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And MacGregor would shoot.

I already knew that none of my men would, not when James was in the room. Not when I was standing right beside their target. Even Luca wasn’t a good enough shot to ensure he wouldn’t accidentally kill me in the process.

But MacGregor wouldn’t hesitate. He’d shoot blindly, and someone I loved would be hurt.

Or worse.

Panic rose inside me. A ticking clock started up that echoed in my ears, and I knew I had minutes to come up with something. Something that would keep them from doing the macho thing and rescuing the fucking princess stranded up here in her goddamn ivory tower.

A tiny yelp of pain echoed through the quiet night, and I could practically see Luca or Lynx running a knife through the spleen of the guard on the door. Could almost hear the creak of them punching in the code I doubted MacGregor had had time to figure out in order to change.

MacGregor turned his head toward the sound, and I rushed in, pressing myself against him, drawing his attention back to me instead of the three men I loved who were desperately trying to get to me, no matter what it cost them.

I’d already lost them all once. I wasn’t doing that again.

“Kiss me.” I stared up at the big Scot.

He blinked, clearly surprised by the loud demand that I only prayed would cover up whatever noise the guys were making trying to get in.

“Kiss me,” I demanded again, brushing his hand aside and taking over the pumping of his dick.

I hated touching him, but it was better than him touching me. I worked his cock, moving my hand up and down his shaft, quickening my movements, trying to get bigger and bigger reactions out of him so he didn’t notice what was going on behind him.

I reached a hand up to the back of his neck and drew his face down to meet mine. I pressed my lips on his, hating the sound of his surprised chuckle when he told me he always knew I was a wildcat in the sack.

I didn’t want to hear it. Hated the sound of his voice. Hated the feel of his body, of his cock.

But I kissed him anyway, shoving my tongue into his mouth, hating how he tasted. I moaned as loud as I could. I threw myself at him with such ferocity, praying he didn’t notice anything else, that he stumbled back a step, tripping on his own pants, his bare ass hitting the broken railing Luca had warned us about last night.

It creaked beneath his weight.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs.

MacGregor dragged his mouth away from mine and shouted, suddenly aware we were about to be ambushed.

The gun still in his hand.

All I could see in my head was him shooting it through that bedroom where my child slept, and three men I loved stood on the other side of the door.

It opened.

And I made a split-second decision while MacGregor took aim.

I threw all my weight at him.

The sound of the balcony cracking splintered through the night air.

MacGregor’s expression went from one of pure determination to one of shock as it gave way beneath his weight, and the big man windmilled his arms.

I watched in horror as he started to fall, knowing this was all my fault.

“Nyah, no!”

I didn’t even know which one of them shouted my name.

Because in the next second, MacGregor’s flailing, clutching, trying-to-save-himself hands caught my arm.

And I went over the edge with him, while the men I loved screamed my name, and my baby proved he actually couldn’t sleep through anything.