Chapter 1

I sold my dead father's ranch to buy my fiancé his dream.

I crossed two thousand miles to marry him.

I never made it to the altar.

Because at midnight, in a cheap motel off I-90, a bleeding stranger shoved a gun against my ribs and kissed me like I already belonged to him.

Let me back up thirty seconds.

I'd just bolted the door of Room 12. The engagement letter Ethan wrote me five years ago was still in my hand: The second I make it in Chicago, I'm bringing you here, Ivy. I swear it. Tomorrow I'd be standing in his penthouse. Tomorrow I'd finally be his wife.

Then a hand slammed through the gap in the door. It was slick and red.

The door flew open. A man stumbled in. He was tall and dark-haired, wearing a black shirt soaked through at the stomach. He kicked the door shut, pinned me to the wall, and clamped his palm over my mouth.

"Quiet," he said. His voice was low and calm, the kind of calm that terrifies you. "If you want to live, play along."

Boots thundered down the hallway outside. Somebody was yelling. "Check every room! He's hit. He can't have gone far!"

The stranger's eyes went dark. He pressed the cold muzzle of a pistol to my hip and pushed me down onto the bed, his body crushing mine.

"Look at me," he whispered.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn't gentle. It was deep and hungry and completely insane. Somewhere inside the terror, my traitorous body forgot to fight.

The door exploded inward. Four masked men with guns filled the room. The leader had one milky eye. He laughed.

"Couldn't wait till lights out, huh? You. Turn around."

My heart was trying to climb out of my throat. I shoved the stranger off and screamed the first lie that came to mind.

"Get OUT! My husband has active tuberculosis! You want to breathe this air?"

Right on cue, the stranger doubled over and coughed, wet and ugly. He went convincingly gray.

The men backed out so fast they tripped over each other.

"Damn it. Next room."

The door slammed. The footsteps faded.

I glared at the man still half on top of me. "You can get off me now."

His mouth curved. "You're a good liar."

"You had a gun on me."

"Did I?" His blue eyes were lazy and amused. "Because you kissed me back."

I raised my hand to slap him. He groaned and collapsed against my shoulder. I felt warmth spreading across my collarbone and touched it. My fingers came away red.

"Hey! Hey, stay with me!"

I'm an ER nurse. My hands stopped shaking the moment I saw the wound. I grabbed my kit, cut his shirt open, and found a deep gash slicing across a stomach carved like marble.

"You were bleeding like this and didn't say a word?" I snapped as I irrigated it.

He hissed through his teeth. "You were busy giving me tuberculosis."

"Stop joking and hold still."

I stitched him closed. I could feel him watching my face the entire time.

"Are you this gentle with every man you just met?"

"I don't let people die in front of me. That's all."

"Then I suppose you'll have to keep me alive a while longer."

By dawn, his fever had broken. I left gauze, antibiotics, half a sandwich, and a note on the nightstand.

Keep it dry. No fighting for three days. Change the dressing daily. Take care, stranger.

I didn't ask his name. I didn't want to know. In two hours, I'd be Mrs. Ethan Brooks.

The penthouse door was unlocked. I stepped into a marble foyer with my suitcase and my letter, smiling like a fool.

Then I heard a woman moan.

"Faster, baby. Don't stop."

A black lace bra lay on the floor in front of me.

Beyond it, on the white grand piano, my fiancé had a woman bent over the lid.