Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Tangled Like Us (Like Us #4) | |
|---|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Krista Ritchie | Becca Ritchie |
| Language: | English | |
| ISBN/ ASIN: | B07JLLFFSX | |
| Book Information: | ||
How to protect your heart: Let your bodyguard have it. Jane Cobalt is an American princess. The loyal and painfully curious twenty-three-year-old has inherited immense pressure to preserve the Cobalt legacy. But for Jane — sex, love, and life have been a series of royal failures. After a friends-with-benefits ended in disaster, she's sworn to a “no sex” hiatus for, well, eternity — and she has no intention of letting anyone in her bed and definitely not her heart. Twenty-eight-year-old Thatcher Moretti is painfully professional. As the stern 24/7 bodyguard to Jane, thinking about unbridled sex with his sweet client is a sin. One that he keeps committing. But the real act is a hard line he’d never cross. When a family member betrays Jane's trust, the media becomes obsessed with matchmaking the perpetually “single” Jane Cobalt and unwanted attention suddenly compromises her safety. Thatcher would do anything to protect her, and one solution may level the threats: Become the fake boyfriend to an American princess. Entwined together with boiling chemistry, new “professional” parameters, and an oath, unsaid feelings threaten to rise and change everything. The Like Us series is a true series, one continuous timeline, that follows a family of wealthy celebrities and the people that protect them. | ||
| Books in Series: | Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie | |
| Books by Author: | Krista Ritchie Books | Becca Ritchie Books |
1
THATCHER MORETTI
First thing people know about me, I’m tall.
Second thing, I’m a twin.
Third thing, I’m a pain in your fucking ass. If you’re not giving a hundred shits at rest or in high water, I will hammer you.
One further, I’ll volunteer to be the bad guy if it means protecting lives and keeping minds right on the team.
But I didn’t imagine I’d lose her in the process.
I stare straight ahead and breathe hot breath out of my fucking nose. Can’t think about that now. I have a job to do.
She is my job.
And I need to unfuck this shit. I take full responsibility, and I’m going to shovel us out of the hellhole I’ve thrown ourselves in.
I have to.
A roaring beach bonfire lights up the sparkling night sky. The Aegean Sea calm and dark behind me, my boots sunk in damp sand on the shoreline. I stand still. Watchful.
Attentive.
Prepared for any hellfire.
This isn’t my first time in Greece, and that fact sits with me for an extra beat. I grew up in a one-bedroom South Philly apartment and shared a pullout couch with my brother. In my head, there weren’t many ways I’d see the world.
Eventually, Xander Hale happened. Becoming that kid’s bodyguard was a bright spot in my life. Not because I could see more of the world, but because I still had a hand in protecting someone else’s.
It’s what fuels me.
I’m strong to protect the soft.
I’ve felt that, even as a fucking teenager. I read The Iliad in high school. Men fighting on an ancient battlefield. Facing challenges that’d test their strength of will. Embarking on harrowing adventures while serving their country.
I wanted to be a Spartan warrior.
And I grew to look like one. Broad-chested and shouldered, muscled and toned, towering and relentless at six-foot-seven. Severity within hard lines of my body and face.
No matter where my boots land, I’m meant to fight for something.
And at twenty-two, I began protecting these three famous families. Cut to six years later, and this is still where I need to be. Where I want to be. I’d put my life on the fucking line for them. It’s more than a nine-to-five job, more than a career—this is a lifestyle meant for the men who aren’t going to quit and take the easy fucking out.
I’ve kicked exits open for bodyguards who thought private security would be a straight shot to luxury. This is about keeping people safe 24-hours a day, and we’re not entitled to anything. We fulfill our purpose. If we expect more, we’ve failed at our promise to these generous, loving families who just want to live in peace.
We should be humbled to be in Greece or wherever protecting them leads us.
Stay focused.
On her.
Jane Eleanor Cobalt.
She’s sitting about twenty meters away, feet buried in the sand. Light-hearted blue eyes concentrated on one of her many brothers.
Eliot Cobalt stands near the bonfire and rehashes a story or some play. Flames lick the air, and as he gesticulates theatrically, the famous families laugh and clap.
She taps her beer bottle in applause.
I catch myself about to skim her up and down. Don’t.
I remain stationary. I’m not supposed to be an active participant, but some surrounding bodyguards clap for Eliot. They’re the ones who’ve grown closer to the Cobalts throughout the years.
I wouldn’t place myself on that shelf.
Before transferring to Jane’s detail, I was attached to the Hale family. Xander Hale had been my only other client, and even if I were better acquainted with the Cobalt Empire, I’m not interested in joking around while on-duty. If I wouldn’t do it during an op, I’m not doing it on her detail.
Her safety comes first.
Jane sips a beer on the private beach, and she stays quiet while her brother quotes Shakespeare, or some other tragedy. I wouldn’t know which.
I keep a close eye on Jane and her surroundings.
It’s my job.
It’s also my job to know her well. Like how she’s been unusually quiet this summer trip, and it’s my job to know that I’m to blame.
Can’t worry about that now.
But I am.
Jane lets a beach blanket fall off her sunburnt shoulders, warmed near the bonfire. A pale blue tankini hugs her body.
I want to think some things I shouldn’t be fucking thinking. Put in some adjectives that I shouldn’t be using. All good things—don’t go there.
Don’t fucking do it.
I’m not overstepping the solid boundary.
I scan the beach with crossed arms, but eventually, my dark narrowed eyes return to Jane.
Long brunette hair frizzes around her freckled cheeks, and she smiles brightly at her brother. Applauding him again before she sticks two fingers in her mouth and whistles loudly. She’s only twenty-three.
She’s only twenty-three. And she’s dealt with more harassment than any girl her age should—than any person should.
I’ve heard sacks of horseshit spew hatred and try to degrade her, and they actually believe they’re entitled to her body and time like she’s some fucking doll they can rip apart with no consequence.