This time, the attachment was a video. Before he realized how stupid it would be, he opened it, and his heart tumbled the second he heard her laugh. Someone, Tate by the sound of it, was filming her and Elle was joking with her. Then, as she stood under the mistletoe, she threw an air-kiss to the camera and winked an eye. His chest clenched so fucking hard his lungs burned from the lack of air.
Jack stared at the image greedily, like it was air and he was a drowning man.
Which he was. Drowning in filth and lies and human misery. Dealing with the worst of the worst, risking a Colombian necktie and God only knew what else for just a peek at Elle’s words and a world he didn’t belong to. His chest in a fist. His cock fucking hard.
He slapped the laptop closed, pissed at himself. This was no place to lower his guard. He was surrounded by scum. He ought to behave accordingly and stop daydreaming about the only woman in the world he couldn’t allow himself to have.
Two months later, Boston
Elle looked around the hospital chapel. It couldn’t be denied; Bowen men were extremely original when it came to weddings. First it had been James with that romantic midnight ceremony in the backyard, a thousand small lights illuminating the garden. Then Cole had pledged himself to Christy surrounded by aliens in Las Vegas. Elle hadn’t been there, but she had irrefutable proof of it at Rosita’s, framed, in a central position on the wall of fame.
And now Max had gathered a bunch of trigger-happy preppers on one side and some stick-up-their-ass socialites on the other and was getting hitched in a hospital chapel, before taking his woman and his newly born daughter home with him. A last-minute, simple ceremony. After what had happened, Elle couldn’t blame Max for not wanting to waste a second. Staring death straight in the eye—even worse, watching the woman you love almost be killed—would do that to you.
The brothers were talking while waiting for the bride, Mr. Bowen by their side, standing proud. Once he’d finished fussing over Tate, James joined them.
Elle walked to where Tate was sitting. “How are you doing, sis?”
“Can’t wait to be able to tie my own shoes again,” Tate grumbled, looking at her distended belly. “And to get James off my back.”
Right. Like she needed to tie her own shoes with James around. “Come on, he treats you like a queen. He worries.”
Tate smiled softly, glancing at her husband. “I know.”
Elle still couldn’t get used to the image of her prim and proper little sister married to the tattooed-up-to-his-ears, possessive James Bowen. And yet she couldn’t think of a better husband for her.
“How’s Rosita’s?” Tate asked.
“Still standing.” Man, her sister had been away from the restaurant for a couple of days and she was already fretting. If it were up to her, she’d be there this last month of pregnancy, but the doctor had ordered her to rest and James wasn’t taking any chances.
“Mom offered to come to help,” Tate insisted. “We can call her. She’d be here in a flash, and you wouldn’t be alone in that big house.”
Elle shook her head. She could manage. Her mom liked it in Florida, where there weren’t so many reminders of her deceased husband and son, and being with Ron was good for her. “Rosita’s will survive. And I like my space.”
Tate didn’t believe her, not for a second. “Why don’t you rent it and with the money pay for a place of your own. You know, somewhere not so full of…”
Memories. That was the word Tate was probably working toward.
“I’m fine there,” Elle assured her.
Before Tate could reply, Annie walked in with the baby in her arms, her mother by her side. Max darted to them right away, face beaming with love.
Elle had known from the very beginning that Annie was going to be the one for Max. He’d had that look in his eyes, the same one James and Cole had when they looked at their wives.
“Let’s get this show rolling,” Max said after the priest arrived.
As they took their places, Elle scanned the premises. No sign of Jack. He was still doing whatever commando shit he’d been doing since summer, but she’d sent him an e-mail with the info about the wedding a couple of days ago, hoping he’d read it on time.
Suddenly the doors opened and a big black shadow stepped in. The air she didn’t know she’d been holding came out in a whoosh. Jack. She didn’t need the man to remove the hood to recognize him. The massive force field around him gave him away. When he revealed his face though, she froze. His demeanor had always been severe, but now he did look like a cyborg. Deep, soulless eyes. Sharper features. Skinnier, if the massive tank he still was could be called that.