Page 57 of Dangerous Secrets

“Yes. Right now.” He wished it were already done. He kissed her hand again. “I’m not certain, but I might have to go away on business next week, and I might stay away . . . a while.” This time next week, he might be dead.

“I want to know when I leave that you’re mine. Forever.” And alive, he added silently. “I’m thirty-six and I know myself. I know what I feel and I know this is serious. This is it.” He paused. “At least for me it is. I’m hoping you feel the same.”

“Yes,” she said simply, and his heart soared. His lovely Charity. How typical of her. No coyness, no dancing around, no games. “Yes, I feel the same. That it’s serious, and true and deep.”

“Exactly.” Inside, he exulted. This was going to work! He couldn’t think about when he’d leave. Right now, he was concentrated on getting her into the Unit’s protective embrace. “Now, you know and I know that we could have a long engagement. We could date for another six months, a year, and nothing would change except we’d be a year older. I’d still feel the same and I hope you would, too.”

She nodded, eyes unwavering on his.

“My job as a stockbroker is basically to understand not so much what to do but when to do it. I have an instinct for good timing. And my instinct says that this is the right thing to do. Right now.”

“Nick,” she said quietly, looking troubled, slowly sliding her hand from his. “You must understand, I can’t move to Manhattan, much as I’d like to. It would be exciting, and I can’t hide from you that I love the idea, but I have responsibilitieshere. Uncle Franklin and Aunt Vera need me. I’m sorry. I don’t know if you can accept that.”

His heart squeezed and for a second, he lost his voice.

She loved him. He knew that, or else he’d never have had this crazy idea, never could have hoped to make it work. It was there in the way she looked at him, touched him, fucked him. No—made love with him.

It spoke to her nature that she’d be willing to give up marriage to the man she loved for her elderly aunt and uncle.

“I don’t have to live in New York,” he said gently. “They have these fantastic inventions called the internet and email. I can do most of my business from here. What little I can’t do over the net, I can take care of on short trips.”

With each word, he saw joy blossom more brightly on her face, artless and devastating, because he knew what he’d be leaving behind after he was gone. He was going to break her heart.

But—however miserable she’d be when he disappeared, however devastated and grief-stricken, she’d be alive, and that was what mattered. Nobody dies of a broken heart. They do die of a meat hook through the heart.

Nick was a hard man. Hard men made hard choices. And he’d made his.

“Come with me,” he murmured, lifting a hand to tuck a curl behind her ear. He gestured out the windshield at the big door set in the grey wall in front of them. “In there. We can be married in an hour. And since we’re doing this the unconventional way, afterwards we can go shopping for rings. Soon, maybe next week or when the weather clears up, we can have a little reception for your folks and friends. I was thinking at Da Emilio’s. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, smiling. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“As long as they let me pay,” he added.

He stroked her face, the skin so soft. Warm. Alive. “I need to take care of something this afternoon, but I’ll be back by five, six at the latest.” A quick kiss. “And we’ll have our wedding night tonight.” He stirred, just thinking of it.

It came to him with a quick punch to his stomach that tonight he would be making love to his wife. Words he never thought he’d ever say. Not even in his head.

Even if the marriage lasted only a week or two, and he disappeared forever afterwards, he’d have had that. More than he ever thought he’d have.

Nick nodded at the big steel doors leading into the courthouse. “What do you say, darling? Shall we get married?”

She didn’t say anything, just looked at him. Charity had an open face and Nick could always tell what she was thinking. All her emotions were up front and visible. Except now, when he couldn’t read her at all.

Charity said nothing. And it suddenly occurred to him that she hadn’t said yes yet.

Sweat gathered along his spine, under his arms. Fuck. It had never even occurred to him that she might say no. If she refused, what the hell was he going to do?

The only other option would be to take her into protective custody. Essentially jail her. And he’d do it, by God. Cuff her if he had to. Drag her into custody kicking and screaming and keep her there until this whole sorry mess was settled.

“So?” he growled.

Nick could feel his muscles tensing. The low, insistent noise of imminent danger in the back of his head dialed up a couple of notches. If she said no, he was taking her in, right now. To hell with Worontzoff. They could get Worontzoff on their own. Nick would go crazy worrying about her, compromise the mission, so the only way he could function was to restrain her and drive her immediately into Birmingham.

They’d put her in a safe house, under guard 24/7. Safe houses were miserably dingy at best, and most were downright seedy. He’d been in more than one with cockroaches. And anyone under guard in a safe house subsisted off stale pizza and beer. Standing guard in a safe house was the most boring security work imaginable and the only way men could stand it was to let themselves go. Inside a day, any safe house in the world looked and smelled like Animal House and the men on guard lost about twenty points off their IQ. Lighting farts was a big diversion on guard duty.

She’d hate it—used to pretty surroundings and perfumed rooms and cut flowers in vases and fresh fruit and vegetables. She’d hate being in a safehouse, with no privacy, none of her things around her, guarded over by loutish, uncaring men.

“So,” he said again. He tried to keep his voice soft. Nicholas Ames, asking a woman he’d fallen in love with to marry him. Not Nick Ireland, willing to abduct her if she said no. “What’s your answer?”

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