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He's the size of a cargo door, holds a teacup like it might shatter, and just decided she's his.
The last time someone promised to protect me, it cost me the story, the source, and my faith in anyone with a plan. Now there are men hunting me for what's in my notebook.So when the agency assigns me a bodyguard, I have rules. He breaks every one inside an hour. He picks me up. He decides. He doesn't explain. Then he asks, quietly, if he can touch my hair. I don't have a rule for that.
Thane is royal blue, one tusk broken, and good for four words an hour. He fixes things nobody asked him to fix, because nobody's ever kept him for anything but his fists.
I hand him my notebook. His hands come away stained with my ink. It doesn't wash off. It climbs. Inside a week it's telling the room what I am to him. He still hasn't said a word. He decides for me every time it turns dangerous. The one thing I swore I'd never survive twice.
I started this by accident. But will the men hunting me let me finish it?
For readers who love: alien bodyguard romance, forced proximity, size difference everywhere, touch-her-and-die from a hero who'd rather fix the chair, he falls first and falls harder, a touch-starved giant who asks permission, found family with the kettle always on, slow burn to high heat, and a guaranteed HEA.
Genre: Paranormal Romance