“You threw it at my head when you left,” he said calmly.
“You kept it?” she whispered.
He looked down through heavy-lidded eyes. “Aye. Figured I’d put it back in place at some point.”
Lynne smiled at the end, her eyelids closing. “You all come visit me in Maryland for your honeymoon,” she whispered before falling asleep.
“You can kiss your bride,” the pastor said.
Nora stilled and opened her mouth. Deke leaned down and grasped her shoulder, pulling her into him. His mouth covered hers, so much power in the move that she rose to her tiptoes out of instinct. He kissed her hard enough her head fell back, and she had to grab his rigid biceps to keep her balance. His tongue swept inside her mouth with masculine insistence, staking his claim, and desire spiraled through her flesh to her blood. Maybe deeper.
Finally, he released her.
She blinked, her body rioting. With a gasp, she released his arms.
He took her hand and led her from the room and down the corridor. She tripped beside him, trying to control herself. Finally, he paused.
She freed her hand from his. “I can’t believe you went along with that,” she hissed.
He rubbed her arm, his expression unreadable. “Your friend is worried about the future and wants you safe. I want you to be mine again. The timing worked.”
Nora drew away, facing him fully, needing to lift her head to keep his gaze. Man, he was tall—and big. Sometimes she forgot about his sheer size. “I’m not staying married to you.”
His eyes darkened, and his face hardened in a way she hadn’t seen before. “Aye, you are.” He leaned in, bringing the scent of male with him. “You run this time, Nora, and I swear to all the Scottish gods watching over me, I’ll come after you.”
Chapter Thirteen
That evening, after a frustrating day in the lab, Nora waited in what was now her office, trying not to cry. The CDC had taken Lynne away, and her chances weren’t good. But she’d sure made things interesting before leaving, now hadn’t she? Leave it to Lynne, the world’s most dignified romantic, to arrange Nora’s love life before leaving.
Married. Lingering rays of moonlight slanted through the partially drawn shades, catching Nora’s simple platinum band. She was once again married to Deacan McDougall. Before, she’d been able to somewhat handle the boy. Now he was all man. Could anybody handle him? Even though it had only been four hours, she felt different.
The way he’d looked at her, the way he’d touched her after the ceremony . . . had been different.
Purposeful. Protective. Possessive.
The part of him he’d always contained seemed present now. Out free and wild.
Judging from the kiss he’d given her, he didn’t have any intention of subduing himself. The guy she’d glimpsed during her first week in D.C., the cheerful strategist whose biggest concern was creating battle plans for faraway places, was gone. Instinct told her the existence of that Deke had been fleeting, anyway. A man’s true nature couldn’t be contained, and she knew now, more than ever, that Deacan would never be restrained.
Even if the CDC contained the spreading infection, even if life continued on as it was, Deacan wouldn’t remain a mere advisor.
That much she knew.
What he’d do, she wasn’t sure. But he was a fighter, a warrior, and those characteristics lived in his very blood. She’d known it years ago, and she’d run.
Was she strong enough to stay this time?
A shadow crossed her vision, and Deacan filled the doorway. Solid, strong, and steady. “The FBI has a new lead on Zach Barter in Texas.”
She swallowed. “I see.”
He reached out a hand. “Let’s go home. We need to talk.”
They needed to talk? Seriously? Steam nearly boiled from her ears, and she shot to her feet. “That’s the understatement of the year.”
“I know.” He waited, ever patient, until she’d crossed the room to take his hand. “While I’ve been finishing up with the FBI, have you been in here plotting my death, planning your escape, or accepting your current situation?”
“If I were plotting your death, McDougall, you’d be dead.” Head held high, she began to sweep past him.
