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“Where are we?”
“Home,” he says with pride.
I blink. “Really?”
“Aye.”
A knock comes at the door, and Lachlan lets Sebastian in. I do what Sebastian says and let him examine me. Lachlan watches, not missing a single thing. Sebastian announces I have multiple lacerations and a mild concussion, but I’m otherwise unscathed. Lachlan, on the other hand, has a dislocated shoulder.
“It’s because you stuck your arm out so I wouldn’t smash my head on impact,” I say, shaking my head. “Lachlan, you hurt yourself.”
“Would bloody well do it fucking again,” he says through gritted teeth, as Sebastian resets his shoulder. Finally, after what seems like hours, Sebastian takes his leave. I sit on the sofa, completely spent, and look out the window. The sun’s now sitting low on the horizon. From here, I have a perfect view of the sea.
“Oh, Lachlan,” I murmur. “There’s a balcony.” I rise to go out, but he takes my hand and shakes his head. “Naw, lass, not tonight. We need to get cleaned up, we need food, and we need sleep. We’ll explore everything your little heart desires in the morning.”
I open my mouth to protest, but find I don’t actually want to. I sigh and nod.
“Aye,” I agree. “Let’s do just that.”
“Come here,” he says, bending to lift me, and right then, I don’t know why I let myself push him away, push us away from each other.
“Is everyone else okay?”
“Everyone’s fine,” he says, “Except whoever the blokes were who attacked us.”
I drop my head to his shoulder. I don’t question it. I don’t fight it. There were people tonight who attacked us, and they’ll be subject to whatever form of retribution the McCarthy Clan deems. Keenan will order whatever happens. Lachlan will obey his orders. They’re here to protect me, and they abide by a code of conduct that’s ironclad. I won’t question it.
I won’t go into things blind, but I won’t go in fighting, either. Lachlan carries me into a bedroom that I know will be ours. There’s a massive, king-sized bed in the center of the room, but I don’t look at any details. All I know is that this is a home for us—for both of us. Tomorrow I’ll wake up in his bed, with him by my side, and we’ll go down to the dining room for breakfast in the Clan family home. He’ll be happier with me here because we’re so safe and protected. I don’t know what the future brings, but right now I have all that I could ever need or want.
He pushes the door to the bathroom open with the toe of his boot, and when we step in the room, overhead lighting flickers on immediately. It’s gorgeous in here, ivory tile and large, lighted mirrors, a shower enclosed in glass, and fresh flowers. He sits on the edge of a huge whirlpool bath and turns it on. He tosses a round bath bomb into the tub from a little jar on the side. Hot water streams into the tub from jets. I watch like a little girl as bubbles rise to the surface and the sweet scent of lilacs fills the air.
“I’ll smell like a goddamn lass,” Lachlan mutters. “Didn’t know the soap was scented.”
“What did you think it was?” I ask, giggling.
“Something to make it look pretty?”
I laugh out loud. It’s the lightest I’ve felt in ages.
When the tub’s suitably filled, he helps me remove my clothes, taking care not to hurt me. He holds my hand as I walk up the little steps to get into the tub, and when I’m good and well secured, he removes his own clothing and follows behind me. I submerge in the steaming hot depths, surrounded by billows of bubbles, and sigh deeply.
“God, that feels good,” I whisper on a yawn. “I could fall asleep in here.”
“Just rescued you,” he mutters. “Don’t need to bloody well do it again in the same night, lass.”
I laugh, then sigh. “Thanks, Lachlan.”
He tucks me up against him. “I love you.”
“And I love you. I’m sorry I can be difficult sometimes.”
He shrugs. “Nolan’s given me advice on how to handle you when you’re difficult. And to be fair, I’m not always a walk in the park.”
I snort-laugh at that, though I have to admit I’m not sure I want to find out what Nolan’s advice was. The McCarthy men are heavy-handed but love fiercely.
He shampoos my hair, then tips my head back and gently rinses it. He massages soap into my shoulders and back, gently washing me clean, then I do the same for him. When I stroke the washcloth across his chest, he doesn’t stop me. His eyes go half lidded, but his gaze is fixed on me.
“Who do you think did it?” I ask.
“Likely rival mafia,” he says with a sigh. “Usually what it is.”
