Tate (Mountain Men 3)

“Aye,” he says. “Make sure Bryn gets in touch with her father.”

He hangs up the phone. “Bloody hate using her as a pawn, but she’s the most direct contact with him right now. Once he knows we’re married… hell, once anyone knows we’re married…”

Word will get out.

I’ll put right everything I can. I’ll pull the next book from publication and see how I can use my contacts to get in touch with Interpol.

And then I’ll leave the Cowen Clan. Once I know that everyone’s safe, that I’ve done no more harm… I’ll leave them for good so I never hurt them again.

“Get some sleep,” Tate says, and I can’t help but feel the barb in his words. This should be a night of rejoicing, or for celebrating our marriage bed, vows said between lovers. But not tonight.

I’m so troubled, I can barely appreciate the luxurious room we’re in, with the view of the sea that would be the envy of anyone. I change into borrowed clothing and climb under the sheets as Tate takes another call. He’s cursing in a hushed breath so he doesn’t bother me, but I know that things have gone really bad, really fast.

I pull together everything I can.

A gnawing ache fills my belly when I think of Aisla and Blair, bound and hurt… because of me.

I have to do something about this.

Even if it kills me.

Literally.

Chapter 15

Tate

By the time I come to bed, she’s dead asleep, sprawled across the blanket with her mouth partly open and her hair all askew. Still, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

And now she’s my wife.

The knowledge thrills me, even as the fear of what happens next pervades my every thought. She’s both safer now and more in danger than ever. Safer because she wears my metaphorical ring, bound to me with vows that are unbreakable. More in danger because this has gone beyond what anyone ever suspected.

I crawl in beside her and wrap my hand around her belly. I kiss her shoulder. I don’t expect anything from her right now. I don’t need anything. I know it’s our wedding night, and we should be planning so much more than crashing in bed beside each other, but we both know the wedding was a mere formality. Insurance, as it were.

She smiles but doesn’t open her eyes. “Hello, husband,” she says in a husky voice. I can’t help myself. I slowly divest her of her clothing, and within minutes, we’re quietly finding our way around each other again. When she’s teeming with need, her legs wrapped around me as I capture her mouth with mine, I glide into her with a groan of satisfaction.

“Fuckin’ brilliant,” I whisper in her ear. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” she whispers as her climax overtakes her and her mouth parts in ecstasy.

I tuck her back under the covers, and she curls up next to me.

“No matter what happens, Tate,” she whispers. “Know that I love you.”

Her words have an ominous ring to them, and I know why. What happens over the next few days — even hours — will put us both in grave danger.

“No one will hurt you, lassie. I promise you that.”

I’ll kill every motherfucking one of them before they harm a hair on her head.

She smiles, her eyes already closed again. “I know you will.”

And it’s the stark determination, her steadfast knowledge that I’ll protect her, that bloody fuels me for what has to happen next.

I fall asleep with her curled up beside me, her steady breathing in line with my own.

The next day, I wake to find her sitting at the table wearing nothing but my T-shirt.

“Good morning,” she says with a soft smile. “I’m sorry to tell you, you’ll never get me to go back home.”

I lean up on my elbow and smile at her. I could get used to waking up to a view like that, her hair all sexy-tousled, my T-shirt, a wee bit too big for her, falling off her shoulder.

“Why’s that?”

She sighs, pointing her hand to the balcony. She’s drawn the edges of the drapes open, likely not too far since she didn’t want to wake me. “This bloody view,” she says, her voice husky. But then something gets her attention. The paper she’s writing on falls to the floor, forgotten, as she walks to the balcony door. She pushes the blinds open fully, warmth and light flooding the room in the early morning sun.

“We have to go to the beach,” she says suddenly. “How quickly can you get dressed?”

I’m already pulling on my trousers.

“What is it?”

She shakes her head. “Can’t tell yet. Could be just my imagination.” She gives me a winsome grin. “Or maybe I just want an early morning walk with my husband?”

She quickly dresses and tucks her phone into her back pocket. We’re a good bit away from the coast, and it takes us a few minutes to even get to the privacy gate that lets us out.