When I picked up Ryker in that bar, I had an endgame in mind. I’d use him to get out of the colossal mistake I’d made getting mixed up in the con at the mansion. The sex was just a spectacular perk. I got him as far as my car, heading for the border and freedom. A crash. Then blackness. I’ve woken with a stiff of a husband, a surly, sexy bodyguard—Ryker—and no memory of either of them. I wouldn’t say I’m the type to sleep with the help, but Ryker can’t keep his hands off me—and the feeling is deliciously mutual. When everything in my life feels wrong, Ryker’s touch is my reality. Apparently my name is Tiffany Peterson…