Page 86 of The Bodyguard's Fall

I was going to do it.

Maybe there were stronger heroines who handled every crisis alone and never needed the hero to show up.

That wasn't me.

But I didn't want just any hero.

I wanted him.

So here I was, utterly resistless, batting my eyes like a hopeless leading lady from one of those old black-and-white romance movies my mom and I used to watch.

Maybe I was still a main character.

Just one from another era.

But this was a job for Tate. And if I was reading him right, maybe even a way for him to atone for what had happened to his partner. So I vowed to get my head in the game. He might be able to throw around a word like annulment without much consequence, but that was definitely not me. I would need to guard myself.

Starting now. Look alive, Rawlins.

“Barely tolerate me? Those are pretty strong words for someone I’ve made laugh at least seven times since I’ve been here.”

He put up a good fight, but that smile finally broke free.

“At least four of those were pity laughs.”

“If you’re dying for me to marry you—no pun intended—you’d better ask me nicely.”

“I won’t be dying. And I just did.”

I gave him a look that seemed to amuse him. “You can’t tell a woman that you barely tolerate her when you ask her to marry you.”

“Well, you’re still not doing yourself any favors in that department.”

There was no heat with his words. His eyes were smiling, and I had a feeling he was enjoying our exchange, so I waited, with hands on my hips and my eyebrows raised.

He scowled and rolled his eyes. “OLIVIA. Will you please stop being a stubborn brat and marry me?”

It wasn’t the proposal of my dreams, but it wasn’t meant to be. My life had become a series of ridiculous plot twists. Maybe that was why this plan didn’t actually seem all that crazy. And I’d be lying if the idea of becoming like a heroine in one of my screenplays didn’t sound the tiniest bit intriguing. That would be some great insider info. And it wasn’t just because Tate’s hand was holding mine, a hand as warm as his eyes seemed, though he tried to hide it.

This doesn’t have to be a thing.

We’d been thrown back into each other’s lives so suddenly, and most of it was under duress. His stating the obvious was a moot point. But just in case…I would be marrying him with my walls up. Because even though I knew what this was—Tate Walker coming home to me, the little wife, every night called for a fortress of walls.

Complete with a moat and alligators.

“Yes,” I said.

His eyebrows shot upward. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“I’m not sure of anything, but I’m willing to try this…if you are.”

“Should we seal it with a kiss?” He was in the process of standing up and looking overly interested in how I might react, which was my first line of defense. If it didn’t bother him, it didn’t bother me. If I was going to keep my head in this marriage, I needed to pull my own weight and not be taken out of commission by a pair of teasing blue eyes.

“Sure.”