Out
Now—Passion’s Last Promise (Club Aegis #4) by Christie Adams
Blurb:
Hers to protect…his to serve…
When a failed kidnap attempt
leads to CEO Dr. Simon Northwood acquiring a bodyguard, he isn’t prepared for
close protection specialist Ros Edwards, a former captain in the Royal Military
Police. Experienced submissive though he is, having a woman stand between him
and any further threat is completely untenable.
Assigned to protect the genius
behind a project of national importance, Ros unexpectedly encounters the most
delicious man she’s met in a long time. As a Domme, she’d love to play with
him, but even if he weren’t in need of her professional skills, there’s no way
he’s submissive.
A determined man. A stubborn
woman. When passion flirts with danger, the last promise is the toughest one of
all…
Buy links:
All Romance eBooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-passion039slastpromise-1940493-147.html
*****
Excerpt:
“Problems, Miss
Edwards?”
“Not at all, Dr.
Northwood.” She turned towards him and slipped the smartphone back into her
jacket pocket. “A minor logistical issue, that’s all. Is there something I can
do for you?”
“I was wondering
if we were still on schedule to depart for Oxford as planned.” From what he’d
heard, Simon had his doubts.
“Of course, sir.
As I said, a minor logistical issue.” She paused, fixing him with her coolly
assessing gaze. “I was just about to make coffee—would you care to join me?”
He had a
conference call in a few minutes, his third of the day, but Simon suddenly
found himself more in need of a shot of caffeine, and another opportunity to
try to goad her into going Domme on him. He’d been trying all week, and this
morning was the closest he’d come yet. He strode over to the desk to call his
PA.
“Alicia? Can you
let Martin know that he’ll be handling the finance call in ten? Give him my
apologies—something’s come up that requires my attention elsewhere. Thanks.” He
replaced the receiver and turned his attention back to his bodyguard. “I don’t
mind if I do, Miss Edwards.”
She gave a brief
nod in acknowledgement. He watched her disappear into the adjoining kitchen,
only to hear seconds later the crash of breaking glass followed by the
colourful and creative cursing he was coming to associate with his beautiful
bodyguard. Simon headed for the epicentre of the disaster.
As if someone had
flicked a switch, his nonchalant attitude came to an abrupt end. Ros was running
her hand under the tap, washing away the blood that was oozing from a cut to
her hand. Broken glass littered the worktop and the floor.
Simon’s protective
instincts kicked into action, sweeping aside all thoughts of provoking her
again. He grabbed the first aid kit from one of the cupboards. “Let me help.”
“It’s all right, I
can manage.”
“No—you can’t.
What happened?”
To his surprise,
she allowed him to take her hand in his. Strong and capable, it was at the same
time neat and feminine, with short but immaculately manicured nails. No rings,
but as he’d told himself the first time he’d checked, that didn’t necessarily
mean anything.
“Kamikaze
glassware.” Ros glanced up at the open cupboard. “When I was getting the mugs
to make the coffee, I accidentally nudged a couple of tumblers. They decided to
take their name seriously and try out for the Olympic gymnastics team. I can
tell you now, their technique sucked.”
Simon pressed his
lips together, trying not to laugh at the latest glimpse of her taste in humour.
She’d caught him unawares like that once or twice before, with a little nugget
of dry wit. “What were you trying to do? Catch them or juggle with them?”
She shot him a
dark scowl. At that precise moment, she looked more like the recipient of a
sense of humour bypass, then he realised she was more annoyed with herself.
“I was picking up
the pieces. Some of the shards started slipping out of my hands and I grabbed
at them on instinct. Stupid thing to do. At least it’s not my right hand.”
He quirked a questioning
eyebrow.
“Trigger finger.”
She waggled the digit at him. “Can’t pull a trigger if I’m bandaged up.”
“Or if you end up
slicing through tendons.” Simon’s slightly harsh tone was a reflection of his
discomfort at the way she spoke so candidly of using firearms. “A dustpan and
brush might have been safer than trying to pick up the broken glass.” He nodded
in the direction of the tall corner cupboard.
For a moment she
looked like she was about to argue, but then the change in her expression and a
tiny, careless shrug acknowledged the truth of his words. Simon turned his
attention to her injuries. There were some superficial cuts but the main one
wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought—she’d probably get away without needing any
stitches in it. Having confirmed there was no glass in the wound, he pulled on
some surgical gloves and ripped open a sachet containing an antiseptic wipe.
She was standing
so close now. He tried not to be distracted by the calm rise and fall of her
breasts, or the subtle floral scent of her perfume. He tried not to respond to
her steady gaze resting squarely on him. He tried not to think of the probable
reasons why a former RMP officer never even flinched at the sting of the
antiseptic.
Having put a
couple of Steri-Strips on the cut, he then made the move that was his downfall.
It was the small, insignificant act of glancing up at Ros’ face. She was
staring at his hands in rapt fascination, lips slightly parted, almost inviting
a kiss.
Carpe diem. The
Latin phrase blazed through Simon’s mind like a meteor. She hadn’t responded to
provocation, so perhaps a different tactic was called for. He swept aside the
memory of the altercation they’d had a few hours earlier, focusing instead on
this moment.
Simon pulled off
the surgical gloves with a snap. In a club, he’d never dream of doing what he
was about to do—it went against everything he’d been trained for, but this was
an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss.
Before Ros could
move away from him, he took her uninjured hand in his and raised it to his
lips. Before his inner voice could convince him he was making a huge mistake,
he pressed a gentle kiss to her palm.
“Dr. Northwood.”
He wasn’t
expecting the sound of his name to send a delicious shiver through his body.
The formality, though…just as guilty of that as she was, maybe even more so,
but he wanted it to end. “Simon.”
Desire would be held back no longer—he claimed the sweetness of her
mouth, and prepared to take his punishment for crashing through her boundaries…
*****
Author Bio:
After winning an
erotic short story competition, Christie Adams waited over twenty years to
follow it up with her first full-length erotic romance. The second publisher
she approached picked it up, and after a brief spell with them, she moved into
the exciting world of indie publishing.
When she was asked
about how she got into writing, Christie realised she’s been putting pen to paper—or
fingers to keyboard—for longer than she thought. It all started in her teens,
with stories featuring characters from her favourite TV shows—usually action
dramas—but in her imagination, those characters were given a romantic life to
go with the all-action one their audiences saw.
From there, she
progressed to romantic novels featuring characters of her own invention, but
success eluded her until she spotted the erotic short story competition in a
magazine.
Christie lives in north-west England. When not at the day job, she can
usually be found wrestling with the characters in her latest novel.
Occasionally she finds time for sleep, and maintains her social skills through,
among other things, regular attendance at a pub quiz, which forces her to think
about other things besides plots and characterisation.
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