The human granite block reached us, his expression revealing exactly nothing as his eyes flicked from Julian to me and back again.
"Sir," he addressed Julian, his voice as hard as his appearance. "Everything is prepared as requested."
Julian nodded, seemingly unfazed by the military-grade security operation unfolding around us. "Thank you, Michael. This is Connor, my husband."
Husband. The word hung in the air like a neon sign.
Michael's eyebrows rose fractionally—the only indication that this information surprised him. His gaze returned to me, colder and more assessing than before, like he was calculating exactly how many seconds it would take to dispose of my body if necessary.
"Connor," Julian continued smoothly, "this is Michael Davis, my head of security and right-hand man."
I swallowed hard, extending a hand that looked pathetically small compared to Michael's. "Nice to meet you."
Michael stared at my hand for a moment before taking it in a grip that could've crushed coal into diamonds. "Likewise," he said, in a tone that strongly suggested the opposite.
"Michael handles all security matters for me, both personal and professional," Julian explained.
And by the look he's giving me, I just became security matter number one.
"Background check complete?" Julian asked Michael, as casually as if he were asking about the weather.
"Initial sweep done," Michael replied. "Full report in one hour."
My stomach dropped. "Background check? On me?"
Julian's expression remained impassive. "Standard procedure."
"We've been married for approximately fifteen minutes," I pointed out. "Shouldn't the background check have come before the 'I do' part?"
"Circumstances required flexibility," Julian replied, his tone making it clear that was all the explanation I was going to get.
Michael opened the door to the middle SUV, and a ramp smoothly extended to accommodate Julian's wheelchair. The efficiency of the operation suggested this was a well-rehearsed routine, everyone knowing their exact role without needing instruction.
I stood awkwardly to the side, suddenly acutely aware of my borrowed clothes and complete lack of personal belongings. I didn't even have my wallet or phone—they were still at the hotel where my mother had drugged me.
"So," I managed weakly as Julian maneuvered his wheelchair toward the vehicle, "when you said you were rich..."
Julian paused, turning to look up at me. His hand slid to my lower back in a gesture that was unmistakably possessive, sending an unexpected jolt of arousal through my body. The touch was firm, confident, his fingers splaying just above the waistband of my pants.
"I’m very rich," he confirmed, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down my spine despite the warm afternoon sun. "Problem?"
I swallowed hard, inexplicably aroused despite the chaos surrounding us. There was something about the casual way he claimed me, about the quiet authority in his touch, that made my knees weak and my pulse race.
Get it together, Matthews. Or Montgomery, I guess.
"No problem," I said, trying to inject some humor into my voice. "Just wondering if my IKEA furniture will clash with your... everything."
The corner of Julian's mouth twitched in what might have been the beginning of a genuine smile. "Don't worry," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear as he guided me toward the waiting vehicle. "We won't be keeping any of your furniture."
His fingers lingered at my waist, thumb brushing against my skin where my shirt had ridden up slightly. The touch was deliberate, intimate in a way that made my breath catch and heat pool in my stomach. There was a promise in that touch—a continuation of what had sparked between us the night before.
I managed a nod, not trusting myself to speak as I climbed into the SUV after him. The interior was all buttery leather and polished wood, with more technology discreetly integrated into the panels than I'd seen in most electronics stores.
Julian's wheelchair was secured with a system that looked custom-designed, allowing him to remain in it rather than transferring to a seat.
Michael took the front passenger seat, immediately engaging with something on a tablet while speaking quietly into what I assumed was a communication device in his ear.
As the vehicle pulled smoothly away from the curb, I glanced out the window and caught my first glimpse of what Julian had casually referred to as "home" during our paperwork session—a gleaming penthouse tower that stood apart from the surrounding skyline, all glass and steel reaching toward the clouds.
