Page 59 of Dangerous Secrets

Charity picked it up, turning it around. Two stylized hands clasping a heart topped by a crown. “No, but it’s very pretty. An unusual design, though.” She looked up with a frown. “What is it?”

“A Claddagh. It’s an ancient Celtic symbol. Look, see the hands holding the heart?”

Charity nodded. “And what’s that on top?”

“A crown.” Nick smiled mysteriously. “There’s a story behind it. You’ll love it.”

The jeweler had discreetly retreated to the other side of the room to give them privacy. A wind-borne burst of sleet rapped against the big picture window, rattling it. If it rattled, it meant it was a thin pane of glass loose in the casement.

Jesus, Nick thought. The geezer didn’t even have bullet-resistant windows. A small fortune in gold and diamonds and any dirtbag could smash his fist through the window and grab a handful. What waswrongwith these people?

Without thinking about it, he angled his body so that he was between the front window and Charity.

He placed the two rings on his open palm and held them out to her and told her the story of the Claddagh. One of the stories.There were dozens. He chose the one he thought Charity’d like best.

“Many many years ago, in Galway, Ireland, a man named Richard Joyce left his true love to go to the West Indies to seek his fortune. He promised her he’d come back to her a rich man and marry her. But on the way he was kidnapped by pirates and taken to Algiers, where he became a slave to the most famous goldsmith in the Mediterranean. Joyce was an enterprising young man and the goldsmith trained him well. He became a master goldsmith.

“One day the British King demanded the release of all British prisoners held in Algiers. The goldsmith offered Joyce half his fortune and his daughter in marriage if he would only stay. But Joyce wanted to go home and marry his true love, and he did. While still a slave, he’d forged a ring to symbolize his love and upon his return, he gave it to his sweetheart, who’d waited faithfully for him all those years.”

Charity was listening intently to him, lips upturned, face rapt. “When the ring is put on the right hand, it means that person’s heart is open. When it’s on the left-hand ring finger with the heart facing outward, it means the person is engaged. When it’s on the left-hand ring finger with the heart pointing towards the body, it means that person is married to their true love.”

Nick picked up the smaller ring and gently slid it onto her left ring finger, heart facing the body.

A perfect fit. He curled his fist around hers.

“When Joyce gave it to his wife, he said, ‘With these hands I give you my heart and I crown it with my love.’” He smiled down at her. “And that’s what it means to me, too.”

“Nick,” she whispered. Her eyes were shiny, white throat moving as she swallowed.

“No crying,” Nick said, alarmed. Jesus, that was the last thing he needed, a bawling female. No tears, she couldn’t cry, no way. His own throat felt tight and hot. She’d set him off and he neverevercried. Never. Iceman.

“Here,” he said swiftly and held out the man’s ring. “Put it on my finger.”

She slid it on and they both looked down at his hand. It was a little tight, but that could be taken care of. Or not. He wasn’t going to wear it for very long, anyway. Another week, two, max.

The thought dimmed some of the joy and he pushed it out of his head. Concentrate on the moment. And this moment was a fine one. One he’d remember for a long, long time. Charity, looking up at him as if he’d invented sunshine and found the cure for cancer, the old geezer smiling at them both as if they were his beloved grandkids.

Oodles of love and warmth floating around. Nick was surprised they weren’t melting snow at a hundred paces.

Okay. Enough of this. There was stuff to do, pronto.

He had to break the news to his team-mates, camped out in an uncomfortable van, that he’d married their prime contact.

Nick knew he was going to take a lot of flak for it, he’d be yelled at and threatened, he might even be demoted, and his boss would have a coronary, but in the end, they’d agree to protect Charity as long as necessary and that was what counted. A team of good guys would have her back.

Let them scream. He was tough. He could take it. What he couldn’t take was the idea of Charity alone and in danger. He’d just brought the talents of a lot of very tough guys and an entire government agency over to her side.

He paid for the rings in cash and bundled Charity back into the car. She kept her left hand glove off, holding her hand up and admiring the ring. Itwaspretty.

He flexed his own left hand. The broad band felt heavy and cumbersome on his hand. He didn’t like male jewelry and never imagined he’d ever wear any, let alone a wedding band. It felt weird, awkward, alien.

Even driving at his poky Nicholas Ames speed, it wasn’t that far to Charity’s house. In ten minutes they were there. Nick parked on the curb and kept the engine running.

He lifted Charity’s chin with a forefinger and bent down to her. Her mouth opened immediately, tongue touching his with an electric stroke that went all the way to his balls.

Nose against her cheek, he drew in a sharp breath, scented with shampoo and cream and her perfume. He didn’t know what it was, but it was worth every penny she paid for it. It was sheer dynamite. Though it was light and spring-like, it went straight to his dick, in a pure Pavlovian reaction. It was automatic. Smell Charity’s perfume, get a hard on.

Charity murmured into his mouth, a soft groan and cupped his face with her ungloved hand. This was supposed to be a little peck—bye honey, be good, I’ll be back soon—but Charity’s mouth was a little honey trap, warm and wet and welcoming.

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