First Time Cowboy Bodyguard
Maverick
Four Months Later
Light threads gold through the curtains, spilling across the white duvet. I move silently, holding my breath, aware of every shift of muscle and bone.
Mia sleeps beside me, hair a chestnut mess—her natural color now that her celebrity days are done. Her cheeks are warm and pink with sleep, lips curved in that way that tells me she’s dreaming about me.
I shift. The bed creaks.
An arm slips around my waist, pulling me back into tangled sheets and blankets.
“No,” she says, grumpy—her morning routine.
“What, Princess?” I chuckle.
She rasps, “Do you always”—yawn—“have to get up at the crack of dawn?”
“Have to. Lying in bed too long makes a body feel older.”
“Hip hurting again?” she asks, snuggling soft, supple warmth into my back.
“It’s fine.”
“So if you hadn’t been a bull rider,” she murmurs, hand sliding down my frame, “maybe I could persuade you to stay a little longer?”
Fire shoots through my veins as her fingers drift lower.
“Dunno,” I growl, heat curling low. “Persuasion skills seem intact to me.”
“Oh, yeah?” Her fingertips close around me—already hard.
“Yeah.” It comes out rough, almost a moan. “Fuck, Princess.”
“This persuade you?” She strokes me slowly, deliberately, taking her time until a deep growl rumbles out of my chest.
“Yes,” I groan, eyes rolling back.
“Good,” she whispers. “Because I’ve got some riding of my own planned this morning.”
Pressure coils tight at the base of my spine. Breath shortens. But I’ll be damned if she thinks she’s doing this alone.
In one smooth move, I flip us, hovering over her as the blankets slide away. Her mint eyes flash, cheeks flushed, and I laugh low and dangerous as I trail down her body to where I crave her most.
She’s still half-asleep, loose and open beneath me. My tongue learns her slowly, thoroughly. When she shudders around my fingers, hips bucking, breath hitching, something in my chest breaks wide open.
I’ll never get enough of taking her there. Of how she gives herself—fully, without armor.
The most beautiful woman on the planet.
Not because of fame. Not because of talent. But because she makes me want to be better than the man I was yesterday.
I don’t say any of it. I don’t have to. Her warm eyes tell me she knows.
After, I stroke her cheek as she traces the circle inked over my heart, fingers lingering before she pulls me back into her body, and we move together again in the quiet of dawn.
Heat. Breath. Pulse.
I shift her leg over my shoulder, changing the angle, driving deeper. Her nails bite into my back as I find the place she needs—again and again.
“Yes, Maverick. Please. Don’t stop.”
“Never.”
When she breaks, she takes me with her. Whole. Willing.
As our breathing settles, her dark-blonde hair fans across my chest, fingertips tracing my ink in lazy circles. I cover her hand with mine, pressing her palm to my heartbeat—steady, strong, hers.
“You still feeling okay about everything?” I ask.
She exhales. “Yeah. It’s just … surreal.”
“Which part?”
“Edwin being arraigned.” The words drop heavy, like a stone. After a moment, she adds, “And my parents. Trying to figure out what a relationship with them even looks like now. If I want one.”
I don’t interrupt.
Her gaze drifts, working through thoughts that don’t need fixing.
“I never thought weakness could be unforgivable,” she says softly. “But I don’t know if there’s anything they can do to make me forget.”
“You don’t have to forget.”
She turns toward me. “Do you ever wish life came clean? Straight lines. Clear answers?”
I think of the years I believed that if I did everything right, the world would make sense in return.
“I used to,” I admit. “Thought justice was a finish line. Cross it and everything behind you stays there.”
“And now?”
“And now I think justice is a circle.” I meet her gaze. “It comes back around when it’s ready. Sometimes it looks like punishment. Sometimes it just looks like release.”
“What if part of me still wants punishment?”
“That doesn’t make you wrong.”
“And if I don’t forgive my parents? Not fully. Not yet?”
“That doesn’t make you broken.”
She studies me for a long moment. “You’re very sure.”
“I am.”
Her shoulders ease. “I keep worrying there’s a right way to heal. That I’m doing it wrong if it doesn’t look … easy.”
I cup her cheek, grounding us both. “Healing doesn’t come with a receipt. One day you just realize the past doesn’t own you like it used to.”
She smiles, small but real. “You always know when to say something.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “That’s because I don’t say much.”
She snorts. “Don’t I know. Getting anything out of you is like pulling teeth.”
“And what does Princess want out of me now?” I ask, brushing her collarbone.
“A ring,” she says lightly. “And maybe a few kids.”
“Done,” I say without hesitation.
She blinks. “Done?”
I kiss her cheek. “You’re my world, Mia.”
A flicker of doubt crosses her face. “But what if I end up like my parents? With our kids?” Her voice cracks.
“Not possible.”
She lifts a brow. “Ever confident.”
“More than confident. I know.”
“And how do you know?”
I smirk. “Because I’ve seen you spoil alpacas like they’re royalty.”
She laughs, tension melting away. “Maybe it’s time for ring shopping.”
I pull her close, heart full and steady. “After we practice that baby-making idea a little more.”
Light spills across the room.
The day can wait.
Lacey & Anson
She came for research. She stayed because I wouldn’t let her face the danger alone.
Lacey doesn’t trust men like me—scarred, ex-military, relentless—but someone’s hunting her, and I’ll burn down everything before I let her be taken.
Hurt/comfort. Cowboy heat. HEA guaranteed. No cliffhangers.
Red & Rowdy
I came home from the rodeo circuit ready to build a future—not fake a relationship with the woman who drives me crazy.
I can handle bulls, business, and bad odds. Falling for the one woman I shouldn’t want might be the riskiest move of all.
Enemies to lovers. Fake engagement. Cowboy heat. HEA guaranteed. No cliffhangers.