Warren, Chapter One sneek peek
H arper Rhodes hated airports with every fiber of her being. There were just too many people, too much action going on around her. Especially in Las Vegas. Even though the airport was on the smaller side, the din of voices and the clang of slots seemed to reverberate in her bones.
She was aware of the irony that she was here to headline a book signing that would be mobbed by her very, very enthusiastic fans. But that was somehow different. They were Team Harper all the way, even if they’d never met her in person.
They felt they knew her, through the romantic fantasy—romantasy—books she’d been publishing for the last few years and had really taken off in the last eighteen months. None of them truly envisioned the way she lived--in sweats and hoodies and fluffy socks, drinking copious amounts of Monster energy drinks all day, and getting by with the eating habits of a semi-feral racoon. Then immersing herself in her favorite online shooter games when her creative well went dry.
Instead, her fans got the alter ego, Harper Sloane.
In an attempt to keep her writing life separate from her real one, she’d meticulously cultivated her public-facing image as a kick-ass pixie girl who could easily be plucked from one of her stories. Because Harper Rhodes wasn’t all that interesting, honestly. But Harper Sloane was the cool friend you wanted to do fun shit with.
As Harper pulled her carry-on through the secured area, her anxiety began to spike. She felt safe here, behind secured doors with armed TSA agents, but when she stepped into the main concourse, she knew the fear would come crashing down.
Was he just outside the security checkpoint, waiting for her? The book signing had been a public announcement, after all. And God, was she an idiot for even doing this when every instinct told her to burrow in and hide? But no, she wasn’t going to let him rule her actions.
She would not allow him to make her afraid of everyone and everything any longer. That, at least, was in her control. She’d already been edging toward being an eccentric recluse before the letters, emails and texts. And the pictures, oh God, the pictures. She’d seen way too much of this guy’s junk, even though she hadn’t the faintest clue who he might be.
Drawing in a calming breath, she blew out the fear as she approached the one-way exit. There was nothing to worry about, because she had an ace to play. On the other side of those doors was Warren Bowman of St. Michael’s Solutions, recommended by her author assistant Katie, as being a top-notch bodyguard. Considering the small fortune she was paying SMS, he’d better be.
Katie had sent her a picture, so she’d know what he looked like. At the time she’d wondered what filter they’d used for their headshots, because the man was ridiculously handsome, enough so that he could easily grace the fantasies of her readers. Hell, of her own.
And then she was stepping through.
Warren was front and center, a kind of bubble of clout around him that made the other people waiting for arrivals give him breathing room.
He was just as handsome as the picture, and that air of authority lent a competence his photo hadn’t imparted.
She immediately felt more at ease.
His gaze skipped over her as he searched the crowd. She felt a moment of elation that pushed back her anxiety. Her day-to-day appearance was so mundane he didn’t connect it with Harper Sloane. But then that pleasure flattened out.
Warren Bowman was the kind of man you wanted to notice you.
He finished his sweep, then began another one, and she saw the second he recognized her, saw the quick uptick of a smile at her outfit of well-worn jeans, checkerboard Chucks and a University of Nebraska hoodie. She knew she looked like a college student, not a thirty-something successful author. Especially with her real-Harper hair, tawny-brown and cut in a bob that grazed her chin.
He stepped forward, a charming, easy smile blooming from the grin that disappeared when he saw her anxiety. She wished it wasn’t so obvious, but she’d never been a good actress, at least not about things that mattered.
He moved around to her left, somehow curving around her without touching or violating her space, projecting “get the fuck away” vibes that immediately cleared the area around them. “Is he here?” His voice was low, hummed along her nerves.
“No,” she shook her head. “I just hate crowds. And flying.”
Driving from Omaha hadn’t been an option, not when her stalker could be around any corner. Flying, as much as she despised it, had offered a measure of security she couldn’t get with another mode of transportation.
He relaxed infinitesimally. “Let’s get you to the car, and then I’ll come back for your luggage. As arranged, Jordan will be our driver, so you won’t be alone.”
Katie had also sent along a picture of Jordan, a gorgeous Latina with the weight of the world in her eyes. Harper blew out a sigh of relief. It was all going according to plan. And so what if she was a plain Jane. She wasn’t here to seduce Warren Bowman. She was here to sign books for her fans. And maybe get the spark of writing back that her stalker had all but extinguished. That no amount of online gaming was replenishing.
Warren whisked her through the rest of the airport at a speed she marveled at, then deposited her in the back seat of a large, intimidating-as-hell white SUV. Jordan sat at the wheel, flashing her a smile when Warren closed the door with a solid-sounding thunk .
“How was your flight?” the woman asked, as if she was a friendly ride-share driver.
“Short, but I despise flying,” she replied, her nerves finally, finally smoothing out enough for her to look around the pick-up area with interest. It was just as manic as the inside of the facility had been, all neon and flashing lights and cars. And people. So many people. “I appreciate you picking me up, but I could have taken a cab to the hotel.” And damn, she still hadn’t learned to corral the people pleaser within, even after all these years.
Jordan shook her head. “Nope, you’ve hired SMS, so you get the works. The penthouse you’re staying in is one of ours, and Warren will be with you at all times when you’re out of your room.”
“I have to admit,” Harper said, “seeing Warren as soon as I left the secured area made me feel a ton better.” She refrained from saying how lovely the man himself was, because this was his teammate, and anything else would be inappropriate.
“Warren has that way about him,” Jordan agreed, her gaze scanned from left side mirror to right side mirror, pausing in the middle to meet Harper’s eyes. “Have you ever been to Vegas before?”
“No. Katie promised to show me some of the sights after the signing tomorrow, but only if you guys think it’s safe.”
At the mention of Katie’s name, Jordan’s lips curved. “She’s a pistol.”
Her words were exactly what Harper needed to fully relax. Because Katie was indeed a pistol, even though they’d never met in person.
Moments later Warren was lifting the back hatch of the SUV and depositing her luggage, then sliding into the front seat. He looked at Jordan and gave an imperious wave of his hand. “Home, James.”
She shot him the finger in response, grinned in the rearview, and pulled away from the airport.
Their obvious ease with each other was even more reassuring, so Harper settled in for the ride.
They pulled in front of the casino attached to the mixed-use hotel/condo tower. Warren stepped out and let Jordan coordinate with the valet and the doorman, who they were obviously well-acquainted with. She really was getting the works.
Warren ushered her inside with his hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the casino and to a discreet door. He keyed it open with a card, then they entered a pristine white corridor, so clean it resembled a surgical suite.
“Pass-through to the residential portion,” he explained to her. “There’s another entrance with an elevator that goes directly to the residences, but I prefer going through the casino. It’s a bit longer walk, but everything is on camera, and we’re well acquainted with the head of security.”
“That seems a bit extreme,” she said as they approached another set of doors. “He’s never approached me in person.”
“I read his emails to you, then the texts. I saw the pictures. While you’re here, we’ve got your back,” he said as they stepped into an elevator that screamed of wealth and privilege. He used his card again to gain access to their floor. “So just settle in and enjoy it.”
She kept her silence as they zoomed up and up and up. She’d been on the verge of being embarrassed by all the fuss, beginning to wonder if she’d completely overblown the whole thing, but his words had shredded her uncertainty. If a security professional like Warren was concerned, then she sure as hell should be.
The elevator doors opened, and she forgot her stalker and anxiety and everything else as she stepped into a foyer bedecked with marble floors, glittering crystal sconces and tastefully flocked wallpaper.
Another door beckoned and Warren stepped through it, holding it open for her.
The room she stepped into was the furthest thing from Omaha she’d ever experienced.
The floors were gleaming acacia wood and the transition from the cold and unforgiving marble to the warm tones anchored the soaring ceilings and bank of expansive windows overlooking The Strip.
It was, in a word, stunning.
As an author, she was sure she should have been able to come up with a better description, but no other words would do.
Warren stepped beside her, a full, easy smile gracing his already handsome features, making him look more like a movie star than a bodyguard.
“Quite the spread, huh?” he asked.
“I feel like a country bumpkin,” she admitted. “This is amazing. She moved forward, stepping straight toward the windows and the view. A long balcony hugged the building, with a graceful iron railing and cute café table and chair set completing the tableau.
“Dev bought it as an investment property during the real estate crash and fixed it up,” Warren explained. “When we started St. Michael’s, he took it off the vacation rental market with the intent of making it a pseudo-safe house.”
“A safe house?” she asked with a bit of alarm. “What kinds of clients do you usually have?” Surely Katie hadn’t misrepresented them…
He chuckled and the sound made everything settle inside of her. How did he do that?
“Don’t worry, we’re not hiding spies or anything. It’s a safe place that’s off the radar, but still easily accessible and secure.”
That made sense, especially given the reasons she’d hired them.
The bellman arrived with her luggage and he and Warren made quick work of depositing her bags in the bedroom. Warren tipped the bellman before Harper could even consider it and followed the man out the door.
He turned to her. “Dev should have already texted you my number, and likely his as well. Do not hesitate to contact either of us if you feel so much as a twitch of strangeness.” He paused, looked at her with a gaze gone serious. “I mean it, Ms. Rhodes. I am at your disposal.”
She nodded, caught by how he’d gone from a smiling charmer to serious in a heartbeat. “I will,” she promised.
With another long look, he stepped through the door. “I’ll take you to the signing tomorrow at eight. Is Katie coming by tonight, or will you meet her in the morning?”
“We’ll meet at the venue,” Harper answered. “I wanted a good night’s sleep before we got thrust into the fray.”
He smiled. “I completely understand that. Peaceful dreams, Ms. Rhodes,” he said, and then the door clicked shut behind him.
Harper waited for a beat, then slumped against the door and let out a long breath. Now that was a droolworthy romance hero. Handsome and just the right bit of domineering when it came to ensuring her safety. And so far out of her league it wasn’t even amusing. But she suspected a version of him would be in one of her next books, maybe as a fae lord, or a were alpha.
She pushed away from the door and headed for the bedroom. She wanted to unpack and grab a shower to get rid of all the airplane ick before she started obsessing about the event tomorrow. She’d already signed all of the books they’d be handing out and would just need to personalize each of them as her readers hit the head of the queue.
Her phone dinged with a text as she walked, displaying an unfamiliar number with a Las Vegas prefix. Figuring it was Devin Beck sending along the promised contact information, she opened the app.
Your bodyguard is hot. Don’t you dare even think of fucking him. You’re mine. You’ll always be my special, special Rhodes scholar.
Her blood ran cold and she dropped the phone like it was a poisonous snake. It skittered across the floor and slid beneath one of the dining room chairs.
Oh God, oh, God, oh, God.
He’d discovered her real name. Never mind that he’d found her number—again. Now he knew who she really was. Knew exactly where she was.
She moved the chair with jerky motions and picked up the phone, the white noise of terror buzzing in her head so hard it almost made her pass out.
He’d found her. He’d found her. He’d found her.
The phone’s screen had cracked, and when she pressed on the shattered glass, she got no response.
How was she going to call for help?
She turned in a circle, her body disconnected from her brain. The lush room around her offered no answers, except for one thought that pinged in her brain.
I am at your disposal.
The words Warren had spoken just moments ago.
She lunged for the ornate foyer door and ripped it open, not bothering to stifle her scream when Warren sat up from the wingback chair nestled in a nook between the elevator doors and the main door.
He was at her side in seconds and withdrew a weapon as he pushed her behind him, scanning for a threat.
The solidity of him brought her back to her senses.
“Text,” she croaked out, hating the weakness in her voice, hating the fact a man she’d never met had reduced her to this. “He texted me. Warren, he knows my real name. He knows I’m here.”