Undercover Engagement (Private Pleasures 5)

“It’s less a matter of trust and more a matter of physics. I’m not some tiny damsel in distress.”

He walked them through the entryway, past his small kitchen full of boxes, and into the dimly lit living room just big enough for his big-ass sectional and, currently, a bunch of moving boxes. “No, you’re a tall, gorgeous cop with hazel eyes that go green when you’re mad, a pat down technique that ought to be illegal, and a smile that slays me every time you aim it my way.”

He placed her on the sectional, then stood and stepped back to admire her in the glow of the flat screen on the opposite wall, still showing sports highlights with the volume down. “In a nutshell, choux, I love you. So, if we’re talking about proving things to each other for the rest of our lives, let’s do this right. Sit tight.”

He strode down the hall to his bedroom, smiling as she muttered, “Um…okay.”

It didn’t take him long to find what he was after. She still sat on the sofa looking around his sparse living room when he returned.

“You have a lot of unpacking to do.” She gestured to the boxes along the wall.

“Nah. I’m hoping to move again, soon.”

“Why? You don’t love living out here in the middle of Camp Crystal Lake?”

He grinned at the horror movie reference. “I like it fine, but you don’t.”

Her answering grin wavered. “Are you looking to move in with me, cooyon?”

“Under certain conditions.” He searched the cushions until he found the remote. Aiming it at the TV, he changed the app to YouTube, and then keyed in a video. While an ad ran, he turned back to her.

“What conditions?”

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“Just one, really.” He knelt in front of her and held out a small, velvet box.

“Oh my God. Swain…” Her hands shook as she reached for it.

He smacked her hand lightly, startling her eyes back to his. “Wait for it,” he said. “I’m setting a mood, here.”

“Geez. Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t realize you—”

Music floated into the room. A catchy beat. A whispered rap. The soulful strains of a mid-2000’s hit by a certain young, male heartthrob. “Justin Bieber?”

“Hell yes,” he confirmed. “I’ll be your Bieber. You be my Selena, because Eden, for me, you are it. I’ll never get over you.” He made a move to open the box, but she said, “Yes!” before he could.

“Yes, already? Don’t you want to see the ring first?”

She shook her head. “No. If that tacky, overblown monstrosity you gave me the first time is in there, I don’t want that to influence my answer. The ring doesn’t matter. You matter. We matter. The rest was just…”

“Hey now, I thought you said you trusted me?” With that tease hanging between them, he lifted the lid on the box. Watched her eyes drop and then widen.

“Oh, Swain…”

“It matches your eyes,” he said, and lifted the square cut emerald out of the box.

“My eyes are hazel.”

“They’re green like this”—he slipped the ring onto her finger—“when you’re all fired up.” He leaned in and kissed her. “And if you stick with me, choux, you’re bound to be fired up a lot. I’m hoping when you get in that state, you look at this ring, and you know I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered against his lips.

He kissed her back, deep and unhurried. “I know.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, messing it or fixing it, or doing whatever she liked. “From the time I kissed you in the parking lot at the church?”

“Nah. I knew way before then.”