Tuesday, November 17, 2015

False Security (Indigo Valley Book 1) by Morgan Blaze Excerpt

$2.99 or FREE for Kindle Unlimited Subscribers


Love wasn't in the contract.

There are two things Wynn Holcolm can't stand: liars, and her father. Sexy bodyguard Foster Kane is a liar who works for her father.

But he may also be the only man who can keep her alive -- because her father's most dangerous enemy has just been released from prison, and plans to take his revenge through her.

To keep Wynn safe, Foster must earn her trust and fight his growing attraction to her -- because the last time he got involved with a client, the job ended in tragedy.

This time it's far more personal...and the real enemy is closer than he ever imagined.


Steven Foster was five minutes late.
I sat in a booth at the Cactus Café, surrounded by wacky Western décor and a colorful flock of tourists. On the table were two menus, two napkin-wrapped bundles of silverware, and two sweating water glasses. It was only five after eight, but I’d gotten here ten minutes early, just in case. All that did was make for an awkward fifteen minutes of sitting alone at a table for two.
Apparently, I could strike punctuality off the list of my date’s characteristics.
The bell over the restaurant door jangled, and I looked over just as I had every other time. A single man walked in, but he definitely wasn’t Mr. Foster. Unless he’d aged twenty years, shaved his head, and lost an eye since the photo I’d seen was taken. With an eye patch, a hoop earring and an unpleasant leer, all this guy needed was a parrot on his shoulder to pass for an honest-to-God pirate.
I suddenly realized that Eye Patch was looking straight at me with a glittering, narrowed gaze.
Something in that look turned my stomach. Before I could figure out why, Eye Patch was stalking past my booth, headed for the bar near the center of the restaurant. Maybe he’d just had a long flight or a bad night at the slot machines.
Whatever his problem was, I couldn’t help feeling relieved to see him go.
A moment later the bell sounded again. I looked. Another single man, also not Mr. Foster. There sure were a lot of guys here tonight who weren’t my date. This one was ripped, solid muscle, wearing a tailored suit with no tie and the top few buttons loose. A strange combination, but he pulled it off well. Dark tousled hair, a great tan, light hazel eyes that searched the place uncertainly—and landed on me.
Then he headed for my booth.
Oh, God. As he got closer, I noticed several things at once. He was gorgeous—absolutely, completely, cover-of-a-dirty-magazine gorgeous. He was carrying a single red rose, like a man might bring to a date. And if I squinted, I could almost see a younger, dorkier, kind of adorable version of him under all those muscles.
One that looked a lot like Steven Foster’s photo.
He stopped at my table and said, “Hello. Are you Wynn Holcolm?”
For an instant I couldn’t speak at all. Finally, I stammered, “No. I mean, why? Um…yes.” Wow. I was really making a great first impression here.
“Well, I guess that settles it.” His crooked smile did things to my insides that no mere expression should. “I’m Foster,” he said. “Steven Foster. I believe we have a date?”
“You’re Steven Foster,” I said, wondering vaguely why he’d introduced himself like James Bond.
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Can I sit down?”
“Um.” This man was into chess and collecting yo-yos? Now that I was getting over the shock of his appearance, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that something was wrong here. Why would he post a photo that made him less attractive? On the whole, his dating profile almost seemed constructed to make sure no one actually dated him.
But he was here, so I might as well give it a chance. Even if he did make me feel underdressed, overwhelmed, and completely out of my league.
“Okay,” I said. “Sit down.”
“Thanks.” He slid into the booth across from me.
And proceeded not to say a word.
The way he stared at me, like I was some rare species he’d never encountered before, unnerved me. Had he never been on a date before? I cleared my throat and tried to think of a conversation starter to break the silence, but what came out was, “I’m Wynn.”
His smile erased the awkwardness. “You said that already. Sort of.”
“Did I?” Oh, God, I sounded like an idiot. Why did he have to look like that?
“Yes. Oh, I almost forgot.” He held the rose across the table. “This is for you.”
“Thank you.” I took it slowly, not knowing what to do with it. No one had ever given me a flower at a restaurant before—this was already the strangest date I’d been on.
Then he said, “Wow.”
He was staring at me again. “What?” I said. “Is there something on my face?”
“No, it’s just…” His brow furrowed. “Your pictures don’t do you justice. You’re…uh, really beautiful.”
Blood rushed to my face, and I hoped my blush wasn’t lighting up the room. “You sound surprised about that,” I said.
“Not so much surprised,” he said. “But I shouldn’t say the word I am.”
Lust was the word that rose to my mind, especially with the seductive note I imagined in his voice—but I absolutely wasn’t listening to it. At least he’d given me an opening to talk about what I really wanted to. “I could say the same about you,” I said. “Your picture, I mean. It’s…”
“Dorky?” He smirked. “Yeah, I know. It’s just that if I use a current picture, people get the wrong idea about me. I’m not looking for a hookup.”
“Oh.” Damn it, that made sense. I had to get it together, stop assuming this guy was lying about everything, and act like a normal person. Maybe a quick break from the walking, talking assault on my senses that was Steven Foster would help me calm down. “Um, Steven?” I said. “I have to use the ladies’ room. If the waitress shows up while I’m gone, maybe you could order me a drink?”
For a second he almost looked panicked, as if he thought I wouldn’t come back. Then he said, “Sure. What are you having?”
“Raspberry limeade.” I would’ve gotten something stronger, but I still had an early morning tomorrow.
If he was surprised I hadn’t ordered alcohol, he didn’t mention it. “I’ll do that.”
“Thank you,” I said as I climbed out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”
“I hope so.”
God, could he sound any more like liquid sex? I offered a stupid little wave, cringing at how dumb I must have looked, and hurried off toward the bathrooms past the bar. Hopefully I could manage to cool off before I went back, and maybe have an actual conversation with him.
Even if my body had other ideas.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...