Page 1 of Don’t Fall For A Bodyguard

CHAPTER 1

PAYTON

LAS VEGAS

An incessant ringing woke me up. But even half-asleep, I recognized that the noise wasn’t coming from my phone. I had a very particular ringtone (thank you, Adele).

What the hell?

I blinked and opened my eyes, but they were so dry that everything in front of me was a blur.

Flashes of last night reverberated in my head. Vegas. The Wayward Lane World Tour announcement. Getting the boys in the band styled for their concert. The party. The after party. The many,manyshots. Cocktails. More shots. Something called a Porn Star that was deliciously sweet at first taste and then horribly sickening afterward. Thinking about hard liquor and whipped cream had my stomach doing dangerous somersaults. I hoped like hell that I wouldn’t throw up.

Then I realized it wasn’t just a phone ringing. It was my ears. My head was throbbing. Like someone had taken my flat iron, turned it to the highest heat setting, and was poking me in the head with it.

“Lord, I’m never having shots again,” I groaned and slapped my hands over my face. “Ow, that hurts.”

I startled when I felt the cool brush of metal against my skin. That was weird. I never wore jewelry to bed. Unless it was a bedazzled thong. Hey, don’t judge. I have a spectacular ass and it deserves to be showcased.

The phone stopped ringing. Thank God.

I sighed and closed my eyes again—until I heard another noise. It sounded like someone snoring. Oh, shit. I hated sleepovers with the men I fucked. Detested them, actually. I’d had too many of them tell me the next day that I was a mistake. Oh, it was fine to fuck me, but if I wanted more, like an actual date, forget it. I was too much. Too loud. Too flirtatious. Too femme. Too everything. I’d heard it all, and I’d grown so tired of that bullshit. Now I hooked up at clubs and that was it.

At twenty-nine, this boy was done looking for love. And the only man I allowed in my home, or my bed, was my cat, Finnigan.

Until today. Turning my head, I blinked again and sure enough, there was a massive man in my bed. He was lying on his stomach, facing away from me, so all I could see was a broad back. And the very large eagle tattoo that covered it.

Fuck, a bear of a man was my total weakness. So, no surprise why I’d invited—whoever this was—back to my hotel.

Last night, despite the party and being surrounded by tons of people, loneliness set in. Watching all the loved-up couples around me at work got me wondering, why them and not me?

Sighing at my silliness, I turned my attention back to the man beside me. Whoever he was, he had nice hair. A rich chestnut color that was all natural. Of course, I noticed. As a hairstylist, it was always the first thing that caught my attention. His hair was thick and short. Nothing fancy style-wise, but long enough to geta good grip. The color and texture reminded me of someone, but with my ass-kicking hangover, I couldn’t recall who.

Something else was odd. Even though this ripped guy was in my bed, I couldn’t remember having sex with him. And my body didn’t have the usual morning-after aches that came with a hard dicking down. I pulled back the white sheet and glanced down. No love bites, nothing. And I still had my fuchsia silk panties on. Maybe we’d both passed out before anything happened? Oh jeez, things were gonna be awkward as fuck when he woke up. Then again, I’d had a lot to drink last night, and I realized that things could have ended up much worse.

I ran my hands up over my face again and gasped when I noticed the ring on my hand. Wearing rings was unusual for me. Given my job, I tended to stick to necklaces and earrings, leaving my hands free from tangling up in my clients’ tresses.

Then I noticed that the ring was on my left hand. On my fourth finger. Slowly, I turned my hand around and I jolted when a blush-pink oval gem winked back at me.

Gorgeouswas my first thought. Then,it can’t be real. I must be dreaming. I closed my eyes again, but when I opened them a second later, the ring was still there. Still stunning. Still on my fourth finger…

Don’t panic.

Maybe I went midnight shopping? Plenty of jewelry stores in Vegas were open all night. That had to be it. Pink was my favorite color and I’d wanted to treat myself. That was the logical explanation.

Until the man lying beside me rolled over.

“What the fuck?” I blurted out. “Lennie?!”

Lennie Rizzoli was the lead bodyguard for Wayward Lane. He was an intense guy with a rare smile and a strong presence that demanded attention. A man I’d flirted with for more than a year, to no avail. He was a private person and totally dedicatedto his job. Which I respected, though his reserve had only piqued my curiosity. But after a while, I realized my flirting would go nowhere. Still, it didn’t stop me from trying. And the normally stealthy man often fumbled around me. It was charming, and I couldn’t resist teasing him.

But this morning—at least, I assumed it was morning—I wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

“Lennie!” I hissed, pushing at his shoulder, trying to wake him up.

Suddenly, Lennie’s bulky arm wrapped around me like a python, pulling me in tight to his body. Normally, I would have said ‘fuck yes’ to that kind of move and pounced on the man, but the ring on my finger had me freaked out.

“Go back to sleep, Angel,” he muttered and snuggled his face into the crook of my neck, his scruff setting off fireworks along my sensitive skin.

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