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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