by Nikki Logan
He put his chin on her hair and said thoughtfully. “Yet you let me go.”
“I couldn’t bear loving you, when I hadn’t meant anything to you. That your interest or concern for me was just your job.”
His Adams apple bobbed. “Those hours, those days with you… They meant everything to me, Clare. They were the only sane moments in what was otherwise a really dark and ugly year. I went back to Africa because I couldn’t bring myself to believe that you’d faked your feelings for me. I needed to hear it from your own mouth. And yet I was afraid of that, too. So damn much. That’s why I never read Douglass’ reports on you.”
“I thought it was chivalry.”
He puffed out a soft laugh. “It was pure cowardice.”
“You’re no coward, Simon deVries.”
He sighed as his lips pressed against her temple. “I believe something much bigger than the corruption of your boss brought us together. Imagine if you’d decided to ride in the SUV that day on the highway instead of in the back of the transporter.”
None of this would have happened. She’d have been left on the side of the road with the others. The most terrifying experiences of her life would never have happened.
Nor the most precious and beautiful.
Simon would never have happened to her.
Her heart contracted at the desolate thought.
“I’d never have found you,” he whispered. “I would never have loved you. And my life would still be only darkness.”
They kissed, tasting and savoring and remembering.
Clare broke away first. “What happens now?”
He gave her a smile and helped her off the stool. “Well, right now we walk out of here like we haven’t just been up to no good.” He winked. “And after that, well, it could be a little complicated until the case is finalized. We may need to keep it low key for a month or so.”
“Will you still get in trouble for starting a relationship with a witness?”
“I don’t care. I’d quit if they asked me to choose.”
She sagged against him. “You’d choose me over your career?”
“In a heartbeat. But they won’t.”
“Why not?”
He pulled away and bent to meet her eyes. Tidied her hair with strong fingers. “Because then they’d have to fire Mac, too, and they can’t afford to lose both of us. She and I are joined at the gun belt. She’s always had my back.”
“She doesn’t like me.”
“She respects you, and with Mac that’s much more important.”
He kissed her again and heat tingled up her neck.
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Tonight?” She knew what she’d like to be doing…
“And maybe Saturday, too? A drive up the coast? I want to hear all the things I didn’t get from official records. I want you to know about my family, and where I grew up, and how many kids we’ll have.”
That had her gasping. “Oh!”
“I want to take you out, and make you smile,” he went on, rebuttoning her cardigan and using every one as an excuse to brush her breasts. They started to hum again. “No fear, no danger, no blood. Just a bunch of dates and us getting to know each other. From the beginning. Fresh start.”
Clare swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. “Sounds perfect.”
His eyes held hers and he turned her to face him, her hands curled in his.
“And then, Clare Delaney, let there be no doubt: I will be asking you to marry me. I never want to go through another time like these past seven months. I know you like to process things in depth so I’m giving you advance notice. Start thinking about whether you’d like to grow old with me and have my babies.” He smiled, hesitantly. “Although, I guess we should have thought about that before the stool, but better late than—”
Clare stopped his nervous monologue by stretching up to kiss him on the lips.
Her heart was so filled with love for him, it ached with the sheer perfection of it.
“I love you, Simon deVries. Yes, I would love to have dinner with you. And babies. Preferably in that order.” She kissed him again.
He blew out a deep breath. A genuinely nervous puff. Clare’s heart did a little flip-flop that she had the power to render her super-spy so very off-kilter.
“Now,” he said, attempting to look cool and official. “I’m so sorry to say, I need to take you into custody, Ms. Delaney, so we can make a dignified and at least vaguely professional exit from this room,” he said. “Try and look less like you’ve just had your skirt around your hips, eh? That will only raise suspicions.” He smiled as he took a gentle hold on her upper arm. “And no attempts at escape, Boston.”
She smiled innocently up at him. “I’m not going anywhere, Alpha.”
He kissed her deeply, straightened them both, and opened the door. Hall light streamed in. Simon’s professional mask slipped into place and she cooperated, allowing herself to be escorted out into the hall. Memories rushed in of a similar time in a house in Africa but this time there was no fear or sadness attached to the memory.
Just a joyful thrill. And confidence. And determination. Yes, it was stranger than most beginnings, but it was a part of their memories together. And, really, wasn’t it the end that counted most?
She moved demurely by his side. The passing staff paid little attention to a fellow officer steering a civilian down the hall close to his side.
“Did I mention how hot you look in your spy suit?” she whispered. “Can’t wait to get you out of it.”
His expression didn’t so much as flicker, but his step faltered, just slightly. She internalized her grin until they got past the second check-in.
As soon as they were clear of it she whispered, “Don’t get comfortable with this. I’m not always this compliant.”
“I truly hope not,” he said, poker face unchanged. “Feisty Clare is my favorite.”
Feisty she could do. The image of him teaching her self-defense, and of that high-voltage kiss against the wall, flooded her mind. A streak of color rose up his jaw and she knew he was remembering it too. They negotiated the quiet reception and moved toward the street doors.
She leaned in closer and murmured, “Maybe next time we’re alone I can play the bad guy and hold you captive. Got any more cable ties?”
His hand tightened around her upper arm and he struggled to keep his face impassive.
“Clare…” he warned under his breath.
“You said you like feisty,” she teased, leaning closer to him as he opened the door and brushing his body with hers.
“I love feisty,” Simon said, leading her out into the bright, spring day. “And I love you.”
He released her and followed her down the stairs.
“Making sure I leave the premises?” she asked.
“Yep. I’m coming back to your hotel with you.”
She stopped. “Now?”
“Unless you want me to take you right here on the steps.”
“Because I couldn’t be any more of a scandal among your colleagues—”
“There’s not a single individual in there who doesn’t know what I’d do in the name of loyalty. Can you imagine what they’ll believe I’d do in the name of love? No one will ever say a word against you and live. Have I made myself clear?”
Her chest heaved with happiness.
This was it.
This was what she’d waited her whole life for—a man to love and defend and support and encourage her. To share her success and ease her sorrow. To love and honor. And let her do all those things back for him.
A man to put her first.
She curled her hands around his neck and breathed against his lips.
“As crystal.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Nina and Signe for the advice and support (and for letting me keep all the blood). Thanks also to John Lemon (Painted Dog Conservation Inc.) whose generosity with information about wild dog c
onservation work, bullet wounds and khaki fever helped me research this story—while we’re all writing and reading about it, you’re out there doing it. And to Dr. Belinda Beynon and Dr. Simone Vitale for the veterinary and wildlife medicine assistance, and the invaluable skill of how to knock someone out without killing them. Always handy!
About the Author
Nikki Logan writes captivating, nature-based stories full of romance and action in descriptive natural environments. She believes the passion and risk of falling in love perfectly mirror the danger and richness of wild places.
Nikki lives amongst a string of wetlands in Western Australia with her partner and a menagerie of animals. She has an Arts degree in Theatre and Film and worked for a decade in advertising and film distribution before finally settling down in the wildlife industry. When she took six months off work in 2007, and knowing she’d go spare without a project, she wrote Wild Encounter in a four-month binge. Well and truly bitten by the writing bug, she wrote a number of other books after her return to work, and hasn’t stopped since.
You can find all Nikki’s books at her website (www.nikkilogan.com.au) or contact her via social media (Twitter: @ReadNikkiLogan) ( Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/NikkiLoganAuthor ) or email: ( [email protected] )
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