My wife tastes like mint, a faint hint of cherries and it’s taking every scrap of my self-control to not bite her lip and lick away the blood. I suck on her tongue and run my thumbs over her cheekbones and devour her. She’s got one hand in a fist on my jacket, as if she’s not sure if she should grab me or push me away.
When I pull back, her dazed expression turns into something harder. Something stubborn.
Perfect.
Just the kind of girl I love to break.
“Hello, Afton MacTavish. I’m your husband, Mason.”
***
Afton…
The man I just married can’t be human.
There’s an insane, sculpted perfection about Mason MacTavish that makes him an almost unearthly beauty. Along with the height, and the muscles, he’s got thick blond hair, jade-colored eyes, and a firm jawline. He’s wearing the hell out of that kilt with a dark jacket and crisp white shirt. There’s a knife strapped on his leg, I think they call it a dirk? I’m sure it’s sharper than any ornamental knife should be.
He doesn’t smile, not even a false social one. He’s looking me over, calm, dispassionate, and I automatically suck in my stomach. I don’t know why I bother, the stylist squeezed me into two pairs of Spanx.
“Hello, I guess.” I let out an awkward little bark of laughter because let’s face it, the whole day is so surreal. “I imagine you’re Catholic and that’s why the ceremony is here instead of my father’s country club?”
Taking my arm, Mason nods to the slightly bewildered priest. “I assume so. I didn’t make the arrangements.” He’s guiding me back down the aisle and the world tilts.
It’s the first time I’ve fully realized the church is packed and everyone’s staring at us avidly. There’s some kind smiles and nods from, based on the strong resemblance, his side of the family. The bride’s side of the chapel is stuffed with my father’s “business associates.” Aside from my brother, sister, mom and Nana, there’s no one here for me.
My chest clenches from a bolt of grief I didn’t expect. None of my friends - the few that I’ve made - will ever know what happened to me.
I smile and nod, smile and nod, smile and nod until Mason gets us out of the cathedral. There’s an enormous black SUV waiting for us with two equally enormous men flanking it.
One of them opens the back door for me. “Mrs. MacTavish, congratulations on your-”
Mason shoulders him aside, standing between him and the door and helping me in. He stoops gracefully to gather up the voluminous fabric of my dress and tucks it in beside me.
“Um, thank you. I forgot this dress had a train.” Well, that makes me look like a moron.
No reassuring smile or understanding chuckle. He raises an elegant brow and shuts the door.
The heavy thud of it makes me jump a little, and the utter silence inside the SUV makes me wonder exactly how much armor plate this sucker is carrying. Mason’s talking to the two men, his beautiful face still cold and expressionless, and they’re nodding rapidly. The response of his big, bad bodyguards makes me think he’s displeased with them, though I can’t imagine why.
Wyatt.
Another bolt of… something hits my chest. He’s been my bodyguard for almost ten years. He’s in his forties, so not exactly a father figure but maybe a kindly uncle sort of influence, and he’s seen me through all those painful adolescent years. Heknewabout today. I could tell when he looked away from me in the back hallway at St. James. It was bad enough being ambushed by Mom and Nana. I get it, even though it still hurts. Dad would have threatened them to keep quiet.
I really thought Wyatt’s loyalty was to me. Even if he’d told me, there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it. But I wouldn’t have been so cruelly, stupefyingly blindsided by what just happened.
The car jostles slightly as Mason gets in on the other side, sliding next to me. He takes both my hands in his as the car pulls away from the curb. “You handled everything very well during the ceremony,” he says, his jade eyes intent on mine.
This close, I can see a tattoo peeking out of the collar of his dress shirt and a scar on the left side of his neck. Did someone try to cut his throat?
“Afton darling, look at me.” He squeezes my hands slightly, his full mouth curving into a bit of a smile. “While I’m sure youknow what comes next, let’s go over the schedule so you’re prepared.”
I let out a deeply unattractive snort. “I don’t know what comes next. I found out I was getting married this morning.”
His smile disappears. “What do you mean?”
“Mom told me to come home for the weekend because shemissedme.” I would have made the annoying little quotation marks with my fingers but he still has a grip on my hands. “Wyatt - my bodyguard - pulled up to the cathedral and my father delivered the news.”
Mason examines me for a moment, almost clinically, like he’s trying to determine how I’m going to react.
