“I…didn’t get a substitute officiant for the ceremony. Everything…”
Oh, shit. Oh, damn. Oh, hell.
“Congratulations,” his blood-soaked brother told him. “You just married your dream girl.”
Chapter Sixteen
Nash scooped Delaney into his arms.
“Wait!” she cried. One arm was behind his head, and her fingers clamped onto his shoulder. “Is this a good idea? The last time you carried me, gunfire erupted.”
Nash turned his head to look at her. “We’re on a secure floor of the hotel. We’re in front of our honeymoon suite.” A grim nod. “I’m carrying my bride over the threshold because that is how shit is done.”
“That’s how it’s done for real marriages, but there is no one but you and I here to see this. It doesn’t matter what we do.”
They’d had to stay at the Love Heart Chapel for nearly two hours. The cops had come. There had been questions. So many questions. And they’d had to be incredibly careful with their responses.
Ryan had been taken to the hospital. He’d protested the whole time, but he’d gone. Eventually, Delaney and Nash had been escorted by the police to their hotel.
Now they were on the fifteenth floor. Right in front of the honeymoon suite. All alone. And he did not need to carry her over the threshold. “It doesn’t matter,” she said again.
His lashes flickered. “It matters to me. Swipe the damn key card.”
Her left hand flew out. She swiped the damn keycard.
He yanked open the door with one hand while his other arm held her, and he carried her across the threshold. Didn’t act like her weight bothered him at all. Considering all his bulging muscles, it probably didn’t. He kicked the door closed.
She expected him to put her down.
He didn’t. He went right on holding her. His head turned, and his gaze burned as he stared down at her.
“You can…let me go.” Why had her voice gone all husky?
A slow, negative shake of his head.
“I’m sure Ryan will be okay.” He’d seemed loud and grumpy as he ordered the EMTs around, so she took that as a positive sign.
“He’ll be fine. An in-and-out wound. He’ll have restricted range of motion with that arm for a few days, but he’ll be back in action in no time.”
Good to know. “I’m sorry he was hurt.”
“He shouldn’t have been fucking hurt.” Nash strode forward with her in his arms. “Should have been safe. We all should have been safe, but someone sold us out.” He’d reached the floor-to-ceiling windows. With his free hand—because he kept holding her with the other—he pressed a button to lower the blinds.
Unease slithered beneath her skin. “You mean someone in the CIA.”
His eyes pinned her. “Yes.”
“That’s not good.” A hoarse whisper.
“Sweetheart, it’s a fucking nightmare. It means, with Ryan temporarily out of the picture, you can’t trust anyone but me.”
“You could have died on the steps of that chapel.” Her unease was getting way worse. More like transforming into full-on fear and panic. “When the bullets started flying, you covered me with your body.”
His head tilted to the left. “That’s the job.”
“No, you dying is not the job. Not in any way. That is nowhere in the job description.”
“Sweetheart, I think you’re having trouble with the meaning of bodyguard.”
