Page 4 of Snowed in with the Bodyguard

I shake my head, forcing my features into a neutral expression. “Just focused on the job.”

Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t push further. She has no idea how hard I’m trying to stay professional, to keep my thoughts from straying into dangerous territory. I remind myself that my loyalty is to her father, even if the man makes my skin crawl. But as I glance at Holly again, her blonde hair catching the sunlight, I know my loyalty has instinctively shifted—to her.

Victor Kemp is playing a game, and Holly’s life is the bargaining chip. The knowledge echoes in my mind, cold and sharp. My years as a SEAL honed my instincts, and I know it in my bones. Whatever he’s done, whatever mess he’s dragged her into, I’ll ensure it doesn’t touch her. Even if it means standing against the man who hired me. Even if it means breaking every rule I’ve ever followed.

Because the moment I stepped into that library two years ago and met Holly Kemp, something inside me changed. And as much as I’ve tried to fight it, I know one thing for sure: I’d burn Victor’s empire to the ground before I let anyone hurt her.

The drive is quiet, the city blurring by in the usual rush of noise and movement. I glance in the rearview mirror at her, watching as she leans back with a defiant expression, arms crossed, her lips set in a stubborn line. She doesn’t want to be here any more than I do, and for some reason, that look of rebellion stirs a sense of protectiveness in me I didn’t expect.

“I know having someone hovering over you twenty-four-seven isn’t easy for you,” I say finally, breaking the silence. “But I’ve got your back, okay? I’m here to protect you from whatever comes.”

“Fine,” she mutters, still looking away, her arms tightening over her chest.

I know a pout when I see one. I force myself to look forward, hiding the hint of a smirk that creeps onto my face. At least I’ve gotten through to her, if only a little.

“Just get me to the doctor, then take me home,” she adds in a flat voice.

Yep, Miss Pissy Pants is alive and well—and it’s my job to keep her that way.

A glance at the clock tells me it’s three in the afternoon. We still have plenty of time before her 3:15 appointment. As I steer us down the main road, the usual hum of city life surrounds us—a comforting routine masking the subtle tension that lingers between us.

We pull up to the clinic, and she hesitates before opening her door, glancing at me with a mix of trepidation and irritation. She’s not stupid—she knows her father’s decision to assign me as her bodyguard means the threat against her family is real.

“Do you have everything you need for your appointment?”

She nods, lowering her eyes. “Yes. It’s just a routine check. My father likes to control every aspect of my life, including my health. My hymen means more to him than any discomfort or embarrassment I might experience.”

I’m shocked at her words.What the fuck?It’s another black mark against the man who wields such devastating control over his daughter.

“Man or woman?” I ask through gritted teeth.

She frowns. “Huh?”

“Your OBGYN,” I clarify.

“Oh. Dr. Warren. A woman,” she clarifies. “Why?”

Because if it were a man, I’d have to chop his hands off and rip his eyes out. No one touches or sees what’s mine.

The thought tumbles through my mind unbidden. I want to slam the car into gear and drive away from this place as fast as possible.

You work for her father.

I repeat the mantra until I almost believe it.

Instead of answering, I push down my conflicting emotions and offer her a reassuring nod. “I’ll be waiting once you’re done.”

Holly nods briskly, slipping out of the car and making her way inside, shoulders back, head lifted like she’s ready to face whatever lies ahead.

I follow, keeping a respectable distance. The brief walk into the clinic feels longer than it should, each step heightening my awareness of her presence.

My gaze strays to the way her clothes hug her curvy frame—jeans that fit her heart-shaped ass just right, emphasizing the sway of her hips, and a sweater that clings to her large tits. Her thick, blonde hair falls in soft waves down her back, catching thelight with every movement. She radiates a blend of strength and vulnerability that’s impossible to ignore, and I can’t seem to look away.

The doctor’s office is bustling, filled with patients of all ages. The nurses shuffle between stations, calling out names. Muted conversation and the occasional child’s laughter fill the air.

Holly is called in first, and I sit in the waiting room, scanning the faces with interest. A mother comforts her toddler, a couple exchange worried glances, and an elderly man sits hunched over with a solemn expression. The scene reminds me of the fragility of life—of how each of these people has their worries and their own stories.

I try to shake off my thoughts and focus on my surroundings, but my mind keeps drifting back to the woman behind the exam room door. She’s young, yes, but she has strength—a resilience I admire. Despite her attitude, she’s handling this threat against her father with surprising composure.

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