The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Read online

  The Mogul and the Muscle

  A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy

  Claire Kingsley

  Copyright © 2019 by Claire Kingsley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictionalized.

  Published by Always Have, LLC

  Edited by Elayne Morgan of Serenity Editing Services

  Cover by Kari March Designs

  www.clairekingsleybooks.com

  Created with Vellum

  To my fellow lady bosses, Lucy, Kathryn, and Pippa. And to all women who lift each other up. Keep slaying, beautiful badasses.

  Contents

  Keep in touch with CK

  About this book

  1. Jude

  2. Cameron

  3. Jude

  4. Jude

  5. Cameron

  6. Jude

  7. Cameron

  8. Jude

  9. Cameron

  10. Cameron

  11. Jude

  12. Cameron

  13. Jude

  14. Cameron

  15. Jude

  16. Cameron

  17. Cameron

  18. Jude

  19. Cameron

  20. Jude

  21. Jude

  22. Cameron

  23. Jude

  24. Cameron

  25. Cameron

  26. Jude

  27. Cameron

  28. Jude

  29. Cameron

  30. Jude

  31. Cameron

  32. Cameron

  33. Jude

  34. Cameron

  35. Cameron

  36. Cameron

  37. Jude

  Epilogue

  Faking Ms. Right: Chapter 1

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Claire Kingsley

  About the Author

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  About this book

  “I wanted this man’s arms around me, cocooning me in safety. I wanted to feel like I didn’t have to be brave for a few hours. I wanted to let him be my courage. My protection. My shield.”

  Cameron Whitbury—billionaire aerospace mogul—can engineer her way out of any problem. Sure, she’s living with the threat of a potential sex scandal thanks to her lying ex. And that attempted mugging in her parking garage might not have been a random attack.

  But she’s totally got this. Sacrifice her privacy to an overprotective bodyguard? No thanks. She doesn’t need a six-foot-five, motorcycle-riding, square-jawed, hazel-eyed man-beast shadowing her every move.

  Jude Ellis—one-man security operation and professional problem solver—is ready to retire from the cloak and dagger stuff to live a normal life. He doesn’t need another client. Not even one with coppery-red hair and mile-long legs who looks hot AF in a sexy pair of heels.

  To appease her worried friends, Cameron hires Jude as her bodyguard. And despite their feisty banter and their rampant—and totally inappropriate—sex fantasies, they’re both determined to keep it professional.

  But as the danger to Cameron escalates, the heat simmering between them just might combust.

  Author’s note: Big wall-of-man hero with a fierce (and growly) protective streak. Confident and snarky heroine. All the banter. Sex in a closet. And a daring rescue with a big, heart squishing HEA.

  1

  Jude

  The kid knew he was screwed.

  He sat slumped in the chair, his eyes on the floor. Head tilted forward, shoulders drooping. I hadn’t needed to lay a finger on him. Kind of a shame, in a way. Not that I wanted to beat the shit out of a twenty-two-year-old kid, but…

  Actually, yes I did.

  I stood in his father’s study leaning against the huge mahogany desk. The walls were paneled with dark wood, and bookshelves housed leather-bound legal tomes. A credenza sat behind the desk with a crystal decanter and a set of bar glasses. There was even an oil-painted portrait of some stuffy old guy on the wall. This place couldn’t have been more pretentious if it tried.

  Hauling the kid in here hadn’t been difficult. After a week of research and surveillance on behalf of my client, I’d nailed down his routine. Grabbed him outside the luxury Miami Beach condo his parents undoubtedly paid for.

  Footsteps approached the half-open door and the kid flinched. Norman Cudello, Florida state senator, walked in dressed in a designer suit. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly groomed, his jaw smooth. He saw me first and stopped just inside the study. Then his gaze traveled to his son—Owen Cudello—and I caught the flicker of annoyance.

  “Who are you?” Senator Cudello asked, his voice betraying nothing but disinterest.

  “Jude Ellis.” I kept my posture casual. Relaxed. I could be physically intimidating if it was necessary. At six-foot-five and almost as wide as I was tall, it was harder to appear non-threatening than it was to scare people.

  But it was always better when I didn’t have to. If I threatened violence, I had to be willing to back that up. And I was really hoping to get out of here without getting any blood on my shirt. I had a date this afternoon.

  “And why are you in my study?”

  “We need to have a little chat.”

  “About?”

  Your dipshit son, genius. I nodded toward the kid. “Him.”

  The senator walked around his desk and flipped over a whiskey glass. “I’m sure we can come to a suitable arrangement.”

  I narrowed my eyes but kept my posture relaxed. Of course the first thing he’d do is offer money. I hadn’t expected anything less, but it still irritated me. “I’m not here to make that kind of arrangement.”

  “Then what are you here for?” he asked. “You’re obviously not law enforcement.”

  “No, I’m not.” I straightened to my full height. “It seems your son has a bit of a problem understanding English. Specifically the word no.”

  The kid didn’t look up.

  “Oh?” his father asked.

  “About six months ago, the young lady he’d been dating, Mira Salinas, informed him that their brief relationship was over. Instead of handling it like a man, he chose to start stalking and harassing her.”

  The senator poured a finger of whiskey in the glass but didn’t reply.

  “Hundreds of texts, messages on her social media accounts, notes on her car. Hanging out at the restaurant where she works. Circling the block around her apartment building. You get the idea.”

  He took a drink of whiskey.

  “That failed to charm her, though I can’t imagine why—what girl wouldn’t want to date a guy who stalks her?” I glared at the kid. “So now he’s trying to use dear old dad’s connections to get her kicked out of school. He even
got someone in the university’s administration to send her a warning of expulsion if she goes to the media.”

  “If this is all true, why hasn’t she gone to the police?” he asked, his voice smooth.

  “That’s where it gets complicated, isn’t it? Cops didn’t take her seriously. I can’t imagine it has anything to do with the fact that he’s the son of a prominent senator.”

  The senator put his whiskey down. “So you’re here to threaten me so I get my son under control, is that it?”

  “No.”

  He met my eyes, his brow lifting.

  “A threat’s too much work,” I said. “Maybe I tell you I’ll beat the shit out of you both if your jackass offspring doesn’t leave her alone. And maybe that works for a few days, or a week, or a month. And that whole time, I have to keep an eye on the little shit to see if I need to make good on my threat. Meanwhile, the fear wears off. You increase security so you know I can’t get to either of you. He gets cocky. And then he escalates, and an innocent girl gets assaulted. So no, I’m not here to threaten you. I’m here to tell you what’s going to happen.”

  The senator swallowed. His face was an almost expressionless mask, but I was good at reading people. I could see the fear he was trying to hide.

  “Owen is going to cease all contact with her. He’s going to stop following, threatening, and harassing her. Stop trying to get her fired or kicked out of school.”

  Owen’s balls finally seemed to get the better of him, and he spoke up. “Or what?”

  I ignored him, keeping my gaze fixed on the senator. “I’m sure your voters would be very interested to know that some of your campaign funds are being funneled into a privately-held LLC. Not to mention how much of those campaign contributions are coming from organized crime syndicates. I have to say, it’s a bold move to take that much money from both the Russian mob and the Cuban mafia. They’re practically at war with each other. I can’t imagine they’d be happy to discover the senator they paid good money for is also in the enemy’s pocket.”

  He paled. Good. He should be scared. If either side found out he was taking money from the other, they’d tear him apart.

  “So like I said, Owen’s going to leave the girl alone. Do we have an understanding?”

  The senator’s eyes flicked to his son. “If you so much as think about her again, you’re cut off. Do you hear me? Not another cent.”

  “Are you serious?” Owen asked.

  “Dead serious,” he said, his voice hard. His eyes moved back to me. “I can assure you, Mr. Ellis, my son will no longer be an issue for your client. We have an understanding.”

  I didn’t offer to shake his hand. The dirty politician didn’t deserve that kind of respect. I simply nodded once and walked out.

  The heavy air hit me like a wall as soon as I got outside. It was humid as hell today, but it didn’t bother me. I’d been all over the world and dealt with just about every weather extreme imaginable. Miami’s tropical heat was nothing.

  I put on my helmet and swung my leg over my restored 1940 Indian Chief motorcycle, glad the job was over. This was definitely the last one. I was supposed to be retired, for fuck’s sake. I’d never set out to do this kind of work. But I had a certain set of skills—very Liam Neeson of me, but it was true—and it seemed like every time I finished one job, another one would pop up.

  It was always the same thing. A sweet old lady with a nephew trying to get out of dealing drugs, and a dealer who wouldn’t accept his resignation. A family man with a loan shark breathing down his neck. Owen Cudello wasn’t the first stalker I’d dealt with. A lot of my clients had been young women with shitty exes who wouldn’t leave them alone.

  I’d never advertised my services. I didn’t have a sign on my door that said Jude Ellis: Personal Security and Professional Problem Solver. It had started with Mrs. Dominguez. Nice lady, but her son had gotten in with some bad people. I’d handled the extraction and gone about my business.

  Next thing I knew, someone else had gotten my name. A referral, apparently. The woman’s ex-boyfriend had been on trial—an ex-boyfriend who’d also been involved with one of Miami’s most notorious drug cartels—and she’d been a key witness. She hadn’t trusted law enforcement to keep her safe, so she’d come to me.

  And apparently I was a sucker, because I couldn’t say no.

  But this was the last job. Mira Salinas was safe from that little prick. And I was going to go back to being properly retired.

  I stopped at the café near campus where I’d arranged to meet Mira. She was at a table near the front, wearing a floral dress, her dark hair in a loose ponytail. Her eyes widened with hope when I walked in.

  “Oh my god, I’ve been so nervous.” She was jittery, tapping her sandaled foot on the floor. “Is it over?”

  I sat on the edge of the seat across from her. I wasn’t going to stay. “It’s over. He won’t bother you again.”

  She let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing. “I’m so relieved. Thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  “It’s no problem.” I stood.

  “Wait.” She set her purse on the table and drew out an envelope. “I know we didn’t talk about price, but I have this.”

  There was no way I was taking money from a college student. “That’s not necessary.”

  “Of course it is. I hired you to help me and you did. Take it.”

  I held up a hand. “I appreciate that, but keep it. And maybe don’t date any more politician’s sons.”

  “Don’t worry. Never again.”

  “Take care, Mira.” I slipped on my sunglasses.

  “Thank you, Mr. Ellis,” she said as I walked out the door.

  * * *

  I got to the restaurant where I was meeting my date and parked on the street. Dating apps were hazardous at best, but I’d found one for the over-thirty crowd that seemed like it might work out better than all that swiping left and right bullshit. And at forty years old, my options for meeting women were narrowing. I didn’t want to be that guy in the club—the guy who’s too old. Last time I went out to a bar, people thought I was the bouncer.

  Besides, I was convinced the type of woman I was looking for wasn’t out at the clubs on a Saturday night anyway. I’d moved to Miami five years ago to start over and live an ordinary life. A quiet life.

  I’d joined the Marines at eighteen and had been recruited to the CIA several years later. I’d seen—and done—a lot of shit. Now I just wanted to settle down. Stay in one place. Be a normal guy.

  And dating a woman I didn’t have to worry might kill me someday would be a plus.

  The restaurant was only about half full, and Karen wasn’t here yet. Our dating app profiles had photos, and we’d done the thing where we said what we’d be wearing so we could find each other. She’d said light blue shirt, and there wasn’t a light blue shirt to be found.

  I decided to get a table. It was a cute place—she’d suggested it—with bright blue tile and photos of Miami wildlife decorating the walls. I noted the exits, the location of the kitchen—which meant potential weapons in an emergency.

  Damn it. I needed to stop thinking like that. This was a date, not a meeting with an informant.

  The host led me to a spot next to a window and I chose the seat facing the front so I could see people coming in. My phone buzzed, so I checked, but it was Derek asking if we were boxing tomorrow. I told him I’d meet him at the gym at four.

  After a quick glance at the menu Karen still wasn’t here, so I swiped through the local news on my phone to kill time. There wasn’t much going on that I didn’t already know about. I kept scrolling until something about a foiled mugging caught my eye.

  I skimmed the article. Someone had attempted to mug local billionaire Cameron Whitbury in the parking garage of her office building. She’d gotten away by stomping on the perpetrator’s foot with her high heel. That made me chuckle. Nice move.

  The article had a photo of Cameron with some ric
h pansy in a suit—the kind of guy who’d be no help in a crisis. It wasn’t that he was tall and lean—almost skinny—that gave it away, nor that he was dressed in an expensive suit. I could see it in his eyes. In his posture. He was the kind of guy who’d crumble in the face of danger.

  I didn’t believe every woman needed a man in her life to protect her. But a woman like this—a billionaire CEO—could find herself a target of the wrong people for any number of reasons. Paid security was one thing, but a partner who could hold his own would be good for someone like her.

  I put my phone down, realizing I was analyzing the story like she was an asset in a mission or a fellow operative. I needed to stop thinking like that.

  The door opened and a woman in a light blue shirt came in. She had blond hair, cut in a short bob, a mid-length floral skirt, and sandals. She spotted me and lifted her hand in a hesitant wave.

  I smiled, and she came over to my table. I stood and we exchanged a slightly awkward hug.

  With a deep breath, I took my seat. I wasn’t nervous, exactly. It was hard to get nervous anymore. But I’d been out with a bunch of different women over the last couple of years, and never seemed to connect with anyone.