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.
*All information is provided by the author and his/her representatives. We do not alter or change the text submitted. We ask blog visitors to contact the author direct if they have questions or concerns*
No comments:
Post a Comment