Close Contact

There’s no resisting a desire like this...

MMA fighter Miles Dartman’s casual arrangement with personal shopper Maxi Nevar would be many men’s fantasy. She seeks him out, they have mindblowing sex, she leaves. Rinse, repeat. Yet lately, Miles wants more. And when Maxi requests his services via the Body Armor security agency, he’s ready to finally break through her defenses—and protect her day and night.

Receiving a large inheritance has brought chaos and uncertainty into Maxi’s life. Her ex has resurfaced, along with lots of former “friends,” and someone is making mysterious threats. Then there’s Miles, who doesn’t ask for anything...except her trust. Pleasure is easy. Now Maxi has to give her heart as well as her body...or risk losing a man who could be everything she needs.

Praise for New York Times

bestselling author Lori Foster

“Teasing and humorous dialogue, sizzling sex scenes, tender moments, and overriding tension show Foster’s skill as a balanced storyteller.’’

—Publishers Weekly on Under Pressure (starred review)

“Best friends find hunky men and everlasting love in Foster’s latest charmer.... Her no-fail formula is sure to please her fans.”

—Publishers Weekly on Don’t Tempt Me

“Foster brings her signature blend of heat and sweet to her addictive third Ultimate martial arts contemporary.”

—Publishers Weekly on Tough Love (starred review)

“Emotionally spellbinding and wicked hot.”

—New York Times bestselling author Lora Leigh on No Limits

“Storytelling at its best! Lori Foster should be on everyone’s auto-buy list.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Sherrilyn Kenyon on No Limits

“Foster’s writing satisfies all appetites with plenty of searing sexual tension and page-turning action in this steamy, edgy, and surprisingly tender novel.”

—Publishers Weekly on Getting Rowdy

“A sexy, believable roller coaster of action and romance.”

—Kirkus Reviews on Run the Risk

“Steamy, edgy, and taut.”

—Library Journal on When You Dare

Close Contact

Lori Foster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

I’m so excited to introduce the third book in my Body Armor series, featuring hot alpha males whose überprotective instincts are put to good use in their role as elite bodyguards.

Miles Dartman, the latest MMA fighter to join the elite Body Armor personal-security agency, has learned through his time as a heavyweight contender to always expect the unexpected. But he never imagined Maxi Nevar, the casual fling he can’t stop thinking about, would suddenly show up at Body Armor needing his help...or that getting to know her would only intensify their already sizzling connection. Now keeping her safe is more than just a job—and convincing her to trust him with her heart is the most important mission of his life.

I hope you enjoy Miles and Maxi’s romance. And of course, you’re always welcome to reach out to me. I’m active on most social media forums, including Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Goodreads, and my email address is listed on my website at www.lorifoster.com.

Happy reading!

Lori Foster

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dear Reader

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

MAXI OPENED HER eyes to a black velvet sky pierced with shimmering stars. A balmy breeze drifted over her skin. She frowned, her head aching horribly, her mouth as dry as cotton, her body heavy...every part of her hurt in one way or another. She stared at the sky, trying to make sense of it.

It took an extreme amount of effort, but she lifted up and winced at the sharp pain in her elbow and back. A strange sense of dread crawled over her.

What the hell? Gravel?

How was she on gravel? In dirt and clumps of dried grass... With her head now swimming and her stomach trying to revolt, she paused, closed her eyes and concentrated on not throwing up. When everything somewhat settled, she pried her eyes open again and slowly looked around.

Realization doused her in ice, followed by a wave of prickling heat.

Good God, she was outside, lying in a dry, rocky field.

Her heart rapped painfully hard, confusion gripping her so tightly that she couldn’t think. She didn’t know the time; she didn’t even know the day.

Where am I and why?

Past the confusion, expanding fear brought a sob up her throat. But sobbing would require sound, and she was too scared to make any noise.

Forcing her sluggish body to move, she shifted slightly and peered around. She recognized a tree, a fence... Okay, so she was on the farm that she’d inherited from her grandmother. The hard earth, dry from a long August drought, sent bristly weeds sticking into her skin.

She looked down at herself and recognized the sleep shirt and cutoff shorts she’d changed into after her shower. Each minuscule movement made her head throb in agony and sent acid burning through her stomach. She put a hand over her mouth to stave off the sickness.

Off to the side, something moved in the encircling darkness.

Frozen, her eyes wide in an effort to see, Maxi held her breath and waited. Another breeze moved the branches of the tree, allowing a splinter of moonlight to penetrate.

Yellow eyes came her way—and she realized it was a black cat strolling cautiously toward her.

Relief brought a rush of hot tears to her eyes. “Oh, baby, you scared me.” The cat, recognizing her voice, sat beside her. The moonlight slid away, but the cat’s yellow eyes remained visible, unblinking.

Because she needed to feel something real, Maxi pulled him into her lap and stroked his long back. “What am I doing out here?”

No answer. She heard only the rustling of the wind and a rumbling purr from the cat.

What should I do? How far away was she from the farmhouse? Trying to figure it out left her more frustrated. Tears spilled over to her cheeks and she dashed them away. Crying now wouldn’t help her.

She had to move.

With an effort, still clutching the cat, she got to her feet and turned a slow, clumsy circle. Once she moved away from the tree, the scant moonlight helped orient her. She was near the two-acre pond. Judging by the tall reeds that grew at the back of the pond, she needed to circle around to the dock, then go up the hill.

Tunnel vision distorted what the night didn’t hide, forcing her to feel her way in near blindness. It seemed every third step she found a rock or thistle that cut into her heel or tender arch. Once, she tripped and almost fell. She did drop the cat, but the dear thing didn’t leave her. In fact, she used him as a guide, following close behind as he meandered up the slight incline to the back porch. He, at least, had no problem seeing his way.

The house, dark inside and out, appeared as a looming gray structure that left her decidedly uneasy. She felt as if she approached danger rather than shelter.

The darkness didn’t make sense. She always left on the outside lights in the evening. A power outage? Maybe during a storm, but they hadn’t had one of those in a good long while.

Besides, an outage couldn’t explain why she’d awakened outside.

Nervousness and fear coalesced into real terror. While she gulped in the clear evening air, she belatedly realized why.

Someone did something to me.

How, she didn’t know. Thinking made her head hurt worse. She summoned only a vague memory of drinking a glass of wine on her sofa while reading a book. That had to have been hours ago. What had happened after that? Folding her arms around her stomach, she again fought the sickness.

Could there be an intruder in her house? Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Pausing near the back porch, she strained to listen for unfamiliar sounds, steadying her shaky limbs with a hand planted on the outer wall. More cats joined her. The isolated farmhouse her grandmother had left her came with too many cats to count—and a distinct lack of nearby neighbors. At about eight miles away, Mr. Barstow would be the closest, but at seventy-nine, he wouldn’t be much help if a threat remained.

She was too far from town to walk anywhere, and her car keys were in the house.

What to do?

Desperation decided for her.

Her chest tight with dread, she crept up the porch, carefully turned the doorknob and found the back door unlocked, then slipped inside while making sure to keep the cats out. The last thing she needed was to try to distinguish their movements from any other sound.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her blood rushed, making her dizzy.

The back of the house opened into a short hall. Stairs to her right led up to the bedroom she used, a small study and a bathroom. To her left was the main floor bedroom, but it had been her grandmother’s, and other than packing up the belongings and keeping it clean of dust, she didn’t intrude into that room.

Her keys hung in the kitchen straight ahead, but her purse, which had her wallet, would be in the living room on the desk. She couldn’t leave without money.

Each creeping step sharpened her nervousness until a scream built in her throat. Gasping each silent breath, she lacked her usual grace, moving like someone suffering a killer hangover. In the dark, she groped around, being as silent as possible. She didn’t dare turn on a light; what if she did and she found someone standing there? She shuddered at the thought.

When she finally located her purse, her knees almost gave out. She hooked the strap over her head and across her body to ensure she wouldn’t drop it. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness so that now she could make out vague shadows.

Somehow that seemed even eerier.

Anxious to escape, she made her way back through to the kitchen. Praying she wouldn’t drop them, or even rattle them, she grabbed the keys in her fist. Next, she slipped her feet into the rubber boots she wore when going to the barn and, because she couldn’t stop shaking, she snagged the flannel shirt off the hook. She felt sick with trepidation by the time she got back out the door.

And she still didn’t feel safe.

Dawn cast a gray hue over the horizon, telling her it was almost morning. How long had she been outside? No, she wouldn’t tax herself by thinking about that now. Her number one priority was getting away until she could figure out what had happened.

She wanted to run to her car, but not only was she unsteady on her feet, she feared that once she started to run, hysteria would set in. She needed to stay calm, so she took one deliberate step after another, constantly checking her surroundings.

At her car, she hesitated. If anyone was watching for her, the light when she opened her door would give her away.

As to that, what if someone was in the car?

She dug out her cell phone and, willing to risk it, used the softer light to look into the front and back seat.

Thankfully empty.

All but diving into the driver’s seat and then locking the doors, she fumbled until she got the key in the lock and started the engine.

Breath held, she turned on the headlights.

A dozen sets of cat eyes reflected back at her, but she saw nothing more sinister than that. She quickly looked behind her, too, but saw only shifting shadows that further intimidated her.

She put the car in Drive and, because she remained a little muddled, carefully pressed on the gas. Down the long drive to the main gravel road, she drove slowly, well aware that the cats often showed up out of nowhere.

As she cleared the property line, she knew what she had to do.

He might not appreciate seeing her again, not after such a long absence without a single word from her, but she could explain that if necessary.

She knew where he worked. She knew he was more than capable of helping.

And thanks to her recent inheritance, she could even afford him.

Miles Dartman, heavyweight MMA fighter turned bodyguard, the sexiest, and most sexual, man she’d ever known, was about to be in her employ.

It was the only upside to a very rough two months.

* * *

MILES RODE THE private elevator in the Body Armor agency to his boss’s very upscale office. The early-morning summons left him confused and he didn’t like it. He’d been in the shower when she’d called at 7:00 a.m. Her message said only that he was to get there as quickly as possible. She had a surprise for him.

Of course, he’d called her back, but she’d told him she’d explain everything once he made it to the office.

He’d finished his extensive training only a few weeks ago, learning enhanced computer skills and practicing his shot with a variety of guns. He’d settled on the Glock as his preferred weapon, but he carried a few other toys, as well.

So far, he’d had two cases, both of them pretty routine. He’d helped to control pushy fans at a sporting event for a baseball player during a PR stint, and then he’d escorted a big-time author with a new movie deal to some local signings around the area.

Easy peasy.

He missed competing, damn it. Missed the cage and the physical exertion. If fate hadn’t played him a dirty hand, he’d be at it still, fighting his way to a championship belt.

The loss of his fight career was only one of many regrets he suffered lately, and as usual, he shoved it from his mind, determined to live in the here and now.

The elevator opened and he stepped out, going straight to Sahara Silver’s posh office. As he passed Enoch Walker, Sahara’s personal assistant, he said, “She’s expecting me.”

“Indeed she is,” Enoch said without looking up from his PC screen. “Go right on in.”

Did he detect an unusual note in Enoch’s voice? Hard to tell when Enoch stayed focused on his task.

Miles liked Enoch a lot. He was a little dude with a will of iron and mad organizational skills. Always friendly, incredibly smart and damned reliable.

Because the door was closed, Miles knocked, and a mere second later it opened, almost as if Sahara had been waiting for him.

Oozing satisfaction, she smiled. “Miles.”

He paused, suddenly on guard. So far, his boss had been something of an enigma. On the outside, she was a real looker, a shapely five feet eight inches of sass with glossy mink-brown hair, direct blue eyes and the demeanor of an Amazon. On the inside, she probably wrestled alligators and won. Always polished, always in killer heels and always sporting attitude.

“That’s a different smile for you,” he noted. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be offered as a sacrifice to angry gods?”

The smile widened, then she stepped back to allow him to enter. “Thank you for getting here so quickly.”

“You didn’t leave me much choice with that cryptic message.”

“I’m never cryptic.”

“No? Then what was so urgent that I—” That was when Miles saw her. His eyes flared as he noted her huddled position in a padded chair, a steaming cup of coffee held in both hands. “Maxi?”

When he said her name, she straightened but didn’t look at him.

“What are you doing here?” For two months, he’d waited for her, hoping she’d get in touch again.

She hadn’t.

From the start, she’d made it clear that he was a convenient booty call and nothing more. That should have worked great for him, but instead it had driven him nuts.

He’d finally, well, almost, put her out of his mind with the job switch and move to a new apartment. Now here she was, at Body Armor of all places.

A slow burn started, making him blind to Sahara standing close, at least until she said, “Your friend has had something of an ordeal.”

“And she came to me?” Umbrage churned, made sharper by other losses at the same time. He fashioned a sarcastic grin. “Surprising, since she walked away without a goodbye.”

Maxi looked at him then. Those dark eyes he’d always found so mesmerizing were now glazed and somehow troubled.

And they stared at him like a lifeline.

It dawned on him that she looked terrible, when he hadn’t thought that possible. One of the very few things she’d ever revealed to him was her occupation as a personal stylist, a job that seemed to suit her, since the lady had always looked very put together.

Not this time, though. Dried leaves clung to her long, tangled blond hair. Gone were the trendy clothes, and instead she wore an oversize flannel shirt, faded cutoffs and bright green rubber boots dotted with yellow ducks. The ridiculous clothes made her look endearing.

Concern sharpened his tone. “What the hell happened to you?”

When she didn’t answer, he went to one knee in front of her, resting his hands on her slim thighs. A few months ago they’d been in a similar position, both naked. But she hadn’t looked wounded then. No, she’d been soft and hot, moaning his name.

Blocking that memory seemed imperative. His tone didn’t lose the edge. “Maxi?”

Pale slender fingers curled around the cup of steaming coffee. She swallowed audibly, met his gaze again and muttered, “I’m not sure.”

“What does that mean?”

Sahara strolled up behind him. “Sometime before dawn, Ms. Nevar woke up in her yard, feeling very sick and with no memory of how she got there.”

Miles looked back at Sahara, his voice stern with surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“She was a fair distance from her farmhouse but made it to the back porch. Needless to say, she wasn’t keen on going back inside, not without knowing what might await her. The house was dark and her property is isolated with no close neighbors.”

Miles sat back on his heels in disbelief. He didn’t know jack shit about her property, but he put that aside for the moment. “Drunk?” He hadn’t figured her for a big drinker, but then, what did he really know about her—except that, for a time, she’d enjoyed using him for sex.

As if to convince him, Maxi stared into his eyes. “I’d only had one glass of wine. At least, that’s all I can remember.”

All she remembered? “Could you have drunk enough to black out?”

She took that like a physical hit, flinching away from him and making him feel like an asshole.

Brisk now, Sahara said, “Despite being disoriented, she had the forethought, and guts I might add, to enter the unlit house to get her purse, car keys and those adorable boots.”

Adorable? They belonged on a ten-year-old, not a grown woman.

“Staying there was out of the question, and she wasn’t sure where else to go.” Sahara propped a hip on the desk. “Since she remembered that you work here, this is where she came.”

So she finally had a use for him again? No, he wouldn’t be that easy, not this time. But he had questions, a million of them.

Looking back at his boss, Miles said, “Give us a minute, will you?”

She smiled down at him. “Not on your life.”

He recognized that inflexible expression well enough. Sahara Silver did what she wanted, when she wanted. The lady was born to be a boss. In medieval times, she probably would have carried a whip. Still, he tried. “If she’s here to see me—”

“She’s here to hire you.”

Hire him? He turned back to Maxi and got her timid nod. Skeptical, he clarified, “As a bodyguard?”

“Yes.”

Since when did a woman need to be protected from a hangover? Did he want to be involved with that?

Now that he worked at the Body Armor agency, did he have a choice?

Sahara ruled with a small iron fist and she, at least, seemed taken with Maxi’s far-fetched tale. If Sahara took the contract, he might not have much say in it.

And who was he kidding? Much as he’d like to deny it, territorial tendencies had sparked back to life the second he saw Maxi again. In his gut, he knew he was happy—even relieved—to again have her within reach.

Maybe because she was the one who got away, or the one who hadn’t been all that hung up on him in the first place.

His ego was still stung, that was all.

It didn’t help that her disinterest had piled on at a low point in his life, making her rejection seem more important.

She’d come on to him hot and heavy, they’d gotten together three separate times, had phenomenal sex that, at least to him, had felt more than physical, and then she’d booked. She’d guarded her privacy more than her body, and other than her name and occupation, he hadn’t known much about her, not where she worked, or lived, or anything about her family...

As to that, maybe getting smashed and passing out in her yard were regular things for her. If so, he’d count himself lucky that she’d cut ties when she had.

Yet, somehow, that didn’t fit with his impressions of her.

First things first. He had to get a handle on what had actually happened. “Where is this farmhouse?”

“In Burlwood.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Few people have. It’s a really small town forty-five minutes south of here, close to the Kentucky border.”

With that answered, he went on to other details. “So you woke up outside?”

“Yes.”

“In your front yard?”

She shook her head. “A good distance away, on the far side of the pond.”

“Like a little decorative pond?”

“It’s two acres.”

Wow. Okay, so not close to the house, then. “How long were you out there?”

Her brows pinched together and her hands tightened. “I honestly don’t know. The last thing I remember is opening a book to read.” She drew in a deep, shaky breath. “That’s it. Just reading. Then I woke up with a splitting headache, some bug bites and gravel digging into my spine.”

“What were you doing before opening the book?”

Staring down at her hands, she gave it some thought. “I remember cleaning the kitchen.”

“Before that?”

She shook her head. “It was an all-day job.”

Who spent all day cleaning one room? He didn’t know Maxi’s habits, but maybe she’d never done any cleaning if tidying up dinner felt like a big chore to her. Hell, all he really knew about her was that she made him laugh, he enjoyed talking to her and she burned him up in bed.

Yeah, not a good time for that particular memory.

“Did you have company?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t remember?”

“I can’t remember much of anything.”

“Then how do you know—”

“No one comes out to the farmhouse,” she snapped. “But I already told you, if someone did, I do not remember it.” Temper brought her forward in her seat. “I can’t remember anything. Especially not how I ended up sleeping on the ground in the middle of the night!”