Fit to be Tied (Marshals 2)

“No, that’s not it.”

“Ian—”

“Just say okay, you’ll marry me.”

“No.”

His head turned sideways a little, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. “No?”

I couldn’t hold back my smile. “You wanna marry me so you get to say what happens to me, and I get that. But you don’t have to—”

“No, I—”

“We can get a power of attorney and—”

“You wanted to marry me before you were kidnapped,” he said defensively.

“And you didn’t,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but now I do.”

I shook my head. “You wanna have a say—the say—and I’m telling you, you can have it. You don’t have to put a ring on my finger just to be the guy who’s in charge of pulling or not pulling the plug.”

“Miro—”

“It’s okay,” I soothed him, lifting my hand to his face. “God, I’m so glad to see you.”

He closed his eyes a moment, leaning into my hand, and then sighed deeply as his gaze met mine. “I thought the marriage thing was stupid.”

“I know you did, and do.”

“Yeah, but now I’m thinking I don’t know.”

“Well, let’s put this whole discussion on hold until you figure it out, okay?”

“But I wanna be… closer.”

“Oh, marshal, you have no idea how much I want that.”

It took him a second. “I’m unburdening my heart and you’re being pervy.”

I didn’t want to laugh because it hurt. “Ow-ow-ow… stop.”

“You’re thinking about sex.”

“What?” I teased innocently.

“Jesus, only you.”

“Come here and kiss me,” I mumbled, my energy level dipping, making it hard to keep my eyes open.

“I think you need to rest.”

God, I was tired. “Yeah, okay,” I agreed, hearing my voice crack as I closed my eyes. “But kiss me first.”

His lips brushed my forehead.

“Not what I mean,” I yawned in conclusion.

“I know,” he agreed huskily, pressing his lips to my temple. “Sleep now.”

“You’re staying, right?”

“Yes, love, you don’t have to worry.”

And I didn’t. It was Ian after all.

THERE WERE things that surprised me and things that did not. Like I was not shocked to find Ian passed out on one of those recliners beside my bed when I woke up, but I was surprised that one of my best friends, Dr. Catherine Benton, was standing there hovering over me, resembling a wrung-out old mop.

“You look terrible,” I commented, my voice scratchy, full of gravel.

“Well, you’re not looking so hot yourself,” she volleyed, never missing a beat.

“Why’re you in scrubs?” I asked, wondering why she was there.

She stepped closer, brushed my hair back from my face, and then bent and kissed my forehead. “Because I just operated on you,” she answered when she straightened.

“How come?”

“That man took a rib out of your body and I wanted to make sure there were no sharp edges left inside,” she said flatly.

I grinned up at her. “Who called ya?”

She lifted an eyebrow.

Shit. “Aruna,” I answered my own question.

“Yep. She’s your emergency contact; she’s who they called to ask what to do.”

“And she called you like a second later.”

“As she should have,” she answered.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s worried, as were we all.”

By all she meant my coven, Catherine and the three other women who had been my family since college. “But you told them I’m okay.”

“And they all agreed to stay home as long as I made the trip.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” she murmured, glancing over at Ian.

It was ridiculous, but I sighed deeply. “He’s pretty, huh?”

“Gorgeous, yes.”

“I think he loves me.”

“Yes, I would agree.”

I dropped my voice to a whisper. “I wanna marry him.”

“You already got him moved in. I think you’re on the right track.”

Thinking for a moment, I looked down at the hospital gown, the cast on my left leg from right below the knee down, and then returned my gaze to her face. “I’m kind of out of it.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Is that why I’m so calm?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think I’m stoned.”

She waggled her eyebrows at me.

“Hartley gave me drugs when he had me too.”

“He certainly did.”

“It’s why I didn’t die from sepsis or something when he took the rib, right?”

“I refuse to give that psychopath credit for anything,” she replied, her voice icy. “I don’t even believe in the death penalty, but in his case… I’m ready to make an exception.”

“No, you’re not.”

She went quiet a moment, thinking. “No, I’m not. I’m sure I could think of many more creative alternatives to death.”

I reached for her hand and she grabbed it tight. “Siddown.”

She perched beside me, and I finally noticed how tired she looked. “My fault, I’m sorry.”

“For what? Being kidnapped? Really?”

“You really do look terrible.”

“I know. Normally I’m stunning.”

She was right, she normally was. With her long, thick black hair swept up into a side braid with a low bun, her eyelashes so perfect they appeared fake, and the slightest blush to her cheeks, she was a goddess in the flesh. Even in pale blue scrubs she was usually quite alluring, and now that I was really studying her, I could still see her innate beauty, but her concern, her worry, her fear… for me… had changed her appearance. Furrowed brows, lips set into a tight line, dark circles under her eyes, and how pale she looked all worked together to show me a picture of grief. I’d scared the crap out of her.