He was the ugliest bodyguard she’d ever met, and Cassidy Ileana Johnson had been under strict watch before she even learned how to walk.

“I don’t care how qualified he is or how many years he spent as a SEAL, why can’t I have someone hotter than Satan like people do in the movies?” Her shrill whine was ignored by her father as he told her sternly to expect one ugly ass Linc Carrew in an hour or so.

Cassidy stared at the photo of the man that was going to be her latest victim. What was this one’s weakness? How long could he tolerate the bitchy spoiled little rich girl act? How many public over-the-top dramatic scenes could she get away with before he quit? She frowned, gazing at numerous scars, the obviously broken nose, the too sharp jaw and the narrow lidded cold stare that dared her to say something insulting to his face.

It wasn’t fair. Her identical twin sister Lucy had scored herself a major hunk to protect her ass around the clock and she got the guy who looked as if the ugly fairy blessed him, at the very least, twice.

‘Don’t judge a book by it’s cover,’ her sister’s sweet voice floated through her head. She snorted. Yeah right. She was never going to be the misunderstood, secretly introverted princess with a heart of gold. She was the loud mouthed, obnoxious, slightly snobby, incredibly spoiled daddy’s girl that turned heads, raised eyebrows and made the tabloid headlines without even lifting a pinky.

There are more than 6.4 billion people in the world. Surely there’s no shortage of a man with excellent mercenary skills whose face didn’t scare little children.

Pouting, Cassidy twirled a strand of curly blonde hair and tapped a foot in irritation. She didn’t understand why she was disliked so much. Sure, she was selfish, a bit vain and sometimes, stubborn, temperamental and acted like a diva, but she had her nice moments. She didn’t yell at the chubby little kid who left muddy paw prints all over her brand new Prada dress last week. She donated the money she didn’t spend on new stilettos to the SPCA on the way home. She didn’t tell Marissa to shut the hell up and go find a therapist when she rang up at 4 in the bloody morning moaning about cheating scumbags.

She was, if she wanted to be, a decent person. But she was who she is, and she didn’t want to change. It just didn’t make sense. People still followed Paris Hilton and Britney Spears, whether in ridicule, astonishment or whatever. Why was it that she never had any friends? Lindsay Lohan was more popular at the moment than her. Should she start doing drugs, binge drinking and starving herself?

A buzzer interrupted her mini pity-me bubble. Pressing a button, she spoke coolly, “Who is it?” Duh, it’s the new bodyguard her mind scoffed instantly.

A gravely sombre voice identified himself. For some unknown reason, she shivered at the sound of his voice. Weird. No man made her feel uncomfortable!

Cassidy’s first thought when she flung open the door was, ‘He’s a lot uglier than I thought! And that’s saying a lot!’ The intense aura of suppressed power didn’t impress her. It irritated her. If he was anything like her last bodyguard, Mr Macho then he was in for a battle.

“Um, come in,” she finally spoke, studying him critically without emotions. Tall, dark, was it too much to ask for the handsome part? At least his body looked delectable. She supposed a girl could always screw him in the dark, God knows there were plenty of fat, unattractive desperate girls out there who would love to wrestle hay with him. Thank God she had looks and money unlike those other girls.

Plastering a smile on her face, Cassidy uttered in her best hostess voice, “Hi, I’m Cassidy. You are…?” Of course she knew who he was but it was best to follow social polite necessities. He, on the other hand, didn’t agree.

“Where’s the guest room?”

Cassidy blinked. How unfair it was for a man this unattractive to have a voice that made her wet.

“What?”

“The guest room, blondie. You know, the spare room that you usually put guests in?”

Cassidy bristled at the amount of scorn injected into the word blondie.

“Why?”

“I assume that you don’t want to share a room with me.”

“What?”

Great, a nutcase, Cassidy stared incredulously.

“Look, blondie, your father reassured me that you weren’t a typical airhead but from what I gather so far, you’re as dumb as they come.”

“How dare you?” Cassidy shrieked, inwardly wincing at the high pitched shrillness of her own voice. Okay, so she sounded like a whiny preppy cheerleader. It wasn’t her fault!

“Fuck this,” was the eloquent reply, before bundling determinedly past her. How the hell did he know where her guest room was located? Freaky!

“Hey, you rude pig!” Spinning on the heels, she stalked after him, so caught up in indignant fury that she collided face first into his solid back.

“Ow… I think you broke my nose.”

“So? Get daddy to pay for a plastic surgeon.”

“You’ll pay for that!” Balling her fists, she aimed a punch and found herself pinned to the wall, struggling in the blink of an eye.

“Listen princess,” Linc snarled with unleashed anger, “Just because you’re used to getting your own way doesn’t mean I’m gonna bow down and let you walk all over me. I’ll be damned the day I let you tell me what to do. So stop moping or sulking or whatever the hell you rich girls do when you have a hissy fit, and get the hell over it.”

As if he didn’t just shred her dignity to shreds, he continued bundling towards the guest room, leaving a speechless Cassidy tingling from the places where his hands gripped her.

“You better not have given me any bruises!” She hollered belatedly, “Or the press and my father will have your balls on the chopping block!”