Page 107 of The Vigilante's Lover

Arriving at this fancy hotel will be nothing like the last.

For one, I’m not tied up in ropes. It’s not the middle of the night. And there’s no back entrance with people who know who Jax is. We’re having to arrive under a false name.

Thankfully, I don’t have to show up in my hay-covered pajamas. We met with Armond’s nephew Brink at a coffee shop in some small town on the way. He was loaded down with two enormous suitcases of clothes and shoes and a dizzying array of shampoos, skin creams, and girly accessories.

Including a pair of over-the-knee black leather stiletto boots with peekaboo toes.

That Armond.

Jax hadn’t been able to tell me the name of our stop until he suddenly jerked the car off the road and pulled into a place called “Carly’s Joe.” He scowled like the sign was a grave insult, but when I asked him about it, all he said was “I used to know a Carly in Vegas, and ‘Ho’ would be a better name.” That’s all I could get out of him.

I can’t imagine any woman doing anything but swooning for Jax, but then there’s this Jovana woman. She’s trying to get him killed.

Although sometimes, I understand that impulse too.

I sort through my suitcase in the coffee shop bathroom and select a soft pair of jeans and a bright emerald sweater. A pair of navy ballerina flats make me feel normal again. I do sort of miss the Phase One trainee shoes that are now probably bits of leather and circuits in my blown-up bedroom.

My first act of Vigilantism and it’s gone forever.

Jax seems relaxed as we navigate through Nashville and pull into the valet circle of a sprawling hotel. He’s back in one of the fancy suits I’m used to seeing him in. Armond provided for him as well. This one is charcoal gray with the thinnest stripes.

As we drive, though, he sheds the suit jacket and tosses it in the back. With his shirt unbuttoned at the throat and his sleeves rolled up to his elbow, he looks almost casual.

He catches me watching and nods in acknowledgment of my attention. It isn’t exactly a loving gesture, but I’ll take it. Jax doesn’t smile at much, and I’m just so glad I’m here that I won’t ask for anything more.

Pulling up to a hotel makes my stomach flutter. I have a little better idea about what’s going to happen now.

My pulse jumps as I think about the night before with Jax. The blood rushing down low brings out the mild ache. That soreness is nothing, though, compared to what I want to feel. Even the books I’ve read couldn’t do justice to actually living it.

His attention is focused as he drops the car into park, scanning the doors, the doormen, no doubt watching for abnormalities and scanning for threats. Then his eyes rest on me and he calms.

This makes my stomach settle. I’m good for him. He doesn’t know it yet, or won’t admit it. But I can see it.

The valet opens his door, and a young man in a uniform starts pulling the suitcases from the trunk. We are barely through the hotel entrance when we’re stopped by an older gentleman in a suit.

“Viscount Argetti,” he says smoothly. “We’ve arranged for an earlydinner in your room, plus the champagne you asked for. Here is your key and the elevator pass to the executive floor. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance.” He bows like Jax is some sort of royalty.

“There is one small matter,” Jax says.

“Anything, sir.” The man seems eager to hear.

“I’d appreciate it if we were allowed to use an exit that is less,” Jax glances at the glass entrance to the hotel, “public.”

“Certainly, sir,” the man says. “Just ring me and ask for an escort. I’ll send our most discreet security to show you out.”

“Thank you,” Jax says. “It is a load off my mind, as my wife here is expecting and we would like to avoid any stress.”

The man bows again. “Then congratulations, sir. We will do our utmost to prevent anyone from noticing your arrivals or departures.”

“Thank you,” Jax says and takes my hand to lead me across the lobby.

When we get to the elevator, I whisper, “Viscount? Expecting?”

Jax almost smiles. I see the corners of his lips come close to lifting. “A ruse that ensures my situation is managed to my expectations, and our privacy is assured.” He pats my belly. “Everyone wants to protect a baby.”

“You’re terrible,” I say, even as my stomach flips from his touch and the veryideaof having a child with this man. I wonder what it takes to have a Vigilante vasectomy reversed.

“You haven’t even begun to know how much,” he says and presses the button for the top floor. It blinks, the elevator unmoving until he waves the executive key card at the pad. We begin our smooth ascent.