“If that’s what I gotta do.”

I fling my hair back over my shoulder. “I’d like to see you try,” I say, coolly.

Raylan grabs my arm and pulls me close, so my body is pressed right up against his broad chest. His stubble scratches my cheek as he leans over to whisper in my ear. “Don’t you think you’re safe, just ‘cause we’re in Chicago, darlin.’ I can find a riding crop, if I need to.”

The wave of lust that hits me almost knocks my knees out from under me. If he wasn’t holding me up with that iron grip on my arm, I’d definitely stumble.

Still, I look up into those bright blue eyes with my haughtiest expression.

“I’m not going to make it so easy for you next time,” I say.

“Easy or rough . . . I’ll take what I want,” he growls.

I have to turn away from him before he sees my cheeks flaming as red as my hair.

Raylan and I part ways briefly, so we have time to get clothes before the ceremony. I can tell he doesn’t want to let me out of his sight, even for an instant.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “There’s nobody left to try to kill me.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he says, eyebrow cocked. “You had a pretty hefty list of enemies here, if you remember.”

“I’m not worried,” I say. “I’m getting pretty handy in a fight.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Raylan says, giving me one last quick kiss.

Nessa’s waiting for me out front of the hospital, in her army-green Jeep. She witnesses the kiss, and the prolonged conversation before Raylan and I part ways.

I can feel her excitement as I slide into the passenger seat.

“Was that just top-quality customer service?” she says. “Or does the bodyguard have serious feels?”

“Please don’t call it ‘feels,’ ” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Riona Griffin, you better tell me EVERYTHING right now!” Nessa cries.

“Alright,” I say. “But you have to promise not to freak out. It’s been a pretty . . . intense couple of weeks.”

“I will not freak out,” Nessa says, but she’s already bouncing in her seat, barely able to pay attention to the road as she pulls away from the curb.

“Don’t crash the car, either,” I say.

“I would never!” Nessa sniffs. “I’ve only gotten two tickets so far this year. My driving has vastly improved.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

I tell Nessa the Cliffs Notes version of what I’ve been doing since my apartment caught fire. I can tell she’s dying to interrupt a hundred times, but she keeps a lid on it so she can hear the rest of the story. When I finally get to the end, she squeals, “I can’t believe it! Is my big sister maybe, possibly, actually . . . in love?”

I frown. “Did you miss the part where our future goals have us living five hundred miles apart?”