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I did too, for they’d been stars all along.

‘Asante,’ I told them, thanking them in Swahili. ‘Your care was exceptional.’

Once the room emptied, I knelt beside Ana’s bed. ‘So now that you’re free, babe, you’re not going back to London to hobble in your empty house by yourself. We’re going to Spain until you heal.’

Ana blinked, her stubborn streak flaring for a fraction of a second. ‘Deacon, I should go back to Nashville, where Théa can help, or London, where I can hire a nurse. I can manage, and I don’t want to be a burden.’

‘I won’t have it, woman,’ I growl, leaving zero room for negotiation. ‘You need to be where I can monitor your recovery. Plus, Raff needs to see you in person. You owe him, given how worried he got about you.’

‘What will Max say?’

My lips curled with derision. ‘Where is he to say it?’

She leaned back into her pillows, her resistance evaporating into a soft sigh.

‘Fine. You win.’

My lips twitched in triumph as our eyes locked, an arc of feeling going between us.

I bent over he and kissed her forehead.

After a few calls to lock in our departure from Nairobi, I began packing up her room.

In no time, I signed her discharge papers and wheeled her through the glass sliding doors of the lobby, guiding the chair toward our waiting transport.

The drive through the bustling, sun-baked Nairobi traffic led us straight back to the airport.

I lifted her out of the seat, held her securely, and carried her up the steps to the waiting private jet.

My dark sunglasses hid the relief in my eyes as I gazed down at her.

She was safe in my arms, and that’s all that mattered.

Chapter 15

ANA

The wheels of Knight Music’s G6 touched down on the sun-baked tarmac of Málaga Airport.

Deacon managed our arrival with his quiet efficiency, from the customs officials to our mountain of luggage and my folding transit wheelchair without a misstep.

My foam boot, forced straight at an awkward angle, made every turn a hazard.

Still, Deacon handled the logistical nightmare with effortless control.

At one point, he flashed a quick, rakish grin, those lush lips curving as he disarmed an airline attendant in two seconds flat.

The move secured us a private porter to haul our gear to the curb while Deacon pushed my chair, his massive frame towering over me.

Every so often, his palm would glide over my shoulders or trace a reassuring line down my arm as he guided my chair toward the chauffeured hire van.

As he loaded our bags into the waiting vehicle, I eyed him from behind my sunglasses.

He wore a thin white linen tee stretched across his muscled chest, rugged denim jeans hugging his thick thighs, and casual leather slides.

No matter how much I’d tried to deny it these last few days, the man was freakin’ hot.

He picked me up with ease and settled me into my seat, our bodies skimming as he strapped me in.