Kidnapping the Duchess: A Hot Bodyguard with Secret Identity Romance, Racy Royals #1

by Gina L. Maxwell

  OTHER BOOKS BY GINA L. MAXWELL

  Neverland Novels

  Pan #1

  Hook #2

  Tink #3 (TBD)

  Fighting for Love series

  Seducing Cinderella #1

  Rules of Entanglement #2

  Fighting for Irish #3

  Sweet Victory #4

  Playboys in Love series

  Shameless #1

  Ruthless #2

  Merciless #3

  Stand-Alones

  Hot for the Fireman

  Ask Me Again

  Tempting her Best Friend

  GLM Steamy Shots

  (Kindle Unlimited Erotic Novellas)

  Bad Teacher: An Alpha Student and Hot Teacher Romance

  Kidnapping the Duchess, Racy Royals #1

  Charming the Prince, Racy Royals #2

  NOTE: This story was previously published for a brief period as Perverted Duchess by Patience Parks, the former collaborative pen name of Gina L. Maxwell and Laura Wright. Gina L. Maxwell holds the copyright for this story. This version contains edits and significant additional content not in the original edition.

  Copyright © 2021 Gina L. Maxwell

  GLM Steamy Shots

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Photo: stock

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from this book (other than for review purposes), please contact gina@ginalmaxwell.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Dear Reader,

  Hi there! I’m thrilled you’ve picked up one of my Steamy Shots for a romp on the lusty side of romance. I know how precious your time is, and I deeply appreciate you spending some of it with me and my characters.

  If this is your first Shot (especially if you’re familiar with my regular romances), here’s a few important things to know:

  These are much shorter in length, about 15K words or 65 pages on average. They really are just a “shot” of steamy romance when you’re looking for a quickie. ;)

  These are mostly complete stand-alones. There might be an occasional duet, but I promise on a stack of pancakes that I will never end the first book on a cliffhanger. If there’s a sequel, it’s because I had fun writing the characters and wanted to give them—and you—more.

  Some HEAs & lots of HFNs! I’m not saying I’ll never write a Shot with a Happily Ever After, but due to length, most of these stories will have an HFN—Happy for Now. They might have a sexy fling then gladly go their separate ways, or maybe they’re super in-lust and decide to see where things go from there. Either way I do it, my goal is to write an ending that satisfies you and my characters.

  All right, off you go! Make sure you have a fan or a cool drink nearby. You’re gonna need it! And if you haven’t read my full-length, HEA-heavy (and still scorching hot) romance novels, check out the series lists in the front or back of this book, or head to my website at www.ginalmaxwell.com/books for more info.

  Literary Love & Kitten Kisses,

  ~ G

  To Cin:

  My fellow Crazy Cat Lady, Marco Polo connoisseur,

  and feeder of my Nick Jonas addiction…

  I’ll be forever grateful that you’re in my life.

  I love you.

  ~ G ~

  CHAPTER ONE

  Daria

  As my brain drags me toward consciousness, a muffled voice prattles on about lord only knows what. Suddenly, the pillow over my head is ripped away and my sister’s words become blaringly clear.

  “Daria, are you even listening to me?”

  I smoosh my face into another pillow. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m trying really hard not to.”

  “Dad just called. He’s on his way home, and he expects us to be ready to greet him when he arrives with the Duke of Sasquine.”

  BOOM.

  Just like that, I remember why I’d fallen into a bottle of tequila the night before. This is to be my last week of freedom, decreed so by my father almost a year ago to the day.

  “It’s time for me to start gathering marriage prospects for you, Daria, and second to securing your station in life, your happiness means a great deal to me. Is there anyone you’d like me to consider? Anyone you already love or might come to love?”

  An image of my favorite bodyguard flashes through my mind. Whenever he’s near, my skin tingles with awareness and my body flushes hot. But what I feel for the incredibly sexy Izak Blackstone isn’t love. It’s a different four-letter word that starts with “L” and ends with multiple Os. Not that I know from experience, but sometimes a girl can just tell.

  Shaking free of my lust-addled thoughts, I raise my chin and speak with conviction. “No, Daddy, there’s no one, because I don’t want a love match or any kind of match, for that matter.”

  “That’s out of the question, I’m afraid. I’ll start a list of prospective noblemen and invite one of them here every month for a week-long stay. You’ll have the chance to get to know them enough to make your decision by the end of their visit.”

  “But Dad—”

  “No buts, Daria. I’m giving you one year to choose an acceptable husband who will secure your future. At the end of that year, if you haven’t made a choice, I will do so for you.”

  For the past eleven months, my father has done as promised and brought eleven titled aristocrats from all over to Geneva in hopes I would say “yes” to one of them. And for the past eleven months, I’ve only ever said “no” and prayed Dad would tire of playing matchmaker and finally give up.

  He hasn’t.

  This week marks the last of that year, and the Duke of Sasquine is the very last of my prospects, mostly due to my tendencies for attracting trouble with a capital T. But, according to my father, not only is Cyrus Applebaum willing to marry me despite my wild reputation, but he’s also amenable to it.

  Which is why there’s currently a drumline battle in my head from too many tequila shooters. Not that it’s out of the norm for me—they don’t call me Geneva’s Duchess of Debauchery for nothing—but typically, my party-like-a-rock-star lifestyle isn’t driven by emotion. It’s simply what’s expected of the black sheep of the Copeland family, so like any good royal, I do my best to accommodate my public.

  “For fuck’s sake, Talia, settle down,” I grumble. “I’ll never understand why you get so worked up whenever foreign nobles come to visit. They’re no different than us, you know. I don’t expect everyone to roll out the red carpet for me, and I’ve been a duchess since I was twelve, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “How could any of us forget when you bring it up at the most random of times, your grace?”

  I chuckle at that. Ever since “Auntie” Lisbeth—our mother’s best friend and queen of our fair country, Malvenia—bestowed the title on me after Mum passed away, I’ve made it a point to remind everyone how important I am. It’s a running joke between me and my siblings, who love me too much to take offense, bless their hearts.

  “And don’t lie, you absolutely love getting the red-carpet treatment,” she says with a small shove to my
shoulder.

  “I said I don’t expect it, not that I don’t love it.”

  She chuffs a quick laugh then gets to work. Though my eyes remain closed, I hear Talia flitting around my room, grabbing an outfit she deems appropriate for meeting one’s possibly soon-to-be betrothed, fishing pain relievers from the ever-present bottle on the end table, and opening a bottle of water from my mini-fridge. She and our brother—her twin—are two years younger, making them twenty-three, yet she’s always acted like the eldest.

  “Let’s go, lazy loaf. You can’t be late for your next blind date,” Talia says in a sing-songy voice. Everyone in the kingdom knows my Dad is trying to match me up with potential suitors, but not even Tal knows about the ultimatum he gave me. No one knows I’m about to lose my freedom if I can’t figure a way out of this. But I’m nothing if not determined. If it takes squeezing out a few pleading tears to sway my kind-hearted father in my favor at the eleventh hour, I won’t hesitate.

  Groaning, I roll to my back and fling my arms to the side like a petulant child. Which, at the moment, I suppose I am. At least it’s on-brand.

  “Come on.” She pulls on my arm, dragging me into a seated position before stretching across the mattress to force the pills and water into my hands. “Ugh, why do you insist on such a ginormous bed?”

  “It’s the perfect size when it’s my turn to host the orgies,” I deadpan.

  Talia snort-laughs. She’s the only person in all of Malvenia who knows the truth about who I really am. Everyone thinks I’ve slept my way through half the country’s male population, and a good number of females as well. They’d be shocked to discover the Duchess of Debauchery is still carrying her V-card.

  Unless you count my extensive sex toy collection in the bedside drawer. But as far as actual human penetration? Nada. Turns out an inability to be vulnerable with anyone is a major cockblock. Who knew?

  “I have to confirm everything in the kitchen is running smoothly. Think you can manage making yourself presentable on your own?”

  While chugging the bottle of water, I extend my middle finger in the air. My sister, used to my snarky attitude, doesn’t even blink.

  “Excellent. You have less than an hour so chop-chop.” Talia glides across my room with poise and purpose, every strand of pinned blonde hair perfect, as though scared to defy her by moving even a millimeter out of place. Always the proper lady, my sis. She’s so much like our mother, which incidentally, is the exact opposite of me.

  As she reaches the door, Talia nods in the direction of the long settee in my sitting area. “And get rid of your latest beard, Orgy Queen.”

  Okay, so not exactly like our proper-to-a-fault mother. My face cracks on a smile, which I quickly cover by sticking my tongue out at her.

  As soon as the door shuts, I climb out of bed and trudge over to the fully clothed body draped over the black velvet upholstery. Freddie—Frankie? Fonzie? Whatever. Whats-His-Nuts has one arm thrown over his eyes and his mouth open like a gaping fish. I use my bare foot and jostle the leg that’s hanging off the side.

  “Wake up, Nemo. I need you out of here.” I keep poking and prodding until he’s lucid enough to stand, but he’s not moving nearly fast enough. This is the part I hate. Ushering out the man—or woman—everyone thinks I’ve slept with the following morning. “Come on, move it or lose it. Time for you to blow this popsicle stand.”

  A smarmy grin spreads over his face. “I’d rather you just blow me.”

  “In your dreams, playboy,” I say, shoving him toward the door. “And that’s exactly where they’ll stay—in your dreams. Remember you signed an NDA stating you’ll never speak about anything that happened in this room.”

  “But nothing happened in this room.”

  “And you can’t talk about that, either, so just play it cool and let your friends assume you’re a super stud. Sorry my headache—” that didn’t exist “ruined things for us.”

  “Yeah, too bad. I would’ve rocked your wor—”

  I cut him off by yanking the door open, ready to shove him on his way. But when I see the stoic man standing across the hall like a living statue with blazing hazel eyes, I stop myself. Turning to my sorta-date, I give him a flirty smile and run a finger down the front of his rumpled shirt. “Hit me up and we’ll do this again sometime.”

  The twat is so caught up in the idea of seeing me again, he doesn’t even realize that “this” technically means he’d be sleeping on my couch wholly unsatisfied a second time. “Yeah, I definitely will. See ya, Daria.”

  The sculpture wearing a crisp suit and discreet comms unit tucked into his right ear comes to life, stopping—Francis?—with a firm hand to his chest. “That’s your grace to you. Either show her the respect her title demands or you’ll be walking out of here less a row of teeth.”

  After muttering an awkward apology, Frankenstein books it down the hall to where another security guard waits to escort him out of the manor. I raise an eyebrow at the surly beast in front of me and tsk. “Now was that necessary, Mr. Blackstone? I hardly think a man needs to address me formally after he’s known me…biblically.”

  The muscle in his jaw tics and his nostrils flare ever so slightly. “I humbly disagree, your grace. As long as he’s on this side of your bedroom door, he will address you properly.”

  I saunter closer until only a few inches separate us. If I lean forward on my toes, my breasts would brush the stiff lapels of his suit jacket, and the thin silk camisole I’m wearing would do little to disguise the hard peaks of my nipples. Which is why I hold my position. Not because it would bother me for Izak, head of my security team and personal bodyguard, to see me in such a state. But because this dance we perform has become something of an art form.

  Every day, we walk a thin line between what is proper for our stations, and what is decidedly not. But I never cross that line for fear that Izak would be reassigned. It’s this daily mental and verbal tango that makes me feel alive. I can’t lose that. I won’t. So, on we dance.

  “To be clear,” I say, peering up at him through my long lashes as I finger the gold pendant nestled in my cleavage, “you’re saying that a man is free to call me whatever he wants so long as it’s behind closed doors? Can you give me some examples of other things that a man is free to do with me in private, Mr. Blackstone?”

  Every muscle in his big body goes rigid as he rasps, “It’s not my place to presume what your grace prefers in the privacy of her bedroom.”

  My tongue snakes out to wet my lips. Golden-green eyes follow the movement, and his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. “Oh, come now, bodyguard, humor me. Pretend it is your place and take a guess at what I prefer. I double-dog dare you.”

  “As tempting as your challenge is, Duchess, I never make guesses about anything significant. And when it comes to a woman in my bed, her pleasure is of the utmost importance. I make it my mission to know what she likes, what she wants. What she needs.”

  The inside of my mouth has gone dry, and it’s my turn to swallow hard. “How incredibly noble of you.”

  “Not noble,” he says, his gaze dipping to my breasts briefly before locking onto my eyes once more. “It’s what a real man does, one who’s worthy. Because when it comes to activities of a biblical nature, Duchess, if he’s not indulging every wicked fantasy in your pretty head…” In a rare break of character, Izak dips his head to whisper in my ear, starting a fire low in my belly as his warm breath skates over my skin. “He doesn’t deserve to touch a single fucking inch of your naked body.”

  My breath catches, and my panties are suddenly damp beneath my thin pajama shorts, but my pride and this game won’t allow the truth of how he affects me to show. Gathering what’s left of my unfrazzled nerves, I say boldly, “Then it’s a good thing your job is to guard my body against potential threats, not potential lovers.”

  Ooh, that struck a nerve if the jaw tic is any indication. Good, serves him right for getting me all worked up like he did. With the time cr
unch I’m already on, I won’t have time to take care of business before I’m required in the study. Just perfect. Sexual frustration tends to make me extremely cranky. Hence my extensive toy collection. Damn Izak and his bloody sexy…everything. Ugh!

  Squaring my shoulders, I slip a devil-may-care grin onto my face. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Blackstone, I have another potential lover to get ready for.”

  Then, before I cave and spill every fantasy in my filthy virgin mind to my bodyguard, I stride into my room and slam the door on my temptation.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Izak

  “The Double Ds are en route to the study. Repeat, the Double Ds are two minutes out.”

  I roll my eyes at the snickering in my comms unit before Andrew’s connection cuts out. He’s good at his job, but he has the humor of a ten-year-old, consequently why he’s using a bra size as the codename for the Duke of Geneva, Edwin Copeland, and his guest, the Duke of Sasquine, Cyrus Applebaum.

  Also known as the latest in a long line of men I’d like to punch in the junk out of pure jealousy.

  When it comes to the duchess, I’m ten kinds of fucked up. I joined the Copelands’ security team three years ago. A year in I was transferred from grounds duty to Daria’s personal detail after successfully apprehending—and kicking the piss out of—an intruder who’d gotten past three other guards. Then, when Theo retired as head of Daria’s team because he was “too feckin’ old to babysit the Duchess of Debauchery anymore,” I got promoted to take his place. And being in charge of every aspect of her safety is precisely how I like it.

  Ever since, I’ve been by her side—morning to night, six days a week. The only times I rotate out are once she’s secure in a room for the night and every Sunday. And that’s only done out of pure necessity because I’m not a fucking vampire. I need sleep and the occasional downtime if I’m to be at my best. Otherwise, I’d guard her 24/7. I’d like to say it’s because of a stellar work ethic and strong sense of loyalty, but that’s a load of bullshit.