AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Right. A con man turned soldier and spy survived on wits, instincts, and the ability to play people without them knowing they were being manipulated—including Eden, if need be. He pulled the Bronco to a stop behind the pristine white Prius.
And started to worry at just that one, simple sight.
With a sigh, he opened the glove compartment and dug around for the small box he’d tossed in there days ago. Now it went in his pocket. His ball cap went to the backseat, sunglasses on the dash. Grabbing the beer and roses, he bounded up the porch steps, then banged through the screen door and into the empty living room. “Hey baby, welcome home,” he called loudly, just in case any of their not-especially-nearby neighbors had good ears, and nudged the front door shut with his foot. Via the pass-through, he put the beer and flowers on the white tiled kitchen counter. Eden strode out from the short hall that led to the back of the house, her sleek ponytail swinging, and his gut gave an immediate jump in response to what she did for a pale, yellow Polo shirt and skinny jeans, even as his mind filed away one more concern.
She gave him a long stare, then wrinkled her nose and stepped aside. “The shower’s all yours, Swain.”
“In a sec.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “About the Prius…”
“What? Did I park in your spot? Sorry. I wanted to be close to the door while I unloaded my things.”
“Where it’s parked is fine. Everything else about it is all wrong.”
Now she shot a hip out and propped her hand there. “What’s wrong with it?”
“My fiancée wouldn’t drive a car like that.”
“Jesus, Swain.” She rolled her eyes. “Assuming you ever find a woman with self-esteem so low she actually agrees to marry you, you can have her drive whatever you want. This is my car, and I don’t care if you like it.”
“Nah, choux. I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I said my fiancée wouldn’t drive it. You need to be driving the future Mrs. Eden Swain’s car, and that ain’t i
t. Details matter when creating a cover. The devil is, indeed, in them, and a car is a big fucking detail. It’s a rolling extension of personality. Care to remind me of your cover identity’s key personality traits?”
“Eden Braxton?” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Careless. Spendy. Social. Occasionally demanding.”
Though her voice remained brisk and businesslike, he heard a note of disapproval in there. Eden Brixton didn’t think much of Eden Braxton. “Okay, then, here’s the problem. Nothing about a new car says tight finances, but it’s too practical to be the kind of ride a girl who’s after the finer things in life would splurge on. To top all that off, it is way too clean and well taken care of. You might as well have parked a police cruiser out front.”
“Look.” She folded her arms. “This is all fascinating, but hey—I don’t have another car, so unless you plan to spring for a hick truck like the monstrosity you drive, it is what it is.” She pressed her lips into that stern line she wore like a challenge, and he battled an urge to kiss her until they were both senseless.
“We’ll make it work. Personalize it a bit to fit the profile.”
Now her eyes widened. “I don’t want you messing with my car.”
“Somebody’s got to. Nothing drastic, choux. Just add a charm or two to the rearview mirror, a girlie sticker on the back window, dirty it up some, inside and out. Maybe dent the front bumper—”
She jumped toward him with her index finger extended. “If you put a single scratch on my car, I will dent your dick. You got that, Swain?”
He smiled, knowing damn well it pushed her buttons. “I love it when you talk dirty.” With that, he pulled the small velvet box from his pocket and held it out to her.
Her eyes dropped to the box, then flicked back to his face. “What’s this?”
“Eden Braxton, would you do me the honor of becoming my bride?” Opening the box with his thumb, he extracted the fussy diamond ring crusted with baguettes from its pink satin nest and eased it onto the tip of the index finger she still pointed at him.
“That is the gaudiest thing I have ever seen.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
She stared at the ceiling and released a patience-tested breath before shifting the ring to the proper finger. “It fits.”
“Another one of those devilish details.” This close up, she smelled fresh as a field of daisies—another bedeviling detail they’d get to. After he’d cleaned up, because he definitely did not smell daisy fresh. “I’m hitting the shower. Get changed, choux. We’re going out for drinks at Rawley’s with Junior and Lou Ann Tillman.” He winked at her. “Wear somethin’ pretty.”
Her eyes found his. “Drinks at Rawley’s Pub with your boss and his wife?”
Someone had studied her information packet. “Yep.”
“You think he’s involved?”
“Do I think Junior Tillman deals drugs in his spare time?” He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “No. And I’d hazard he hasn’t gotten high since he was old enough to buy a drink.”
