Chapter Three
Luna
“Ma’am, you need to get off the plane now,” the flight attendant said firmly.
I glanced up and realized I was the last person onboard besides the crew.
“Sorry,” I said, scrambling to get my things together. I had gotten into the zone writing on my laptop during the flight from Vegas to…somewhere in Texas.
As usual, time got away from me. The good news was I didn’t have writer’s block.
Anastasia’s idea of a bodyguard romance had the ideas flowing.
The bad news was that I didn’t have time to just sit and write like I’d like to.
I took one last glance at the royal-blue seat I had been sitting in for the past five hours and fumbled my way down the aisle with my laptop, carry-on, and giant purse.
I hadn’t been paying attention when the flight attendant said where the baggage claim was, so I followed the people in front of me until I came to the right place.
My brain was still stuck on the plot that I had been writing, and it wasn’t until he was right next to me that I noticed my new bodyguard.
How could I have missed him?
The man was massive. Not like basketball-player tall, but more like walk-through-a-door-sideways broad.
Not to say he wasn’t tall, too. He towered over me, nailing the intimidation thing with dark glasses and a complete lack of a smile.
His black T-shirt stretched tight over bulging biceps.
His pecs were so big, he probably filled out a bra better than my b-cups did.
His tight jeans stretched to capacity over powerful-looking thighs.
He had the beard, too. Of course, he did.
Not long and scraggly like he’d been lost in the woods, but it had just enough length to whisper “Trust me, I know how to use a hammer.”
“Ms. Darling?” His tone was low and even. Calm in a before-the-storm kind of way.
“I, um, yes.”
He extended his hand. “I’m Hayes from Lone Star Security. Your publishing team hired me for your book tour.”
My eyes went from his extended hand to his muscular forearms. They had the thick muscles and prominent veins that I had waxed poetic about on TV like an idiot.
The universe had a sick sense of humor.
His eyes flicked over the crowd and then locked on me. “Ms. Darling?”
“Yes, sorry, long flight. And Luna is fine.” I reached out and shook his hand. It was warm and rough in mine. A hand that belonged to a man who did the kind of things I had talked about in my interview.
Was that a woodcutting callus?
I wish I knew.
I needed to write all these details down.
I started to dig through my bag for a notebook, ignoring the irritated flex of his jaw.
I shoved aside lip balm and old receipts, looking for something to write with.
I could so clearly see the story in my mind—rigid, former military protector, and the woman who made him question everything.
The tension wrote itself.
Strong enough to carry the weight of the world, guarded so only the right woman could pry him open.
I finally found my pen, but Hayes was having none of it. “It isn’t smart to hang around in a public place when your publisher is worried about your safety enough to hire me.” He growled the words next to my ear.
More of a growl and whisper combo.
Oh fuck, I needed to write that down.
That was really sexy.
I figured it was better not to piss off the giant man any more than I already had, so I let him lead me.
His eyes were constantly moving as we waited for my bag. “It’s that one,” I said, pointing at my suitcase.
He nodded silently, grabbed the bag I had indicated in one hand and my elbow in the other, then led me toward the parking garage.
I couldn’t help but laugh.
He raised an eyebrow at me before going back to scanning the area. “What?”
“You are just so perfectly bodyguard-ing. Bodyguard-ish? Just exactly what I pictured. If you’re trying to be subtle about who you are and why you’re here, you’re failing epically, but you are absolutely nailing the—”
“Bodyguard-ing. Yeah, I got it.” He approached a lifted Silverado in a bright shade of red and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
I liked the bossy side of him, and I also desperately needed to make some notes, so I did as I was told. Once I was in my seat, I pulled out a notebook and pen and wrote a few things down.
Hayes went around the back of the truck, put my luggage in, and slammed the tailgate. Then he folded his big frame into the driver’s seat and turned the key.
He glanced toward where I was scribbling down the contents of his center console, threw the truck in reverse, and backed out of the stall. Once we were out of the underground, the sun beat through the windshield, and I had to stop to find my sunglasses.
“Are you done for a minute so we can talk?”
I wasn’t really, but I sensed that was not what he wanted to hear, so I nodded.
“Your schedule is heavy for the next week with book signings, appearances, and interviews. I’ll be handling the logistics and keeping you safe.”
“Look, Hayes, I get you have a job to do, but honestly, I’m an author, not a rock star. This whole thing seems a little much. I’d love to see what you do so I can write a bodyguard character, though.”
He adjusted his big frame in the seat. “You’re trending, whether you like it or not. People know where you’ll be thanks to your heavily publicized book tour schedule. I’m not here to play the part of the bodyguard. I’m here to actually keep you safe.”
“I’m not that interesting,” I protested.
“You agent also said, you keep odd hours and don’t take care of yourself when you’re writing. We wont have that on this tour.”
“Ugh, Ana, what did she tell you?”
“Let’s start with some ground rules,” he said, bulldozing past my question.
“Ground rules,” I muttered under my breath as I rubbed my temple. “I’m not a child.”
“Rule one,” he said, ignoring my protest again, “you will stick to the schedule. Rule two: You will keep your phone on and charged. Rule three: I will be your shadow until this is over.”
I bristled. “So I have to take my man-shadow with me if I need a coffee?”
He ran a hand through his dark hair. “The rules are not negotiable. We need to be on the same page at all times. If I say duck and you quack instead of hitting the floor, you could get hurt.”
I paused, letting that flow over me, then burst out laughing. “I have to write that down. That is a fantastic line. The domineering thing works better in my books than in person, but this is great.” I started to scribble, but he put a hand over mine to stop me.
“I’m not done.”
I cocked an eyebrow. This was starting to feel like boot camp rather than a book tour. “I’ve kept myself alive for over forty years, surely I can—”
“Rule four: You will follow a regular sleep schedule.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “What makes you think I don’t?”
“A hunch,” he deadpanned.
God, Ana was a tattletale.
“Lights out is eleven o’clock so you get eight hours of sleep.”
“Eight? In a row, but—”
“Rule five: You will eat regular meals. Not just coffee. I won’t have you passing out on my watch.”
I snorted. “Your watch needs to lighten up.”
“Rule six: You will take breaks.”
I jerked my head up and turned to face him over the center console. “Look, Captain Killjoy, I have a process for how I write.”
“You also have an event schedule to stick to. I have to get you where you need to go. We have no time for sleeping past an alarm or emergency snack stops.”
I clicked my tongue. “You’re serious about this?”
“That’s why they hired me.”
“Well, being a babysitter for grown-ups sounds exhausting.”
“It is with you,” he muttered.
I glared at him, and surprisingly he softened.
“Look, Luna. I’m not here to mess with your creative process or whatever. I’m just here to make sure the rest of the world doesn’t interfere either. My goal is for this whole week to be as boring and run-of-the-mill as possible, but I have bosses to answer to.”
“Fine. I’ll let you do your job, and you let me do mine.”
He nodded.
“Part of mine is learning about the world of bodyguards for my next book, so indulge me. Have you always lived in Texas?” I poised my pen over the page again.
He blew out a breath through his nose but ultimately answered my question. “Mostly. I’ve moved around a lot.”
“Military?”
He shook his head. “Most of the guys who work for Lone Star served, but I didn’t. I had planned on becoming a cop, but things changed.”
“Can I ask why?”
He shrugged. “Halfway through a criminal justice degree, I dropped out. I just didn’t think it was for me. Too many rules, too much paperwork. Military would have been the same.”
“Wannabe cop, who plays by his own rules, equals bodyguard?” I tapped my pen against my lip.
I liked it.
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Something like that. I was a bouncer for a while, then a PI before Lone Star hired me.
“But this is Texas. Are you a cowboy too? I’m disappointed to see no hat or boots.”
He actually laughed at that one. “Hat and boots don’t make a cowboy. It’s in how you handle what life throws at you. Steady hand, sharp eye, protective spirit.”
I nodded, scribbling that down. “And here I thought it was about riding horses and cattle drives.”
He snorted. “What about you? I’d have expected, I don’t know, either drinking ten cups of coffee over a typewriter or elegantly draped over a sofa in a gown. How does a person become a romance writer?”
I shrugged. “Perverted mind, introverted personality, and a reading addiction. It was meant to be, really. The typewriter thing isn’t far off, though.”