Page 84 of Theirs to Corrupt

This is crazy, impossible. This gorgeous bodyguard is as determined and unswayable as Link is.

At the entrance to the bridal room, Ariella opens the door, looks inside, then nods at Pax and resumes her position.

Torin and Mira are still with Link, and I understand other agents have moved to the place where the cocktail hour is being hosted.

“No one but Merritt is allowed inside,” he informs the agent.

“Yes, sir.”

Moments later, we’re sealed inside.

“Seriously,” I say, pulling away from Pax and turning to face him. “We can’t do this.”

“Oh yes, we can.” He grins wolfishly. “And will.”

I shake my head. “You’re impossible.”

“Might as well relax for a few minutes until Link joins us.”

Since I walked out of this room, I’ve been swept into a flurry of activity.

After the ceremony, Link had kissed me deeply—indecently so—as people cheered. In the background, I was hyperaware of Marcella snapping dozens of photos.

The moment we were in the foyer area, attendees started filing out, which didn’t leave the three of us even a moment of alone time.

For at least half an hour, I honestly believed the receiving line would never end. I’ve never shaken so many hands in my life. I met people whose names I’ll never remember, and others I know are important to Link or Pax.

One bright spot was hugging Marge and hearing her promise that she was staying for at least a little bit of the reception.

Then Natalie introduced me to David, who was lovely and seemed to give my friend plenty of attention.

I was happy to see Lorenzo and meet his wife, Zara. And of course, Hawkeye was there, along with the mysterious Inamorata.

Pax is right. A moment to relax in some peace and quiet might not be all bad.

But I know they have something in store for me, and that anticipation makes me tingle.

“Looks as if there’s still an unopened bottle of champagne over here.”

“It was for the mimosas. So it might not be up to your standards.”

“I’m not as much of a wine snob as Link.”

I fake gasp. “Don’t tell me you even drink beer.”

He lifts one shoulder and flashes a grin. “On occasion.”

As always, around him I relax, though I should know better.

His movements silent and stealthy, Pax crosses to the side table, pulls the bottle from its now-melted ice bath, then removes the cork. He pours two glasses.

“You’re serious about this?”

“Meaning exercising our conjugal rights?” he asks with a grin.

Heat rushes up my face.

Do they really intend to make love to me here, or do they plan to drive me mad once more?