Guarding Gemma, page 1
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
Fern Fraser
Seal Team Alpha Series
Guarding Gemma
GEMMA
Fall for my bodyguard? As if. Let the big, grumpy hunk protect me from a stalker only to marry a stranger? Well… desperate times.
Dad hired Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Brooding to protect me. Dylan takes his job of playing my shadow a little too seriously. The walking wall of muscle sees me as an assignment, but his rare smiles and stolen kisses make me swoon. I go weak at the knees when he gets all possessive and jealous. Dylan is the last man I should be falling for. I'm meant to marry for business, but I'm falling for the man hired to protect me.
DYLAN
Protect the heiress I'm paid to guard? My duty.
Resist the heat burning between us? Easier said than done.
My SEAL career ended too soon thanks to injury. Now I've got a second chance serving as security. Gemma’s stubborn yet alluring. She gets under my skin, and when our forced closeness ignites passion, we agree it's only physical–no strings attached. The only way to protect Gemma from the stalker is by breaking protocol. Compromising the mission could cost me everything. For the first time, someone matters more than the job. And her name is Gemma.
Copyright © 2024 by Fern Fraser
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter 1
Gemma
The din of laughter and clinking glasses fade into the background as my father fixes me with his steely gaze. Although nearing sixty, with salt-and-pepper hair, Anthony Caldwell still cuts an imposing figure.
“Gemma, are you listening to me?” His voice sharpens, his frown carving deep lines into his already creased forehead. “We need to finalize the details for your wedding.”
We're hidden in an alcove near the ballroom entrance as guests filter past us into the glittering fundraiser. I swirl the champagne in my glass, watching the bubbles dance and pop before taking a long sip. The bubbles tickle my throat.
I look up at my father, my eyes pleading for understanding. “Father, I've never even met Julian Montague. How can you expect me to marry a complete stranger?”
As always, his unyielding façade remains intact. He takes a deep breath, his face softening slightly.
“I know this is not what you imagined for yourself. But it's what needs to be done. You are a Caldwell, and as such, it is your duty to prioritize the interests of the family over your personal desires.”
“I'm set to graduate top of my class soon,” I say evenly, though my fists clench behind my back. “If you give me a chance at the company, let me use my degree—”
“We must secure the Montague investment in order to prevent this estate from financial ruin,” my father cuts me off “Whether you agree or not, your role is to ensure they become our partners.”
Although I was born into the Caldwell family, I refuse to conform to outdated beliefs about a woman's role. “And if I refuse?” I ask, meeting Father's stern gaze.
“I see no other option. But take comfort— Julian is often away on business. The marriage will be easy.” Father places a hand on my shoulder, his tone patronizing.
Easy for who? Marrying a man I've never met to save the estate. I bite my tongue to prevent a reckless response. At twenty-three, I know better than to cause a scene, especially at the estate's most important social event of the year.
Father presses his mouth in a hard line and crosses his arms, unmoved.
“I've tried everything,” he states firmly and resolutely. “I'm afraid there is no other choice.” His eyes dart away, unable to meet my pleading look.
His words feel like a slap. Hot tears blur my vision, but I blink them away, balling my fists. I dream of marrying for love, not business. How could he betray me like this? Marrying a stranger to pay off debt, as if I'm chattel? I want to scream at him, make him understand what he's asking me to sacrifice.
“I realize the economic downturn hit our bottom line, and our profits are declining. The changes I propose will–”
Father sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair.
“But what about the investors?” I gesture around the ballroom at the wealthy guests attending the gala. “Can't we secure more funding?”
His shoulders slump in defeat. “The company is in dire straits. The changing weather has affected our crops, and the resort chains continue taking more of our market share each season. We simply cannot compete.”
The Caldwell Estate has been in my family for generations. The place holds all my childhood memories. It's the only remnant of my mother and it means the world to me.
A lump forms in my throat. “It’s our family legacy. I don’t want to lose it.”
“Julian’s investment can save us. Montague hotels and resorts are thriving—with his investment, we could modernize. A marriage alliance promises security for our family and all the people who work here.”
My hands tremble as I grab another champagne from a passing waiter and take a brazen gulp.
“Fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “I'll meet with the wedding planner tomorrow.”
My father looks around the lavish ballroom, scanning every corner. “Another thing—the threats against our family have escalated,” he says in a low voice.
My father is convinced someone’s out to get me. But there’s insufficient evidence to back up his claim, and police cannot act on suspicion alone. “Do you have an update on the stalker?”
“I've hired a professional, Dylan Knight, as your personal discreet security until the police catch whoever is responsible.”
“A bodyguard? Is that really necessary?”
“I won't risk your safety until the matter is resolved.” He gives a final, decisive nod. “You'll meet Dylan tonight. He'll protect you, regardless of your objections. Have I made myself clear?”
I meet his flinty stare. “Crystal. But a gilded cage is still a cage.”
His expression darkens but he promptly turns away, distracted by an investor.
I don't care about Julian Montague. Or the phantom stalker. In my reckless state, I'd rather elope with the bodyguard than marry a stranger. Perhaps he'll have a handsome, dangerous air about him.
I blush at my reckless thoughts, alarmed at myself. No way am I going to have some stranger following me around all day long.
I make my way through the crowded ballroom, forcing smiles at the guests. The orchestra starts a lively new tune, but it grates on my nerves.
The cloying perfumes and sweltering heat press down on me, and I long to tear off my evening gown and run barefoot into the night. But I’m trapped by threats I can't see and obligations I never asked for.
Across the ballroom, Father catches my eye with a disapproving frown. I force my lips into a smile and feign interest in what the woman beside me is saying. But inside, my thoughts churn.
There must be a way to change Father's mind about this arranged marriage business. I cling to the words my mother whispered to me as a child.
You can achieve anything you set your mind to.
I'm not as helpless as Father believes.
On impulse, I veer toward the shadowed edges of the ballroom, away from the crowds. My heels click across marble floors until I reach the tall glass doors leading to the empty terrace.
The cool night air raises goosebumps on my bare shoulders as I step outside, a welcome respite from the stifling heat indoors. I'm being reckless. I shouldn't be out here alone with a stalker on the loose, but I need the freedom, if only for a moment.
The parking lot is nearly empty, with only a few cars still waiting for their owners. The valet stands ready to retrieve cars for departing guests.
He eyes me curiously. “Evening, miss. Can I get your car for you?”
“Oh, that's all right,” I say breezily over my shoulder. “I’m not leaving.”
I wander along the path lined with sculpted hedges, and the faint music from the ballroom fades away, replaced by the chirping of crickets. It’s peaceful out here in the shadows, but a whisper of intuition tells me I'm not alone.
In the hedge maze, I sink onto a stone bench and fiddle with the pins in my hair, craving the moment when I can take down this elaborate updo. As I massage my sore scalp, I try to ignore the creeping sense that someone is lurking in the darkness.
My breath catches at the scuff of shoes on the gravel path. I stiffen, senses on high alert as I scan the darkened garden. The fireflies blink in and out between the shadowed hedgerows, silhouetting a figure standing motionless ahead.
Should I call for help? I dismiss the notion quickly—the figure hidden in the hedges is bound to be my father’s watchdog. Curiosity wars with annoyance within me as I cross my arms over my chest.
“You may as well show yourself,” I call, my voice ringing sharply. “I know you're there.”
A tall, broad-shouldered man emerges from the shadows. Dark hair brushes the collar of his tailored suit. His chiseled features hold an arrogant confidence, while his piercing eyes bore into me, seeing more than they should.
One corner of his mouth ticks up. “Getting some air, Miss Caldwell?”
A warm sensation blooms in my stomach. Dylan Knight is not what I expected. Maybe having a bodyguard won't be the worst thing after all.
Chapter 2
Dylan
Guarding Gemma is my shot at redemption after that disastrous op in Afghanistan ended my military career. Although the shoulder injury forced me to retire from my Navy SEAL career earlier than planned, this VIP protection gig is my chance to serve, off the battlefield.
The CEO of Caldwell Estates needs one of the best to keep his daughter safe, and I aim to prove I make the cut.
Old habits die hard–I scan the elegant ballroom—cataloging entrances, exits, and potential threats with a practiced eye. Crowds make me uneasy these days. Too many variables I can't control. But securing this assignment was the opportunity I need to feel good about myself again.
So I take a slow breath, focusing my senses. Game face on, I'm ready to do my job again.
Gemma's across the room, partially blocked by pillars. She's chatting with her old man.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Someone’s watching. I sweep the room again but don’t spot the threat in the sea of glittery dresses and monkey suits.
A waiter heads out a side door with a full trash bag. I may be acting paranoid, but I casually follow and watch him dump the contents. I circle back to Gemma watching from a distance. She's chatting with a small circle of partygoers. Anthony hovers nearby, playing the doting father.
The two exchange words and she turns away, pissed about something. Daddy looks ready to grab her when his phone rings. He scowls but takes the call.
My gut screams to protect her, but that's not my mission. I'm here to shield her from physical threats, not play family counselor.
I move closer, keeping my eyes on Gemma as she disappears into the crowd. I trail her, staying back. Tactically better to stalk the perimeter.
I weave my way closer, keeping her in my peripheral vision as she’s swallowed up in the crowd. Being near the perimeter of the room gives me a tactical advantage should trouble arise. I trail at a distance after Gemma.
Gemma heads outside and wanders the shadowy parking lot. She talks to a valet and then keeps walking toward the garden. Reckless move, but gutsy.
Takes some stones to potentially walk into danger just to prove a point. Boldness without backup is just reckless, though.
Gemma's got guts—I'll give her that. It takes a certain kind of bravery to stride into potential danger just to make a point. But bravery without backup is another word for recklessness.
I hang back, out of sight. Even in the dim lighting, Gemma is a knockout. Curvy in all the right places, her dress showing off plenty of creamy skin. Hair pinned up, begging for me to set it free.
I shut that crap down quick—she's the principal, off limits. I force myself to look away. She's my client, under my protection. I can't think of her that way.
Gemma is aware of me despite my trying to hide. She doesn't show any fear or intimidation. Instead, she taps her foot impatiently and calls out confidently, “You may as well show yourself. I know you're there.”
Her accusation is sharp and laced with defiance as she stares directly at my hiding spot. I step out, defaulting to stone-cold professional. “Have you been watching me all evening?”
I nod once, maintaining my professional demeanor. “That's my job, Miss Caldwell.”
Gemma bristles. “Well, I won't make your job easy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to—”
She attempts to step around me, but I mirror her movement, blocking her path. An indignant huff escapes her rosy lips.
I meet Gemma's glare and choose my words carefully. “Miss Caldwell, I insist you come inside.”
Gemma folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t need a babysitter.” She steps back and sizes me up. “I didn't ask for any of this.”
“I know you value your freedom. But intel says you’re in danger. My job is to take that seriously.”
A smirk plays on her lips. Eyes sparking, she challenges, “And if I refuse?”
One corner of my mouth ticks up. I pitch my voice lower. “I'll accomplish my mission one way or another. But I'd prefer not to throw you over my shoulder.”
Even in the low light, I catch her blush. Calling her bluff was the right move.
“Do I get any say here?” The defiance is gone, she genuinely wants to understand.
“You have input unless it compromises security.” I add, “But I have the final call regarding your safety.”
She eyes me sharply. “I don't blindly follow orders.”
“I don't expect blind obedience. But I may have intel you don't.”
Rebellion flickers in her eyes before acceptance takes over. “Understood.” Something tells me she's not done challenging me yet.
“Let's move,” I say firmly but gently, guiding her with a light touch on her back.
We walk in comfortable silence. Guarding Gemma will be tough if our first meeting is any indicator. She bristles at any loss of control over her life. I admire her independent spirit, but unfortunately, in my line of work, it puts her at risk.
Although it goes against my nature to restrict her freedom, it’s the only way to keep her secure. I need to coax, not command, if I want to gain her trust.
As we near the doors, I touch her back lightly. She stops, watches me closely.
“We’re stuck together, for now anyway,” she says. “But don’t think you can control me.”
I fight a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, and follow her into the ballroom.
Gemma works the room smoothly, mingling with ease. Her true rebellious spirit is hidden again.
Guarding her means staying close, and charm is the most effective tool in my arsenal. The orchestra plays a lively swing number, and more couples glide onto the dance floor.
I extend a hand, palm up, inviting. “Care to dance?”
She smiles cautiously, teasing me. “Trying to look natural?”
I quirk a brow, “Is it working?”
“We'll see if you actually have moves.” She laughs. “And don't stomp on me, you're huge.”
At 6'5” to her 5'2”, she's not wrong. “Take my hand, I'll show you.”
With one hand pressed against the small of her back, the other clasping her hand, I get swept up in the dance, in Gemma. She fits so perfectly in my arms.
Holding her feels familiar, intimate, like we're in our own private world. I twirl her across the dance floor. This feels dangerously right.
I remind myself this is just part of the job, gotta stay professional. So why does her floral scent make my pulse quicken?
The ballroom fades away. It's Gemma and me, the music and her laughter—light and free, ringing out over the orchestra as she spins back into my arms.
A distinguished-looking woman approaches us as the song ends, clasping her hands together in delight.
“Oh Gemma, dear,” she exclaims, eyes darting between us with barely concealed excitement, “Is this tall drink of water your new fiancé? Anthony was telling me earlier about an engagement.”
Gemma's laughter is bright. “Mrs. Harrington. Dylan is—” She pauses, and I cut in smoothly.
“We haven't settled on a date yet.” I pull her closer with a wink, playing along.
Mrs. Harrington looks unconvinced but smiles nonetheless before moving on.
Gemma playfully swats my shoulder. “You owe me another dance, troublemaker.”
Laughing, I lead her back toward the dance floor. Her touch is electric, sending a jolt through me. My heart pounds as I try to ignore the growing attraction. For a suspended moment, everything else fades away except her ocean-blue eyes peering intently into mine.
“You're light on your feet,” I say casually as if my heart isn't trying to beat its way out of my chest.
