LITMIR.BIZ

      Carla Cassidy is an award-winning author who has written over fifty books. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

       Chapter 1

      “Ms. Bryant will be with you momentarily.” The uniformed maid smiled then closed the door, leaving Clay West alone in a living room the size of a small country.

      White. White carpeting, white walls and white furniture. Clay wasn’t sure if it was the lack of color that hurt his eyes or the fact that he was coming off a two-week job in Las Vegas, a city where nights and days blurred together without distinction.

      He jammed his hands into his jeans’ pockets and shifted from one foot to the other as he waited for somebody to join him. He’d been hoping that he’d go from Las Vegas back to his home in Cotter Creek, Oklahoma, for a little rest and relaxation.

      He’d been at the airport heading home when he’d gotten the call from his eldest brother, Tanner. Tanner had been short on details, telling him only that he needed to go to the Bryant mansion in Hollywood Hills, that Gracie Bryant, the movie star, was in need of a bodyguard. Gracie’s agent had arranged for the protection.

      Clay had no idea who Gracie Bryant was or what kind of movies she starred in. He didn’t follow the Hollywood scene and the last movie he’d seen had starred a beautiful princess and seven little dwarves. As he recalled he’d made himself sick on candy and popcorn.

      He released a weary sigh and moved toward the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows across the back wall of the room and glanced outside.

      An Olympic-size pool was just beyond a lush flower garden and a Greek-style gazebo rose up in stately elegance. A tennis court lay just beyond the pool. This private residence had more amenities than the Cotter Creek Community Center. Apparently whoever Gracie Bryant was, she was successful.

      He just hoped this case was more pleasant than his most recent, playing bodyguard to an eccentric, obnoxious high roller who thought showering might change his luck. The guy had been a pig and Clay had been grateful that morning when the gig had come to an end.

      He turned away from the window, suddenly aware of the sound of a feminine voice drifting in from an adjoining room. He didn’t pretend to ignore it, but rather moved several steps closer to the doorway. The best way to be efficient in this kind of a position was to know anything and everything that was going on in the house.

      “Charlie, I told you it wasn’t necessary.” The voice was deep and smoky, but held more than a touch of impatience. “I told you that you were overreacting. Trust me, I’m not happy about this. You should have okayed it with me before you hired anyone.”

      Clay wasn’t sure why, but he had a vision of a middleaged woman in a severe business suit, a real ball-buster type who had probably never been married and was in charge of running this mansion like a well-oiled piece of machinery.

      “You should have told me sooner what you’d done,” the voice continued. “He’s here now. All right, I’ll do it your way, but mama’s not happy and you know the old saying.”

      Clay tensed. It was obvious she’d been talking about him and just as obvious she wasn’t pleased he was here. That didn’t matter. Clay wasn’t here to make anyone happy. He’d been hired to keep somebody safe from harm and that’s exactly what he intended to do.

      The woman who swept from the adjoining room wasn’t middle-aged, nor was she dressed in a business suit. She was clad in a turquoise bikini with a filmy matching coverup that fell just short of her knees.

      Her blond hair was caught at the nape of her neck in a little ponytail thingie and she held a cell phone in her slender fingers.

      Gracie Bryant? The woman definitely looked like a movie star. He couldn’t help the faint burst of pure lust that kicked him in the pit of his stomach. Even though he never mixed business with pleasure, he’d have to be dead not to appreciate her physical beauty.

      He tried not to notice her full breasts and long, shapely legs that were visible through the see-through material of the cover-up, but hell, he was male and it had been a long time since he’d had a chance to indulge in any kind of a relationship.

      Her eyes perfectly matched the blue of her swimsuit, but as her gaze met his, he saw a flash of barely suppressed annoyance. She had to have known he’d heard her end of the conversation, but she made no apology or any other indication that she cared that he had heard.

      “Mr. West, I presume?” She held out her hand.

      “Clay West,” he said. Her long fingers were cool, her handshake firm, and he had a feeling this was a woman who was accustomed to getting her own way.

      “I’m Libby Bryant.” She gestured him toward one of the white sofas. “Please sit. May I get you something to drink?” She headed for the full wet bar in one corner of the spacious room.

      “No, thanks. I’m fine.” Gingerly, Clay sat on the edge of the sofa, hoping he didn’t have anything on the seat of his jeans that might stain the white fabric.

      “If I’d known you were coming I would have sent a car to pick you up,” she said, and splashed a healthy amount of orange juice into the bottom of a glass.

      “A taxi got me here just fine.”

      Her cell phone rang a musical tune and a tight apologetic smile lifted her lips as she opened it to answer. The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, which remained cool and distant.

      “Hello?” The frown that cut across her forehead did nothing to detract from her attractiveness. “No. I told you no before and I’m telling you no again. I decide what she’ll do and what she won’t do, and until they’re willing to come up with more money, the answer will remain no.” She closed the phone and

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