Twisted Games: A Forbidden Royal Bodyguard Romance

“Five days in paradise,” I drawled. “Swimming, sunbathing, fucking—”
“Rhys.”
“What, you don’t like the itinerary?”
“Lower your voice,” she hissed, her face the color of the tomatoes on her plate. “People will hear.”
“No one’s listening.”

Jules sighed. “Tell your man he’s hot as hell but a total buzzkill.”

“He’s not my man. He’s my bodyguard.” I lowered my voice, but I thought I saw Rhys pause for a millisecond before he resumed polishing his knife.

“Even worse. He’s running your life and you’re not getting any dick from it.”

“Jules.”

I was twenty-two,

he was thirty-two.

Because in my imagination, we were doing anything but sleeping.

“Mr. Larsen, we might not kill each other after all.”

Biggest fear? Failure.

Biggest dream? Peace.

Biggest regret? Inaction.

Favorite food? Baked sweet potatoes.

Favorite color? Black. (Shocker).

Favorite movie? Reservoir Dogs.

Bridget: one. Rhys: zero.

“Since it’s my graduation night, let’s play a game. It’s called Getting to Know Rhys Larsen.”