Page 1 of Guarded from Danger

CHAPTER ONE

LUCY

I never imagined my life being like a romance novel.

In all the books I’ve read and the ones I’ve written myself, I’ve viewed the stories as romantic fantasies. Tales of macho SEALs with hearts of gold, dark, brooding millionaires who fall in love with their downtrodden assistants, the mafioso who rescues a woman in danger and falls in love with her at first sight.

When I write, I never imagine myself in the role of the main character. I’m more of the quirky best friend, or the coworker who’s dragged into the drama due to her proximity.

When I imagine the hero of the story, he’s nothing like the pleasant but bland guys I’ve dated, ones who were nice to spend time with but never made my heart flutter or my skin tingle whenever they touched me.

Novels are fiction. Sparks of creativity brought to life in the pages of a book, but never reality.

At least, that’s what I thought.

Then I met Xavier. And suddenly, I wasn’t the quirky friend anymore. I was the lead.

If I were to list all the criteria for a perfect boyfriend, Xavier would check every box.

Drop-dead gorgeous with muscles upon muscles and perfect bone structure and rich brown eyes that sparkle with gold and bronze when he smiles? Check.

Works for an internationally-renowned security team and also used to be a Green Beret? Check, again.

Intense and protective, but with a sensitive side that comes out in the sweetest ways, like the little notes he leaves for me everywhere—in my car, on my pillow, tucked into my lunch bag—telling me how wonderful he thinks I am and how much he misses me? Check.

Endlessly patient when I go on and on about a new story idea, listening attentively and even helping me brainstorm? Another check.

Even the way we met was the perfect meet cute. I was working my part-time job at the bookstore, and he stopped in to find a gift for his friend. When I spotted him, he was standing in front of the romance new releases, his brow furrowed as he studied the rows of books with shirtless men on the covers.

He looked so strong, so confident, so in control, I wasn’t expecting him to blush when I approached him. I wasn’t expecting him to fumble the book in his hand, dropping it on the ground and nearly whacking me in the head when we both bent down to get it. And I definitely wasn’t expecting this unbelievably handsome guy to stare at me like I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

After he introduced himself in the exact voice I imagine all my romance heroes using, he explained that he was there searching for a gift for his friend’s girlfriend. “Jade loves reading. But I’m not sure what kind of books she likes. I thought romance—” He gestured at the shelves next to us. “Because it’swhat some of the other women I know say they read. But I’m not sure…”

Now that I’ve met Jade, I know she likes cozy mysteries over romance, but back then, I had no idea. So I suggested he give her a gift card and a cute literary themed item, like one of our tote bags or sweatshirts with a clever book quote printed on it.

As I rang his purchases up, Xavier gave me a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Lucy. This is perfect.”

When he took the gaily-wrapped gift bag I put together for him, disappointment swept through me, along with a certainty he wouldn’t be back in the store again.

But then he set the bag on the counter and met my gaze. A flicker of uncertainty moved across his face as he asked, “Would you consider going on a date with me? I know we just met, and you don’t really know me, but… I would really like to see you again.”

I didn’t have to think about it. Even then, I think I just knew.

Now, nearly five months later, I’m even more certain. At thirty-five, after almost two decades of dating guys who thought I was too much of something or not enough of another, I finally met the man who likes me as I am. Who doesn’t mind when I jump up in the middle of the night to jot down a story idea. A man who’s happy to stay home in the evenings, watching TV while I snuggle against him, reading my Kindle.

And I think he’s perfect, too. Even with his own little quirks, like insisting on watching every episode ofJeopardy, keeping careful score to see if he beats the contestants. And how he shuffles cards when he’s anxious, like when he’s thinking about an upcoming job or he’s worried about one of his friends. When he has nightmares but refuses to talk about them, I don’t push. I know he’ll tell me eventually.

I guess if I had to pick one thing about our relationship that isn’t perfect, it would be how often Xavier has to travel. It’s notthat I don’t get it—the company he works for has clients all over the country—but selfishly, I wish he was here all the time.

Especially on a night like tonight.

It’s been an extra long day thanks to two people calling off, so my usual four-hour shift at the bookstore turned into ten. That means I’m going to fall behind schedule for the current book I’m writing, and I hate feeling rushed catching up. Plus, if there was something that could go wrong at work, it did.

First, the bookmark display carousel got knocked over by a harried mom pushing a stroller, which meant half an hour of putting the hundred different bookmark designs back in order. Then a toddler decided to dump his sippy cup all over the floor in the children’s section, so I had to spend another hour trying to clean the carpet between helping customers. Add in some extremely rude customers, no time to have lunch, and the cute shoes I just bought leaving massive blisters on my ankles, and I’m more than ready to get home and put this day behind me.

If Xavier were here instead of in Houston, providing security for a FinTech convention, he’d insist on taking care of me. He’d come over to my place with pizza and some of those hard seltzers I like, and he’d bandage my ankles before putting my feet on his lap and rubbing them.

He’d stay overnight, like he’s been doing more often, we’d have slow, passionate sex, and then I’d fall asleep wrapped in his arms.

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