Logan frowns. “Why would we do that?”
“Because we met four days ago when someone tried to kill ye and then someone tried to kill me and then there was kidnapping and someone tried to kill both of us and then a rescue, ye remember that? Not exactly a strong foundation for a marriage!”
He chuckles and it’s unsettling. “I have to tell ye, sweetheart, our foundation’s a lot more sound than some of the MacTavish unions, but that’s talk for another time.” Picking up my limp hand, he squeezes it gently. “Take this first step with me, aye? Be with me. Anselm’s people are still out there. One strike isn’t enough to take them all out, they’re like roaches. I’ll keep ye safe.” A look of self-loathing crosses his face. “I’ll keep ye safe from nowon. No more fuckups.”
“Until we’re sure they’re not coming back for revenge?”
Something flashes in his eyes for a moment. Disappointment? Determination? “I ordered some clothes for ye, along with breakfast. It should be here soon. Go take a shower, aye?” That filthy grin is back. “I can join ye, if ye like. Wash your hair...” His gaze is dropping lower and I scramble ungracefully off the bed.
“I’m going to need a moment.”
By the time I emerge from the shower, I feel close to 75% human again. There’s an outfit laid out on the bed, soft leggings and a pink cashmere sweater that feels wonderful against my skin. The suite is a two-story loft with the bedroom overlooking the living area and those enormous windows. Logan is seated on the balcony in the sunshine, drinking coffee and watching something on his phone.
“How do ye feel, Mrs. MacTavish?” He doesn’t miss my flinch.
“Still trying to adjust to this new reality,” I admit. “And I haven’t agreed to the name change. Maybe you could be Mr. Blair.”
The only thing I can manage to keep down is some dry toast and tea, but he’s plowing through an assortment of croissants, fruit, scrambled eggs and ham. The hotel is a massive thing, with Moorish architecture and a spectacular view of downtown Copenhagen. We’re a few blocks away from the water and I can see the rows of tall, colorful houses lining the bank.
“Your family…” Is there a polite way to ask your new husband if he’s from a crime family? Because the easy access to enormous weapons and an endless supply of hard-faced soldiers and relative ease of murdering people seems to indicate that. “You’re Mafia, aren’t ye?”
Brilliant, Arabella. Just blurt that right out there.
He puts down his fork and gives me his full attention. “Aye.”
“You’re not like-”
“Anselm?” His jaw tightens for a moment. “Victor Anselm loved pretending that he was a businessman who specialized in pharmaceutical research and the maritime industry. He got his first billion from his three luxury cruise lines before branching off into Bitcoin fraud, developing deadly viruses and stealing the research of others and pushing his shite out first.
“That’s how we got tangled up with him in the first place. I retrieved some crucial medical research he’d stolen from our pharmaceutical division. I also took several other medical patents and enough information to feck with his financial fraud. It was quite the setback for the bastard.”
“Good.”There’s a savage satisfaction behind the word. I remember being in that CT scanner. How terrified I was, knowing I was going to be cut up into sellable bits and pieces. “So, that’s why he was targeting you specifically?”
“Aye. He thought it would send a message to my clan, the fecking eejit. But once you were involved…” He shook his head. “I should have been there sooner. I should have kept you from being hurt.”
The rank, coppery taste of that man’s blood in my mouth is still painfully vivid, his nasty breath and the things he and his horrible buddy called me. “Ye did save me. Twice, in fact.”
“Ye never should have been taken.” He’s clenching his fists, his jaw tight with fury, and I squint at the side of his hand.
“Oh, your bandage is gone.” I thought he’d been cut or something during the rescue, but it’s a tattoo; four lines with a fifth crossed over them. “Ye got that tattoo yesterday? Is it a MacTavish thing?”
Logan looks down at the tattoo and his fury seems to drain away. “It’s a me thing.” Before I can ask any more questions, he rises from the table. “If you’re finished, we should get out of here.”
Doing a quick sweep through the suite before we leave, I spot something white, crumpled fabric on the sofa. “What is this?” Holding it up, my face goes up in flames. It’s a dress, ripped down the middle like it was literally torn off. “Oh, sweet Baby Jesus, was Iwearingthis?”
“Well, not for long.”
He chuckles as I hastily stuff the ruined dress in the garment bag that my new clothes were delivered in. I choose not to think about why my nipples are suddenly insanely hard.
Chapter Fifteen
In which there are so many MacTavishes
Logan…
I think my bonnie new wife handled the morning rather well.
By the time we boarded the MacTavish jet and headed for home, everyone on board had already heard about our marriage. My family are all terrible gossips.
