As you drive into the driveway of your home, your eyes are latched toward a black BMW idling in the driveway, and you assume it is your new bodyguard. "He's early," Booth raised a surprised brow. You step out of your car, booth meeting you near the hood of the car. Your gaze shoots to the black BMW as you hear the car door open, and a large black boot plants itself on the pebbly driveway. A split second later, the biggest man you'd ever seen in person unfolds himself from the front seat.

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 tall frame. Mid length black hair grazed his neck and fell over one gunmetal-grey eye, and his legs were so long he ate up the distance between you both in three strides. For someone so large, he moved with surprising stealth.

He paused in front of you, and somehow, you swore your body tilted forward a centimetre. Most veterans kept their hair military-style short even after leaving the service, but not him. You're pulled out of your mental tangent when you hear a deep, gravelly voice.

"Rhys Larsen."