DEAR BROODING BODYGUARD: A Curvy Girl Romance (SINCERELY YOURS Book 5) Read online

  DEAR BROODING BODYGUARD

  SINCERELY YOURS SERIES

  LANA DASH

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Also By Lana Dash

  About the Author

  DEAR BROODING BODYGUARD is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by LANA DASH

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author/publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  MARGOT

  It's been almost two months since my father informed me that Special Agent Buzzkill would be assigned to protect me. I still don't know the specifics of what happened that would make my father hire a bodyguard for me. When I asked him, he just waved his hand at me, like he was shooing away my question.

  “You don’t need to worry yourself with the specifics,” he said.

  "What about Lucy? Doesn't she need someone looking out for her too?"

  My older sister and perfect daughter in my father's eyes can do no wrong, and I'm sure she took this news easier than me.

  “Lucy has Beck to look after her.”

  Each word is like an arrow of jealously that is shot into my chest. How could I forget that Lucy has a husband to care and protect her, while the closest I ever got to something resembling that was a broken engagement that was splashed all over the society papers.

  “How long will he need to follow me?”

  My father’s expression hardened. “Until the threat is assessed and handled.”

  And with that, I was dismissed from his office to meet up with my new shadow waiting for me outside his office.

  There are things they don't you don't think about when you are suddenly under the protection of your own bodyguard. And Connor, a.k.a. Special Agent Buzzkill, gave me the rundown of rules that I had to follow in the cold, no-nonsense tone I've become accustomed to with him. It took some time to remember them all, but now the only thing I'm still not used to is having him always around. Almost two months since that first meeting, and he still finds ways to startle me.

  “Oh, for the love of—” I jump when I walk out of the kitchen in my apartment and nearly face plant into Connor’s hard chest. “Will you stop doing that!”

  “Doing what?”

  “Scaring me. Do I need to buy you a bell or something?”

  My brooding bodyguard doesn't answer or even react to my half-joking suggestion. He simply stares at me unblinkingly until I can't handle the silence, and I take a step to move around him.

  "If you're going out," he says behind me. "You know I need to call ahead to the location to let them know I will be there."

  “I told you that I was going to meet my friend Summer for pedicures this afternoon.”

  His narrowing glare tells me that this information may have slipped my mind, and I'm only now just telling him.

  “This is the first I’m hearing of this,” he says.

  “Well then,” I say with a shrug. “I’m telling you now.”

  Connor pulls out his phone from inside his breast pocket. “What is the name of this establishment?”

  I give him the information and sit down on the sofa. He’s not going to let me leave until he has everything in order. I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Lucy.

  ME: I’m not sure how much I can take of this situation.

  LUCY: It’s for your own protection.

  ME: Protection from what? Has Dad told you what this is all about?

  LUCY: No more than what he told you.

  LUCY: Hang in there. I’m sure this isn’t going to last much longer.

  ME: Thanks. How’s the morning sickness?

  LUCY: All. Day. Long.

  ME: Hang in there!

  “Are you ready?” Connor asks.

  I look up, and he's watching me. I stand up and grab my purse and my keys off the end table.

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me that you will be driving me to my appointment again?”

  “For your safety, we—”

  “Must follow the designated protocol,” I finish, having heard him tell me this a million times.

  “Are you ready?” he asks again, gesturing towards the door.

  I walk over and stand near Connor as he opens the door and steps out first into the hallway. I wait for him to give me the okay that I can come out, and we walk down the two flights of stairs to the door.

  Outside there is a black SUV already waiting in front of my apartment building. I can’t help but think about the money my father is spending on all this protection. What happened that would concern him this much?

  Connor opens the SUV’s door for me, and I step in and scoot across the seat. Connor gets in behind me and closes the door. The driver pulls out into traffic, and we all sit in silence. I stare out the dark, tinted windows and wonder for the thousandth time how much more of this I can take. I know it's not Connor's fault and that he's just doing his job, but it's so hard not to put all my frustration on him.

  If we met under different circumstances, things could have been a lot different. I'd be blind if I didn't notice sexy scruff on his square jaw or the way his shoulders and arms fill out his suit jacket.

  I glance over at his hand resting on the seat between us. My imagination has run wild over what he can do with those strong hands in the months that we've been in forced together in close proximity. I squeeze my thighs together to ease a bit of the ache building when I let my mind wander into what-if territory. Connor clears his throat as the SUV slows to a stop in front of the nail salon, and I quickly regain my composure.

  Summer is standing near the front door, typing away on her phone. She runs a successful lifestyle blog called Summer Says, and I’m sure something has just been sparked with a new idea, and she needs to get it down before she forgets it.

  Connor and I get out, and he leads us to the front door and inside. The young woman working behind the counter perks up when she sees Connor, and a spark of jealously flickers inside me. For once, I'm grateful for Connor's consummate professional behavior. He hardly notices the flutter of her eyelashes at him when she greets us.

  “I see Mr. Robot is still glued to your side,” Summer says as we sit down in the large pedicure seats near the back.

  I look to glance around to check how close Connor is and if he heard her, but he's standing near the salon's front windows.

  “No sign yet of me shaking him,” I tell her.

  “And your father still hasn’t explained why?”

  "Nope." I shake my head. "He acts like this is just normal, something normal that I have to deal with."

  “Does Lucy have one too?”

  "Not really. My father insists that Beck would never let anything happen to her."

  “If the threat is as serious as he says it is, you’d think he’d want her under the same protection.”
r />   "That's what I said, but he never did give me a straight answer. Apparently, in my father's old-fashioned eyes, all you need is a husband to protect you.”

  Summer doesn't say anything about my broken engagement, and I'm grateful to her.

  “How did Lucy meet her husband again? Didn’t you say they were pen pals or something?” she asks.

  I shake my head. "She wrote him a love letter and slipped it under her door. It was a letter meant to help her let go of her feeling for him, but it ended up leading them to fall in love. All four of them found love this way.”

  "Wait," Summer leans closer to me. "Are you telling me that this happened not only to her but to all her friends too?"

  “Pretty unbelievable, right?” I chuckle.

  "Yeah," Summer leans back in her seat. "I don't think anyone would believe it if it was written in the book." She’s quiet for a moment before she continues, “You should write a letter to Mr. Robot over there.”

  “What?” I ask, my voice squeaking louder than I’d planned on it. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because despite the list of reasons you may want to spout out about how what I’m saying is crazy, I’ve known you for a long time, and I see the way you look at him.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  She smiles knowingly and shrugs. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but the truth is, he is unlike any of the guys you are used to being around. He doesn’t fall all over himself when he’s around you. Your charm and beauty don’t leave him a bumbling fool. He's different, and that interests you.”

  “I can assure you that even if what you are saying was true—which it’s not—he’d never be interested in me.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

  I haven’t been able to lose the weight I put on after I was nearly left at the altar. I don’t feel confident in myself or my appearance anymore. I glance over at Connor, and his eyes meet mine. It’s as if he’s heard our entire conversation,

  and for a moment, I swear his gaze softens.

  2

  MARGOT

  Later that night, I can’t sleep. All I do is toss and turn, but my mind won’t slow down enough to let me rest. I can’t stop thinking about what Summer said about my feelings for Connor. Is it possible that she’s not far off in her predictions of how I feel?

  The rest of the day after our pedicure appointment, I was hyper-aware of Connor's closeness next to me—in the backseat of the SUV, the store, around the apartment. It’s like his body was suddenly emitting some energy off him that I couldn’t feel before, but it was all I could feel now.

  I toss off the covers and get out of bed. I need something to help my mind to slow down so I can sleep. I pad softly into the kitchen and check the fridge for some milk, but I'm all out. There is an open bottle of chardonnay that will have to be good enough. I grab a mug off the drying rack on the counter and head out into the living room.

  I grab the remote off the coffee table and settle on the sofa. I pour most of the bottle into the mug and take a long sip. I flip mindlessly through the stations, stopping a few times on infomercials about some indestructible cooking pan, but then move on to a romance movie I've seen a hundred times. The Regency romance shows the heroine of the story writing a letter to her love interest, and it makes me think of Summer suggesting I write Connor a letter.

  I sip until my mug of wine is empty and fill it up again with the rest of the bottle. I can already feel the effects of the alcohol in my body as I watch the movie. It seems as if the letter isn't going to get to the hero in time, but it does at the last minute. He realizes that she returns the feelings he has for her, and he literally runs to find her.

  "Lucky bitch," I hiccup as he finds her and sweeps her up in his arms, and gives her a kiss that I feel in my toes.

  I both love and hate watching the happily ever afters in romance movies. On the one hand, it makes my heart race at the thought that there are people out there that actually do find their one true love in this world. On the other hand, it makes my heart break because what are the chances that I will find that one person out there for me.

  Connor’s face pops up in my mind. I like the way that he doesn’t take the bullshit I throw at him. He challenges me in ways I’ve never experienced before. And he’s so freaking gorgeous I swear my ovaries drop an egg when he’s around because I want to have his babies.

  I down the rest of the wine in the mug. You should write a letter to Mr. Robot. Summer’s words echo in my head, and suddenly it doesn't seem like the craziest idea I've ever heard. Writing a love letter seems to work in the movies, and writing a love letter in real life works too. Lucy and Beck are a testament to that fact.

  I decide at that moment to throw caution into the wind. If my sister and Elosie Figgybottom, or whatever the movie’s main character’s name was, can find love with a letter, then so can I or at least get some of the closure I need to let go.

  I wander around the apartment looking for something I use to write this letter but can't find anything besides a few sticky pads and some pens that long since dried out. Since when did the art of actual letter writing die? It takes a few more laps around the apartment, looking in every nook and cranny, finding a light purple legal pad, a pen advertising for my dentist, and a return envelope for the bill sent to me by the power company. It’s not classy, but in my drunken mind, it will work just as well.

  I sit down at my dining room table and close my eyes to figure out how I want to start this letter and help stop the room from spinning. The words come to me quicker than I could have hoped. It’s like once I pushed aside the frustration of the situation that brought us together, my feelings for Connor seemed to materialize into a much clearer vision for me.

  I write out what I’m feeling, but I decide to keep it short. There is no need to make this a long-winded letter if it turns out that my brooding bodyguard doesn't return my feelings, and I manage to make an already awkward situation even more uncomfortable. I doubt I’ll even have the guts to give it to him in the morning when he comes back. Chances are the confidence level I’m feeling right now has increased because of the half bottle of chardonnay working its way through my bloodstream.

  3

  CONNOR

  “Is there any news on the situation involving my daughter?” Margot’s father asks by way of greeting when I pick up my phone.

  I just pulled to a stop outside her apartment.

  “We’ve talked with local authorities, but we still don’t have a name for the person that sent the threatening emails to Margot.”

  There’s a deep sigh on the other end of the line. “I don’t like this at all. Why is it so hard to find one man?”

  “Our tech team is working to track the sender. They will let me know as soon as they know anything, and I will contact you.”

  “What about the pictures he sent?”

  I clench my fist and try to maintain my composure. I hate the idea that under my protection, this stalker still managed to get photos of Margot with me and send them as a way of trying to tell me that he's not afraid that I'm here.

  But since Margot doesn't know the specifics of why I was hired to watch over her, she has insisted on maintaining as much of her everyday life as possible, and that means she is still visible to this threat.

  I don't like the idea of not telling Margot the whole truth, but her father insisted. He didn't want to frighten her. And even though my job is ensuring the protectee's security at all costs, I can understand his concern to tell her. In the time that I've spent with Margot, I've seen that she likes to put on a brave face to the world, but deep down, she has a sensitive side that very few get to see.

  “Sir, I can assure you that we are doing everything in our power to end this for you and your daughter.”

  “I know.” He sighs again. “I wouldn’t have hired you weren’t the very best to handle this situation.”

  I worked hard to garner the reputation that I have as a professional, but there are many things about
this assignment that have tested me—all things Margot being the number one reason.

  She is strong-willed, with a bit of a temper, and—I hate to admit this last part, even if only to myself—she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. It's hard not to notice her beauty, the way the setting sun catches the golden color in her hair, the way she bites her bottom lip when she's nervous, and her soft curves that leave me rock hard. But I can’t focus on that, not if it means that it distracts me in even the tiniest way to protect her.

  “There is another reason I called,” he continues. “There is an event her mother is throwing, and Margot will need to attend with a date. And since at this moment, you are the only person I trust to be close to my daughter all evening, you will also need to attend. Will this be a problem?”

  I sit up, my heart rate picking up at the idea of having Margot on my arm for an evening, even if it's only for show.

  "No, sir.” I clear my throat. “That won’t be a problem.”

  There is silence on the other line, and I worry that I might have sounded too eager.

  “Alright then. I will have her mother let her know the plan. And my secretary will make the necessary arrangements to get you a tuxedo for the evening.”

  “No need, sir. I have one of my own.”

  “Very well then.”

  We finish up the call and hang up. I’m about to open the car door when I notice a man with a hooded sweatshirt with a slight limp walking across the street in the direction of Margot's building. I get an uneasy feeling in my gut. I glance down at the temperature on my phone, and it reads eighty-six degrees. It's too warm to be wearing a sweatshirt in this weather. The man lifts the hood over his head as he gets closer to the building. I'm out of the car before he can take another step.