"I sent Big Tag a text message from the hospital. I'm done. With Dallas. With all of it."
The words are clear enough, but they make no sense, and I decide that I must be woozier from the pain meds than I thought. The knife missed my femoral artery, thank goodness, but it was still a deep slash, and I now sport a lovely set of twelve stitches on my thigh and some even lovelier pain meds pumping through my veins.
"Ian Taggart," he says, obviously seeing my confusion. "My boss. I quit. I'm not going back to work."
That time I understand the words, but I'm still fuzzy on the meaning. "Why?"
His laugh is strangled, and when he cups my cheek and looks into my eyes, I see that the man looking back at me is just as wounded as I am. "Why? Because I can't leave you. Because I'm staying here."
My heart skitters, and I fear that the drugs and the pain have discombobulated my brain. Surely he's not saying what I think he's saying. Is he?
"You're not going back to Dallas?"
"No." He takes my hand, then kisses my fingertips. "I told you. I'm staying here."
"Oh." I lick my lips, barely daring to hope. "But you hate it here."
He studies my face, his expression tender. "I did. I've had a change of heart." He draws a breath. "I don't want to scare you by moving too fast, but I love you, Natasha Black, and I want a chance to make this work between us."
My chest tightens, and I can't speak through the tears of joy that are trying so desperately to escape.
"I figure I can consult on films and television. Lyle and Matthew can help me line up work. God knows this town makes enough action movies that I won't starve."
It takes a moment for those words to process, and when they do, I take his hand. "I can't... I don't think I can handle that. Knowing I pulled you away from something you love. I don't want you to resent me."
"I wouldn't."
"You might. But it's more than that. It's part of who you are. Just like it was part of who my dad was. And even though the worst happened to him, I wouldn't want to go back and change who he was. And I don't want to change who you are either."
His brows rise. "Are you saying you want me to call Tag and tell him I'm moving back to Dallas after all?"
I smack him lightly on the chest. "Don't you dare. But maybe you could tell him you're open to freelance? When he needs you? And you could even do freelance work for Ryan, too. And the Hollywood consulting. That should keep you busy. The rest of your time can be devoted to pleasuring me."
"Oh, can it?"
"Absolutely. In fact, you can start by kissing me."
"Anything you want," he says, then slides a hand under my neck as he rises over me, his mouth closing hot and gentle over mine, a kiss like making love slowly, lazily. A kiss that holds a promise of things to come, and when he pulls away, I regret the pain in my thigh and the exhaustion and drugs that weigh down my body. But at the same time, I know it doesn't matter. There will be so many more nights between us, and so very much to look forward to.
"I love you, Riley Blade."
"Oh, Tasha, I love you, too."
I sigh, deeply satisfied, then press my cheek to his bare chest. "We do have one problem though, you know."
"We do? Wait. What are you talking about?"
I rise up, perversely enjoying the hint of panic I hear in his voice. "It's just that you're too good at what you do."
I watch as his face relaxes as he realizes he's being teased. "Is that so?"
"You caught my stalker without having to take me back to The Firehouse."
"I see. And that's a problem?"
"Not if you promise to take me back."
His grin is pure, carnal wickedness. "Sweetheart," he says as he carefully curls up next to me. "I'll buy us a membership in the morning."
Epilogue
Eight Months Later
I wake to the sun streaming in through the windows of Riley's Malibu house. He says his love-hate relationship with Los Angeles is all over, and that he only bought property in Malibu because he wanted beach access, but I know better. After all, as Ian Taggart told me when he was in town last month, Riley knows perfectly well that Malibu isn't really Los Angeles.
I smile at the memory, because that was also the day when Ian told Riley that he was off the books of McKay-Taggart for the next four months, freeing Riley's schedule for another consulting gig--this time for Her Secret Service, Lyle's next movie based on Serena Dean-Miles' erotic thriller.
I roll over, enjoying the feel of the cool sheets against my naked skin as I think about all the wonderful perks that consulting job will bestow on me. Then I frown, realizing that cool sheets mean that I'm alone in bed--and have been for a while.
"Hey, beautiful."
Riley's voice caresses me, as smooth as whiskey and just as intoxicating. I prop myself up on my elbows and raise my brows. "You want to explain to me why, on the first day of my two-week vacation, I wake up alone in bed?"
"Might be because I had to feed your cat." He takes a step toward me. "Or it might be because I had to answer the door. A delivery man brought this." He passes me a letter-sized brown envelope.
I sit up, confused, pulling the sheet around me for warmth more than modesty. The windows are open and the breeze off the Pacific is cool. "What is it?"
"Open it."
The envelope is closed only with a clasp, so it's easy enough to get inside. I turn it over and a plane ticket falls into my lap. Confused, I read the destination, then frown as a slow anger starts to boil inside me.
"That lousy prick," I say. "Taggart said he wasn't going to offer you any more freelance work for four full months so that you could concentrate on Lyle and Serena's movie."
"Yeah, but that gig doesn't start for another three weeks. This trip is only for ten days."
"Ten days in China starting tomorrow," I say after another glance at the ticket. "Dammit, Riley, this trip is over my vacation." I will myself not to cry, but all I want to do is burst into tears. I haven't taken a vacation in forever and I only took time off now because Riley specifically told me he wanted to spend it tog
ether.
"Huh," he says, his brow furrowed as he takes the ticket from me. He turns it sideways, narrows his eyes, then steps back and says, "Oh! Of course."
"What?" I demand, confusion piling on top of my irritation.
"You need this, too." He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small, flat box. Like a jewelry store might use for a bracelet. I open it, then see another ticket folded up on top. I smirk, then pull it out, laughing when I see my name on it.
"Not a mission," I say, rising to put my arms around him. "A vacation for two."
"That's not exactly accurate," he says, and if it weren't for the twinkle in those dark, dreamy eyes, I'd be worried all over again. Instead, I'm intrigued.
I take a step back. "Okay," I demand. "What have I got wrong?"
"Anything else in that box?"
I shoot him one suspicious glance, then poke at the pad of cotton on which the folded ticket had been sitting. My finger hits something hard, and I immediately lift my head, looking once again at Riley, who looks incredibly pleased with himself.
I pull off the cotton to reveal a platinum ring with a stunning diamond, its facets catching the morning light and gleaming like starlight.
My legs go weak, and I fall back onto the bed at the same time that Riley drops to one knee in front of me. "Not a vacation. A honeymoon."
"A honeymoon," I repeat.
"We can stop in Vegas on the way. Or we can break convention and do the honeymoon first."
My lips twitch. "Aren't you jumping the gun a little?"
He flashes me a wide, sexy smile that's just a little sheepish. "Natasha Black," he says, taking the ring from my palm. "Will you marry me?"
I laugh with delight, and I'm pretty sure my heart has skipped a beat or two. "Yes," I say. "Oh, yes, Riley. Of course, yes."
He slides the ring onto my finger, then kisses me in a way that makes clear I belong to him. As if I had any doubt at all.
When we break apart, I sigh happily then tug his hand so that we both drop down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Why China?" I ask as I gaze into the fire of my engagement ring.
"I wanted to go someplace exotic," he says. "And where we could get completely lost together. What better place than somewhere we don't speak the language?" His brow furrows. "You don't speak Chinese, do you?"