Page 145 of Jonesing for a Spy

61

bionic limbs

Mirren

“Ugh.”

Two days post surgery and the nerve block is wearing off. I remember this part. I hate this part. Everything around my knee is tingly, like the warming up after the dentist’s numbing wears off. It’s the worst pins and needles mostly because I can’t control it, can’t touch it. Can’t fix it.

Mom and Dad worked their magic, and we were home the night of the surgery. I didn’t ask how. And I don’t really care. I wanted my apartment and my bed and to be away from the scene of the crime.

Well, two out of three isn’t bad. The bed thing is a bummer, but I know the drill. A few more days—yes, I’m lying to myself—and I’ll be where I belong, pressed into Strider’s side.

In the meantime, he’s camped out on the sofa while I’m in the big chair they brought in. My apartment doesn’t have room for this monstrosity, but the alternative was to dump my bookings at the cottage. Or, of course, stay with my parents. That was a no go, not because I don’t love them, not because we don’t have the system down pat. It wasn’t two years ago when we did it last…

It really boiled down to how Strider might feel moving into my parents’ house for a handful of weeks. He said he’d do it. I know he would have. But I wanted us time, and this is what we came to.

“What do you need, baby?” His voice is cautious and kind.

“A leg that doesn’t feel like ants are crawling on it with no way to scratch?”

He adjusts his glasses and tilts his head. “I’m fresh out of bionic limbs. Any other ideas?”

I’d stamp my foot if I could. “No.” It’s a whine, but he knows the deal.

“Can I refill your water?”

I shake the cup, splashing droplets onto the floor. “If I drink the water, I have to pee. That requires moving.”

“Can I make you something to eat?”

Same result, different… avenue. I shake my head.

“Can I interest you in diamonds and platinum?”

What? My face must convey my utter shock as I hold his gaze.

Strider, in those sexy as fuck glasses, slides a velvet box from his pocket, drops to one knee, and lifts the lid. “You already agreed. But I don’t like the idea that you didn’t get to choose. So, Mirren Jones, will you accept this ring as a sign of my devotion to you and promise to be by my side for as long as we both shall live?” His words get faster and faster as he goes through his question. It hints at nerves which is the first time I’ve seen them on him. He’s always been so self-assured.

I lean forward, around my awkward knee, and take his face in both of my hands. “Yes.” And I kiss the man who’s my forever.

He plucks the delicate band from its pillow and takes my left hand, sliding it home.

I squeeze his wrist and smile, unable to stop staring at it. It’s not something I’d ever have picked, but it’s absolutely perfect. An oval diamond, inset in the band sideways, with twisted filigree and smaller diamonds all the way around. It’s oddly light for as big as it is and how sparkly the rainbows are that catch the light.

“It’s… I’m… Wow.”

“That’s damn near a direct quote from the first time I slid into you.” He stands and lifts his hands to bounce them like scales. “Are you fucking with me? Wow. So similar. It’s hard to tell the difference.”

“That’s not what I said the first time we were together.”

“Not the first time I touched you or ate you, but yeah. It’s rather burned on my brain. I knew I’d met my match, and I hadn’t even gotten to come.”

“I never expected my husband-to-be to say he’d ‘met his match’ with me.” I nod and purse my lips. “But I’ll take it. I like that challenging you is your expectation.” I allow the wicked grin to form on my face.

It’s met with one of his own. “It doesn’t have to be on everything, but I don’t mind the tussle, so long as you end up underneath me.”

“I like being on top.”