Page 3 of Escorting the Bodyguard
Hadhe seemed understanding?
Looking back, maybe there’d been something in his eyes when I said goodbye. Something that lingered too long, looked too entitled. But the real red flags came later, in those phone calls Victoria told me about.
I’m lost in those uncomfortable memories when I glance up and catch a man across the bar looking directly at me.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dark blonde hair cut short but still long enough to run fingers through, expensive suit tailored to show off a body that clearly doesn’t spend all its time behind a desk.
But it’s his eyes that stop me cold. Pale gray, focused, unreadable.
Our gazes lock across the dimly-lit space, and something electric passes between us.
This isn’t the predatory watching I felt from Tim. This is something else entirely.
Heat, recognition, challenge. He doesn’t look away. Neither do I.
Then he starts walking toward my table.
I’m used to men approaching me. I have a dozen polite deflections ready on my tongue. But watching him move like he owns every room he enters, I can’t remember a single one. By the time he reaches my table, I’m almost speechless.
“Gemma Quinn.” The words roll off his tongue in a voice like aged whiskey. Smooth with just enough burn to make you pay attention.
I set down my wine glass. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”
“I’m Ford Lawson. Victoria sent me.”
Oh.
Security. Of course.
Victoria doesn’t mess around when it comes to her girls’ safety. I study him more carefully. The way his eyes sweep the room in constant assessment, the way he positions himself to keep the entrance in his peripheral vision, the subtle bulge under his left shoulder that suggests he’s armed.
Professional. Military bearing. Probably ex-something impressive.
He’s also younger than I expected. Definitely younger than me.
I just turned thirty-six, which means I’m at the age where I get called “ma’am” at coffee shops and delete dating apps out of sheer self-preservation.
And he’s hot. Of course he’s hot. Because the universe loves a joke.
There’s something quietly commanding about his presence, like he’s used to being the most dangerous person in any room and doesn’t need to prove it.
I gesture to the empty chair across from me. “Please. Sit.”
He hesitates before taking the seat, and I catch a hint of his cologne. Something clean and woodsy that makes me think of expensive lodges and men who know how to use their hands.
Get it together, Gemma. The man is here to protect you, not seduce you.
Although, if I’m being honest, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.
“Victoria filled me in on the situation,” he says, his voice pitched low enough that it won’t carry to other tables. “Tim Roberts. Three confirmed sightings this week.”
“That we know of.” I lean back in my chair, studying him. He’s close enough for me to see the flecks of silver in those gray eyes. “For all I know, he’s been at this for weeks and I just started noticing.”
Something flickers across Ford’s face. Approval, maybe? Like he’s pleased I’m thinking tactically instead of panicking.
“Most people in your situation would be falling apart by now.”
“I’m not most people. And you don’t strike me as the type who’d be impressed by a woman having a breakdown in a hotel bar.”
