Forbidden Gem

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Forbidden Gem

  Cara Dee

  Copyright © 2017 by Cara Dee

  All rights reserved

  Edited by Silently Correcting Your Grammar, LLC.

  Disclaimer: This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. All references to ancient or historical events, persons living or dead, locations, and places are used in a fictional manner. Any other names, characters, incidents, and places are derived from the author’s own imagination. Similarities to persons living or dead, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Warning: This story contains scenes of an explicit, erotic nature and is intended for adults, 18+. Characters portrayed in sexual situations are 18 or older.

  My dirty fandom,

  Thank you for telling me to write more.

  Chapter 1

  Dean Gauthier

  One more hour and then I don’t have to worry about work for a whole month. With the laptop on my lap—on top of the covers—I send out my emails and final thoughts about the new plans for the third hotel we’re opening in Hawaii.

  “You’re actually letting me go through with this,” Tina says.

  I concentrate harder on my document. “I’ve had it with your empty threats. You continue packing. I assure you I won’t stop you from leaving.”

  As far as I’m concerned, we’re done.

  Applying my digital signature, I fire off another email to an associate and text my assistant a note I’ll need a reminder for.

  “I can’t believe you.” Tina goes for outrage, only succeeding in sounding obstinate. “You’d throw away fifteen years for nothing?”

  She is…astonishing. Slipping off my reading glasses, I rub at my eyes and wonder if I have exhausted my supply of politeness yet. In how many ways can I tell her I’m fed up with the diva antics before she understands? She’s always been dramatic; I suppose that’s not rare, given she’s an actress and comes from a wealthy Los Angeles family, several members known for their public scandals. But for the past two years since we got engaged, she’s taken things to a whole new level. If she doesn’t get her way, she storms out like a child. And now, I’m done chasing after her. I’m so incredibly fucking done.

  “I warned you last time, Tina.” I grip the black frames carefully and wipe my glasses with the edge of my tee. “We will never solve our problems if you threaten to move out every time we fight.” Lately, that’s much too often, and I don’t know why I’m getting sucked into this. It’s absurd.

  “And you have the nerve to call me stubborn,” she snaps, throwing another garment bag into her big roll-aboard. “Fine, Dean. Have it your way. I’ll stay at the beach house, and then we’ll talk when you get home next month.”

  Don’t hold your breath.

  Jesus Christ, January has never looked sweeter. Nor has it ever arrived with better timing. I need this vacation. My one annual indulgence to get away from my hectic schedule and, admittedly, Tina and her family.

  January is mine.

  Every year.

  “I want you to know one thing, though.” Of course she couldn’t be finished already. “This will upset our family. We have responsibilities.”

  “The irony…” I mutter and slide on my glasses again. “If you’re so concerned about family, how about you check in with your daughter?” Pulling up a new email, I attach the contracts for a board member to look over. “Or have you forgotten Gemma?”

  “Now you’re crossing a line,” she warns furiously. “It’s wholly unfair to call her my daughter, and I’ve told you repeatedly it’s a sore topic for me!”

  I give up. There’s no reasoning with her. One might think she’s eight as opposed to thirty-eight. Otherwise, she’d see how beyond “sore topic” this is for the girl in question. Tina might be uncomfortable; I can’t even imagine what it’s like for Gemma.

  I haven’t seen her since she graduated high school almost four years ago, and unlike Tina, I’ve struggled to let go. Struggled and failed. I keep thinking… I keep hoping that this can be resolved somehow. Although at this point, it seems fruitless. The two opponents have stepped off the field, and I’m the referee standing there like a fool, trying to change the score.

  It may or may not be one of the reasons Tina and I argue so often. I want Gemma to come home. And it won’t happen for as long as Tina is…this way.

  Admittedly, I have a soft spot for the poor girl. Gemma was only five or six when I met Tina, and for the first three years of our relationship, Gemma lived with us. Of course I got attached. She would light up like the sun when I brought her gifts from my trips. Then everything got so ugly. Gemma ended up with Tina’s aunt and uncle in Georgia, and I only saw her for major holidays.

  Unless we count her frequent appearances in gossip magazines. The year following her graduation, I saw too many photos of her exiting nightclubs completely trashed. She stopped being the cheeky little girl and became an angry teenager who hated the world.

  Since then, she has dropped off the face of the earth where our family is concerned. She stays in touch with Lily and Alec in Savannah, and that’s it.

  “Okay… I’m leaving, Dean.” Tina stalls.

  I give her a fleeting glance, acknowledging the bitterness coursing through me. “Don’t forget to lock the door.”

  *

  Deep into the forest outside of Ogden, Utah is my home away from home. It was seven years ago I had a Realtor show me this three-story estate, designed like a luxurious lodge. The remoteness made me eager to make it mine, and I’ve looked forward to my yearly trip here ever since.

  The snowcapped mountains disappear from sight as I drive down the winding path toward my house, the thick forest touching the darkening sky. The plan to read, watch films, play the piano, perhaps catch something during the Sundance Festival, and simply enjoy the solitude for a month is what brings a smile to my face.

  Far away from the spotlights of LA, far away from obligations.

  I sigh contentedly.

  Or you’re avoiding everything, you coward.

  The unbidden thought is drowned out as I arrive and kill the engine. Why the hell are the lights on? The entire lodge is lit up.

  There’s also music blaring loud enough for me to hear it inside my vehicle.

  I lend out the house to close friends often enough, but I would never mistakenly let someone borrow it in January. It’s my month, damn it. The security is tight, too. With the music playing, I sort of exclude burglars right away.

  I do a quick mental scan of the people who have access to the house. I have keys, obviously, as do my PA, my brother… Alec and Lily have one set, as well. Lastly, the company that takes care of the cleaning once a month.

  I frown when I pick up a few notes from the song, and I narrow my eyes at the house—as if simply watching the building will give me answers. The music is far too familiar. Or rather, the genre.

  It can’t be.

  Yet, my mind immediately goes to Gemma. She was once an aspiring
concert cellist. The only thing stopping her was her hatred of classical music. Instead, she loved—loves—metal. Melodic, instrumental metal with violins and cellos.

  I’m the one who gave her the CD currently playing inside the house.

  I found it when I was in Helsinki on business.

  This is impossible, though. Unbuckling my seat belt, I get out of the SUV and grab my luggage. Who would have given her… The question dies as Alec and Lily enter my thoughts. If, against all odds, it’s Gemma, she must’ve borrowed their key.

  Climbing the steps to the wraparound porch, I kick some snow off my boots and find the door unlocked. I hardly have to worry about making any noises; the music is deafening. I set down my bags on the hardwood floor then hang up my parka and set aside my boots. After traveling and driving quite a bit today, my pullover has wrinkled, and I can’t wait to get out of my dress pants.

  My head snaps up when the volume is cranked up even higher. It’s her. Goddammit, it’s her. I’m one hundred percent certain. The part of the song—in which four cellists play together, creating a powerful bridge when combined with a heavy guitar riff—was one of her favorites as a fourteen-year-old.

  I grow oddly nervous. It’s been so long since I last saw her, and it stung severely when she cut me out of her life.

  She’s truly here. A slight smile tugs at my mouth, and I leave the hallway behind. Passing everything from the laundry room and kitchen to dining room and a guest bath, I reach the large living room, and…the smile is wiped off my face.

  What in the world!

  Before I can even process the fact that I’m in the same room as Gemma again, said room has my attention. There are pizza boxes, clothes, empty bags, plates, and DVD cases littered all over the place. In the high, arched ceiling, I stare in bewilderment at what looks like silly string hanging across the wooden beams. And as if that’s not bad enough, tossed over the old chandelier is a pair of jeans.

  Gemma sits with her back to me on the big couch in the center of the room. Music on full blast, some cartoon running on the flat screen… I rub my temples.

  The cleaning crew was here right before New Year’s, so it can’t have been more than a couple of days since Gemma arrived.

  At last, I think when the song ends, and I have little time before the next will begin, so I clear my throat. “Gemma?” I speak quietly, not wanting to startle her, and walk farther into the room.

  Quiet or not, she’s startled and lets out a scream. “Holy fucking shit!” She jumps off the couch, facing me with eyes widened in fear.

  I suddenly have the urge to repeat her sentiment. Holy fucking shit. My eyes take her in quickly from head to toe, and then I abruptly turn away. Oh no. No, no. This is not happening. My jaw clenches. A trickle of anger directed at myself takes up residence as it creeps through my veins, and I try to shake the thoughts. No. Don’t think it. For goodness’ sake, don’t think it.

  She seriously needs to get dressed, as well. A black tank top and…white cotton goddamn panties…let me see far too much.

  “Oh my God,” she breathes out. “What’re you doing here, Mr. Gauthier?”

  My eyebrows rise, though I make sure not to look at her. “It is my house, you know.”

  She huffs. “I know, but…Mom—I mean, Lily, she told me you weren’t gonna be here this year. You can turn around, by the way. I’m covered.”

  Slowly, I turn to face her again, both relieved and disappointed to see a blanket hanging off her shoulders.

  “Why would Lily go and say that?” I muse, confused. “And it doesn’t really explain why you are here, does it?”

  She smiles sheepishly, wringing her hands awkwardly, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. I note how long her hair has gotten. It used to reach her shoulders; now I’d imagine it’s down to her lower back. Long, dark brown, wavy. It’s beautiful.

  “I come here every year,” she confesses, and my brows shoot up in surprise. “I usually come in March, but she told me you’d be working in Hawaii this January, and…” She chews on her lip for a second, frowning a little. “I wanted some time away.”

  Away from what? From what I know, she’s been “away” for years.

  I release a breath, ignoring the questions for now. “Well, I have no clue why she would say something like that. I will most definitely be here this month, and—” Now what? I can’t exactly in good conscience kick her out and tell her to come back another month. Besides, I’ve been worried about the girl. She hasn’t had it easy, and I’d hate to watch her leave without knowing when I’ll see her again.

  “It’s okay,” she says quickly. “I’m sorry about this. Let me stay till tomorrow, and then I’ll go. I’m gonna clean up, too, of course.”

  I give the room a few glances before smiling wryly. “You’re right about one thing. You are going to clean up this mess.” She ducks her head, causing me to chuckle. “But you’re welcome to stay. The house is certainly big enough.” Three floors, to be exact. What could go wrong?

  She lifts her head again. “Really?” I smile at the hope in her eyes. It’s been a while since I saw that. “Shit, thank you so much, Mr. G. I promise I won’t be in the way.”

  Mr. G.

  That’s who I was to her, despite the countless times I told her it was okay for her to call me Dean. We’re family. Still, she never dropped the Mr. G and, in return, I started calling her Miss Gem.

  “No worries, Miss Gem,” I reply with a grin. She smiles widely, and I shake my head in amusement. “Now, get over here. It’s been years. You’ve had us worried.” I give her a pointed look, at which she offers another bashful grin.

  Then her mirth fades. “Us?” she inquires dryly, walking forward. “Who could you possibly include in that?”

  I laugh softly and give her a tight hug, inhaling deeply. Big mistake. Her fresh, rosy scent invades my senses. “Touché.” Though I wish I could include her birth mother, I can’t. Not without lying. “I was worried,” I amend, releasing her slowly. “Very much so. I want to know what you’ve been up to, okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “What-the-fuck-ever.”

  “Hey.” I frown down at her. “What happened to the soft-spoken girl I once knew? The one who’d blush if she accidentally said ‘damn’?”

  She shrugs and steps away. “A lot of shit happened.”

  I sigh internally, not liking this. I used to admire Gemma’s creativity, her personality, the way she’d get so passionate when speaking about her music, and how smart she was. Even at a young age, she could bring adults to their knees simply by talking. Back then, she sure as hell didn’t curse freely. Now, though…

  She’s an adult now, I remind myself. I have no right to reprimand her language.

  “Which I want you to tell me about,” I tell her. “But not tonight. I’ve had a long day and could use a good night’s sleep. Any plans for tomorrow?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope.”

  “Good,” I say with a firm nod. “We’ll talk then. Is breakfast at nine okay?”

  Another shrug. “Sure, whatever.”

  Rein it in.

  I narrow my eyes.

  I absolutely loathe eye-rolls, shrugs of indifference, the word “whatever,” huffs, sarcasm, and impoliteness. Lucky for me, I’m used to this from Tina. I have years of experience in Delaney behavior.

  I suppose I’d hoped Gemma wouldn’t take after the others.

  Chapter 2

  When I leave my bedroom on the third floor the next morning, I’m both well rested and eager to see Gemma again. I adjust my tie and pass the second floor, where I have four guest rooms, and hear the sound of a shower running.

  She’s up, at least.

  I come to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and stare at the state of the living room. Not only is it still a mess, but it appears to have gotten worse overnight. Added to the piles of crap from yesterday, there are now more DVD cases, CDs, and blankets strewn on the floor. Two makeup cases are on the coffee
table, eye shadows, nail polish, and lipsticks scattered on the wooden surface.

  How long was she up last night?

  Mouth pressed in a grim line, I head to the kitchen.

  Coffee. I need coffee.

  About twenty minutes later—a quarter past nine—Gemma appears in the kitchen doorway, dressed like a gypsy. Feet bare, flaring skirt in several colors, and a skimpy top that’s too revealing, she aims straight for the fridge.

  “Morning,” she says lightly.

  I set down my coffee mug on the kitchen table, studying her over yesterday’s paper that I read on the plane. I can clearly see the god-awful color on her toenails. Bright orange. Her fingernails look black.

  “Good morning, Gemma,” I mutter in afterthought, returning to my paper. Why on earth would she paint—actually, no. I have no right to go there, and I know it’s my strange…preferences, if you will, that skew my opinions.

  Having been stuck in a sexless relationship too long, I’ve discovered a lot as I’ve sought out pleasure online. Rather, much has been confirmed, and now I know there’s a name for what I like. It’s been a frustrating rabbit hole to climb out of because it’s like entering a restaurant when you’re starving, but all you can do is read the menu.

  “I was thinking we could go out for breakfast.” I fold the paper, in need of a distraction from my thoughts. Gemma looks over her shoulder, fridge door still open, and I become aware of the heavy makeup on her face. So much black. “I need to go into town anyway. The kitchen needs to be restocked and so on.”

  “Um, all right.”

  “Can you be ready in twenty?”

  “Sure.”

  Only, she’s not.

  It’s not until forty minutes later that she joins me in the hallway, dressed the same, announcing she’s ready to go.

  “Tell me you’re not serious,” I state, watching her. She merely slips her feet into a pair of sandals. “There’s snow everywhere.”

  “Eh.” She shrugs. “It’s not like we’ll be out a lot.”

  With that said, she walks out onto the porch…only to light up a cigarette.