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She read his letter and still said yes. She knew he wasn’t normal; he was, in fact, violently obsessive, a creep for watching her sleep, a stalker, and a killer.
And she said yes.
It was only that little word in her sweet voice that kept him moving forward. He would raze the world to get to her; she knew that now.
He had played a ruthless game of chess with the FBI. They would have preferred to torture him to get information out of him before they threw him in prison.
Declan had remained calm and calculative. Every move he made brought him closer to his love, his life, and his whole fucking universe.
He made deals, gave out information, and kept others to himself. He played for his life, and never had he wanted to be alive more at that moment in his entire sorry existence. All he could think about was Peyton.
She would be ovulating in two days. He had two days to get back to her.
He still thought about the shootout at the restaurant. It stayed with him and made him want to empty the world of every man so she would never have to be threatened that way again.
He clenched his jaw. If he hadn’t known everything about her, he wouldn’t have known she was going to have dinner at the same restaurant where a mob hit was going to take place. Not his hit, but someone he knew.
He would have been a madman if anything happened to her. He had to take her away. Somewhere off-grid where they could be happy and have a houseful of kids.
He loved her. So fucking much, it hurt.
She stirred.
His name slipped from her lips. His cock hardened. And then she opened her eyes and sat up. Shock registered on her face, but he had already gotten up from his seat, and he towered over her now, pinning her down, her warm body his haven.
She clung to him, and he let her.
“You left me,” she sobbed, banging against his chest after a bit.
“I said I would find you, kitten,” he said softly.
“You took too long. I didn’t—”
“Look at your finger, Peyton."
She glanced at him, confused, then raised her left hand. He had slipped a ring onto her finger while she slept.
“Declan—” She continued crying.
“There’s a marriage license on your desk. I need your virginity now, sweetheart. Before I go mad and think this isn’t real and I’m fucking fantasizing about it, laying half dead on a prison floor.”
He stripped off her T-shirt and her soaked panties, licking her wetness before he threw them onto the bed; every drop was his life sustenance.
“I love you, Peyton. You’re my wife, and I’m going to love you forever.”
~~~***~~~
He came back to her.
Peyton didn’t dare close her eyes. She was too scared to blink in case she woke up, and it was all a dream.
But she was wearing his ring. He had put it on her finger in exactly the way it was synonymous with him—while he watched her sleep.
She was his wife now.
She watched in fascination and hunger as he removed his clothes.
She panted at the sight of his tattooed cock. Her name. And the lilies that had been on the dress she had been wearing the first time he saw her. Butterflies for the earrings she had been wearing. Hearts for the charm bracelet she had been wearing.
