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Witness to Passion
Guarding Her Body # 1
Guarding Her Body # 1
By: Naima Simone
Releasing June 16,
2015
Entangled: Ignite
Under his protection and in his
bed…
For
Fallon Wayland, birthdays are just another reminder of her looming
spinsterhood. This year is shaping up to be no different. Unfairly fired from
her job, dumped by her boyfriend, and oh yes, witnessing the murder of a
high-ranking lieutenant in the local crime family… Yeah, birthdays suck.
Ever
since a disastrous, hot-as-hell kiss years ago, soldier-turned-security
specialist Shane Roarke has avoided his baby sister’s reckless—and
gorgeous—best friend. Yet when her life is threatened after she witnesses a
gang hit, he insists on protecting her…even if she objects.
“Dammit, Fallon, we don’t have time—”
“One,” Fallon growled, slipping out of the
booth. “My name is not Dammit Fallon or Goddammit Fallon. Two, I’m going to the
police. I want to speak with them about Michaels, his escape, and hear their
advice on where I should go from here. You can come with me or meet me there.”
A beat of silence. “I’m coming with you. No way
am I letting you out of my sight,” Shane stated, voice flat. But a tic along
his jaw betrayed the emotion hidden under the ice in his tone.
She spun around and headed for the kitchen. Ten
minutes later, she returned to the dining area, and the man glaring at her from
near the front door with a phone pressed to his ear.
“Yeah,” he said to the person on the other end.
“We’re coming out.” Pause. “Police station first, then we’ll decide from
there.” Another pause. “Copy that.” He ended his call, but the scowl remained
firmly in place. “You ready?” he growled.
“Yes.”
Silently, he held the door open, allowing her to
step out of the restaurant. She sucked in a breath and held it as he pressed in
close behind her. Damn. Too late. His scent—that unique combination of fresh
wind, and skin—teased her nose, setting off a chain reaction of heat, heart
palpitations, and flocks of birds in her stomach. She gritted her teeth against
the Pavlovian response.
He shifted beside her, his strong, firm upper
arm nudging her shoulder. His unblinking, sharp gaze scanned the street and
sidewalks as he settled a hand on the small of her back and guided her to the
blue BMW convertible parked around the corner. Relief poured through her like a
cold drink of water on a hot day. As silly as it seemed, FiFi represented the
only stability in her world. The only thing that hadn’t metamorphosed into
something unrecognizable or scary.
“You have your key?” Shane didn’t glance down at
herhis restless survey of their surroundings continuing.
“Yes.” She pointed her key fob at the car.
Several feet away, the headlights blinked once, the horn beeping twice.
“I’ll follow you—”
Shane’s words were swallowed by the huge,
deafening boom from the end of the street. A fiery, blast knocked both of them
off their feet. Twisting midair, he wrapped his arms and body around her. His
back slammed to the concrete hard enough for him to groan in pain. But
immediately, he rolled, covering her from head to toe from the heat searing the
air around them.
Oh Jesus. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
FiFi.
Gone. Someone had bombed her beloved FiFi to
hell and back.
She blinked, tears burning her eyes as hot as
the flames licking at her car.
“—okay?”
She frowned, the ringing in her ears loud and
subsiding slowly.
“Are you okay?” Shane repeated, his voice
urgent, harsh.
The cold reserve had disappeared, melted by the
bomb and rage blazing in his eyes. Fury hardened his features, the sculpted
cheekbones, angular jaw, and carnal curves of his mouth even more pronounced
under his taut skin.
“Y-yes,” she stuttered. Then lifted her head and
peered over his shoulder at the flaming heap that used to be her darling FiFi.
She lowered her head, stared up at the sky, and let the tears fall.
“So where did you say your safe house was?”
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Naima's love of romance was first
stirred by Johanna Lindsey and Linda Howard many years ago. Though her first
attempt at writing a romance novel at 11 never saw the light of day, her love
of romance and writing has endured. Now, she spends her time creating stories
of unique men and women who experience the dizzying heights of passion and the
tender heat of love. She is the wife to Superman - or his non-Kryptonian, less
bullet proof equivalent - and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all
live in perfect, domestically-challenged bliss in the southern United States.
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