Page 37 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

Glo mingled, talked with Sony executives, took a selfie with Miranda Lambert, and Tate caught her laughing at something Brad Paisley said. Carter, their manager, was glad-handing and introducing them to producers.

The entire thing had Tate edgy and raw. He just wanted to get her home and…and congratulate her.

Break a couple rules, maybe.

But only after he knew she was safe. Because sure, there hadn’t been a hint of a threat recently, but it didn’t mean some other crazy wouldn’t try something, especially after the senator’s announcement tonight.

Okay, he was probably reaching. Giving himself a reason to stay in her life. Because he’d given the picture of the man he’d seen in the background of the last fundraising event to Sly. He’d checked it out but found nothing and dismissed him as a bystander. Probably he was right.

Probably.

They left the party after two hours. Dixie and Elijah Blue grabbed an Uber for their hotel, and the rest headed over to the Musicians Hall of Fame to Universal’s gig. Tate spotted Luke Bryan, a guy whose music he actually listened to, onstage as Glo worked her way behind Carter through the crowd.

Sloan had folded his hand into hers like they belonged together.

He saw Glo ease hers away. But not before Sloan put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in for a photo.

Tate stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Kelsey and I are bugging out,” Knox said after Carter had introduced them to a slew of executives. “We’ll grab an Uber to our hotel.”

Tate checked his watch—it was well after 2:00 a.m.

Glo must be exhausted.

Time to wind up this pony show.

He wove through the crowd, still going strong, and found Sloan standing with his arm around Glo’s shoulders. “Sir,” he said, keeping his voice even.

Sloan turned and frowned.

“I think we should be going.”

“I think you need to step back, Security.”

Glo was talking with one of the artists from Little Big Town. She glanced at Tate as if hearing the conversation, and something of gratitude streaked through her eyes.

And that was just it.

“I don’t think so,” he said and reached past Sloan. “C’mon, Glo. You’re exhausted. Let’s go.” His hand closed around her arm.

Sloan pushed him back. “Get your hands off her!”

Whoa— what ? Tate stepped back, held his hands up, frowning.

Glo stared at Tate, a little horror on her face.

“Sorry,” Sloan said to the group. “We’ve had trouble with this one. Gets a little handsy with Glo sometimes.”

Handsy? Oh, he was going to dismantle the guy.

“Stop.” Glo turned and pressed her hand to Sloan’s chest. “Tate’s right. I’m tired. Let’s go.”

Tate’s jaw clenched, and Sloan’s eyes narrowed, but Sloan turned to Glo and nodded. “Of course, honey,” he said.

Honey?

Tate drew in a breath and followed them outside, through the crowd.

The downtown lights lit up the night, the air warm and woven with the smells of late spring. He opened the limo door for Glo and Sloan, but as soon as Glo got in, Sloan shut the door and turned to Tate.

“We’re going back to my place, and you’re not invited.” He pressed three fingers into Tate’s chest. “So, get lost.”

“No, actually, you’re not. Glo is my responsibility tonight, and she’s going home.”

Sloan shook his head. “I don’t know who you think you are, hotshot. And yes, I know all about your little weekender in Montana, but Glo is back in her real life now, and here I’m in charge.”

“I’m sorry, but unless you’re flashing a badge, Glo is free to do what she wants.” He clamped his hand on Sloan’s shoulder.

Sloan gave him a push as he opened the door.

Glo was already on her way out. “What’s going on?”

Sloan turned to her. “I told you this guy was trouble, Gloria. Do you have any idea who he used to work for?”

She frowned at Sloan, then Tate.

Tate’s mouth opened, belly punched. “What are you talking about?”

But Sloan wasn’t looking at him. “The Bratva. The Russian mafia. And you know what he did?—?”

“Shut up,” Tate said quietly. “Just—shut up.”

“He was an enforcer.”

Tate turned to Glo. “I worked security.”

“He broke knees for a living.”

Tate turned back to Sloan. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know everything , tough guy. I know about Slava and Yuri Malovich, and I know about the girl. What was her name? Oh, Raquel .”

Tate’s mouth tightened, but the name hit him like a center punch. “Don’t.”

“He murdered a woman. The woman he was living with?—”

“No, I didn’t—” But no, he couldn’t have this fight here, on the sidewalk. He turned to Glo. “Glo, I would never?—”

She was nodding, so much trust in her eyes. “I know—I?—”

And he couldn’t take it one more second. Couldn’t take Sloan’s hands on her, his breath in her ear, the idea that he’d put his mouth on hers.

“I love you, Glo.” And that’s when the screaming started in the back of his head. The words No and Stop and This is a bad idea .

But he ignored them all, pressed on by the memory of Sloan kissing her as she stood to receive her award.

He curled his hand around her neck and kissed her. Something primal and possessive and no, it wasn’t at all the right thing to do, but she was his, and, and?—

He loved her. That thought took root and spread through him. She made him feel like he wasn’t impulsive and dangerous, and he wasn’t letting her go home with Slick, no matter what it cost him.

She’d frozen, and that was his first clue that maybe?—

Aw…

Because this wasn’t about Glo, but the fact that…that she belonged to him.

Your mother doesn’t own you, Glo. His own words stung him just about the time Sloan grabbed him by his collar and yanked him back.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Maybe. I’m so afraid of making a mistake, too…doing something stupid.

Sloan’s fist slammed into his face.

The pain exploded into his skull, and he stepped back, drew a breath, shaking off the gray that splotched his vision.

Oh, he was going to?—

“That’s enough.” Rags’s voice cut through the fog. He probably saved Tate from an assault charge because the man stepped between him and Sloan, turned to Tate, his hands on his shoulders. “Step back, man. Back !”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tate spotted the crowd gathering. And a few cell phones out.

Nice.

“He doesn’t get in this car,” Sloan snarled. “Leave him on the street.”

“No,” Glo said, and Tate looked at her. She pressed her hand to her lips, as if reeling from the kiss.

Yeah, him too, but for an entirely different reason.

“No. I’m going home, Sloan.”

“Glo—” Sloan started.

She gave him a look, her mouth tight. “I’m tired. And this has been…” She swallowed, something raw and almost broken on her face. “A big night.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Sloan said.

Hardly. Rags’s hand tightened on Tate’s shoulder and he pushed Tate back.

“No. Thank you, but I think I need to be alone.”

Sloan glanced at Tate, but Glo interjected, “Really. Alone.”

As if from him too. Tate stared at her, but she shook her head, tears in her eyes.

Oh no, what had he done?

Clearly, he’d just made a bigger mess of things. Tate drew in a breath, nodded. Allowed Rags to push him away, into the front seat.

In a moment, Glo climbed into the back.

He wanted to weep when she raised the partition. Glo ? — ?

Then she turned on the radio, and he listened to country songs break his heart all the way home.

Glo dreamed of it all night long.

Tate, turning to her, so much earnestness in his eyes. Wrapping his big hand around her neck.

I love you, Glo.

His kiss, not gentle in the least, but as if he’d been holding it in all night, waiting, angry, desperate?—

She could hardly blame him. She’d wanted to do the same thing. Watching him watch her had sent a tiny fire through her, and the agony in his eyes as he watched Sloan put his hands on her tore her asunder.

She’d cast him a look right after Sloan kissed her and felt a little sick at his drawn expression. She hadn’t seen the kiss coming—if she had, she would have dodged it. But there she was, in front of millions, trapped.

She could hardly push Sloan away in front of the entire world.

And especially not with her mother looking on. Her mother, who’d suggested she take Sloan for appearances. At the time it seemed smart.

Especially with Tate’s words ringing in her ears. I’m so afraid of making a mistake too. Of walking into an ambush.

Never mind his fears that she’d be the death of him.

So maybe yes, she’d harbored a little hurt when she asked Sloan to accompany her, but Tate did have to work. And she’d only wanted to keep him out of the limelight so he could do his job—not torture him again.

She never thought that would entail Tate following her from one after-party to the next, watching Sloan hold her hand. Put his arm around her and…well, when he closed the door on Tate after their last event, she knew he was up to something.

She never expected a showdown. For Tate to turn to her, his voice almost desperate and definitely impulsive. I love you, Glo .

Admittedly, it shook her, right down to her core.

This man.

Loved her.

But as soon as Tate touched her, she felt like she had entered a little knock-down-drag-out and she’d been shoved between the two men.

A little like she’d been caught between her parents once upon a time.

She hadn’t wanted to make a scene. And in the back of her mind, she saw a GIF of the kiss going viral across the Twittersphere.

So, she’d frozen.

But she felt Tate’s shock when she didn’t respond. By the time she caught up, he’d let her go.

No, Sloan had yanked him away.

And that’s when his words registered. I told you this guy was trouble, Gloria. Do you have any idea who he used to work for?

Oh, she’d felt like a fool in that moment. Because all the lies she’d told herself about Tate simply shattered, as if she’d been punched.

He broke knees for a living.

And as Tate looked at Sloan—right before Rags dragged him away—she believed it.

It scared her a little. Because she had no doubt that if he wanted to, he could break every bone in Sloan’s body. He’d been a Ranger, after all.