Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Pretty Girl |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Alexa Riley |
| Language: | English |
| Book Information: | |
Mila has been modeling her whole life. Discovered when she was young, she has spent her life in the spotlight. Fame brings both good and bad, but she never expected it to bring danger. When she has to hire a bodyguard she’s surprised by how much she wants his protection. After an accident in the FBI that left Jax scarred, he decided to retire on his ranch in Colorado and finally have some peace and quiet. But when his buddy calls up and needs a favor, Jax can’t turn him down. Being a bodyguard wasn’t on his radar...until he laid eyes on her. Warning: It’s easy to guard a body when all you wanna do is rub up against it. This alpha hero is ready to protect what’s his, but that won’t include birth control! Jump in this sticky-sweet romance with a heaping pile of sassy steam. | |
| Books by Author: | Alexa Riley Books |
“I don’t wanna sit still, look pretty.”
- Daya
Chapter One
Mila
“Mila, look this way.” The photographer snaps his fingers for me to look in his direction. I’ve been on the set for ten hours now and we’re on my ninth wardrobe change. My feet are starting to throb, and I want nothing more than to go home, but I know that won’t be happening any time soon. It’s back to another hotel. Not that it matters much. My home doesn’t even feel like one. Although I’ve been there for some time, I’ve never had the time to set it up. Instead a designer was sent in and the style didn’t fit me at all. It was done how my mom had told them to do it, so it was more her than me. Her taste is a little richer than mine. I often feel like I’m going to mess something up when I’m there. However, I do love my bed. Nothing beats your own bed.
I turn my head slightly, giving the photographer what he wants. I tilt my head at just the right angle for this lighting. I should know how this works since I’ve been doing it for almost fifteen years. Since some man discovered me, as they say, when I was only five. My mom had been so excited, but I had no idea what was really happening.
This has been my life since then. Jumping from city to city and oftentimes country to country, reminding me once again I’m not even sure what city I’m in at the moment. I think back for a moment, then remember New York. I got in late last night from London. I stifle a yawn and wish I could have a break, but I push on knowing this is the last set for the night. I mindlessly move for the camera. I don’t even have to think about it anymore.
I hope the hotel has late room service, or maybe I can have the driver, Ben, stop for something, but it’s doubtful I could find something from a fast food place that’s healthy. But this is New York. I’m sure I can find something to order. I think sleep might win out tonight, though. I may be asleep before any food gets to me.
The agency might be great about making sure I have most things I need, but food isn't one of them. I’m not sure they would count it as a necessity in life, especially in my line of work.
“That’s a wrap,” the photographer says. Everyone starts clapping and I force a polite smile on my face and thank everyone. I don’t want to be rude just because I’m tired and hungry. Long ago I told myself I’d never be like most of the other models I’d met over the years who were demanding and rude. I used to hate when my mom would come with me on shoots, because she could be those things. At around age fourteen I started going on my own, but always with a bodyguard.
I make my way back towards my dressing room, letting free the yawn I’ve been holding in. When I open the door, I freeze when I see a man standing in my dressing room. His back is to me and his size is more than intimidating. His black shirt is tight against his broad back. My eyes drop even lower to his ass, and my lips go dry. I lick them as my eyes roam over his back and down his legs, thinking about how every thick inch of him is roped with muscle. It’s clear this man is fit and works out, but I’m guessing he’s not another model, because most male models are lean and cut like swimmers and runners. This man is built is more like a football player.
He turns, and his dark eyes meet mine, making my breath catch as they narrow on me. His hair is cut short, almost buzzed, but what really catches my eye is the long scar that runs down the right side of his face. It cuts through his eyebrow, barely missing his eye, and continues down his cheek, ending at his jaw. It’s not a clean cut. It's jagged, but the scar looks to be older since it’s not red and angry.
I snap my eyes from his face, realizing that I’m staring at him. I take a step back but run into my dressing room door and it’s then I realize I’m alone in a room with a man I don’t know. A man who is likely three times my size. He had to have been let in here, I reassure myself. The studio has a ton of security, and visitors have to pass through a number of checks before they’re even allowed on set.
When I glance up through my eyelashes I see this time it’s him whose eyes are roaming over my body. I watch his jaw go tight and a flash of anger crosses his face.