by Olivia Arran
“The Natasha Silk, can you believe it?” Greg piped up, his fingers pounding his laptop, as per usual, despite being in a bar surrounded by people enjoying their weekend. “Here,” he said, his voice triumphant as he spun the screen around to face us.
I peeled my tongue off the roof of my mouth. Every inch of the screen was filled with her face and her killer curves. She was clad in a swimsuit that stretched and clung to wet skin. And the guys were all staring, identical expressions on their faces, their tongues nearly hanging out. Like the dogs they were.
I slammed the laptop shut, cutting short the peep show. “She’s a client,” I snapped, annoyed that my voice came out a little hoarse. “Show a little respect.”
“It’s not our fault that she’s a famous model, or that she likes to have her picture taken in a swimsuit.” Angel shrugged, leaning back in his chair and tilting it onto two legs. “If you ask me, we’re allowed to look, what with her dressing like that for the camera.”
“It’s her job, asshole,” Abel muttered, shooting his teammate a disparaging look before he stalked off to the bar, the crowd parting around his six-foot-three, leather-clad frame like a stream around a tumbling boulder.
I glanced up in surprise. For Abel to speak meant he must have strong feelings about it. Or more likely, he thought Angel was acting like an asshole and decided to call him on it. Who knew when it came to Abel? The man was a silent enigma, though good at his job, which was all that really mattered in the end.
“Abel’s right. It’s her job,” I stated, glaring at Angel, who held his hands up, an easy grin on his face.
“Hey, easy there, Boss. Don’t get your snickers in a twist.”
“It’s knickers in a twist,” Vin muttered under his breath, but his lips were twitching at Angel’s attempt at British slang.
Angel jumped to his feet. “That’s what I said!”
“No, you said…”
“Guys!” I barked out.
Their attention snapped back to me, Angel shrugging, his smirk saying he wasn’t sorry one bit.
“Are you going to take the job?” Vin was persistent, I had to give him that.
I spun a coaster on the beer-sticky table, watching it turn. There was no reason not to take the job; it would be easy and I was due a little downtime after the last mission, a job that had taken the whole team into the middle of a hellhole located in the middle of nowhere anyone with an ounce of sense wanted to go. Maybe it had been the twinkle in Macey’s eye as she’d handed me the photo that was bugging me. Playing the best friend card, Macey liked to stick her little snub nose into my business, and this time there was no doubt in my mind that she was scheming. Nothing new there. The woman needed a new pastime. Maybe I should have a word with Jason, suggest he try a little harder at keeping his mate busy and occupied.
Abel arrived back carrying a handful of beers, unceremoniously dropping them onto the table before resuming his position against the back wall of the bar. The man never relaxed and was always on the lookout for trouble. I knew I should try and dig the reason out of him; after all, we had been a team for over six months now, but I was still hanging on to the hope that eventually he’d relax and I wouldn’t have to. I sucked at the whole touchy-feely thing. If I couldn’t solve the problem with a beer and a bet… Yeah, six months and we still didn’t know a damn thing about him, other than he could shoot the wings off a fly with one eye closed. The man would come around or he wouldn’t. Either way, the team worked, and I wasn’t about to go rocking the apple cart.
The sharp crack of balls colliding and the tinkle of glass mixing with the loud roar of people enjoying their weekend washed over me, the noise a dull roar to my heightened shifter senses. Grabbing a new bottle, I forced myself to relax, letting the cold beer fill my mouth and trickle down my throat. A change of pace would do me good, and maybe Natasha Silk might provide a welcome distraction. My cock twitched at the thought, her face filling my mind.
“I’ll go see her.” The words were out before I’d had chance to engage my brain.
Vin nodded once, like it was a given, then strolled away to take his shot.
Anything had to be better than sitting in the house with nothing to do but daydream about a life I couldn’t have. I lurched to my feet, draining the dregs out of the bottle.
There was no time like the present.
Chapter Two
Natasha
The kettle whistled, the sound shrieking through the silence of the apartment. Padding over, I grabbed a towel and lifted it off the burner, flicking off the gas. Grabbing a mug out of the cupboard, I contemplated the box of tea bags. Which one? I eyed the chamomile, then picked out a lemon balm, splashing hot water over it. Citrus lemon steam tickled my nose as my hands uncurled from where I had inadvertently been gripping the counter.
It’s too quiet. I didn’t want to hear myself think. Grabbing a remote from the counter, I waved it around the room, still not one hundred percent sure where the sound system was hidden in this luxurious apartment. For a short-term rental, it was way over the top, especially given that I barely spent any time in it. But my agent had insisted, quoting appearances as her reason. Who was I to argue with vigorous air-quotes?
I heard a faint buzz, then deep bass thumped out of the walls, vibrating up through my feet and throbbing through my spine.
I jabbed a button, the sound switching to jazz, then wailing guitars, then sugar-syrup pop. Nope. I jabbed again, gritting my teeth against the assault. All I was asking for was something decent to listen to, for heaven’s sake! Just something... I paused as a man’s voice filled the room, his deep tone crooning along to a single guitar. That’s better.
Grabbing my rapidly cooling tea, I padded back over to the couch and curled up. Tugging a blanket over my bare legs, I closed my eyes to take my first sip. No thinking, no worrying. Just relax.
I jerked at a loud bang on the door, liquid sloshing over the rim and splattering my thankfully blanket-clad lap. I didn’t know anyone here. Well, apart from the advertising campaign’s creative team, that is. But none of them knew where I was staying. It was a part of the contract. I liked my privacy. Needed it.
Frozen, I stared at the wall, beyond which lay the front door. It had to be a mistake; someone had the wrong apartment. Silence. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, the air whooshing out noisily. A mistake, that’s all—
Another bang, this time even louder. Whoever it was, they didn’t think they had the wrong apartment.
I didn’t have to answer; no one knew I was home. Okay, my personal security detail did, but they were the only ones and they should be watching the front door. And there was the man on the front desk, but he wouldn’t tell anyone. Would he? He’d been made to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I’d moved in.
Skepticism soured my thoughts as my heart sunk. With the right offer, anyone could be bought. After all my years in the business, nothing surprised me anymore. Friends, staff, lovers—they’d all sold me out, feeding the tabloids with juicy tidbits of what the real Natasha Silk was like. And when the truth wasn’t lucrative enough, they’d lied. So many lies. So many disappointments. And nobody ever understood why it bothered me, like having money and fame would be enough to stop the ache each betrayal brought.
I’m not home. I forced my jaw to loosen and took a sip of my tea. The guys my agency had hired would deal with whoever it was.
When they got back from wherever the hell they’d disappeared to!
Unease spiked in my stomach. Where were they? They wouldn’t bother me at this time. They were under strict instructions not to disturb me and they knew to phone my cell, not bang on the door. Unless it was an emergency. I muted the music, the sudden silence unnerving. Unease flared into panic, wrapping around my chest and pulling tight.
The banging sounded again. I was already halfway to the door, my bare feet flying over the cold tiles.
“Natasha Silk?” The voice was a deep, lazy rumble through the door
.
I froze, pulling my ratty cardigan tight, my hand creeping to my neck.
“Are you going to let me in, or are we going to have this interview through the door?” Whoever he was, he sounded amused, his voice dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm.
“Who ... who are you?” Damn my voice for coming out in a squeak.
“Natasha?” I could hear the frown that must be on his face, his confusion coming through loud and clear.
I nodded, then realized I was an idiot. “Yes.” This time I sounded like me, my distinctive voice low and throaty. The voice that had made me millions and launched my modeling career into the stratosphere, landing me campaigns for the biggest and brightest in the advertising world, and according to some magazines, could make a grown man weep. Ridiculous. Even now, I had to stifle a snort of derision as I remembered that particular article, the same one that had trashed me, implying that I was a talentless whore who only won modeling jobs by flaunting my more distinctive assets. Yeah, I have big tits and an even bigger ass. Deal with it. I mentally gave the popular men’s magazine the finger. Again. No way in this life was I going to starve myself to be the same size as some of those stick-thin, lettuce-nibbling models out there. And why should I? My curves hadn’t stopped me from rising to the top, or my vertically challenged height, despite everyone’s predictions and prejudice.
“Right. So, are you going to let me in?”
“Why should I? You could be a psychopath. Or a stalker. Or an assassin. Or a—”
“I’m not any of the above. Listen, did your agency not call you to let you know I’d be coming over? I’m from Freelance Undercover Resolutions.”
Ah. That rang a distant bell. But still. “Where is my personal security? What did you do with them?”
“Those idiots took one look at my ID, and when I suggested they take a coffee break, they didn’t stop until their feet hit the stairs.”
What the—? I made a mental note to call my agent first thing in the morning. “Slide your ID under the door,” I demanded, making sure my voice didn’t break.
“Sure thing, sweetheart.” A small scuffle reached my ears, then a leather wallet appeared in sight.
“And don’t call me sweetheart,” I muttered, scooping it up.
“Anything you say, Ms. Silk.”
Flicking open the battered leather, I scanned the laminated card. Marching back over to the couch, I grabbed my cell, speed-dialing my agent. Screw the fact that it was after eleven. I paid her enough to work 24/7, if need be.
“Natasha! What a lovely surprise! How is the shoot go—”
I cut her off mid-schmooze. “Karen, I have a man at my door saying I should be expecting him. A Mr.—” I squinted at the card, then giving up, fished my glasses out of my hair and shoved them on my nose. “Mr. Cole Colstone of Freelance Undercover Resolutions.” Cole Colstone? That was a model’s name if I’d ever heard one. Or maybe an actor?
“Oh, yes. You said to make inquiries about securing someone to deal with your … situation.” Karen coughed politely at the other end of the phone, her absolute refusal to deal with anything resembling the grittiness of real life once again making me grind my teeth.
But she was right. I had asked her to find me someone. I just hadn’t expected them to turn up at my door at just after eleven on a Saturday evening. My agency did all the hiring and firing. Which reminded me. “You need to hire new bodyguards. The ones I have here with me just took off at this guy’s word and went for coffee.”
“You won’t be needing new bodyguards, Ms. Silk,” the deep voice murmured through the door. “You’ll have me.”
My eyes were drawn back to the door as a shiver ran down my spine. Did he look as good in real life as he did in his photo? My eyes flicked back to the wallet in my hand, then back to the door.
Karen was bleating in my ear, her words blurring into one long grovel of apology. I hit the end button, my feet already moving, my hand already reaching out.
Clicking the locks, I took a deep breath. If this man could help me…
I swung the door open.
Guardian: Alpha Protectors
Meet Cole & Natasha - Out Now!
Who does he think he is?
The wolf shifter at my door. I pegged him as a shifter the second I laid eyes on him. It was the way he stalked into my apartment flexing his muscles and throwing his weight around, his lips twisted in a smirk. Acting like he owned the place.
Smoking-hot, alpha jackass.
It was meant to be just a job.
An easy assignment between covert-ops, but there’s nothing easy or run of the mill about Natasha Silk. Human, gorgeous, with curves that make my mouth water, she’s got everything. Money, fame—a perfect life.
One kiss and I’m sure—she’s my mate. But I won’t claim her. I can’t. I’m dangerous.
The clock is ticking. Someone is trying to kill her.
Not happening on my watch. It’s my job to protect her.
About Olivia Arran
Thank you for purchasing Her Dragon Protector. It's your support that allows me to continue doing something that I love every day. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review so more people can find and enjoy my books.
Love,
Olivia
About Olivia Arran
Olivia Arran is a USA Today bestselling author. She has been an avid reader since childhood, forgoing sleep to devour page after page by torchlight. As an adult she still reads voraciously, but also enjoys penning her own tales of romance. Steamy paranormal romance with strong alpha heroes and feisty heroines - Olivia writes what she likes to read and hopes you like it too!
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