loved seeing his gifts kissing her skin, shimmering on her ears and neck for the whole world to see.
Or at least the men.
If his wedding ring on her finger didn’t back them off, the emeralds and sapphires sure as hell better.
And if that wasn’t romantic, he didn’t know what the fuck was.
As his wife—he never got tired of that description—removed the second earring, he reached for the M&P Shield holstered above the crack of his ass beneath the waistband of his dress slacks.
Between his slacks, shirt and jacket, the bulge of the weapon was barely visible. Not so much with the shoulder holster. The bulge beneath his jacket when the shoulder piece was in place was in-your-face non-discreet. Not that he minded. It never hurt to show you were carrying. Sometimes that was enough to deter threats.
But Sarah…Jesus Christ…
The woman had thrown such a hissy fit when she’d seen him with the shoulder holster on, you’d think that showing up armed at a wedding was a sacrilege. In the end they’d compromised. He’d hidden the bulge of his weapon behind his back, but he’d still carried it.
No fucking way was he going in unarmed.
Look what had happened six months ago.
“You realize that half the guests there were armed. Me and my shoulder piece would have fit in just fine,” he said as he eased the Shield free, unclamped the holster from his waistband, and set both on the motel’s dresser.
The room was almost identical to the room they’d shared back in Dark Falls. Only this one held a king bed instead of two queens, was way down in Palm Beach, Florida, and cost double what the other one had.
“Half the guests?” She scoffed and shot him a scolding glance. “There were over eight hundred people in attendance. I guarantee you that four hundred of them were not armed.”
Maybe not, but several dozens of them had been. As though she’d read his mind, she continued with her disclaimers.
“And those that were armed were working. Bodyguards for the guests. Not guests themselves. Langley and her parents know a lot of famous people. Besides,” she sent him a chiding look over her shoulder, “Ryder is special forces, and he wasn’t carrying a gun.”
True, Pienkowski hadn’t been carrying. Tag swallowed a snort. But he’d wanted his weapon on hand. And bad. You could see it clear as fuck on his face. The poor bastard had been twitchy as hell, his hand constantly hovering where his piece would have been holstered. Of course, judging from the groom’s overly focused, cranked-straight-into-the-stratosphere vibe, he’d probably been fresh off an op.
It took a while to come down from that kind of high.
He’d actually felt sorry for the poor bastard. Standing with your back to eight hundred strangers while saying your vows. Yeah—that was the stuff of nightmares. Just navigating that crowd of well-wishers, fresh off an op, must have felt like a Ka-Bar scraping down a chalkboard.
Then again…better Pienkowski than him.
Thank Christ Sarah had opted for a quiet, small wedding.
He dropped his gaze to the plain gold band he’d put on her finger. It matched the one she’d put on his. The wedding bands had been her parents'. Hell, he’d wanted to put his stamp on her, his own mark, but she’d had her heart set on the two of them wearing her parents’ rings, and he couldn’t say no to that. Not when it was so important to her.
“Didn’t Langley look beautiful?” Sarah’s voice was soft; so were her eyes. So was the dreamy smile she directed at him.
“Sure.” Although he didn’t remember much of the bride or the ceremony.
His attention had been completely focused on the gorgeous maid of honor in the amethyst dress. You’d think the purple would have clashed with all that upswept red hair, yet somehow it didn’t. She’d seemed to shimmer instead. More radiant than he’d ever seen her.
Now to get his hands in her hair and her out of that dress. He’d done his due diligence as her husband. Time to reap the reward.
“Would you help me with the zipper?”
With pleasure.
Anticipation building, he headed toward her. Before she turned toward the dark window and presented her back to him, Tag caught a glimpse of her face. It was pensive.
He paused, frowning. Did she regret opting out of the big shindig? The billion guests? All the prep and pomp and ceremony?
His chest tightened. The thought of that kind of a wedding sounded as bad as waterboarding or being strung up and slashed.