Page 9 of Protected Hearts

A priest.

“No!” Her harsh gasp came out as a hot whisper too low for anyone to hear but Matvey, the man she was being forced to wed.

His grip on her hand tightened, and his thumb swept over her pulse point in her wrist.

She gulped as the priest began the ceremony. What was happening? One minute she was taking a shower, the next a gun was digging into the back of her head. Now she was being forced to marry this guy. For all she knew, he was a member of the Russian mob.

“Kiss your bride.”

Her eyes flew wide in terror as the man leaned in close.

He smelled good. Like cedar.

When he lowered his mouth to hers, his lips were much softer than the granite they appeared to be.

She tested the theory by biting down on his bottom lip and ruthlessly yanking.

He made a growling sound and jerked his mouth away. Blood trickled from the place where she just bit him.

He stared down at her for a long beat. Fear blasted through her.

Bracing herself for a blow, she glared up into his eyes.

In a lightning-quick move, he raised his hand. She braced herself for pain.

He swiped the back of his hand over his bloody lip.

To her shock, he tossed back his head and laughed.

“She’s a feisty one,” he said in plain English before whipping her up into his arms and tossing her over his shoulder.

If she couldn’t breathe before, shereallycouldn’t now. She felt like a thousand zip-ties were banded around her ribs, restricting any possibility of drawing in the gasp she so badly needed to when he threw her over his steely shoulder.

Since when did a wedding ceremony end with the groom carrying his bride out on his shoulder? What happened to bridal style?

The pristine landscaping of the estate flashed in her vision as he carried her to the moving van and lowered her to her feet. Her ankle turned over on the stiletto’s high heel—with feathers, of course—and she almost fell on her face.

Without a word uttered from those hard—soft?—lips, he picked her up and plopped her in the passenger seat. Frantic, she lunged toward the driver’s seat, her only thought to escape.

There wasn’t a key in the ignition. Even if she could get behind the wheel before he walked around the vehicle, she had no way to start the engine.

He jumped in and slammed the door. In seconds they were rolling down the long driveway toward the gate.

Shiloh gripped the seat. “Are you going to ram through that thing?”

“They’ll open it.” His voice rang with utter confidence and not a single trace of a Russian accent. Everything she knew flipped on its ear. Now if she had to hazard a guess, his name was not Matvey.

A second later, the gate swung open wide. The guards watched impassively as they drove through it. If they wondered why he was leaving with her, they didn’t stop them for questioning and nobody gave chase.

Once they hit the road, Shiloh attempted to suck in enough air to fill her lungs. Feathers tickled the underside of her jaw, and she tried to bat them away, but the ones on her wrist only tickled her nose.

“Tell me your name,” she demanded.

He remained silent.

“Who are you?” She raised her voice a notch.

“I’m the man who saved you from that scary motherfucker. You asked me to help you. I take my job seriously.”

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