“He’s supposed to be the best,” Booth; your now old bodyguard said, discussing what your new bodyguard would be like. “Ex-Navy SEAL, top-notch recommendations, experiences guarding high-profile personalities. He’s his company’s most sought-after professional.” An american guard, interesting. You opened your mouth to say something, only to be cut off.

“He’s early.” Booth cut in, gesturing with his head to the black BMW that had just arrived.

The car door opened, and a large black boot planted itself on the driveway. A second later, the biggest man you’ve ever seen in real life unfolded himself from the front seat, and your mouth turned bone dry. Holy. Hotness. Your new bodyguard had to be at least six foot four, maybe even six five, with solid, sculpted muscle packed onto every inch of his powerful frame. Shortish black hair, legs so long they ate up the distance between you in three strides.

For someone so large, he moved with surprising stealth. If you hadn’t been looking at him, you wouldn’t have noticed him approach at all. He stopped infront of you, and you swore your body tilted forward a centimetre, unable to resist his gravitational pull. “Rhys larsen.” His deep, gravelly voice rolled over you like a velvety caress. Now that he was closer, you spotted a thin scar slashing through his left eyebrow, adding a hint of menace to his dark good looks. Stubble darkened his jaw, and a hint of tattoo peeked out from each sleeve of his shirt.

He was the opposite of the preppy, clean-shaven types you usually went for, but that didn’t stop the swarm of butterflies taking place in your stomach.