"I did not want to put this down once I started. If I could have given more than 5 stars, I would have. You laugh and cry with these characters and can't wait to see what happens next. This definitely outs you in touch with all of your feelings [...]." Michelle, Goodreads
Release Date: May 8th, 2018
Flicka won’t allow herself to be terrified.
She’s on the run from her cheating, soon-to-be ex-husband Prince Pierre and his Secret Service, and she doesn’t have a passport, credit cards, or money. She needs to get to Paris to talk to her lawyers about divorcing that bastard.
The only thing standing between her and the cheating prince is Dieter Schwarz, her bodyguard, her protector, and her ex-lover. He’s six feet, four inches of sarcasm, black humor, and rock-hard muscle. A former Swiss mercenary, now he owns and operates Rogue Security—a band of former special operations soldiers, SEALs, hackers, and spies—which will take any dirty covert operation for the right price.
But her ex’s Secret Service is tracking her, and even Dieter and the Rogues might not be able to keep her safe from her ex.
And once again, she’s falling in love with Dieter, which might be the most dangerous thing of all.
When Dieter Schwarz dragged himself into Wulfie’s Kensington Palace apartment that fine summer day, his ash blond hair was so short that he must have shaved his head recently, as it was about the same length as his scruffy beard. He had one black eye and scabbed-over scrapes covering half his handsome face, and one of his muscular arms hung in a sling.
His gray eyes held a feral savageness that looked like he would pick up a rare steak, bite into it with his teeth, and rip it apart while he devoured it.
Oddly, Flicka wanted to be the steak.
Dieter dumped his only luggage, a small rucksack, on the floor.
Wulfram looked up from the book he was reading. “Good week?”
“The best,” Dieter answered.
From the growl in Dieter’s voice, Flicka could hear that his body still coursed with adrenaline, even though he must have flown home from wherever on a plane for hours.
He shucked his overshirt and stretched, standing in a tank top in the entryway. The sling on his arm fell aside, and he flinched when he rolled that shoulder to loosen it.
Flicka couldn’t look away from the way Dieter’s round muscles stood out from his arms and shoulders, thick cords and hard bulges that were so different from the sinewy or stocky teenagers she had been living with at Le Rosey. When Dieter moved his arms, stretching out kinks, those muscles flexed and moved under his tanned and sunburned skin. The golden fuzz that covered the top of his chest above his tank top looked soft, and Flicka could think of nothing else but the way it would feel against her palms.
Dieter asked. “How were the royal bodyguards, Wulfram?”
“Adequate,” Wulfram answered.
“I suppose that’s okay.”
Dieter leaned over and picked up his rucksack.
When he did, the muscles under the thin cotton of his tank top stood out in lumps that Flicka could count. His webbed belt kept his black fatigue pants up, she surmised, because his hips were slim. He looked like could have won any athletic event or beaten any other man on Earth in hand-to-hand combat.
Flicka couldn’t breathe.
She longed to walk over to Dieter and touch his arms and his chest. She bet that he was warm to the touch, with all those muscles working right under his skin like that. His skin must be silky, or coarse—yes, coarse—and his hands would probably feel callused and rough on her arms.
A flush ran over her, a warmth that made her feel heavy and weak.
Dieter had his backpack in his large, strong hands, and he was looking right at her. His dark gray eyes settled on her skin, and she could almost feel his gaze. “Good to see you, Durchlauchtig.”
Her breath seemed to have leaked out of her lungs, and she had to suck in some air to answer him. “You, too, Lieblingwächter.”
Dieter walked out of the room, stalking like a tiger.
The white album of Flicka’s music school musings slipped from her arms and crashed on the floor.
Wulfram looked up from his book, one eyebrow raised.
Flicka told him, “I’m going to attend the Royal Academy, here in London.”
“Excellent,” Wulfram said, settling back into his book. “You can live here at Kensington with me. Security will be easier with you in London, too.” Yes, she was counting on it.
About the author:
USA Today Bestselling Author Blair Babylon is an award-winning author who regularly publishes contemporary romance and romantic suspense fiction. After writing literary fiction where reviews usually included the caveat that there was too much deviant sex, she decided to abandon all literary pretensions, let her freak flag fly, and write hot, sexy, erotic romance with crazy, breakneck plot turns.
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book #3 - June 12th, 2018