July Flames: A Rock Star Bodyguard Romance (Wilder Irish Book 7)

by Mari Carr

  July Flames

  Wilder Irish, book seven

  Mari Carr

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  July Flames

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  This book is dedicated to Debby.

  For all the miles we’ve walked, bingo cards we’ve daubed, stories we’ve plotted and bitches we’ve bitched.

  You’ll always be my Ouiser!

  Acknowledgments

  Every good librarian will tell you the secret to success isn’t to know all the answers. It’s to know where to find them.

  The answers to my questions as I researched and wrote July Flames came from many wonderful sources, and I’d like to acknowledge them for the patience they showed as they responded to the three million and twenty-two questions I posed.

  Special thanks to Sidney Bristol, Desiree Holt, Bianca D’Arc and Theresa Hissong for filling me in on the details of life on the road with a rock star.

  And to Lexi Blake for teaching me about the dead man’s switch and how to stop a bomber at twenty paces.

  I’d love to add Lila Dubois to this list, but I’m not sure how helpful her advice of “everything is solvable with either a good BDSM scene or C4” really was.

  July Flames

  He’ll risk everything to keep her.

  He’s going from military hero to bodyguard? Well, that might not be so bad. The money will be good anyway. But then Fergus meets the woman he’s hired to protect. A former teen pop star? Please God, no.

  After being taken advantage of repeatedly throughout her career, Aubrey Summers is used to pushing people away. But her sexy bodyguard’s need for control is eventually impossible to resist. Who is she to fight when he insists on being much closer than arm’s length?

  And keeping the sexy hero close isn’t such a bad idea, considering she’s got a stalker.

  Prologue

  “Boom! I got you, Pop Pop. Now you have to die.”

  Patrick Collins placed a hand over his chest and gave what he considered an Oscar-worthy death scene as eight-year-old Fergus giggled.

  “You got me,” Patrick said, gasping his last. He remained still for about three seconds, then opened his eyes to find Fergus standing over him, holstering his now-empty Nerf gun.

  They’d been playing cops and robbers for the last half hour, Fergus always assuming the role of a champion of the law, Patrick relegated to the bad guy.

  Once Patrick was back on his feet—hearty and hale again—he and Fergus walked around the living room, picking up the foam bullets.

  “Want to play again?” Fergus asked.

  Patrick shook his head. “I think this villain needs a cup of tea. How about some milk and chocolate chip cookies? Riley sent them up from the restaurant.”

  Fergus nodded eagerly, his stomach always winning out over playing. He was a sturdy boy, not unlike his fathers. While Patrick knew that Lily, Killian and Justin were aware of who Fergus’s true father was, they’d never told anyone else, insisting Killian and Justin were both his dad and one sperm wouldn’t change that.

  Patrick put the kettle on, smiling as he watched Fergus struggle to take the gallon of milk from the refrigerator. He knew better than to offer to help. His young grandson was fiercely independent, probably due to the fact he was an only child and therefore used to entertaining himself.

  He was the spit of Justin, but his demeanor was all Killian. In fact, too many times today, Patrick had almost called Fergus by his father’s name.

  They placed four of the cookies on a plate, then Patrick poured the tea and milk and they returned to the living room.

  “Would you like to watch TV?” Patrick offered.

  Fergus shook his head. “Can you tell me one of your stories?”

  For all his rough-and-tumble ways, he was a quiet lad, the type who preferred to get lost in a book rather than mindlessly watch television. While the Nerf guns and roughhousing came from Justin and Killian, the introspection and keen mind was definitely inherited from his mother, Lily, who was a marine biologist at the Baltimore Aquarium.

  Patrick smiled at the request. A fair hand at weaving a tale, there was nothing he loved more than telling a story, and Fergus was one of his biggest fans.

  “Well, I think I could be persuaded. Have I ever told you what your name means, Fergus?”

  Fergus’s eyes widened with excitement. “No. What does it mean?”

  “Fergus comes from Fearghas, who was an Ulster King.”

  Fergus frowned, confused, so Patrick backed up.

  “There’s this thing called mythology. Old stories. Legends about the people who lived hundreds, nay, thousands of years ago. Ireland has its own mythology.”

  “Ireland is where you’re from.”

  Patrick nodded. “It is, indeed.”

  “And I know about mythology. I have a book about it that Daddy reads to me. About Zeus who can throw lightning bolts from the sky and Hercules, who’s super strong.”

  When Fergus first started talking, Killian had become Dad and Justin was Daddy.

  “They were gods about a billion years ago and now they’re stars in the sky,” Fergus continued. “Dad lets me look at them with his telescope.”

  Killian had developed an interest in stargazing in the past few years, much to Patrick’s delight. He’d been a huge fan of the constellations in his younger years as well, but he had never had the time—or money—to do much more than glance up at the sky to admire them and wonder.

  Now that Killian had taken up the hobby, Patrick had begun reading books about the stars and taking his own turn with Killian and his telescope on clear evenings.

  “Then you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Patrick said. “Zeus and Hercules were gods in Greek mythology. Ireland has different stories. There were four great cycles in Irish mythology, including the Ulster Cycle. During that one, there was a king called Fergus mac Roich, who was known for his strength and virility.”

  “What’s vir—virun—”

  “Virility,” Patrick said again. “It means manliness.”

  Fergus liked that definition. “I’m a strong man. Just like my daddies. I’m going to be a soldier like they were.”

  Patrick knew Fergus’s hopes and dreams for the future very well. Just as he knew Lily was praying they never came to pass. She, Justin and Killian had been the best of friends during high school. Then Justin and Killian joined the military, both stationed in the Middle East for a time, and Lily had spent a fair amount of that time worrying.

  While Justin and Killian were proud that their son wanted to follow in their footsteps, Lily was struggling with the idea.

  Patrick consoled her by mentioning Fergus was only eight, and his dreams were those of a young boy, but that reassurance didn’t work. Despite being young, there was a confidence and—Patrick tried to put his finger on the word, then he landed on it—wisdom in Fergus that made everyone, children and adults alike, believe him when he spoke. It was odd to say that about someone so young, but Patrick could only assume that as the only son in a house with three adults, he’d missed out on some of the playfulness of childhood, the sibling squabbles and such, assuming a more m
ature personality instead.

  Of course, what Fergus lacked in siblings, he made up for in cousins and friends. He’d seen Fergus roughhousing with his cousins—he and Finn enjoyed wrestling far too much—and he fit in well with children, laughing, running and talking just as loud as the other youngsters whenever they were all together.

  However, unlike Patrick’s other grandchildren—with the exception of Ailis—Fergus was able to sit for long periods of time, quietly reading and playing without the need for constant entertainment.

  “I think you’d make a fine soldier,” Patrick said. “King Fergus was a soldier as well. And his history was a wild one filled with love and adventures, wars and deceit.”

  For the next half hour or so, Patrick recited the cleaner parts of King Fergus’s tale, skipping over the man’s renowned sex drive. In true Irish fashion, Patrick took great liberal license with the accuracy of the story, embellishing and adding bits about battles when Fergus asked questions he couldn’t answer.

  As the story wound down, Fergus leaned his head on Patrick’s arm. He was an affectionate, sweet lad. “Do you miss Ireland, Pop Pop?”

  Patrick nodded. “Very much, lad.”

  “I’d like to go there someday. Maybe we can go together.”

  “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

  “You think I’ll win a bunch of battles like King Fergus did when I’m grown up and go to war?”

  Patrick nodded. “I’m sure you will. You’re a brave lad, strong, honest. But I hope you understand that most battles can be won without force or fighting.”

  Fergus tilted his head and it was clear he’d never considered that. “How?”

  “Through patience and kindness. I suspect every war in history could have been avoided completely if both sides had simply opened their ears and their hearts, listening with wisdom rather than emotion.”

  With any other grandson, Patrick might have worried about the lesson flying over their heads. Not Fergus.

  The young boy listened, then he considered it. “Why don’t people do that?”

  Patrick shrugged. “I suspect it’s because they didn’t have wise old Pop Pops telling them to do it.”

  Fergus giggled.

  “Fergus, you’ll discover when you’re older that the only person you can control is yourself. If you do the right thing, if you offer love and compassion and kindness, that’s what you’ll receive back. And maybe, others will follow your lead, will try to be good and strong, just like you. Does that make sense?”

  Fergus nodded earnestly.

  Perhaps it was his old age, driving him to try to push lessons on his young grandchildren. Time was a precious gift. Patrick knew that, had learned it the hard way when his beloved Sunday passed, taken from them far too early.

  There was a chance these small lessons would be forgotten.

  But maybe, just maybe, they would sink in.

  Chapter One

  Fergus sat down at his new desk, looked around his sparsely decorated office and grinned. His cousin Finn was across the hall, setting up his own office.

  Fergus had been back in Baltimore for seven months, one week and four days. Home after a nine-year stint in the Army, three of those years spent in Afghanistan.

  He’d been trained as a military police officer and for a long time, he’d really thought the military was going to be his career.

  However, he’d grown tired of Army red tape, following questionable orders and dealing with the worst that civilization had to offer. When it was time to re-up, he’d said no thanks, realizing his presence there wasn’t making a difference, nor would it ever. There was simply too much hate in the world, and he preferred to surround himself instead with love. He’d decided it was time to get back to his family and home before he lost all traces of any humanity he had left.

  He had amassed a pretty nice nest egg in the service, spending practically nothing he’d earned during that time. And while he hadn’t had a clear vision of what he hoped to do upon returning home, one thing was certain. He was ready to be his own boss.

  Which was something his fathers could understand. Like him, they’d done their time in the military before coming home to run their own construction firm.

  When his dads first heard he was quitting the Army, they’d hoped he would join the family business. Unfortunately, he wielded a gun far better than a hammer, and Fergus liked the idea of being the one giving the orders for once. Joining the construction company would mean trading superior officers for bosses—and dads. His mother had helped him find a way to politely say no thanks to the job offer.

  And it wasn’t like he was leaving them shorthanded. Uncle Sean had taken a large role in the company, and it appeared his son, Oliver, was destined to follow in his dad’s footsteps, a talented carpenter with a genuine love of building things.

  Fergus had always felt a particular affinity toward Oliver, probably because, like him, Oliver had been raised an only child by three parents. Well, sort of an only child. Uncle Sean and his spouses, Lauren and Chad, had taken in countless foster children over the years, and Oliver remained in touch with pretty much all of them, claiming them as lifelong siblings even if the placements lasted only a few weeks or months.

  Fergus smiled as he thought about his large extended family. He had returned to Baltimore in the middle of his cousin Caitlyn’s wedding reception back in September, weary after nearly twenty hours of travel. Ten minutes in the midst of the Collins clan and he’d known he had been right to quit the military.

  After the wedding, he’d dumped his duffel in the room he shared with Finn in the Collins Dorm, and he hadn’t regretted his decision to return home for one second.

  “I’m going to pop across the street for a cup of coffee. Good thinking finding office space near the Daily Grind,” Finn said, poking his head in through the open doorway. “Want a cup?”

  Fergus pointed to his Yeti thermos. “Nope. I’m good.”

  “Be right back.” Finn was grinning from ear to ear, the big-ass smile a permanent fixture ever since they’d agreed to go into business together. While Fergus had been following orders and traipsing around in the dust and dirt of the Middle East, Finn had been floundering at home.

  Growing up, he and Finn had always been tight, probably because they were close in age, Finn just one year younger. Fergus had always wanted a sibling, while Finn—who’d been blessed with two little sisters—had longed for a brother. To meet those needs, they’d grabbed hold of each other—and Finn’s best friend, Landon—and somehow, despite their personality differences, they’d grown closer than any brothers ever dreamed of being.

  Fergus was just a bit too serious—okay, a lot too serious—but Finn was easygoing with a great sense of humor. Fergus had always been goal-oriented and driven, while Finn preferred to fly by the seat of his pants. And while Fergus had graduated top of his class in high school and taken advantage of all the training and courses he could while in the military, Finn had been a solid C student in high school—something he pointed out had gotten him the same damn diploma as Fergus—swearing he had no aspirations for college.

  So, when Fergus returned home in September and found Finn drifting aimlessly from one part-time job to the next, he knew it was time the two of them took control of their futures. Then Finn had shocked the hell out of him by confiding he’d started taking courses in business administration at a local community college. Of course, typical Finn, he didn’t have a clue what he intended to do with that degree. He just knew he wasn’t cut out for bartending or the military or food service or factory work, and he insisted that he “rocked a tie.”

  They both realized it was high time they got their shit together and found their chosen paths. Fergus suggested the two of them should build something together, just like his dads had with the construction company.

  Their other close friend, Landon, had found his niche with the police department, and had suggested Fergus consider joining the force as well, but trading one law
enforcement job for another didn’t appeal to him. Despite that, Fergus knew he wanted to do something in security.

  A week after Caitlyn’s wedding to Lucas, he, Landon and Finn had bellied up to the bar at Pat’s Pub with Pop Pop, with the mission of finding their future.

  It was Pop Pop who had suggested they start Collins Security. Fergus’s knowledge of firearms and law enforcement techniques combined with Finn’s people skills and business administration courses made it an obvious answer.

  They started researching what licenses were required, searching for office space and, while they’d been able to pool together a bit of money, it hadn’t been quite enough. Pop Pop and Fergus’s dads had stepped in to “invest,” their generosity and belief in them something that still put a lump in Fergus’s throat.

  “Hey, look who I found in the parking lot.”

  Fergus glanced up at the sound of Finn’s voice, smiling when Hunter Maxwell walked in. Hunter was newly married to their cousin Ailis, the couple having eloped over Valentine’s Day.

  “Hunter,” Fergus said as he stood to shake the other man’s hand. “I didn’t know you and Ailis were back in Baltimore. Thought you were still on the road.”

  Hunter had hit it big on the music scene after winning the February Stars singing competition two years earlier. Fergus couldn’t turn on the radio these days without hearing one of Hunter’s songs.

  “We aren’t. Back, I mean. Not really. We’re performing in D.C. tomorrow night, so we thought we’d sneak away for a few hours to say hi to everyone. Last show of this tour is in Baltimore on the Fourth of July, so we’ll have longer to visit then.”