In Shining Armor by Blair Babylon
Series: Runaway Princess #2
Publication date: May 8th, 2018
Synopsis (according to Goodreads):
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.
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Excerpt
They spent many weeknight evenings like this, with her warmly curled against his side like a blond yellow Labrador retriever or with her hind paws in his lap, talking about sports and laughing at the worse rugby plays, football self-goals, and cricket sticky wickets.
Tonight, she seemed twitchy as they watched, contemplating something.
Dieter sipped his beer. She would talk to him or she wouldn't.
She might be mulling over a difficult piece of music, in which case Dieter would be no help at all.
He stroked her feet gently, her soft heels and pink-painted toenails, while he watched the television. Manchester United had put on a clinic, keeping the ball in the air so much that it seemed like the players were dancing ballet instead of running on the ground.
His hand strayed up to her smooth ankles, massaging, and back down to her insteps. Even her heels were satiny.
And larger, he noticed. They almost looked like grown-up feet.
Flicka jumped across the couch and straddled his legs.
Her fragile hands cradling his jaw.
Her silky blond hair fell from behind her shoulders, curling softly around Dieter's face, curtaining them.
"Hey!" Dieter leaned sideways, peering around her and trying to get out from under her hair.
"Dieter--"
"I can't see the telly."
"Lieblingwachter."
He leaned the other way, half-hanging over the arm of the couch, and brushing her hair aside. "Come on, Durchlauchtig. Manchester played a brill match today--"
Near his ear, Flicka breathed, "Make love to me."
"What!" Dieter pressed himself back into the couch cushions, trying to mash himself through the upholstery to escape.
Her sparkling green eyes were right above him, and her hands really were holding his face so that he couldn't turn away. She said, "I've been waiting for you for years--"
"Flicka, no. No, Durchlauchtig. I don't think of you like that. You're just a little girl. I couldn't--"
"I am not a little girl."
"You are! You're my little Flicka, my Durchlauchtig, and you're Wulf's baby sister. If you were any younger, I'd have custody of you while Wulfram is in Chicago."
"I'm twenty years old," she said. "Twenty. Not seventeen, not eighteen. Twenty years old. The big two-oh."
"Jesus, Flicka. If you had any idea how ridiculous that sounds--"
"--and I want to go to bed with you."
"That's a terrible idea."
"I've had a crush on you for years."
"A teenage crush. Flicka, I'm thirty-one. I'm not right for you. You're just a little girl--"
"Look at me."
"I am looking at you, Durchlauchtig. You're just the same--"
To retreat farther from her, Dieter laid his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes, and he put his hands on her waist to tumble her off of his thighs.
Closing his eyes was the mistake.
Touching her made him realize it.
Dieter's eyes remembered Flicka as a silly kid or gawky teen, composed of stabbing elbows and heels, too-large teeth, and braided blond hair.
But for a year or longer, his body had been responding to the adult woman she was, following the perfume she trailed as she walked through the apartment they shared.
His heart rate picked up when her warmth neared him.
When he massaged her feet, he'd been allowing his hands to drift upward to her ankles and calves, stroking her soft skin, rather than just holding her feet so she wouldn't nail him in the nuts when she found something funny and kicked.
Every morning before they left the apartment, she asked him, "How do I look?"
The last year or so, he'd looked at her, his eyes following the swells and dips of her body and seeing the glowing light in her emerald green eyes, and he'd meant it when he said, "Beautiful, Durchlauchtig."
His throat had closed sometimes, and those words had come out in a testosterone-laced growl.
He had not allowed himself to realize how physically he had been responding to her.
When his hands alighted on Flicka's hips and stroked up to her waist, he traced the smooth, rounded hips of the woman on his lap.
He froze, unable to reconcile the womanly curves in his hands with the child in his mind.
Beside his ear, a woman's alto voice whispered, "Make love to me."
Tonight, she seemed twitchy as they watched, contemplating something.
Dieter sipped his beer. She would talk to him or she wouldn't.
She might be mulling over a difficult piece of music, in which case Dieter would be no help at all.
He stroked her feet gently, her soft heels and pink-painted toenails, while he watched the television. Manchester United had put on a clinic, keeping the ball in the air so much that it seemed like the players were dancing ballet instead of running on the ground.
His hand strayed up to her smooth ankles, massaging, and back down to her insteps. Even her heels were satiny.
And larger, he noticed. They almost looked like grown-up feet.
Flicka jumped across the couch and straddled his legs.
Her fragile hands cradling his jaw.
Her silky blond hair fell from behind her shoulders, curling softly around Dieter's face, curtaining them.
"Hey!" Dieter leaned sideways, peering around her and trying to get out from under her hair.
"Dieter--"
"I can't see the telly."
"Lieblingwachter."
He leaned the other way, half-hanging over the arm of the couch, and brushing her hair aside. "Come on, Durchlauchtig. Manchester played a brill match today--"
Near his ear, Flicka breathed, "Make love to me."
"What!" Dieter pressed himself back into the couch cushions, trying to mash himself through the upholstery to escape.
Her sparkling green eyes were right above him, and her hands really were holding his face so that he couldn't turn away. She said, "I've been waiting for you for years--"
"Flicka, no. No, Durchlauchtig. I don't think of you like that. You're just a little girl. I couldn't--"
"I am not a little girl."
"You are! You're my little Flicka, my Durchlauchtig, and you're Wulf's baby sister. If you were any younger, I'd have custody of you while Wulfram is in Chicago."
"I'm twenty years old," she said. "Twenty. Not seventeen, not eighteen. Twenty years old. The big two-oh."
"Jesus, Flicka. If you had any idea how ridiculous that sounds--"
"--and I want to go to bed with you."
"That's a terrible idea."
"I've had a crush on you for years."
"A teenage crush. Flicka, I'm thirty-one. I'm not right for you. You're just a little girl--"
"Look at me."
"I am looking at you, Durchlauchtig. You're just the same--"
To retreat farther from her, Dieter laid his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes, and he put his hands on her waist to tumble her off of his thighs.
Closing his eyes was the mistake.
Touching her made him realize it.
Dieter's eyes remembered Flicka as a silly kid or gawky teen, composed of stabbing elbows and heels, too-large teeth, and braided blond hair.
But for a year or longer, his body had been responding to the adult woman she was, following the perfume she trailed as she walked through the apartment they shared.
His heart rate picked up when her warmth neared him.
When he massaged her feet, he'd been allowing his hands to drift upward to her ankles and calves, stroking her soft skin, rather than just holding her feet so she wouldn't nail him in the nuts when she found something funny and kicked.
Every morning before they left the apartment, she asked him, "How do I look?"
The last year or so, he'd looked at her, his eyes following the swells and dips of her body and seeing the glowing light in her emerald green eyes, and he'd meant it when he said, "Beautiful, Durchlauchtig."
His throat had closed sometimes, and those words had come out in a testosterone-laced growl.
He had not allowed himself to realize how physically he had been responding to her.
When his hands alighted on Flicka's hips and stroked up to her waist, he traced the smooth, rounded hips of the woman on his lap.
He froze, unable to reconcile the womanly curves in his hands with the child in his mind.
Beside his ear, a woman's alto voice whispered, "Make love to me."
Rest of the Series
Once Upon A Time by Blair Babylon (Runaway Princess #1) - Goodreads
In a Faraway Land by Blair Babylon (Runaway Princess #3) - Goodreads
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.
Copy/paste this link into your browser to sign up for email alerts about new releases, special sales, and free ebooks: http://smarturl.it/Babylon-Email. Blair sends out chatty, fun emails with great deals. Hey, she's a reader too, and she understands that it's hard to find great new writers to read and harder to find great freebies and deals.
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