Guarding Her Heart (Renegade Love Bodyguard Novel Book 1)

by Jade Webb

  “Yes, it’s Columbus,” Melissa responds, her brow knitting in confusion as she tries to decipher Daphni’s plan.

  A wide smile spreads across Daphni’s face as she offers me a playful wink. “I have a favor to cash in and I think it will be just perfect.”

  20

  Gabby

  As I ride the elevator down to the lobby, I can feel my stomach doing somersaults. I haven’t seen my sister or Liam since New York and I know that my three-day streak of avoidance is going to inevitably end soon.

  I had already called Lawrence four times, begging for him to talk with dad and convince him this whole plan was terrible. Lawrence was sympathetic, but firm. If I wanted dad to bankroll law school, I had to stick it out.

  Nobody, however, had said that I actually needed to speak with my sister. So after three days of hibernating and licking my wounds in New York, I decided all I needed to do was survive this tour and lay low. Daphni would get distracted by Drizzle, or whatever other drama she could stir up, and Liam would be busy trailing after her. All I needed to do was hide out with my books and count down the days until I could escape.

  As the elevator dings open, I cautiously step out into the large lobby. Gleaming porcelain floors and expansive floor-to-ceiling windows frame the lobby, making me feel like I’m walking into a giant fishbowl. I feel a small sense of relief when I realize I don’t recognize anybody. Especially anyone with fluorescent blue hair and a hulking Scottish brute dragging his knuckles behind her. I had planned my exit strategically, thanks to Melissa’s insider knowledge. According to Daphni’s schedule, she should be in the middle of her sound check for the concert tonight, which meant that I had a few hours to loiter about before retreating back to my hotel room for the evening and conveniently missing her altogether. Not that she would likely notice, anyways.

  Truthfully, I was anxious to get out of my hotel room. Though I had only been officially on the tour for one week, I had been cooping myself up in my hotel rooms studying. And while I still had dragged down my book to sneak in a few more hours of studying, it was a welcome change of scenery.

  Stopping by the café in the lobby, I order a large coffee and grab a muffin, then start searching for a comfortable chair to settle into.

  The lobby is surprisingly packed for two o’clock in the afternoon. I spot some prime real estate in the form of an overstuffed white leather chair tucked away in a far corner. Weaving through the maze of chairs and people, I throw my books down on the table in front of the chair, before collapsing into the seat with my drink. Instantly, I lean back in the chair, tucking my legs underneath, and take a long sip of the coffee—my fourth today. I let out a loud moan as soon as I feel the warm liquid slide down my throat. Caffeine addiction is real, folks.

  A soft chuckle instantly alerts me that I am not alone. Heat races across my cheeks as I slowly bring down the coffee cup and see the source of the laughter sitting directly across from me, only a few feet away. In my rush to claim this chair, I had neglected to actually check and see if anyone else was around me.

  “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I did not see you there,” I stutter and I shuffle my books, making room on the shared table between us for him.

  “It’s cool, don’t worry about it.”

  His voice is smooth and laced with confidence. Intrigued, I look up, raising my eyes to his face. He looks familiar, but I can’t quite place him. He’s actually pretty handsome, in a distinctly L.A. kind of way. Tufts of blonde hair peek out from a black beanie, and his eyes are hidden behind darkly tinted aviator sunglasses. He has a straight, angular jaw, and noticeably full, pouty, and oddly, kind of sexy, lips. The weathered plain T-shirt and nondescript grey, zippered hoodie layered over it almost make him look too put-together. His whole get-up, down to the subtle five o’clock shadow, scream “overpaid stylist” and I instantly feel my guard go up as I realize that he’s most likely part of the tour, and the last thing I want to do now is talk about Daphni or the stupid tour.

  Offering him a polite smile, I grab my book and flip it back open to where I had left off an hour ago. Plucking a pen out of the knot at the top of my head, I jot down notes in the corners as I read through the dense paragraphs.

  “Do you have the time?” His silky voice interrupts my reading and when I look up from my book, I find him leaning forward, looking directly at me.

  “Uh yeah, hold on a sec,” I respond as I dig my phone out of my pocket and flip it open. “It’s two twenty.”

  He chuckles at the sight of my phone and I fight back a smile at the sound of his laugh. There’s something about him that feels playful and light and makes me want to lower my walls, even for a little bit. I suppose it doesn’t hurt that he’s also incredibly gorgeous. Like suspiciously gorgeous. He looks like an all-American Abercrombie farm-country cowboy with a heart of gold mixed with hipster barista who writes poetry and adopted a blind, three-legged dog named Opie. It’s almost too much and yet, I can’t help but grin like an idiot when he smiles over at me.

  “That’s a nice antique you have there,” he teases as he offers me a sexy smirk, sending a rush of heat to all my lady bits.

  “Yeah, my sister has decided I am officially from the Stone Age.”

  He leans forward in his seat, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Well, you’ve got to love family.”

  I let out a quiet snort in response. No shit.

  He says nothing, and even though I can’t see his eyes behind his dark shades, I swear I can feel them on me as he surveys me from his seat. I shift uncomfortably in my seat under his gaze. Knowing I’m not likely to get any studying done with him surveying me so intently, I close my book.

  “So, where in L.A. are you from?” I ask him.

  “How do you know I’m from L.A.?”

  “Oh please," I say as I roll my eyes. "You’re wearing a beanie in the middle of the summer, I can see at least one tribal tattoo on your arm, and trust me, no one outside of L.A. would ever dare to wear sunglasses indoors.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he lets out a long breath. He takes off his sunglasses, revealing crystal-blue eyes, and hangs them on the collar of his shirt.

  “You’re good,” he comments, nodding approvingly.

  “Well, it’s not like it’s that difficult,” I respond with a playful smile. When he arches a curious brow, I continue, “Well, we’re in the middle of Montreal and one of the biggest pop stars is playing at the Bell Centre tonight, so you are either part of the band, a boyfriend of someone on the tour, or part of Drizzle’s crew.”

  Chuckling, he nods thoughtfully before crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I am most definitely not, nor will I ever be, in a crew belonging to someone named Drizzle. Also not part of any band. I prefer to run solo. And no, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  I look at him again, both taken aback by his confidence and admittedly, a little intrigued. He makes his own interest obvious and lets his eyes trail over me in response.

  “Okay, fine. I’m intrigued then,” I tell him as I lock my eyes on his.

  “I am as well. You are obviously not from here either. What are you doing in this fine Canadian province?”

  I feel a knot form in my stomach at the innocent question. The last thing I want is for him to learn about my connection to Daphni. Long ago, I learned that when people find out who my sister is, I become a passing interest, just used to get a quick photo from the famed Daphni Monroe.

  “I’m here with my sister. She’s…part of the Renegade Love tour.”

  “Interesting. Who is your sister? Would I recognize her?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Oh, no. She’s actually a backup dancer,” I say before taking a second to actually put a coherent lie together. “For Daphni.” I inwardly cringe as the words leave my mouth. I only hope that the lie is good enough to keep him from reading it on my face.

  “That is very interesting. Must be fascinating to tour with such a big pop star.”

  I shrug my shoulders, doing my
best to act nonchalant. “She’s a super-good dancer, so she really just focuses on the craft of, you know, the dancing and twerking and whatnot.”

  He throws back his head, laughing. “Dancing and twerking and whatnot. Very astute description.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Really, that’s actually all her resume says. It’s just a picture of her with a caption that reads: ‘dancing, twerking, whatnot.’”

  He lets out another laugh and I can’t help but giggle along. My laugh cuts short the minute I hear the unmistakable clicking sound of heels on the porcelain tiled floor. Though I know those heels could belong to anyone, the sound of another ten or twelve footsteps trailing behind confirms that it is most definitely the sound of my sister and her entourage rapidly approaching.

  I slink down in my seat, hoping that if I sink down into the chair enough, I will be able to disappear. I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing the handsome stranger across from me a permanent goodbye. It’s a shame I never learned his name, but probably for the best, because I am 99% sure that my sister is going to irreparably embarrass me in the next five seconds.

  The sound of the clicking heels stops right behind my chair. “Well, if it isn’t Jordan James, tour poacher, creeping on my little sister.”

  My eyes shoot open and I look at the man sitting across from me. I scoot back up in my seat. Though I will be the first one to admit that I am not the most well-versed in matters of popular culture, even I- a borderline recluse- have heard of bad boy Jordan James. Infamous for his extravagant vacations and having a new model on his arm each week, Jordan James is the epitome of the young Hollywood scene. God, I must look like such an idiot. How did I not recognize him? Even my eighty-year-old grandmother would have been able to recognize Jordan freaking James.

  “You’re Jordan James? How come you didn’t say anything?”

  A flash of guilt crosses his face as he shrugs his shoulders. “You never asked.”

  I push myself out of the seat and gather my books. “I swear, my life’s mission is to make a complete ass out of myself in front of everyone I meet,” I declare to no one in particular. With my books in my arms, I dart away, quickening my pace the instant I see Liam trailing behind Daphni.

  I ignore Daphni calling out and scurry as quickly as I can back to the elevators. I press the button and curse when the doors don’t automatically open.

  “Gabby. Please stop!” I feel Daphni’s hand grip my arm as she pulls me to face her. “Gabby, please just hear me out,” she pleads.

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “What do you want to say, Daphni?”

  I see her blink her large, green eyes, and I realize with surprise that they’re brimming with moisture.

  “I need to tell you how sorry I am, Gabby. And that I want to make it up to you if you’ll let me.”

  I force a tight-lipped smile to my face and shrug my shoulders. “It’s fine, Daphni. No apology needed.”

  A single tear escapes her eye, trickling down her cheek. She bites down on her lower lip and brushes the tear off her face. “Gabby, I know I hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

  I feel myself soften and take a deep breath. “Daphni, you abandoned me on my birthday.”

  Daphni nods, her bright-blue curls shaking. “I know. And I know I can’t do anything to make it up to you. But I would like to try.”

  I look up and close my eyes. After a long moment, I look back at her and shrug my shoulders. “Fine. Okay.”

  Daphni smiles and her wide eyes fill with excitement. She reaches her arms around me, pulling me close to her and peppering my cheek with kisses.

  “Thank you, Gabby. I have something really nice prepared. But first, I have to get ready for tonight. We have the next four shows back-to-back, but I want you to keep our first day off in Columbus free, okay? And then tonight after the show, we can have a sleepover in my room and catch up?” The words rush out of her mouth, as if she’s been holding them in for days, waiting to release them.

  “That sounds great,” I respond, and she pulls me in for another hug.

  “Will you come to the show tonight, then?”

  At her question, I lift my eyes to see Liam standing behind her. Every fiber of my being wants to run away, retreat to the safe confines of my hotel room with a pile of raided goodies from the vending machine and my books, but I know how important it is for me to be there for Daphni, so I tear my eyes away from Liam and face my sister.

  I bite down on my lower lip, hesitating for a brief moment. But as I look at my sister and the hope brimming in her emerald eyes, I nod. “Of course.”

  21

  Liam

  I know she is avoiding me and it drives me fucking mad. What drives me even further into madness is that despite the six years I spent in special ops, trailing down terror cells and tracking terrorists across crowded city slums, Gabby has somehow done a better job evading me, to the point where I’m finding myself aimlessly wandering around in a pathetic attempt to “accidentally” run into her.

  Even now, as I mope around backstage, I keep searching for her. Daphni is on and starting the first half of her set. After some dicey negotiations that rivaled the fucking Cuban Missile Crisis, Daphni had agreed to cut six songs from her set to accommodate Jordan. After listening to Jordan’s sound check, I realized that Daphni’s six missing songs were a hell of a lot better than Jordan's shit music.

  Just the thought of that asshole sends my blood coursing. Though I know I have no real, logical reason to, I hate him. Seeing him today, laughing with Gabby, making her smile, I had decided that this prick now had an official permanent residency on my shit list.

  With Daphni busy on the stage, I take the opportunity to do another walkthrough backstage. I tell myself that this is protocol, and that’s partially true. I like to do a couple of walkthroughs of the backstage area to keep an eye out for any fans who may have snuck in during the show. But really, I’m aching to find Gabby. I want to make sure she’s okay and find a way to at least try and apologize. Although there is obviously no future for any kind of relationship between us, knowing that she hates me has been eating at me. I need to set this right.

  I head directly for Daphni’s dressing room, offering a curt nod to the crew I pass in the hallway. There is an undeniable energy and buzz created each night at the show. I can see how easily one could get addicted to the chaos of life on tour. Luckily for me, one tour will be plenty for me to put enough money away so I can walk away from this for good.

  I push open the door to Daphni’s dressing room and I stop in my tracks. Asleep on the large, plush black couch is Gabby. Surrounded by her books, she has kicked off her shoes and is curled up on the large cushions. She looks so peaceful; it takes everything I have to keep from waking her up and using our time alone together to apologize, and explain why I’d been such an ass. But I can’t do that, because she looks so fucking angelic sleeping like that.

  I catch a small tremor roll down her body, as if she can sense my presence in the room. I want to convince myself it's because of me, and that even when she is sleeping, she can sense me. But I know it's bullshit and that she's probably just cold.

  I shrug out of my black zip-up sweatshirt and gently drape it over her. My sweatshirt completely swallows her, covering her bare legs up to her chest. My baser side loves seeing her enveloped in my sweatshirt, marked as mine.

  I take another quick minute to watch her sleep, enjoying her soft breaths and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. I could probably watch her sleep for hours. The thought confuses me. Though many had tried to stick around, I always made sure that the women sharing my bed were gone long before morning. I had never wanted anyone to share my bed before. But something about Gabby is changing everything for me, and challenging everything I thought I wanted. So, before I can think more about how fucking crazy this all sounds, I flick off the lights and slip out the door.

  22

  Gabby

  The sound of my sister’s loud, screeching voice pulls me out of
my deep sleep. Confused, I scramble into a seated position on the couch and swing my legs down to the floor. I rub at my eyes and find the clock in the room. I had somehow managed to sleep for nearly four hours.

  Daphni is continuing to scream into her phone, and I can only assume that it’s Drizzle on the other end of the line. Stretching my arms over my head, I notice the black sweatshirt pooled at my feet. Lifting it off the ground, I inspect it further. The musky, citrus scene instantly confirms its owner and I tug it onto my lap, before anyone can see. Liam? Had he found me sleeping and covered me with his sweatshirt? Why?

  Daphni slams her phone on the vanity with a loud, frustrated yelp. Three of her staff instantly dive in and surround her, each trying to pull at her hair and remove her makeup from the show.

  “How’s it going, Daphni?” I ask cautiously.

  “Never get a boyfriend, Gabby. Seriously all men are terrible. Thank God lesbians are in right now,” she huffs out.

  “Right,” I respond, drawing out the word, unsure how else to respond to that comment.

  Melissa enters the room and finding me, offers a wide smile before joining me on the couch. She picks up the remote and turns up the volume on the large screen mounted on the wall offering a front-row view of the stage, where Jordan has just started his set.

  At the sound of his music, Daphni turns in her seat, glaring at Melissa. Choosing to ignore it, Melissa and I both watch as Jordan jumps into the refrain of his song and a trio of beautiful dancers in fishnet bodysuits gyrate around him.

  “I heard you made his acquaintance, Gabby,” Melissa says with a mischievous tone as she gently pokes her elbow into my side.