Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

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.