The Bodyguard
A Playing Dirty Romantic Comedy
Pamela DuMond
Pamela DuMond Media
For
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Hardworking authors who write their own books.
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Thanks for making all the magic.
FREE Sexy Royal Rom-Com Teaser for you!
Dear Reader:
Come closer my Darlings, and let me tempt you with a FREE, sexy, royal romantic comedy.
His Sexy Cinderella - A Crown Affair Series Prologue is the prologue to THE CROWN AFFAIR — a steamy royal romantic comedy series about Vivian, a down on her luck cocktail waitress, who gets caught up in a love triangle between two hot princes. (NOT menage!)
Who will win Vivian’s heart? Prince Max — the spare? Or Prince Leo — the heir?
PRAISE
"Deceit, suspense, jealously, heartbreak, love, angst—it was like reading a contemporary version of The Crown. I could not put this book down." April Symes
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"I absolutely love Vivian and Max." Amy Stephens
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"...story is most certainly ramped up... thanks to the introduction of the very dirty mind of a very hot ginger prince." Rae Sonethyn
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"...heart all mushing, sexy and delightfully entertaining romantic comedy." A. Reviewer
DESCRIPTION
I, Maximillian Rochartè, am Prince of Bellèno, and I do the Crown’s dirty work.
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The monarchy borrowed millions from oligarchs and the loans are coming due. I unearthed a billionaire who will fork over a fortune in exchange for marrying his daughter, Lady Cici, to my brother the Crown Prince. But Cici has to delay and time’s running out.
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I hire Vivian – an out of work cocktail waitress, as well as Cici’s look-alike – to impersonate her for 10 days tops. I teach her how to dress like a royal, talk like a royal, impersonate a royal.
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Vivian’s so pretty, feisty, funny, smart. I haven’t had this much fun with a woman in years and I'm dying to get her in the sack.
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I, Maximillian Rochartè, am Prince of Bellèno. I can’t fall in love with an American commoner – or can I?
One click and read His Sexy Cinderella - A Crown Affair Series Prologue now!
I’m ramping up my Instagram page at Pamela DuMond Author. I’d love it it you followed me. Do join my private reader group at Pamela DuMond’s Dirty Darlings.
Xo
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Pamela DuMond
#Iwritemyownbooks
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The Crown Affair Romantic Comedy series © 2018 is the sexier, steamier, more explicit re-imagining of Royally Wed Rom-Coms © 2014 - 2016. Both series are written and published by Pamela DuMond.
Also by Pamela DuMond
HOT ROMANCE
21st CENTURY COURTESAN series
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PLAYER #1
MOVIE STAR #2
BELOVED #3
HUSBAND #4 - Coming soon
THE CROWN AFFAIR series
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His Sexy Cinderella - A Crown Affair Prologue - FREE
The Prince’s Playbook #1
His Majesty’s Measure #2
The American Princess #3
The Duchess’s Decision #4
PLAYING DIRTY ROM-COM Stand Alones
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The Client
The Matchmaker
The Bodyguard
SWEETER ROMANCE
ROYALLY WED ROM-COM series
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Part-time Princess #1 —Optioned for Film/TV. Licensed as a CHAPTERS Interactive Stories Game.
Royally Wed #2
Part-time Poser #3
Royally Knocked Up #4
PLAYING SWEETER ROM-COM Stand Alones
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Ms. Match Meets a Millionaire
The Story of You and Me
HISTORICAL FANTASY
MORTAL BELOVED TIME TRAVEL series
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The Messenger #1
The Assassin #2
The Seeker #3
The Believer #4: Jack & Clara — STAND ALONE
COZY MYSTERIES
ANNIE GRACELAND COZY MYSTERIES
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Cupcakes, Lies, and Dead Guys #1
Cupcakes, Sales, and Cocktails
Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys
Cupcakes, Paws, and Bad Santa Claus
Cupcakes, Diaries, and Rotten Inquiries
Cupcakes, Bats, and Scaredy Cats
Cupcakes, Bars, and Rock Stars
Cupcakes, Spies, and Despicable Guys - Also available to play as a Chapters Interactive Stories Game .
Cupcakes, Screams, and Drama Queens - Coming soon
NON-FICTION
Staying Young: Simple Techniques to Look and Feel Young
About The Bodyguard
DESCRIPTION
A Second Chances romance with humor, steam, and all the feels.
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Maia the Midwesterner cute meets Max the So-Cal University Hot Guy on her first night in the City of Angels.
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Maia’s got a secret – she’s trying to save a life.
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Max has a secret – he’s atoning for the one he damaged.
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Maia makes Max laugh.
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Max shelters Maia.
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Hearts crack open. Magic happens...
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Maybe they should have revealed their secrets earlier…
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A Story of Hope. A Story of Love. A Story of Redemption.
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THE BODYGUARD: A Playing Dirty Romantic Comedy © 2020 is the steamier, more explicit, updated, and freshly edited version of The Story of You and Me © 2013. The Bodyguard contains newly written content. Both books are written by Pamela DuMond.
The Bodyguard: A Playing Dirty Novel Copyright © 2020 Pamela DuMond ~ All rights reserved.
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New Content added. Freshly Edited. Contains material Originally published as The Story of You and Me Copyright © 2013 Pamela DuMond ~ All rights reserved. Both books written by Pamela DuMond
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The above book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Please don’t upload this book to pirate sites or repurpose it in any other fashion. No parts of these books may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any other means, without written permission of the author, except in the use of brief quotations used in articles or reviews. You can contact the author at www.pameladumond.com .
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Photo: Adobe Stock
Cover Design by Glammypammy
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Published by Pamela DuMond Media
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If you enjoy a book and want your friends to read it for free — ask your local LIBRARY to purchase digital and/or print copies. Win-win for everyone!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 1
7
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Excerpt of 21st Century Courtesan
Excerpt of The Client
Books by Pamela DuMond
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
“Screw you, Max!” A drunk guy slurs and hurls a beer bottle.
It whistles past my ear and smashes into the wooden bench behind my head, showering me in shards of glass. I drop my phone and duck as a second bottle flies over and explodes on the booth behind me.
“Thanks for asking, but you’re not my type,” a man says. “Give me your keys.”
Slivers of pain pop on my face and head. I mop back my beer-drenched hair plastered onto my cheek and glance down. Now my fingers are speckled in blood.
“I said I ams fines for the drivings,” the drunk slurs.
I wasn’t all that thrilled about leaving my family, friends, and moving to L.A. for a few months. I certainly didn’t travel to L.A. to land in the middle of a bar fight. I could do that back in Wisconsin. Even an average Wisconsin chick can throw a punch.
A twenty-something waitress hustles toward me through the flip-flop and T-shirt attired busy college-aged crowd in the cozy bar and grill. “You okay, honey? Oh, crap, you are not.” She swivels and eyes the drunk guy a few tables over. “Thomas Taylor, you’re not coming back in here until you clean your frat boy ass up. Get him out of here, Max. Now.”
“You’re not driving, dude,” the guy says. “You can thank me in the morning.”
The pretty waitress squints at me through black-rimmed glasses. “Honey, you don’t look all that good.”
“I’m fine. Just a small cut.”
“That’s more than just one cut. You need to go to the ER.”
“No. No.” I say. “I hate hospitals.”
“I don’t care,” she says. “Besides it’s close. Only a few blocks away.”
“Okay. I’ll walk. Or better—” I lean down and pick my phone off the beer drenched ground. The screen is shattered. I tap it. Nothing. I sigh. “I’ll clean it all up when I get home.”
If I can find my way back there.
It had taken the whole day to travel from Oconomowoc, Wisconsin to L.A. I picked up the keys at the realtor’s office to my summer session sublet that was close to the UCLA campus. I asked the assistant where I could score a decent meal without breaking the bank. I dropped off my bags and texted my mom to let her know I’d arrived safely. I bumped into to my new neighbor on the way out.
“Name’s Cole.” He clutched his scrap of a dog. “This is Gidget.”
“Maia.” I wiggled a few fingers at the pooch. “Your dog’s adorable.
Gidget growled in a soprano.
“Sorry,” I said pulling my hand back. “Animals usually like me.”
“Oh, she does. She only growls at strangers she wants to befriend.” Cole scratched her ears. “Everyone else she ignores.”
Funny that description sounded a bit like me.
By the time I’d walked to the Westwood Grill the sun was setting. Based on the realtor’s description, I’d expected a quiet night with a good book and a decent meal. I didn’t expect to be soaked in beer with glass shards embedded in my head and face.
Now, I pinch my fingers together and attempt to pull one out but feel dizzy and sway.
“Oh…” the waitress reaches for me.
But someone else with bigger and stronger arms grasps my shoulders from behind.
“You okay?” the guy asks.
“I’m fine.” A hint of blood seeps into my mouth, I taste the copper, my knees buckle.
He catches me. One arm circles my waist, the other crosses my chest. “Because everyone’s who’s ‘fine’ collapses,” he says.
Way to go, Maia. An auspicious start to my most excellent adventure in the City of Angels. A complete stranger with built forearms and tan muscular hands is holding me up.
“Thanks. You can let me go now.”
“No. You need to sit down,” he says, his breath warm on my neck. “Pull out a chair, please, Chey. This booth is soaked.”
The chair scrapes as the waitress pulls it away from a four top. “You didn’t let Thomas drive?” she asks. “I don’t want that frat brat in this bar, but I don’t want him dead, either.”
“The bartender locked him in the storage room,” the guy says.
“Hello?” I tap my finger on his hand firmly planted between my boobs. “You all are talking about stuff like I’m not here?”
“Oh, I definitely know you’re here, Bonita. But I’m not thrilled that you’re bleeding all over my favorite Rolling Stones T-shirt.”
The Stones? A grandpa has his hand between my boobs? “Sorry, sir. You can let me go. Now.”
“Sir?” He lifts me up six inches off the ground like I’m a stuffed animal, or a cat. He walks a feet to the table and deposits me gently on the chair. “Sir’s a word people use for someone’s uncle, or a disheveled man on the street who hits you up for change. I’m not old enough to be called ‘Sir,’ and I’ll guarantee I’m not your uncle.’”
He releases his grip on my waist and shifts one large, firm hand to my shoulder. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Hold still. You’ve got a piece of glass sneaking down the front of your dress. I’m going to save you from another cut. Thank me later.” His fingers inch down under my sundress’s neckline, brushing my skin, heading toward my bra.
The skin on the back of my neck grows goosebumps and I hold my breath.
“Breathe. I almost have it.”
Some old guy in a Stones T-shirt is practically feeling me up and I’m not sure how this could get more embarrassing. Right. The flip-flop college age diners are pointing phones in my direction.
“Got it.” His hand slips out of the top of my dress and flicks a piece of glass away.
A round of applause and a few wolf whistles erupt from the crowd. “Chalk up another save for Max, the best driver on the Westside.” a guy at a nearby table says.
“Dude, she’s bleeding all over your T-shirt and you haven’t punched her. When I spilled my margarita on your Sticky Fingers T-shirt you punched me,” another man comments.
“I punched you after you took three swings at me when you were hammered at the Memorial Day picnic,” Max says.
“Hey, sexy driver,” A tan blonde girl seated at a nearby high top surrounded by her look alike friends bats her eyes and pretends to swoon. “If I fall, Max — will you catch me, too?”
The waitress snaps her fingers. “Show’s over. Get back to it.”
My face is burning. “I need to pay my tab. Where’s my purse?”
“Your burger’s on Thomas’s tab,” Max says. “Along with a new phone. And your visit to the ER.”
“I’m not going to the ER.” I’m wiped. I’m done. I’m calling it a day. I have an appointment with a pair of tweezers and rubbing alcohol back at my new apartment. If I can remember where that is. “Thanks for your help, Max.”
Grandpa.
I stand up. “You can take your hand off my shoulder.”
He does. “Let the record stand that I do so reluctantly.”
“Sorry for ruining your shirt.” I pluck at my dress’s neckline, shaking off more splinters. “Why don’t you give me your email? I’d like to send you a little something.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” he says. “Why don’t you give me your name and number?”
“Name’s Maia.” Maybe my mom was right. Maybe coming to L.A. wasn’t the smartest move in the world. “You’re a nice guy and all but I keep the other stuff private.” I turn toward him, my gaze travels up six inches and I’m suddenly looking into the most stunning pair of hazel eyes.
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