beautiful with a sassy mouth that keeps me on my toes.
When the day’s flashbacks finally fade into nightmares that wreck my sleep and force me from bed in a cold sweat, it’s her voice I want to hear. But it’s the middle of the night, so I reach for the answering machine in my living room.
With the quick press of a few buttons, the messages start. I’ve hoarded all of them since she started working for me six months ago.
Nothing in her voicemails is explicit or even all that interesting. But there’s something about the sound of her breathy voice that soothes the jagged, broken pieces of my soul.
I play them, listening as she tells me that the security plan needs to be reviewed or her gentle reminder that the latest contract is due to be signed in less than a week.
As she talks, I start my grueling workout routine. I need a way to burn off this energy. I’m not supposed to see her for a few more days, not until after Christmas.
For a moment, I wonder what it would be like to spend the holidays with her. Would she snuggle up next to me on my sofa, sipping coffee and lighting me up with that adorable giggle she has? When the nightmares are bad, would she let me crush her against my chest and hold her until I remember that I’m not in a war zone anymore?
“Stupid fucker,” I chastise myself out loud. She wouldn’t want to be with me. I’m too old, too grizzled for a sweet thing like her.
As it is, driving up to my cabin to deliver paperwork every week is probably her least favorite activity. I bet she dreads doing it. The thought puts a knot in my chest, and I pause my workout long enough to rub the sore area.
I’d stopped feeling anything at all. Then six months ago, she showed up when I told my buddy I needed an assistant to handle the business side of my security consulting. She was bright-eyed and beautiful and so eager to help. I couldn’t say no. Didn’t realize how much she’d come to haunt my thoughts.
My phone rings, and I snatch it from the cradle. I don’t have a cellphone. I gave up on technology when I was medically discharged from the service and moved to my cabin.
I grunt out a greeting, already knowing it’s my brother. Hunter is a writer. He writes something called romantic suspense. I don’t know much about the genre, but I usually give him advice on fight scenes and talk to him about the weapons his hero would be likely to use.
“I’ve written myself into a corner. The hero is on the run from ninja assassins, and he’s just seduced the heroine. They’re getting hot and heavy when the front door is blown off the hinges, and they’re both taken hostage.”
“I’m not sure that stopping to fuck while running from–what was it again?” I search my tired brain, trying to remember what Hunter said his characters were running from.
The names change with every book, but I swear he only writes the same three basic plots. He says it’s intentional and part of the appeal of the romance genre is the formula.
Never mind how often I point out that if it were a real-life mission, his heroes would have already been shot in the back of the head. Guess that part isn’t romantic, and that’s why I’m not the writer in the family.
“Ninja assassins,” he answers as though that’s a perfectly valid career path and not at all something he probably made up on the spot. Why does he always have these plot problems at three in the morning?
“Yeah, I just don’t see the hero stopping to fuck her if they’re on the run from ninja assassins,” I answer. I’ve been on dozens of combat missions in my life and never once was I thinking about sex while on them.
“Not even if she’s super hot and looks kind of like that cute little assistant of yours? What’s her name again?”
I growl as something primal and possessive rises up in me. She’s not for another man to appreciate or even look at. “Joy is not your damn concern. You keep your eyes to your fuckin’ self.”
He chuckles. The bastard actually chuckles, and that’s when I realize I’ve been had. He’s been after me to talk to Joy for months now. Joy Jolly, with her cute name and sunshine personality.
“I thought you needed my help with a question about his Glock,” I gripe before I launch into a description of the weapon. We spend the next hour talking about weapons and entry points before there’s finally a beep. My heart nearly stops in my chest. She doesn’t normally call me this early.