Logan St. James is a smoldering, sexy beast. Sure, he can be a little broody at times—but Ellie Hammond’s willing to overlook that. Because, have you seen him??

Sexy. As. Hell.

And Ellie’s perky enough for both of them.

For years, she’s had a crush on the intense, protective royal security guard—but she doesn’t think he ever saw her, not really.

To Logan, Ellie was just part of the job—a relative of the royal family he’d sworn to protect. Now, at 22 years old and fresh out of college, she’s determined to put aside her X-rated dreams of pat-downs and pillow talk, and find a real life happily ever after.

The Queen of Wessco encourages Ellie to follow in her sister’s footsteps and settle down with a prince of her own. Or a duke, a marquis…a viscount would also do nicely.

But in the pursuit of a fairy tale ending, Ellie learns that the sweetest crushes can be the hardest to let go.

***

Logan St. James grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, in a family on the wrong side of the law. But these days, he covers his tattoos and scars with a respectable suit. He’s handsome, loyal, brave, skilled with his hands and…other body parts.

Any woman would be proud to bring him home to her family.

But there’s only one woman he wants.

For years he’s watched over her, protected her, held her hair back when she was sick, taught her how to throw a punch, and spot a liar.

He dreams of her. Would lay down his life for her.

But beautiful Ellie Hammond’s off-limits.

Everybody knows the bodyguard rules: Never lose focus, never let them out of your sight, and never, ever fall in love.

Series:

Royally

Book 3

Can be read as a standalone

Book Type:

Romantic comedy

Series Reading Order:

Excerpt: Royally Endowed

Ellie

Then the door opens, and it’s not Logan I see, but Tommy Sullivan—like I’ve never seen him before. Shirtless, with low-slung jeans hanging haphazardly off his hips and a cigarette between his lips.

“Ellie!” He smiles, seemingly happy to see me. Tommy’s always happy. He takes the cigarette from his mouth. “What are you doing here, pet? Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, no, everything’s fine. Is Logan home?”

Tommy raises his eyebrows, questioning, but doesn’t ask. Instead he turns his head toward the interior of the apartment and shouts, “Lo!”

He leans out the door. “I’d invite you in, but it’s no place for a girl like you. We’re all indecent here.”

And doesn’t that just get my cheeks glowing—and my imagination working overtime.

Then Logan is filling the doorway, looking surprised.

But I barely notice his expression.

Because Logan is shirtless too. And in the immortal words of Joey Lawrence . . . whoa.

Smooth, taut skin covers his shoulders and chest—bronze, except for the stunning swirl of colorful tattoos that spread across one shoulder and all the way down one arm.

His arms are big, bulging with muscle—cut, tight. He has abs—lots and lots of abs—rock hard and rippling. It’s a beautiful body. A man’s body.

He glances up and down the hall. “You’re here by yourself?”

He sounds annoyed and I start to think maybe this wasn’t just a stupid idea, but possibly the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. And through the years, I’ve had some doozies.

“Yes, I—”

“Where’s Cory?”

“He’s back at the coffee shop.”

“You snuck past him?” Logan asks, like he doesn’t believe it.

“Not exactly.”

He folds his gorgeous arms. “Then how did you get here without him? Exactly?”

I try to come up with a good excuse for Cory’s sake . . . but lying has never been my thing.

“He fell asleep.”

Wrong answer. Logan’s eyes grow hot and intense.

“He seemed really tired. Don’t be mad, Logan.”

He pushes a hand through his dark hair, and for a moment I’m caught up in how soft and thick it looks. How it would feel between my fingers.

And then a voice calls from inside the apartment—a voice that doesn’t belong to one of the guys.

“Let’s go, Logan. It’s your turn to deal.”

She comes into view and she’s not just “buxom”—it’s like the word was invented for her. Big, shiny red hair, flawless skin, legs as long as my whole body encased in tight, might-be-painted-on jeans, a teeny waist and big boobs covered by an even teenier black tank-top.

She looks like the head manager at Hooter’s in man-only heaven.

Her green eyes slide from Logan over to me, then back again. “Oh, sorry—I didn’t realize you had a visitor.” She smiles. “Is this your little sister?”

You know the sound a balloon makes when it’s dying?

That’s my heart—right now.

He puts his hand on her bare arm and the weirdest combination of sadness and violence consumes me. I want to cry . . . and bite his hand off like an outraged chimpanzee.

“Go back inside.”

After she fades back, I shuffle my feet. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s fine.” He says softly, “What’s wrong Ellie. What do you need?”

“Nothing. Never mind. You should go back to your . . . friend.”

Logan shakes his head. “She’s Tommy’s friend.”

But what is she to him? More than a friend? A fuck-buddy? A lover?

My stomach spins. I’m such an idiot.

“That’s good. Friends are good.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m just gonna head out. Skedaddle.”

’Cause nothing says mature, sophisticated woman like “skedaddle.” Christ on a Ritz cracker, somebody nail my tongue to the wall.

“Ellie—”

But I’m already turning, skipping the elevator and heading right for the stairs, trying to appear dignified while bleaching the image of Logan touching that woman from my mind.

“Later, Logan.”

“Fuck . . .”

And the sound of the slamming door chases me down the stairwell.