Page 139 of The Bachelor Spy
“Actually, I do have a thought on that score.” He caught her waist again, stopping her and drawing her close. The bandages could wait a few more minutes. “A way to secure more protection for you.”
One dark brow tipped a fraction higher in question.
“We could change your name.”
She narrowed her eyes the faintest bit. “Could we?”
“Hmm …” One palm slipped to her cheek, gaze roaming over her beautiful, bruised, delightful face. “For safety purposes, of course. New identity. New name.” He shrugged his good shoulder. “Lifelong protector who has excellent style and impeccable taste in shirts thrown in for good measure.”
“Hmm,” she echoed back to him, not pulling away. “Is that a proposal, Mr. Blake?”
“Only if you’re going to say yes. Otherwise, I’ll feign my intentions entirely to save my pride.”
She studied him, her teasing expression melting into a look of adoration that stalled his breath.
Yes, perhaps it was time to hang up the spy business for a while and engage in quite a different sort of life-altering adventure.
“It is a sound suggestion.” Slowly, that wry smile he loved curved Evie’s lips. “And I suppose I could consider it. Though I have conditions.”
“Naturally.” He grinned, his gaze roaming her face with unadulterated devotion. “What are your terms?”
“First, you must find a way to reduce the number of times you are regularly shot at, successfully or not. It’s very difficult to keep clean linens or furniture with a man who is constantly bleeding.”
He stole a kiss. Briefly. “Entirely reasonable.”
“Second, you must promise to replace that dreadful green oxford immediately. The color does nothing for your complexion.”
“Another Egyptian cotton one?” He pressed a hand to his chest in mock anguish. “You wound me.”
“Ishotyou. That was wounding. This is constructive feedback.” Her smile widened, and this time she kissed him. “And third”—she grew serious, her hand coming up to rest against his cheek—”you must promise to stop trying to be heroic and almost getting yourself killed. Because if I’m planning to marry someone, Stephen Blake, I plan on doing it for life, and my hope is that your life will be long enough for a happily-ever-after with me.”
His throat tightened. “I promise to be significantly less heroic. Unless it comes to sweeping you off your feet, pet.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not that one either. I already have a favorite.”
He crooked a brow. “Do you?”
She leaned in close, her lips so near he could feel her breath. “My love,” she whispered. “I like that one best.”
“Ah.” He brushed his lips against hers again. “So is that a yes … my love?”
She pulled back, eyeing his shoulder with professional assessment. “That’s a ‘we’ll finish this conversation after we’ve stopped bleeding.’”
“Always so romantic,” he murmured, but allowed her to lead him toward her room.
“Romance is wasted on the actively hemorrhaging,” she said primly. Then softer, “Ask me again when we’re both patched up and I’m not quite so furious with you for nearly trading intelligence for my life.”
He stopped in front of her door, pausing her to stumble back toward him. “But you’ll say yes?”
She turned and looked at him with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and tenderness. “Didn’t I tell you that I only returned for you?” She squeezed his hand. “Of course I’ll marry you.” She winked, and the action radiated a pleasant warmth all the way through his body. “Someone needs to keep you humble.”
Blake was fairly certain no idiot on earth had ever been happier. “Quite right, and only the best will do.” He grinned despite the pain radiating through his shoulder. “Though I feel I should mention—I’m fairly certain Director Lark won’t approve.”
“Director Lark can go hang.” Evie pushed open her door and pulled him inside. “Now sit down before you fall down, and let me see that shoulder.”
“So commanding.” Blake dutifully lowered himself into a chair. “I’m beginning to think married life will be remarkably similar to espionage. Lots of taking orders and trying not to die.”
“The difference being”—Evie began gathering bandages and water, despite her own injuries—”in espionage, Imightshoot you. In marriage, I definitely will if you do anything this stupid again.”
