He lifted his head and then winced before he took my face gently, reverently in his hard, callused hands. “Oh, love, what happened?”
Him calling me his love never failed to drench me in heat and make my pulse leap. It was one of those things: a gruff, growly, beautiful man being vulnerable and using an endearment that was all mine—it was enough to make me want to drop to my knees for him right there.
“Miro?”
I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. My mouth had gone dry. “One of the guys hit me with his gun.”
“How many stitches did you—”
“Just five.”
“Jesus Christ, when the hell was this?”
I had to think. “Before I got a new job.”
“A what?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I need to hear the—for fuck’s sake, Miro,” he husked, grimacing as he smoothed his hands down the sides of my neck, turning my head back and forth. “You’ve got bruises all over you. Where the fuck was—”
“It happens, you know that.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t there.”
“It’s okay,” I sighed, so happy he was with me now. “It’s not—”
“And what the hell are you wearing,” he snapped, yanking on my shirt. “Since when do you own anything purple?”
“It’s Sharpe’s,” I replied, chuckling. He sounded more upset about the shirt than my injuries. “I think I look great in it.”
“I don’t… like it,” he assured me, scowling.
“Well, I’m not crazy about this one that you’ve got on either.”
“What?” He was confused. “Why?”
“Little tight, don’t you think?” I teased, smiling at my sexy man.
A breath escaped before he kissed me again, just as hot and devouring as the first time, tugging on the shirt so he could get his hands under it, smoothing over my ribs, my abdomen, and down to my belt buckle while he rubbed his tongue over mine, stroking, taking more and more until I was trembling and boneless in his arms, ready for whatever he wanted. Always with Ian, my response to him was the same, the instant flare of desire followed by the devouring flame of arousal that could only be sated one way.
“Come home with me,” he rumbled, and when I caught the glint of gold out of the corner of my eye, I made a noise I wasn’t proud of. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s—” My voice cracked, and I had to concentrate to get it to work. “You picked up your ring,” I almost whined.
“Course,” he said gruffly. “It was ready today. I went and got it right after work.”
When I first put the ring on his finger, we realized we had purchased it just a bit too big, but we figured it wouldn’t be an issue. That was before the weather changed from a bit cold to arctic, the way Chicago winters did, and the ring started sliding off everywhere. When it fell into a plate of kung pao chicken, Ian had winced and said maybe it was time to get it sized. He’d dropped it off two weeks ago, so I’d been missing him wearing it since then, but now it was back on his hand where it belonged and where I wanted it to stay.
“I’ll never take it off,” he promised like he was reading my mind.
“Yeah?” I asked hoarsely.
“Yeah,” he said before he kissed me again.
I’d forgotten about the ring with everything else that was going on, but he hadn’t, and the thought that he made a special trip out of his way to make sure he had it on the first day he could made my knees weak. Sometimes, stupidly, I wondered if I was as important to Ian as he was to me. But always, inevitably, inexorably, he proved to me I was paramount in his mind. It had been like that since the night in the truck in the rain when he told me he was leaving the Army because I was the adventure he wanted.
“So?”
My gaze met his.
“Can we leave already?”
“Love to,” I said, grinning at him. “I just gotta get my phone from Eli.”
He pulled my phone from his back pocket and passed it to me.
“Got everything covered, do you?”
“Always,” he assured me, slipping his hand gently, tenderly, around the side of my neck before drawing me close for another kiss.
Chapter 4
ABOUT FIVE months ago, the Thursday a week after Thanksgiving, Ian and I went to the court building over on Randolph Street, down to the lower level where the marriages and civil unions were performed, and sat outside the door in the row of chairs with Carl Embrey, who was wanted for money laundering and bribery in Las Vegas. We had gotten the marriage license and paid the ten-dollar administrative fee on Tuesday and planned to get married the day after, but weren’t able to get away from a fugitive pickup gone sideways. I wasn’t waiting even one more day, so when Ian insisted we take Embrey back, I put my foot down.