In Shining Armor by Blair Babylon Release Blitz

Title: In Shining Armor
Series: Runaway Princess: Flicka #2
Author: Blair Babylon
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: May 8, 2018


Flicka won’t allow herself to be terrified.

She’s on the run from her cheating, soon-to-be ex-husband Prince Pierre and his Secret Service, and she doesn’t have a passport, credit cards, or money. She needs to get to Paris to talk to her lawyers about divorcing that bastard.

The only thing standing between her and the cheating prince is Dieter Schwarz, her bodyguard, her protector, and her ex-lover. He’s six feet, four inches of sarcasm, black humor, and rock-hard muscle. A former Swiss mercenary, now he owns and operates Rogue Security—a band of former special operations soldiers, SEALs, hackers, and spies—which will take any dirty covert operation for the right price.

But the Secret Service is tracking her, and even Dieter and the Rogues might not be able to keep her safe from her ex.

And once again, she’s falling in love with Dieter, which might be the most dangerous thing of all.


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Specialist Dieter Leo Schwarz, as he calls himself, is sitting in a hardback chair, facing you. The black pants with large pockets he wears bring to mind the blank uniform of a mercenary, or at least a military unit that will deny it’s associated with any nation. His powerful arms are bare below the short sleeves of his black tee shirt, and he’s leaning to brace his forearms on his thighs and clasp his hands between his knees. It’s a supplicant’s position, but you get the feeling that what he wants, you can’t give him.
He begins, “Have you ever heard the story of the Frog Prince?”
His next breath is a deep one, in through his nose, and anger sparks in his gray eyes. The sinews in his neck stand out like he might leap to his feet and close the gap between you, and you wonder if you will survive this interview.
His weapons—guns and knives and a bladed thing you don’t recognize—are piled on a table by his side but within his reach.
He says, “First, there was an evil sorcerer. There’s always a powerful bad guy in these stories. And there was a prince. Maybe he was a handsome prince back then, before the world scarred and coarsened him.”
Dieter rubs the thick skin over his knuckles and one cord of scar tissue that runs up his arm to his black tee shirt. You wonder whether he’s killed people with those strong, scarred hands.


When Dieter Schwarz dragged himself into Wulfie’s Kensington Palace apartment that fine summer day, his ash blond hair was so short that he must have shaved his head recently, as it was about the same length as his scruffy beard. He had one black eye and scabbed-over scrapes covering half his handsome face, and one of his muscular arms hung in a sling.
His gray eyes held a feral savageness that looked like he would pick up a rare steak, bite into it with his teeth, and rip it apart while he devoured it.
Oddly, Flicka wanted to be the steak.
Dieter dumped his only luggage, a small rucksack, on the floor.
Flicka’s big brother Wulfram looked up from the book he was reading. “Good week?”
“The best,” Dieter answered.
From the growl in Dieter’s voice, Flicka could hear that his body still coursed with adrenaline, even though he must have flown home from wherever on a plane for hours.
He shucked his overshirt and stretched, standing in a tank top in the entryway. The sling on his arm fell aside, and he flinched when he rolled that shoulder to loosen it.
Flicka couldn’t look away from the way Dieter’s round muscles stood out from his arms and shoulders, thick cords and hard bulges that were so different from the sinewy or stocky teenagers she had been living with at Le Rosey. When Dieter moved his arms, stretching out kinks, those muscles flexed and moved under his tanned and sunburned skin. The golden fuzz that covered the top of his chest above his tank top looked soft, and Flicka could think of nothing else but the way it would feel against her palms.
Dieter asked. “How were the royal bodyguards, Wulfram?”
“Adequate,” Wulfram answered.
“I suppose that’s okay.”
Dieter leaned over and picked up his rucksack.
When he did, the muscles under the thin cotton of his tank top stood out in lumps that Flicka could count. His webbed belt kept his black fatigue pants up, she surmised, because his hips were slim. He looked like could have won any athletic event or beaten any other man on Earth in hand-to-hand combat.
Flicka couldn’t breathe.
She longed to walk over to Dieter and touch his arms and his chest. She bet that he was warm to the touch, with all those muscles working right under his skin like that. His skin must be silky, or coarse—yes, coarse—and his hands would probably feel callused and rough on her arms.
A flush ran over her, a warmth that made her feel heavy and weak.
Dieter had his backpack in his large, strong hands, and he was looking right at her. His dark gray eyes settled on her skin, and she could almost feel his gaze. “Good to see you, Durchlauchtig.”
Her breath seemed to have leaked out of her lungs, and she had to suck in some air to answer him. “You, too, Lieblingwächter.”
Dieter walked out of the room, stalking like a tiger.
The white album of Flicka’s music school musings slipped from her arms and crashed on the floor.
Wulfram looked up from his book, one eyebrow raised.
Flicka told him, “I’m going to attend the Royal Academy, here in London.”
“Excellent,” Wulfram said, settling back into his book. “You can live here at Kensington with me. Security will be easier with you in London, too.”
Yes, she was counting on it.


They spent many weeknight evenings like this, with Flicka warmly curled against Dieter’s side like a blond yellow Labrador retriever or with her hind paws in his lap, talking about sports and laughing at the worse rugby plays, football self-goals, and cricket sticky wickets.
Tonight, she seemed twitchy as they watched, contemplating something.
Dieter sipped his beer. She would talk to him or she wouldn’t.
She might be mulling over a difficult piece of music, in which case Dieter would be no help at all.
He stroked her feet gently, her soft heels and pink-painted toenails, while he watched the television. Manchester United had put on a clinic, keeping the ball in the air so much that it seemed like the players were dancing ballet instead of running on the ground.
His hands strayed up to her smooth ankles, massaging, and back down to her insteps. Even her heels were satiny.
And larger, he noticed. They almost looked like grown-up feet.
Flicka jumped across the couch and straddled his legs.
Her fragile hands cradled his jaw.
Her silky blond hair fell from behind her shoulders, curling softly around Dieter’s face, curtaining them.
“Hey!” Dieter leaned sideways, peering around her and trying to get out from under her hair.
“I can’t see the telly.”
He leaned the other way, half-hanging over the arm of the couch, and brushed her hair aside. “Come on, Durchlauchtig. Manchester played a brill match today—”
Near his ear, Flicka breathed, “Make love to me.”
“What!” Dieter pressed himself back into the couch cushions, trying to mash himself through the upholstery to escape.
Her sparkling green eyes were right above him, and her hands really were holding his face so that he couldn’t turn away. She said, “I’ve been waiting for you for years—”
“Flicka, no. No, Durchlauchtig. I don’t think of you like that. You’re just a little girl. I couldn’t—”
“I am not a little girl.”
“You are! You’re my little Flicka, my Durchlauchtig, and you’re Wulf’s baby sister. If you were any younger, I’d have custody of you while Wulfram is in Chicago.”
“I’m twenty years old,” she said. “Twenty. Not seventeen, not eighteen. Twenty years old. The big two-oh.”
“Jesus, Flicka. If you had any idea how ridiculous that sounds—”
“—and I want to go to bed with you.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“I’ve had a crush on you for years.”
“A teenage crush. Flicka, I’m almost thirty. I’m not right for you. You’re just a little girl—”
“Look at me.”
“I am looking at you, Durchlauchtig. You’re just the same—”
To retreat farther from her, Dieter laid his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes, and he put his hands on her waist to tumble her off of his thighs.
Closing his eyes was the mistake.
Touching her made him realize it.
Dieter’s eyes remembered Flicka as a silly kid or gawky teen, composed of stabbing elbows and heels, too-large teeth, and braided blond hair.
But for a year or longer, his body had been responding to the adult woman she was, following the perfume she trailed as she walked through the apartment they shared.
His heart rate picked up when her warmth neared him.
When he massaged her feet, he’d been allowing his hands to drift upward to her ankles and calves, stroking her soft skin, rather than just holding her feet so she wouldn’t nail him in the nuts when she found something funny and kicked.
Every morning before they left the apartment, she asked him, “How do I look?”
The last year or so, he’d looked at her, his eyes following the swells and dips of her body and seeing the glowing light in her emerald green eyes, and he’d meant it when he said, “Beautiful, Durchlauchtig.”
His throat had closed sometimes, and those words had come out in a testosterone-laced growl.
He had not allowed himself to realize how physically he had been responding to her.
When his hands alighted on Flicka’s hips and stroked up to her waist, he traced the smooth, rounded hips of the woman on his lap.
He froze, unable to reconcile the womanly curves in his hands with the child in his mind.
Beside his ear, a woman’s alto voice whispered, “Make love to me.”


#1 Once Upon a Time

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Title: In a Faraway Land
Series: Runaway Princess: Flicka #3
Author: Blair Babylon
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Cover Design: Amy Queau, QDesign
Release Date: June 12, 2018


When an actual prince—who has a Secret Service, an army, and real spies—is hunting you down, you run, and you hide IN A FARAWAY LAND.

Flicka von Hannover was a princess, but not anymore, sort of. To hide from her conniving soon-to-be ex-husband and divorce him as soon as possible, she runs to the place specified by her prenuptial agreement, Las Vegas.

She has left everyone and everything behind except Dieter Schwarz, her bodyguard who saved her that terrible night and smuggled her to Paris and now to Nevada. Living with the six-four, ripped, bossy Swiss mercenary is driving her crazy in more ways than one. Every time he comes near her, she wants to rip his clothes off with her teeth.

Her ex knows that she must be in Las Vegas to establish residency to divorce him, and his men are looking for her. When his Secret Service try to kidnap her and Dieter saves her again, the adrenaline and heat of the moment is too much for them to resist.

But her ex knows that she has to file the paperwork to divorce him, and he’ll do anything to stop her, even mounting an assault with his army on the courthouse when she tries to go to court.

It’s an impossible situation, but if anyone can save her, it’s her loyal, hot, ripped, protective, truly maddening bodyguard.



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Blair Babylon is an award-winning, USA Today bestselling author who used to publish literary fiction. Because professional reviews of her other fiction usually included the caveat that there was too much deviant sex and too much interesting plot, she decided to abandon all literary pretensions, let her freak flag fly, and write hot, sexy, suspenseful romance.




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