Page 1 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

Excerpted from Knox…

Someone, namely him, Tate Marshall, security for the Yankee Belles country music group, had to raise his hand and point out the obvious—someone had tried to kill them—and that someone was still on the loose.

His brother Knox and band member Kelsey sat on the white leather sofa overlooking the massive fountain of the Bellagio hotel in Las Vegas. Knox’s friend, former bull rider Rafe Noble, had pulled connections to secure a two-bedroom penthouse suite and gifted it to Knox to give to the Yankee Belles.

Tate and Knox had nabbed a similar suite, so Tate wasn’t exactly complaining, but just being in the Bellagio, or even in Vegas proper, raised the little hairs on the back of his neck.

The sooner they hit the road, well, the more likely he’d live through his under-the-radar return.

“Room service show up yet?” Blonde and sassy bandmate Glo Jackson came out of a bedroom wearing a fluffy white bathrobe, her hair wet and tousled as she dried it with a towel.

She hadn’t cinched the robe, and he spied a T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants underneath, so maybe she was simply basking in the luxury.

She slid onto a green leather high-top stool pushed under the granite countertop of the long, mirrored bar.

“Not yet,” Tate said, the scent of her catching him, and he had to look away.

The adrenaline of tonight’s events still spiked his system, and he’d barely stopped himself from grabbing Glo and holding on when she walked offstage.

Just because.

Knox got up, his hand woven into Kelsey’s. “We’re going for a walk.”

A walk. Right. Euphemisms. But he could play along. “The fountains go off every fifteen minutes.”

Knox grinned at him.

Lucky dog.

Dixie had gone out with Elijah Blue and Carter to check out the famed chocolate fountain.

Which left—aw, shoot. He hadn’t done the math in time. The door clicked behind Knox and Kelsey.

Glo was still drying her hair with the towel.

Now she looked over at him, her hair in short, almost white-blonde curls around her head. “How do you know so much about the fountains?”

Oh. He walked to the window, stared down at the night, the strip alive and always moving.

The 460-foot Eiffel tower replica sparkled gold against the pane of night in front of the Paris Las Vegas.

At its feet, the Chateau Nightclub was rocking, spotlights alerting the world to some headliner, and to the left, a little farther, blue light cast upon Bally’s casino.

The real action was happening just northwest of Bally’s at Drai’s nightclub in the front yard of the Flamingo.

He knew every cranny and dark alley on the Vegas strip, not to mention what happened under the bright lights.

“Tate?”

He hadn’t noticed Glo come up beside him. She had stuck her hands into the robe, and without her boots on, she seemed like a tiny, delicious package of curves and smarts and talent.

For a second, he was standing offstage, watching her sing her solo. So much of her heart on the outside of her body, her voice sweet and honest and…

And the words felt like they might be for him.

But you don’t know if you don’t start

So wait…for one true heart…one true heart…

He knew, right to his bones, that Glo was the one he’d waited for. Wanted to start over with. And he would. As soon as they got clear of the specter and the death threats stalking them, he would quit this job.

Create his own sappy, happy ending, hopefully.

But until then, he had to keep his hands fisted in his pockets.

“I used to work here,” Tate said, finally answering her question.

“Doing what?”

He simplified his answer. “Protecting people.” And other things.

“Of course you were.” She glanced up at him then. Such beautiful hazel-green eyes, with tiny specks of gold. He could forget the past, the knot in his gut, even his sins, when she looked at him like that. With trust.

As if he might actually be a hero.

He couldn’t move, his heart nearly frozen in his chest.

Especially when she touched his arm. “Thanks for taking down Russell tonight. You set Kelsey free.”

“I didn’t?—”

Her hand touched his chest. “Yeah, you did.” She stepped in front of him, her back to the window panes. She put her other hand on his chest. “Thank you.”

The heat of her hands turned his entire body to fire. He swallowed, stared down at her. “Glo—I?—”

“Kiss me already, hero.”

Oh, uh?—

But she wasn’t hesitating. She leaned up, running her hands around his neck and pulling his head down, and then her lips were on his.

Sweet, tasting of toothpaste, and soft against his.

And it just took a second for him to catch up, because he had to get past the warning bells clanging in the back of his head.

The past, rising to convict him.

But he ignored it and swept his arm around her back, pulled her against him and returned her kiss. Let all the emotions of the past month sweep through him, flood over him, and pour out in his ardor.

She made a sound, something of desire deep in her bones, and it only sparked heat in his own, only made him press her against the glass, move his other arm around her.

Glo—

The knock at the door was a hand between them, and he came up breathing hard, his heart pounding. Glo, too, and she bit her lip as if struggling with her own emotions.

Yay for pizza, because yes, he needed a deep breath, something to help him tuck his emotions back inside and escape the hot temptation that he knew could only cause trouble.

Maybe he and Glo needed a walk, too, and pronto. “Get dressed,” he said over his shoulder as he headed into the foyer. “I’ll show you the strip after we have pizza.”

“It’s about time.” She headed for her bedroom.

Lock the door behind you, honey .

She did, as if reading his mind. He heard the click just as he opened the door to the suite. “Room service. Finally.”

Except it wasn’t a waiter with a white-clothed serving cart containing pizza and drinks.

Unless the Bellagio had upgraded their room service staff to a six-foot-five Russian dressed in a black turtleneck, a suitcoat, and missing a right incisor.

Tate’s reflexes let out a word. “Slava?—”

“Look who’s back in town.” He shoved a foot in the door before Tate could slam it.

Then the Russian’s big hand hit the door, banged it open, and Tate had just a second to brace himself as Slava sent a fist into his gut.

It doubled Tate over, knocking him back into the suite. He fell to the floor as Slava stepped over him. Knelt and fixed his cement mitt on his chest, pinning Tate as he tightened his fist.

“I warned you what would happen if you ever came back to Vegas,” Slava growled.

He had. Oh, he had.

Please, Glo, stay in your room…