“A crown.” Nick smiled mysteriously. “There’s a story behind it. You’ll love it.”

The jeweler had discreetly retreated to the other side of the room to give them privacy. A wind-borne burst of sleet rapped against the big picture window, rattling it. If it rattled, it meant it was a thin pane of glass loose in the casement.

Jesus, Nick thought. The geezer didn’t even have bullet-resistant windows. A small fortune in gold and diamonds and any dirtbag could smash his fist through the window and grab a handful. What was wrong with these people?

Without thinking about it, he angled his body so that he was between the front window and Charity.

He placed the two rings on his open palm and held them out to her and told her the story of the claddagh. One of the stories. There were dozens. He chose the one he thought Charity’d like best.

“Many, many years ago, in Galway, Ireland, a man named Richard Joyce left his true love to go to the West Indies to seek his fortune. He promised her he’d come back to her a rich man and marry her. But on the way he was kidnapped by pirates and taken to Algiers, where he became a slave to the most famous goldsmith in the Mediterranean. Joyce was an enterprising young man and the goldsmith trained him well. He became a master goldsmith.

“One day the British king demanded the release of all British prisoners held in Algiers. The goldsmith offered Joyce half his fortune and his daughter in marriage if he would only stay. But Joyce wanted to go home and marry his true love, and he did. While still a slave, he’d forged a ring to symbolize his love and upon his return, he gave it to his sweetheart, who’d waited faithfully for him all those years.”

Charity was listening intently to him, face rapt. “When the ring is put on the right hand, it means that person’s heart is open. When it’s on the left hand ring finger with the heart facing outward, it means the person is engaged. When it’s on the left hand ring finger with the heart pointing towards the body, it means that person is married to their true love.”

Nick picked up the smaller ring and gently slid it onto her left ring finger, heart facing the body.

A perfect fit. He curled his fist around hers.

“When Joyce gave it to his wife, he said, ‘With these hands I give you my heart and I crown it with my love.’” He smiled down at her. “And that’s what it means to me, too.”

“Nick,” she whispered. Her eyes were shiny, white throat moving as she swallowed.

“No crying,” Nick said, alarmed. Jesus, that was the last thing he needed, a bawling female. No tears, she couldn’t cry, no way. His own throat felt tight and hot. She’d set him off and he never ever cried. Never. Iceman.

“Here,” he said swiftly and held out the man’s ring. “Put it on my finger.”

She slid it on and they both looked down at his hand. It was a little tight, but that could be taken care of. Or not. He wasn’t going to wear it for very long, anyway. Another week, two, max.

The thought dimmed some of the joy and he pushed it out of his head. Concentrate on the moment. And this moment was a fine one, one he’d remember for a long, long time. Charity, looking up at him as if he’d invented sunshine and found the cure for cancer, the old geezer smiling at them both as if they were his beloved grandkids.

Oodles of love and warmth floating around. Nick was surprised they weren’t melting snow at a hundred paces.

Okay. Enough of this. There was stuff to do, pronto.

He had to break the news to his teammates camped out in an uncomfortable van that he’d married their prime contact.

Nick knew he was going to take a lot of flak for it, he’d be yelled at and threatened, he might even be demoted, and his boss would have a coronary, but in the end, they’d agree to protect Charity as long as necessary and that was what counted. A team of good guys would have her back.

Let them scream. He was tough. He could take it. What he couldn’t take was the idea of Charity alone and in danger. He’d just brought the talents of a lot of very tough guys and an entire government agency over to her side.

He paid for the rings in cash and bundled Charity back into the car. She kept her left glove off, holding her hand up and admiring the ring. It was pretty.

He flexed his own left hand. The broad band felt heavy and cumbersome on his hand. He didn’t like male jewelry and never imagined he’d ever wear any, let alone a wedding band. It felt weird, awkward, alien.

Even driving at his poky Nicholas Ames speed, it wasn’t that far to Charity’s house. In ten minutes they were there. Nick parked on the curb and kept the engine running.

He lifted Charity’s chin with a forefinger and bent down to her. Her mouth opened immediately, tongue touching his with an electric stroke that went all the way to his balls.

Nose against her cheek, he drew in a sharp breath, scented with shampoo and cream and her perfume. He didn’t know what it was, but it was worth every penny she paid for it. It was sheer dynamite. Though it was light and springlike, it went straight to his dick, in a pure Pavlovian reaction. It was automatic. Smell Charity’s perfume, get a woody.

Charity murmured into his mouth, a soft groan and cupped his face with her ungloved hand. This was supposed to be a little peck—bye honey, be good, I’ll be back soon—but Charity’s mouth was a little honey trap, warm and wet and welcoming, almost as exciting as her little cunt.

He hadn’t gone down on her yet. Chicks loved it. He could take it or leave it, but he’d long ago figured out it was a fast, easy way to make the woman wet and soft enough to take him fully. So it was basically a little speed bump on the way to what he considered real sex.

Suddenly, holding Charity’s head still, tongue in her mouth, he had a sharp, sudden hunger to kiss her pussy. Exactly as he was doing with her mouth. Not as a prelude but as the main course. She was so soft down there, even her pubic hair. He flashed on the two of them in her warm bed on this freezing winter night, Charity spread-eagled on the flowered sheets, with his head between her thighs, tongue in her cunt like it was in her mouth right now.

He could see it. Charity’s slim, lithe form stretched out, sharp hip bones bracketing her concave belly, pale breasts trembling with every breath, heartbeat visible in her left breast.

He loved it when she came, loved the feeling of the sharp contractions of her cunt around his cock. Jesus, how much better would it be to taste her climax, feel her coming against his mouth?

Just the thought of it brought him fully erect, when he had nowhere to go with his hard-on. Ouch.

He broke away from her, breathing hard, and curled his fingers resolutely around the steering wheel.

Her mouth was wet, a little swollen, the way her cunt probably was….

Think of something else.

Nick flashed on telling Di Stefano and his boss about marrying Charity. Their reaction, the reaction back in D.C. It was like dipping his dick in a glass of ice water.

He smiled at her, at her confused look and nodded toward the house. “Go in now honey, or I’ll never get these things done. I’ll be back around five or six and we’ll spend the entire night…celebrating.”

She turned pink and Nick laughed and reached across to open her door. “Hold that thought.”

Charity turned and smiled at him. “You betcha,” she said softly and got out. Nick watched until she was in the house and the living rooms lights went on, then pulled out.

He called Di Stefano and was relieved when he got a busy signal. Bumped over to voice mail, he left a brief message that he was on his way.

Then he called Jake on his cell. “Hey big guy,” Jake answered. “Or should I say rich guy?”

“That’s funny, coming from you. You have more money than God.” He heard Jake chuckle complacently, because he did. “You could buy me out with what you spend for breakfast.”