by Leslie North
His Stubborn Lover
By Leslie North
The Slade Security Team Series
Book 1
Blurb
When your job is protecting people, the first rule is…never mix business with pleasure.
Keira Mantz has been given the job of a lifetime, and she refuses to fail. Trained as part of an elite security team, her first mission is to protect the Sheikh of Jawhara and his wife. What she thought would be a solo operation, though, is suddenly a two-person job. Her partner is none other than Brock Wells, the Viking-like team member who trained her. The last thing Keira wants is Brock stealing her thunder, but she’ll do whatever it takes to succeed—even if it means pretending to be in love.
When Brock finds Keira in a bar fight and offers her a place on the team, he knows she is the right choice. With her mile-long legs, fierce determination, and unwavering focus, he has no doubt she can hold her own. But with the threat to the Sheikh closer than they realized, Brock has no choice but to intervene. To give them the cover they need, they’ll have to act like they’re a couple. Although Brock told himself he’d never get close to another woman, the job always comes first.
When their ruse becomes a little too real, can Keira and Brock risk letting their guards down, or will admitting their feelings put others’ lives in danger?
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Table of Contents
His Stubborn Lover
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
READ AN EXCERPT FROM HIS SECRET CHILD (Slade Security Series Book 2)
Chapter 1
Brock Wells exited the bar, heading for his ’66 Mustang. The twang of a sad love song followed him out, and his head buzzed with the four beers he’d had. The team had just finished a training operation in South America and Slade had given everyone some much needed time off—meaning Brock had come home hoping to find some female company.
He’d hit a bar that was a ways off from his usual haunts, looking for a stranger with doe eyes and a body that could make him forget just about everything. Tonight, however, his batting average was about as good as the one of whoever wrote that love song.
Well, it was probably better this way. Slade had no rules against team members getting hooked up outside of the teams, but he also didn’t like sending anyone into the thick of things if they had attachments. That was where Brock liked to be—in the middle of the worst trouble. This meant that Brock liked his girls for one night only, and every girl in that bar had had the hungry look of a woman hunting a man.
It looked like it was going to be an early night with the UFC channel and a few more beers for him.
Glimpsing movement from the corner of his eye—three figures under the glare of the parking lot lights—Brock stopped, and everything else went into automatic assessment. Some habits never went away, and the ones from his days as a SEAL were deeply ingrained.
Two guys, one woman—and yeah, he wasn’t being paid by Slade for this one, but he also wasn’t wired to look away. He headed over, took up a spot that gave him the advantage, since it put him right behind the guy holding the knife, and boxed the trio against a battered pickup. He offered a friendly grin. “Looks like a party.”
The two guys—good ol' boys by the looks of the wife-beater shirts and sagging jeans, and none too smart to go by the eyes glazed by drink and drugs—glanced at each other. The guy without a knife nodded at the half-empty parking lot. “Get lost.”
Brock shrugged to loosen his shoulders. “Let the girl go and I won’t have to mess up this crappy spot with your even crappier blood. I’m only asking once.”
The girl had guts enough. She kept hold of one guy’s wrist—the guy with the knife—but she glanced at Mr. Mouthy and said, her voice low and firm, “Please, I changed my mind, Toad.”
“Toad?” Brock laughed. “Seriously, dude? That’s your handle? Okay, we’re done here.” He brought his hand down on the shoulder of the guy with the knife—hard enough for the guy to let out a grunt.
Brock spun him around, punched him once in his soft gut. Not smart, dude, to let yourself go like that. The guy doubled over, spilling out whiskey-soaked breath. Brock snapped the knife from the guy’s limp hand. It clattered to the asphalt. A jerk back and the guy lay flat on the ground, on his back. Brock kicked the knife away and glanced at Toad—Mr. Mouthy. “You want a go? Your choice.”
Before Toad could even bunch a fist, the girl hauled off, caught him in the throat with the flat of her hand, and drove a knee into his groin. The guy doubled over, and Brock gave a sympathetic wince. She kicked up at his jaw with a boot, and Toad crumpled like a wad of toilet paper.
Leaving the two guys on the ground, Brock grabbed the girl’s wrist. “Come on. Let’s go before these two even think about trying a round two, or call for their buddies to come kick our asses.”
He pulled her with him, sizing her up as he went. She had long, straight hair, hitting below her shoulders; looked brown, maybe dark brown in this light. He couldn’t judge the color of her eyes, but they were big, dominating a narrow face. Pretty, he’d guess. A little too skinny. A baggy shirt hung down over her hips, hiding anything she might have for breasts, too, but she had great legs—long and lean and encased in tight jeans. Plus boots made for kicking.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded and let go of his hand to go around and get into his convertible. He lifted an eyebrow at that—maybe this kind of gutsiness had gotten her in trouble to start with. She didn’t seem to mind jumping into a stranger’s car, but then he wouldn’t want to hang around either to see how Toad liked being kicked in the nuts.
He started up his car and headed for the highway. “Where do you live?” He asked, leaning over so she could hear him over the wind, which was a soft roar in his ears and a pressure on his cheeks.
She shook her head, captured her flying hair with a hand, and slanted him a look. “No one’s ever done that before. No one’s ever helped me out.”
Brock grinned. “It’s kind of what I do.” He pulled out a card and slipped it to her. It had his name on it and the words, Slade Security. She ran her fingers over the card, and Brock’s throat tightened. She had great hands—long fingers, tapering, slim, and strong wrists. He liked the way she moved them, too, slow and certain. They reminded him, somehow, of white butterflies.
She looked at him again. “What kind of security?”
He shrugged. “Whatever anyone needs. Systems. Bodyguards. Surveillance. You name it. Slade, he’s my boss, runs a full service operation.”
She nodded, shifted so she faced him. “You military?”
“Used to be. Navy. I’m out now.” She nodded again and grabbed her flying hair, yanking it back into a pony tail. He put his eyes on the road. He was not going to think about taking her back to his hotel room. Well, okay, he was going to think about it; but he was also going to remember her kicking a guy in the balls. “What about you?” he asked. “Figure out an address where you want me to take you?”
She shook her head. “My cousins set me up to work for Toad. They didn’t tell me he wanted to have me selling drugs—and myself.”
“Ah,
” Brock said, and gave a nod. “That accounts for the parking lot disagreement. No folks?”
“Not that I want to see.” She faced the road, too. He could tell that from the way the car seat squeaked. “Don’t have anything else going for me, either.”
He glanced at her again. The light from the dash played over her face. She had brown eyes to match her hair; big eyes in a narrow, heart-shaped face. She’d also held up well in that parking lot, better than most would, and she’d known how to fight. That was a point in her favor. She also wasn’t shaking or crying now. He liked that. “Where’d you learn to punch like that?” he asked.
She grinned. “Streets. Where else?”
“The streets. Meaning you fight dirty. That’s cool. You want a job?” The words popped out, and Brock wanted to kick himself. That’s what happened after four beers—impulse took over and his mouth went on auto-pilot.
He hadn’t meant to get into this with her. He’d been taught to protect those around them. The weak. The misfortunate. The ones you loved. Those were the rare ones. He’d always had to watch out for the folks who needed someone. He’d always hated the idea of meeting his maker on foreign soil and having that tear someone up back home—and it had ended up costing him.
But Slade was looking to expand the teams with support staff. Slade had said he also wanted to get some females on board. There were some jobs that needed a woman to do things that a guy couldn’t, like follow a female suspect or a client into a bathroom. Slade wasn’t the kind of guy to put women in danger, but the truth was that females could be a great distraction. He glanced at the girl—yeah, he’d bet she’d clean up to be totally distracting.
She hadn’t said anything, and he wasn’t sure if that was because she hadn’t heard him or was thinking things over. He was about ready to write her off—and that was a relief—when she asked, “What’s the pay?”
He glanced at her. It was her call to dive into this, and Slade would make sure she stayed safe. She’d get training. She’d never go out without back up. That actually might be something this girl could use. If he left her on the streets, there’d be no telling what might become of her. He gave a nod. “Good. Really good.”
She stuck out her hand. “I’m Keira Mantz. I don’t use drugs and I don’t sell them. I’m not up for anything illegal and I have no intention of ever being anyone’s property!”
She had enough aggression in her tone that Brock shook his head. But he also grabbed her hand and shook it. She had a firm grip. “Well, don’t go all Amazon man-hater on me.”
“Why not?”
He glanced at her. Her mouth had twisted into a grimace, and he figured something had put her off men in general. Maybe Toad—or maybe just guys like him. Pity about that, but it’d be better for the job if she wasn’t there to snag a guy. “Okay, go ahead with that. I can’t guarantee anything, but I can take you to meet Slade. He’s got to make the final call on you working for him. You want to stop and pick up anything before we head out to meet up with him?”
She shook her head. “I’m more than ready to leave my old life behind. All of it.”
Brock put his eyes on the road. He knew about that. Sometimes life just got shitty enough that all you could do was leave the wreckage behind. He pulled out his cell phone to call Slade and set up a meet. The corner of his mouth twitched. Slade was going to love this girl—he just knew it. Brock snuck one more glance at her.
If she was coming on board with Slade’s team, that put her off limits. Totally. Pity about that, because Brock wouldn’t have minded seeing what she looked like under that big shirt of hers. But work came first. Always. That was one rule Brock was never breaking.
Chapter 2
Keira Mantz stepped off of the private plane, her nerves just about vibrating. This was the first time Slade was trusting her to run an operation. She’d had three months of training—weapons, hand-to-hand, covert ops—and three months of working with other teams in support roles.
She’d glimpsed Brock occasionally during all of that, but most of the time he’d been other places in the world. She’d learned fast that he was one of the best at Slade Security. She wanted to be that, too. This was her chance to prove herself.
The flight halfway around the world had been one of the most luxurious she’d ever taken—Slade Security flew their people in private jets, and Keira still wasn’t used to that kind of pampering. It made her nervous. Life had taught her you never got anything good without paying for it, so she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. What was this job going to cost her in skin? Well, only one way to find out. She’d just have to dive in and see if she was up for this kind of life.
Stepping off the plane’s steps and onto Jawharan soil, she tugged her jacket straight and glanced around.
Not an arid desert, she thought. The landscape she’d been expecting was nowhere to be found. Oh, sure there were distant mountains that looked dry, and she’d read up on Jawhara—it had deserts, but it also had oil, forests, beaches, and tax laws that invited the rich to make this a favorite watering hole. She could see the attraction.
She headed inside the airport to the limo waiting for her. Lush plants seemed to be everywhere—in pots, hanging from the rooflines and clinging to the walls of buildings, both outside and inside, or pushing up from the ground. She spotted date palms waving in the breeze that brushed over her skin. The air smelled of nearby ocean and carried a hint of spice and diesel exhaust from the jets.
The limousine driver waiting for her caught her eye. He looked ex-military, which she approved of—that meant the Sheikh was hiring good people. She gave a nod to the guy, and he moved to open the car door for her. She slipped into the car, pulled off her designer sunglasses, and admired the taste of the Sheikh of Jawhara.
She’d been through his profile five times. Kamal Mehalel El-Jawhara was one of the richest men in the world, and one of the most camera shy. He’d also fallen in love with an American girl, and planned to marry soon. That was good, since it meant he’d have a crown prince soon, maybe, but also not so good in that there was some anti-American sentiment in this part of the world.
Sheikh Kamal had to walk a fine line between keeping his ties to the west and keeping his country secure and his neighbors happy. It couldn’t be an easy job, and she could understand why the sheikh was a little overly concerned about security.
She’d been given a brief paragraph on the main players inside the palace, too, and so far it all looked good on paper. However, the kind of money that bought these luxuries—leather seats, a bottle of Dom sitting in an ice bucket, state of the art electronics that included satellite TV—had her rubbing her palm on her bare thigh.
Was she ever going to get used to this? The limo smelled of leather and new car—and it rode like a cloud, not a bump making its way to her. She’d be playing with the rich and powerful all right. She tried to settle.
She was supposed to be the epitome of a well-dressed, well-educated, society girl. She’d dressed the part, dripping designer everything, most of it Donna Karan, and she could act the part when needed. She’d been coached and had hung out with some models in New York. The trailer trash part of her only came out under the worst stress.
She thanked genetics for the high cheek bones, good skin, and long legs she’d been blessed with. The fashionable figure—model slim—had come from a childhood where there was never enough to eat. But she knew how to work her booty—something that came in very handy in securing the safety of the rich and pampered of the world, especially the men. None of them ever complained about having a beautiful woman attached to their sides. The women were a different story.
How was the woman she was here to protect—Erin Malone—going to react? Would she be one of those jealous bitches, or one of the wilting females, or even one of the spoilt ones who always liked to push boundaries?
Keira flipped back her hair and settled into her pose—wealthy socialite and Erin’s old friend, here to see how Erin was setting in
with Kamal Mehalel El-Jawhara, the reigning Sheikh.
She thought over the brief. Erin Malone was key to making this work. If the woman proved difficult, that could make the job all but impossible. But Erin’s background suggested someone smart—expensive education at Harvard, background working in New York before she’d gone international, and then a whirlwind romance. The girl was lucky, that was for sure. But not so lucky that bad things couldn’t happen to her.
The Sheikh’s fiancée had recently been kidnapped for political reasons. How traumatized had that left Erin? The sheikh’s brother, Khalil, was also recently married, and that worried Keira, too. Guys in love tended to go stupid. Two men in power, both of them still in that starry-eyed phase of a relationship, might be easy targets.
Shifting on the leather, Keira gazed out the darkened limo window. She’d always dreamed about traveling—about seeing the world. She’d never thought she’d be doing it as a security specialist. Her pulse quickened, but not in a bad way. This was going to be fun.
Jawharan was a tiny country that had never even made it onto most maps. Oil rich, Jawharan could be a target for terrorists or takeover. But the sheikh had been smart about making good allies; just about everyone—Russia, US, and China—wanted a stable government here to keep the oil flowing. It was those inside the country who could make the most trouble—the ones who wanted to replace the El-Jawhara family.
Watching the scenery pass—high rises and a nice stretch of beach—Keira thought the main city looked almost like any other western capital, except for the occasional veiled women on the street, or the men still wearing the traditional clothing of robes and the banded scarves on their heads. The writing was mostly in Arabic, but she glimpsed some signs in English. She also saw donkey carts hauling wood, fruits, and vegetables. Jawhara looked like an interesting mix of old and new.
Tapping one newly buffed fingernail, she thought about how she was supposed to meet up with PJ—a freelancer Slade used occasionally.
