Samantha Harrington was trouble wrapped in designer silk.
At 21, she was the spoiled only daughter of a tech billionaire, famous for her wild parties, scandalous i********: posts, and complete disregard for rules. Tonight was no different. She’d ditched her security detail again, slipping out of the VIP section of the exclusive rooftop club in a tiny silver slip dress that barely covered her ass and left little to the imagination.
She was laughing with a group of shady guys when a large, calloused hand wrapped around her upper arm and yanked her away.
“What the—?” Samantha spun, ready to snap, but the words died in her throat.
Standing over her was Jax Rivera—her new 38-year-old bodyguard. Tall, broad, and built like a weapon, with dark tattoos peeking from the collar of his black shir
