The Trouble With Coco Monroe

by CC MacKenzie

  The Trouble With Coco Monroe

  By CC MacKenzie

  Think The Bodyguard meets Gossip Girl

  Coco Monroe is the apple of her Billionaire father's eye. But it's a love that comes with conditions. Desperate, Coco makes a bid for freedom. Head of Global Operations & Security for Monroe Industries, Rafael Cavendish lost Coco once. When her life is in danger from the Russian Mafia he has no problem taking matters into his own hands. But Coco's had enough of controlling men. Lord Rafael Cavendish needs to be taught a salutary lesson and she's just the Monroe to do it.

  ‘Sometimes, being the only daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the country seriously sucked.’

  The Trouble With Coco Monroe - Copyright

  Copyright © C C MacKenzie 2013

  Published by More Press at Smashwords

  ISBN: 9781909331051

  The right of C C MacKenzie to be

  identified as the author of this

  work has been asserted by her

  under the Copyright Amendment

  (Morals Rights) Act 2000.

  This work is copyright.

  Apart from any use as permitted under

  the Copyright Act 1968, no part

  may be reproduced, copied, scanned,

  stored in a retrieval system,

  recorded or transmitted,

  in any form or by any means,

  without the prior permission

  of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places and

  incidents are either a product of

  the author’s imagination or are

  used fictitiously. Any

  resemblance to actual people

  living or dead, events or locales is

  entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Gabrielle Prendergast

  Acknowledgment

  I would like to thank the amazing author of ‘Commando Dad’, Neil Sinclair, who very kindly gave me permission to use his best selling book in 'The Trouble With Coco Monroe'. Neil and Rafael have an incredibly similar military background. It must have been karma! Here’s the link to ‘Commando Dad’: amazon.com and for the UK amazon UK

  About the Author

  C C MacKenzie is a wife, and mother of three, based in South Cheshire, U.K.

  Since childhood, she dreamt of writing stories that readers would love, but put those dreams on hold to focus on her family and her careers in finance, fitness, interior design and construction.

  'Reckless Nights in Rome' is her first novel in The Ludlow Hall series, followed by book two 'A Stormy Spring' in July 2012, and book three 'Run Rosie Run' published in December 2012. 'The Trouble With Coco Monroe' the fourth in the series was released at the end of May 2013 and 'A Film Star, A Baby, And A Proposal' in December 2013.

  'Big Trouble in China' released in September 2012 is her first paranormal novella of The Vampyre Legal Chronicles series. Book two, 'Dirty Little Secrets' was released in January 2013.

  C C MacKenzie is currently finishing three more contemporary romances due for release in 2014.

  Email CC as she loves to hear from her Readers at: ccmackenzie@ccmackenzie.com or contact her through her website http://ccmackenzie.com/ , Facebook http://www.facebook.com/CCMzie or Twitter @CCMacKenzie1

  Other Books by CC MacKenzie

  Ludlow Hall Romances

  Reckless Nights in Rome

  Book One: Bronte and Nico

  A Stormy Spring

  Book Two: Becca and Lucas

  Run Rosie Run

  Book Three: Rosie and Alexander

  The Trouble with Coco Monroe

  Book Four: Coco and Rafael

  The Vampyre Chronicles Series

  Big Trouble in China - Book 1: Marcus

  Dirty Little Secrets - Book 2: James

  Prologue - The Trouble With Coco Monroe

  Six months earlier

  The beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor rang too loud in Rafael’s brain.

  It was three a.m. He’d already dumped his suit jacket, his tie, slipped open the top two buttons of his white cotton shirt, and rolled up the sleeves. He didn’t notice the spatter of blood, her blood, on his cuffs. Not once did his eyes leave the woman lying on the bed covered with a simple sheet of crisp cotton. Her inky hair was tied back from a face so fabulous it could start a world war. Helen of Troy had nothing on the ethereal, dark haired beauty of Coco Monroe. Although he knew she regarded her looks as a curse rather than a blessing. Eyes the colour of glittering tanzanite were sleeping under fragile lids edged with turbo-charged lashes the colour of soot. Those full lips looked too dry. The tube inserted down her throat was taped to her cheek.

  All he could think was she looked too frail, too vulnerable, weak. And that was all wrong. Coco Monroe took on the world. She spat in the face of adversity, backed down from nothing and no one. Especially him and her father, the two people who loved her more than life. Yeah, he could admit he loved her now. Sitting here alone in the dark, with just his thoughts and the terror in his heart for company while she fought for her life.

  He’d failed. Failed to protect her, failed to realise what was really underneath the constant sparring and snarling they’d given into for too many years. They just couldn’t seem to help but rub each other up the wrong way.

  He’d fought in Afghanistan, Iraq. He’d seen the worst a human being could do to another and he’d seen the best, too. But he’d never seen so many wires attached to a person or so many tubes inserted into veins. Machines were breathing for her, an obscene hiss and exhale as her chest rose and fell in a robotic rhythm that drove him fucking crazy.

  And all because one man, crazed and insane because he’d stopped taking his medication, had slipped under their radar and attacked her with a fucking bread knife in full view of the public, the paparazzi and worse, the digital television media. Apparently, the attack had already been downloaded over one million times on YouTube. Sick bastards. His eyes stung as he recalled the moment the boy, no more than twenty, had fisted her hair, yanked back her head and slid the knife between her ribs. All the while snarling, “You’re mine, mine, mine, baby.”

  He shut his eyes tight refusing to go over, again, the next god-awful hours as she lay on a wet sidewalk, the metallic scent of her blood running into the gutter. The wail of the ambulance as the paramedics fought to save her. Then the chaos and panic in the emergency room, the rush to theatre and now the hellish waiting in the intensive care unit.

  Rafael scrubbed his cheeks, the two-day-old scruff, and knew he desperately needed a shower. But he couldn’t bear to leave her.

  The hiss of the door opening had him turn to find Charles Monroe looking as bad as he felt. The man looked as if he’d aged ten years. He jerked his head in a ‘come here’ gesture and left the room.

  Rafe took a last look at Coco before he joined him outside.

  A nurse hurried past him into the room to check the readings, take Coco’s temperature.

  “You need to go home, son. Get some shuteye,” Coco’s father said in a low voice.

  Rafe shook his head. “I won’t leave her here alone.”

  “She won’t be alone. Louise has devised a shift plan for herself, Ethan, you and me.”

  Rafe nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll take the night shift.”

  Charles simply stared hard at him, narrowed his eyes, nodded.

  “And you can stop blaming yourself. None of us could have predicted this. The boy committed suicide tonight. Hung himself.”

  Now Rafe shut his eyes.

  Christ, it just got better and better. Poor bastard. The press were going to be baying for blood over this disaster. Somebody, som
ewhere in the system had cocked up spectacularly. What a damn waste of a life.

  Charles continued, “The medics reckon she’s over the worst. As long as there’s no sign of infection, she’ll make a full recovery.”

  Rafe nodded. “It’s going to be a long haul back to full health.”

  “I know.” Then Coco’s father’s eyes went dark and his mouth narrowed in a determined line. “From now on she’ll start doing as she’s damned well told. I lost her mother and I won’t lose my daughter. Not like this. I mean it, Rafe. I don’t care what you have to do but as of now I want all her activities curtailed. The party is over.”

  He’d known this was coming. As head of operations and security for Monroe Industries, Rafe knew that Charles Monroe spoke out of fear and deep love for his daughter. He’d been bound to over-react and come down hard on her. It was just that Rafe didn’t think that was the best plan. Coco would dig her heels in and fight. And he’d be stuck right in the middle.

  “She’s twenty-eight and already tugging hard at the leash. Don’t you think it might be an idea to give her time to get better? All you’ll do is push her even further away.”

  Coco’s father lifted his chin; his blue eyes went like ice.

  “She’ll do exactly as she’s told.”

  “She’ll fight, Charles.”

  “Yes. But I will win.”

  Chapter One

  Coco Monroe didn’t do romance, she didn’t do babies and she sure as hell didn’t do weddings.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t do love or was jaded. She loved her family, her friends. She was a caring, sharing sort of a person. But she didn’t do weddings. And if it wasn’t for the fact that Rosie Gordon was one of her closest friends she wouldn’t be doing this one either.

  In theory, she had absolutely nothing against procreation or the institution of marriage.

  And as far as mini human beings were concerned she could take them or leave them.

  Unlike most women she didn’t bill and coo over her friend’s spawn.

  Nope.

  Now dogs, well, dogs were a completely different thing.

  She loved the couple of mutts that shared her life with her whole heart.

  Why did other people, people who should mind their own damn business by the way, believe she was missing out?

  As soon as her brothers knew she was attending Rosie’s wedding to Alexander Ludlow the winks and nudges had started. Along with the sly comments about her, ‘Carrying on the family line.’

  Why should she be the one to carry on the family line?

  After all she was the baby of the Monroe clan.

  Why couldn’t Ethan, Wallace and Bruce step-up and be men?

  They were the ones with penises.

  It was bad enough listening to her father’s relentless mutters to set her up with a, ‘Good man.’

  No. Thank. You.

  She had a career, a life to lead, things to do and that didn’t include a husband or children.

  According to the latest government demographics, seventy per cent of women aged twenty-eight were single, career oriented and in no hurry to have babies or settle down.

  Right on, sistas.

  The tiny family chapel in the grounds of Ludlow Hall with its clipped lawns and rose covered arches dated back to the seventeenth century. It had witnessed many births, marriages and deaths of the Ludlow family. And was absolutely charming.

  Inside, the chapel’s slightly shabby condition gave it a certain steadfast grandeur. The vibe wasn’t exactly eerie but it was as if the ghosts who dwelt there ran soft fingers of welcome across Coco’s cheek, down her bare arms.

  She shivered.

  “You okay?” Louise muttered.

  “This place is so atmospheric.”

  “I know. But it’s a friendly sort of creepy. There’s a lotta love being felt here today.”

  Coco grinned. “You’re a big softie when it comes to weddings.”

  “I’m a big softie when it comes to Rosie Gordon. She doesn’t hang around does she? It must be shortest engagement in living memory.”

  “Alexander was the one in a hurry,” Coco whispered.

  “It took him long enough to see the light,” Louise muttered.

  “You may now kiss the bride,” instructed the minister.

  Alexander didn’t need to be told twice.

  The congregation laughed at the bride’s surprised yelp as the groom bent her over his arm and kissed her senseless.

  Then an organist with two chins, and working on a third, beamed as he played the wedding march with gusto.

  “They look insanely happy.” Louise whispered in Coco’s ear.

  She was right.

  Alexander and Rosemary Ludlow held hands as they strolled down the aisle.

  Coco had to admit the bride’s cropped hair had come as a surprise but her friend suited the style.

  The wedding dress, a dreamy concoction of ivory silk and tulle, came all the way from a fabulous designer in Rome. It was off the shoulder and showcased a slim but curvy body.

  Rosie’s dark brown eyes were suspiciously bright even as she grinned at the guests.

  Those bright eyes went huge with wicked glee when she spotted Coco and Louise. Rosie was well versed in Coco’s views on divine happiness.

  Behind the happy couple came the wedding party of Rosie’s parents, Alexander’s sister Bronte Ferranti, her husband Nico and their twins.

  “Aww, look at the babies, isn’t little Sophia just gorgeous?” Louise cooed in a way that had Coco battle not to roll her eyes.

  In spite of herself, she had to agree the kid looked cute.

  Jeez, what the hell was going on with her friends?

  They were dropping like flies into wedded bliss and babies.

  However, Coco had to admit marriage and motherhood certainly agreed with Bronte.

  She worked the pencil slim look in a knee length dress in emerald silk. Along with a matching fascinator on her shiny blonde head.

  Yep, Bronte Ferranti was one hot mama.

  And the way the big Italian Nico Ferranti was looking at his wife, no wonder she was happy. Who wouldn’t be happy with a gorgeous male specimen like that drooling all over her.

  Envy was a useless emotion, but Coco couldn’t help the little dart to the heart.

  The bitter truth was that with her emotional baggage there wasn’t a man on the planet who would take her on. He’d need balls of steel to stand up to her father.

  She gave herself a mental shake - remember, no negativity.

  Positive thoughts were the rule of the day.

  And today was a happy day.

  She’d have fun even if it killed her.

  And talking of fun...

  “I told you we’d arrive in plenty of time.” Coco sent Louise a slitty-eyed-butter-wouldn’t-melt look.

  Her best friend slid the look right back. “You’re fortunate no police were lurking,” she retorted, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “You’ve two speeds, stop and bat-out-of-hell. It was sheer luck you didn’t ding either the Bentley or the Ferrari the way you shoe-horned your car into that space.”

  Wearing a sheath the colour of fresh straw, Louise was a skinny blonde with legs up to her armpits and today looked as if she’d stepped right out of the pages of a glossy magazine. Her heart-shaped face with deep green eyes, porcelain skin, had a wide mouth and a no nonsense chin.

  It was bad of Coco, but she couldn’t resist digging Ms. Cranky Pants with a pointy stick.

  “Can’t wait to paaaartaay,” she sang, and did a little shoulder shimmy.

  Sure enough determined green eyes flashed into hers.

  “You’re not well enough to party. I’m driving back and if I see you looking pale and interesting I’ll set Bronte on you. She doesn’t take crap from anyone, even you.”

  Now Coco gave her big eyes.

  “I’m feeling fine, mummy. No shortness of breath. No pain. I’m good to go.”

  “Big words, Mon
roe. Don’t forget I was there when the doctor told you to take it easy. A punctured lung is not an ingrown toenail.”

  Coco conceded she had a point, but the first real freedom she’d had in months to just drive without being shadowed by bodyguards had gone to her head.

  She grinned, remembering Louise’s wail as the hot red Audi Spyder had whipped through the gates of Ludlow Hall.

  About to respond Coco stopped dead, went stiff.

  The hairs on the back of her neck tingled. It was as if a gentle fingertip whispered down the sensitive skin.

  She knew that tingle.

  And that tingle made her scowl.

  Louise blinked. “What’s up?”

  “Trouble,” Coco said with a throaty growl.

  Very slowly she turned around.

  And sure enough right at the back of the Chapel was one Lord of the Realm and all around pain-in-the-ass, Rafael Cavendish.

  Their eyes met.

  His dark gaze struck her like a blow.

  Since she’d felt that impact many times before it never failed to annoy.

  And boy, the way that gaze seared her ovaries, it more than annoyed her now.

  His morning dress suit in pale grey was bespoke and hugged shoulders that might have belonged to a linebacker. The crisp cotton shirt was so white against a healthy glowing skin it hurt the eye. He wore the suit like the armour of a warrior of old.

  And he was a warrior, she reminded herself.

  Since Rafe had left the military two years ago, he’d run operations and security for Monroe Industries. Slipping right into the trusted position of her father’s right-hand man. Mr. Trouble Shooter himself.