Release Blitz: Royally Endowed by Emma Chase
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.
Prologue
Logan
Some men think with their cocks. You
know the type. Quick smooth-talkers, shifty eyes always scanning for
a nice pair of legs, a set of full tits, or a tight arse they can
pant after. Other blokes think too much with their brains. You know
that type too. Annoyingly careful, slow-moving, constantly parsing
their words like they already know whatever they’re saying is going
to come back and take a bite out of them. I’m not either of those.
I always go with my gut. When it clenches with a warning, I act—no
hesitation. When it tugs and nudges, I pause and reevaluate. When it
twists and writhes, I know, guaranteed, I’ve cocked up big-time. My
gut is my best friend, my conscience, my most lethal asset. And it
has never let me down. It’s my gut that drags me to her door. That
roots me in place as I knock. That gives me the words—pleading,
unfamiliar remorseful words—I’ll gladly say to make this right.
To get her back. Because while my gut is brilliant, sometimes I can
be a real fucking idiot. Yesterday was one of those times. “Ellie.
It’s me—open up, we need to talk.” I sense movement on the
other side of the solid oak door—not in sounds or shifting shadows
beneath it, but more of an awareness. I can feel her in there. Nearby
and listening. “Go away, Logan.” Her voice is tight,
higher-pitched than usual. Upset. “Ellie, please. I was a twat, I
know . . .” I’m not keen on begging from the hallway, but if
that’s what it takes . . . “I’m sorry. Let me in.”
Ellie is difficult to anger, quick to forgive; she just doesn’t
have it in her to hold a grudge. So her next words fall like an
axe—cutting my legs right off from under me. “No, you were right.
The princess’s sister and the East Amboy bodyguard don’t make
sense—we’ll never last.” Did I actually say that to her? What
the fuck is wrong with me? What I feel for her is the one thing in my
life that makes sense. That matters. But I never told her that.
Instead . . . instead, I said all the wrong things. I brace my palm
against the smooth wood, leaning forward, wanting to be as near to
her as possible. “Elle . . .” “I’ve changed my mind, Logan.”
If a corpse could speak, it would sound exactly like my Ellie does
now. Flat, lifeless. “I want the fairy tale. I want what Olivia has
. . . castles and carriages . . . and you’ll never be able to give
me that. I would just be settling for you. You’ll never be able to
make me happy.” She doesn’t mean that. They’re my words—the
insecurities I put on her—that she’s hurling back in my face. But
God, it fucking hurts to hear. Physically hurts—stabbing deep into
the pit of my stomach, crushing my chest, grinding my bones. I meant
it when I said I would die for her . . . and right now, it feels like
I am. I grab the doorknob to walk inside, to see her face. To see
that she doesn’t mean it. “Ellie—” “Don’t come in!” she
screeches like I’ve never heard her before. “I don’t want to
see you! Go away, Logan. We’re done—just go!” I breathe
hard—that’s what you do when pain wrecks you, breathe through it.
Then I swallow bile, straighten up, turn around and walk down the
hall. Away from her. Just like she wants, like she asked. Like she
screamed. My brain tells me to move faster—get the hell out of
there, cut my losses and lick my wounds. And my heart—Christ—that
poor bastard’s too battered and bloody to say anything at all. But
then, just over halfway down the hall, my steps slow until I stop
completely. Because my gut . . . it strains through the hurt. Rebels.
It shouts that this isn’t right. This isn’t her. Something’s
off. And even more than that . . . something is very, very wrong. I
glance up and down the quiet hall—not a guard or a maid in sight. I
look back at the door. Closed and silent and still. Then I turn and
march straight back to it. I don’t knock, or wait, or ask for
permission. In one move, I turn the knob and step inside. What I see
there stops me cold. Because whatever I was expecting, it sure as
fuck wasn’t this. Not at all . . .
Emma Chase is the New York
Times and USA Today bestselling author of the hot and
hilarious Tangled series and The Legal Briefs series. Emma lives
in New Jersey with her husband, two children and two naughty (but
really cute) dogs. She has a long-standing love/hate relationship
with caffeine.
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