Eyes Wide Open: The Blackstone Affair, Book 3

by Raine Miller

  But that piece-of-shit cocksucker stepped in and put his hands on her. He snatched her up and stretched a blade across her beautiful, innocent neck. There was no worse horror for me than seeing the sight of my girl with a knife threatening her throat. Threatening her life.

  Karl Westman was a walking corpse. My mission in life was to see that become a reality, even if I had to become a corpse along with him to accomplish it. As long as Brynne was spared I could live with my decision. Or die with it.

  “You know you cannot hurt her, Westman. Whatever you want, you can have. Money? Safe passage out of Britain? Both of those things? I can make it happen for you, but you have to let Brynne go.” Too bad I’m lying and planning your death, motherfucker.

  “I don’t have to do anything you say, Blackstone!” he screeched.

  “The world is not big enough for you to hide in if you harm her. She’s out of your reach already, Westman. She’s untouchable to you. If you kill her you’ll be joining her within seconds. Don’t think my threats aren’t real. Look around you. You are marked all over the place. They’re on you—everywhere . . .”

  Westman panicked just as I hoped he would, frantically stretching his neck out to turn his head and look around for any marksmen ready to take him down. It was the opening I needed, a distraction just long enough to shift the balance of power.

  My opportunity presented itself, and hesitation was out of the question. My eyes were on Brynne’s as I lunged forward to take him down. If this was it for me, I wanted my last view on this earth to be of her.

  I felt a whoosh of air slide right by my cheek. A flash of light radiated outward in my lefthand peripheral vision. I had an idea what the first one was. I didn’t want to imagine what the second thing was. Or from whom.

  There was the metallic clang of the blade falling to the courtyard stones. The thud of an impact on flesh. An involuntary groan. A scream. Then the three of us were on the ground in a mess of bodies. I had only one purpose, and that was to get my hands on my girl, and it didn’t take me more than an instant to do it. I rolled us away and looked around and up. I couldn’t see a shooter up on any of the walkways, but if they were professional I shouldn’t be able to.

  Westman lay on the cobblestones on his back, dark blood pooling from the side of his head. I hoped the bullet he’d just taken to the skull had been painful, but he probably never knew what hit him. Too bad I can’t thank the person who’d delivered it.

  “You okay, baby?”

  “Yes!”

  It was enough. I took Brynne with me as I scrambled away and out of the courtyard. I just ran with her, not bothering to wonder how it was possible I wasn’t hit or why my body still worked. I was fairly confident I had just dodged a bullet and narrowly missed the arrow shot from Ivan’s bow. But where had the bullet come from? Did the Secret Service just take Westman out in an undercover hit? Now was not the time to speculate—that could come later, and I knew my lads would find out anything there was to know. I had precious cargo in my arms and she was all I cared about.

  I ran us to my car, put Brynne in the back and got in after her. My dad was there ready and waiting for us, thank God. No, thank Mum. I told Dad to drive us out and get us home.

  I looked her over in the backseat. I checked her neck, gripping her face in my two hands, and saw no blood.

  “You’re okay . . . you really are okay, aren’t you?” I babbled like an idiot, and made little sense, probably. I wanted to stare at her forever and never let go of her eyes. Her eyes told me she was alive. Brynne was alive!

  She nodded with my hands still cupping her cheeks, her eyes wet with glassy beautiful tears looking up at me. “You f-f-found me,” she stuttered, “I’m okay, Ethan . . .”

  “I told you I would always find you . . . and tonight you made it possible,” I whispered against her lips. “You did it.”

  I thanked my angel up in heaven first, and then I crushed Brynne to me and held her against my heart. Her heart and my heart both beating together, in the backseat of my Rover, the very same place where we’d started, on the night we’d met at the beginning of May when I convinced her to let me give her a ride. And what a ride the last months had been. Very bumpy and full of unexpected twists and turns, but in the end, worth it because of this moment—and where we were going right now—forward into a future together.

  I held on to her the entire drive home. My greatest love, and my greatest potential loss, was safe in my arms and I just couldn’t let her go.

  I didn’t speak much during the ride. When Dad drove into the lot of the building, I thanked him for his help and said I’d ring him later. I carried Brynne up through the garage lift entrance.

  “I can walk,” she said against my chest.

  “I know.” I kissed the top of her head and told her, “But I need to carry you right now.”

  “I know you do,” she whispered, and then rubbed her cheek against me and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She was breathing me in. I understood her need for that too.

  The part about holding her, holding me up, still held true. I would have to do this for her always—for as long as my body would allow me the strength to lift her. Holding Brynne to my heart was necessary for me to . . . exist. Talk about needing another person. It didn’t get any stronger for me. If things had been different, if outcomes had turned tragic, then my time in this life would be at an end . . . and other things wouldn’t matter anymore. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. With Brynne it was my truth. Wherever she went, I needed to be right there with her.

  We still hadn’t spoken much, but it didn’t bother either of us a bit. I carried her into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I set her up on the counter and removed her shoes first, and then her shirt, and then piece by piece until she was perfectly and beautifully naked. I looked her over carefully and saw nothing but her perfect skin, gratefully unmarred by signs of abuse. Then I did the same with my clothes, and carried her into the shower.

  We just stood under the spray and held on to each other . . . and let the water wash us clean.

  24

  Four weeks later . . .

  ♠ "So I hear that congratulations are in order for the two of you.” Dr. Burnsley looked up from between Brynne’s legs, where he was using the banana probe on her again. I realized I was definitely jealous of the probe. That fucking thing was seeing more action than my cock lately. Brynne wanted to keep things chaste in the bedroom for the previous couple of weeks to make our wedding night a little more special. The most goddamn ridiculous notion I’d ever heard of, but hell, I just did what I was told. Mostly.

  “That’s right. By our next visit she’ll be Miss Bennett no more. It’ll be Mrs. Blackstone from here on out.” I gave Brynne a slow wink.

  She mouthed the words Love you.

  I love you too, my beauty. I thought my words.

  “Lovely news, then,” Dr. Burnsley said, now looking at the monitor as he found the black blob on the white blob with the beating heart, except our blob had grown considerably and didn’t look even remotely blob-ish anymore. My eyes were transfixed—I could see arms, legs, hands, and feet, moving all over the place. Our baby was in there becoming a little person. “Everything looks to be progressing very well. Baby is growing strong and about the size of a—”

  “—peach,” I informed the good doctor.

  He turned his head in disbelief and surprise.

  Brynne laughed softly but kept her eyes on the screen, watching all the gymnastics our little one was performing so brilliantly for us.

  “Yeah, weighs around eight ounces and already growing teeth and vocal chords.” I grinned at the doc. “And Brynne is one-third through the pregnancy now and officially in her second trimester.”

  “Someone has been reading,” Dr. B said with a bemused gray eyebrow quirk.

  “Bump dot com, doctor—brilliant resource.” I winked at him too, but I don’t think he liked that too much.

  Three hours later . . .

>   ♠ We were officially on vacation.

  Bags packed and loaded? Check.

  Rover crammed to the roof with everything we could possibly need for our wedding trip up to Hallborough, and then some? Check.

  Bride? Check—most fucking definitely.

  My girl looked as mouthwatering as always in her flowery purple dress and her hair pinned up in a messy knot. I liked when she wore it like that because it made me think about taking it down and dragging my hands through it when we were naked in bed together. Soon . . .

  “So, are you ready to go get shackled, Miss Bennett? Last chance to ditch this celebrity bash and elope with me,” I teased, dragging her up against my chest and tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear.

  “Hmmm, whose idea was that again?” she asked quizzically.

  “Just say the word and we don’t have to do it, baby.” I was serious, and would pull out of the whole thing if it was truly what Brynne wanted, but man, my sister would kill me over and over again for it.

  “No, no, no, Mr. Blackstone. You ordered this posh event with royalty and dignitaries coming to eat the gourmet food, and drink the expensive champagne in your sister’s historic country manor house.” She raised an eyebrow. “And now you must deliver all those goods.” She plucked at my shirt. “We reap what we sow.”

  “True that.”

  “Besides, I want to see you standing at the end of the aisle waiting for me, looking handsome with those blue eyes of yours only for me.”

  “You’ve got that fucking right—only for you.” I kissed her thoroughly, tasting her deliciousness and thinking I had the rest of my life to enjoy it.

  She grinned and shook her head a little at me. “Your filthy mouth . . .”

  “You love the things I do to you with this filthy mouth.”

  “Mmmm, I so do.” She grinned. “You’re right, Mr. Blackstone.” She smoothed the spot on my shirt she’d just been plucking at, making me smile. Brynne did that a lot when she was explaining her feelings as she was right now. I thought it incredibly sexy, but then everything about her was sexy to me. Especially since it had been far too many days since I’d been inside her. Only forty-eight hours more of this no-sex nonsense—thank fucking Christ. And then? Well, it’d be HoneymoonLand, here we fucking come! Lots and lots of coming would definitely be happening on that trip too. Italian villa along the coast, secluded, private— nothing but time to make love, eat, sleep, swim in the ocean and make more love. I could probably do that for the rest of my li—

  “Plus, I got a pretty new dress and a veil for this hoedown.” She looked up at me and winked. “You paid for it.”

  “Hoedown? What kind of Yank word is that?”

  “An appropriate one, actually. It means a country party with dancing and fiddles.” She did a quick air violin gesture for me. “I know this thing is most definitely happening in the country, and you’ve got David Garrett coming—there is no fiddle player hotter than him, by the way—and I’m not merely talking about his musical ability here, Blackstone, so yeah, we got us a big ole hoedown to get to. You’d better start moving your sexy British arse and get us on the road.”

  “So you’ve got some fancy for David Garrett, now do you?”

  She pretended to consider, giving me a wicked gleam and tapping her chin with a finger. “A lady never tells.”

  “Fucking fabulous! My wife is about to throw me over for the fiddler at my own wedding! Absolutely brill.” I pulled out my mobile. “Excuse me, I need to call David Garrett and uninvite him to our wed—”

  “Don’t even think about it, buster,” she told me sternly, “if we’re having all these celebrities at the wedding I should get to choose at least a few of them! It’s only fair.”

  I pretended to be jealous. “So you’re going through with this whole high-profile nonsense because of the fiddle player?” My question was in jest, but there was some definite truth to it.

  Ironic how the plan I’d set into motion only for her protection and safety had turned out to be unnecessary in the end. Brynne didn’t need the high-profile celebrity status anymore because her stalker was dead, taking the eternal punishment he so richly deserved.

  We never did find out exactly what happened to Karl Westman, but I had a really good theory. After my dad had driven us away from the scene, Neil, Ivan and Len stayed back to investigate. My first priority was to get Brynne to safety above all else, and I’d seen plenty of dead bodies to recognize one when I see one. Westman was killed instantly by a high caliber bullet to the head.

  What happened there was strange, though. I’d worked it out for the most part and highly doubted there would ever be confirmation from the senator, but Ivan had told me that when he went looking to retrieve the arrow he’d fired, somebody had taken the body away. It was just gone in a matter of moments. Only professionals are capable of that kind of operation. Neil and Len sniffed around again the next morning when it was light and there was nothing there. Even the blood was washed away. No trace of anything.

  Brynne had mentioned how the whole place was eerily quiet and that she’d never seen another person at the hotel, which made no sense with the Games happening. So that pretty much confirmed there were people involved at the highest levels. U.S. Secret Service, most likely. Westman was a dead man before he ever took Brynne from the flat.

  Disaster averted, but still, far too fucking close for my comfort. This whole mess had happened for a reason. Very strange, but true. The knowledge that if Westman hadn’t started stalking her, we wouldn’t have met, or ever gotten together, or be about to marry and have a baby. It was all just a bit much to rationalize sometimes, even if it was our reality. I tried not to think about that part. Brynne was free to live a regular life now, with nobody out there plotting to take her away, or harm her, or bother with any aspect of her, and this was my greatest gift. Thank the heavenly angels . . . and one very special angel in particular.

  “Ethan!” She was frowning at me.

  “Yeah?” I asked, rubbing my thumb between her brows to smooth out the lines of her frown.

  “You’re not listening to me. I answered you and you were off in a dream somewhere.”

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  She gave me a look and then started in with the shirt plucking and smoothing again. “What I was saying was that . . . I would go through a hundred of these ridiculous celebrity weddings if it meant I was marrying you.” She lifted her brown/green/gray eyes up to mine. “You’re so worth it, Mr. Blackstone.”

  It was a good while before we got on the road up to Hallborough.

  Two days later . . .

  ♥Ben and I watched Simon from the rose garden and hoped he didn’t spot us. In his very green Milanese bespoke suit, he arranged guests for candid shots in all sorts of crazy avant-garde positions.

  “God help us if these pictures he’s taking get out to the general public. We’ll all be royally fucked—quite literally!” Ben said dryly, nodding his head toward the naughty antics of a certain ginger-haired prince and his unidentified date. “Why on earth did Ethan hire Simon Carstairs to do the wedding pictures?”

  “Ahhh . . . well, that would be a situation where Ethan found himself having a slice of humble pie, or as we say in the states, eating crow, in regards to our dear Simon. Ethan called him to apologize for his blowup, and by the end of the conversation had secured the photographic services of the most flaming gay photographer in all of London, if not all of Europe.” I shrugged. “He takes beautiful pictures and it all worked out in the end.” I nudged Ben. “Simon really had his heart set on that freaky green suit.”

  Ben and I laughed together and continued watching the revelry. Simon really looked like the train wreck you couldn’t tear your eyes away from in his leaf green suit. He had Gaby and Ivan together in a few shots. I wondered how they were getting along since they’d been thrown together in this as maid of honor and best man. Gaby looked beautiful, as always, and Ivan looked at her like he thought so too. I’d
have to corner her later and get the scoop. I could see the potential for the two of them just in their body language and how they moved in relation to each other. There was some chemistry brewing, I was sure.

  “I would have taken your wedding pictures, you know,” Ben said.

  I looked up into his handsome face. “I know. But I needed my friend, that I love so dearly, for something much more important today.”

  “I know,” Ben whispered back and grabbed my hands, “and it was my very great honor to walk you down the aisle at your wedding. I—I’m pretty speechless right now, Bree. You are so beautiful, my darling friend, on the inside and on the outside.” He squeezed my hands. “And seeing you happy, standing up there with Ethan, was just something so breathtaking I don’t really have the words to tell you properly, except that I love you.” He brought my hands up to his mouth for a kiss.

  “Okay . . . I’m crying now, Benny.” I laughed through a sob. “Got a handkerchief for the blubbering, hormonal bride?”

  “I’m sorry, luv,” he said sheepishly, handing over his handkerchief.

  “You’re fine,” I told him, dabbing at my eyes carefully. “There really wasn’t anyone else I could ask. I didn’t want to walk alone. I don’t know why, but I knew that Daddy would have wanted me to have you there. He thought the world of you and our friendship, Benny. And you were there at the gallery that night—you told me to look over at the hot guy in the gray suit with the wide-open eyes that burned me from across the room. You were there right at the first of Ethan and me.”

  “Yeah, I was.” Ben was looking pretty watery himself right now.

  “Here.” I handed him back his handkerchief.

  We both laughed and pulled ourselves together. “Thanks for inviting my mum today,” he said.

  “Of course! I love your mom. She’s so adorable when she’s had a few drinks, and she loves to see you all prettied up. I’m so glad you brought her with you.”