category as a biochemical terrorist attack?” She wasn’t sure if she should laugh, or smack him.
“Fake engagement party. And the subtle and overt dangers of both are cause for concern,” he told her, his tone deadly serious.
That hurt. It actually hurt. Her lower lip trembled. It took a second, then Sage saw a glint in his eyes. A little of the tension that’d been creeping into knots along her shoulders faded and she blew out a relieved breath.
“You worry me sometimes,” she told him, shaking her head.
“Ditto.”
“Me?” Truly shocked, Sage pressed her palm against her chest and gave him an openmouthed look of surprise. “What do I do that’s worrisome?”
Unlike some people who regularly jumped out of perfectly good airplanes to go into battles and be shot at, she was the epitome of mellow.
“Let’s see. You traipsed off to Tibet with a guy named Moon Petal. You sold your car and donated the money to a research group attempting to teach dogs to talk. When you volunteered at that recovery program in Brooklyn, a heroin junkie tried to use you to mop the floor because he didn’t like your views on using happy thoughts to overcome the shakes.” He paused, for a breath, she realized, not to try and think up more examples.
“Aww, you read my blog,” she realized, her heart warming at the news. He just scowled, then slanted his head to the side as if reminding her to get back on track.
“Okay, fine,” she said. “So I’ve been cause for a little worry in the past. That has nothing to do with right now.”
“You’re trying to rope me into a fake party.”
“And you hate parties,” she remembered with a grimace.
“Who needs a bunch of strangers around demanding attention and forcing you to engage in social chitchat? I’d rather hang out with a few people I actually like.”
“There will be a few people you actually like there,” she vowed, clueless where she’d find them. “I promise.”
He huffed, then shrugged as if giving in.
“Besides, this isn’t a fake party,” she reminded him. “You’re the one who said we have to treat Mission Engagement as if it’s real. So it stands to reason that people—and by people, I mean my father—would want to throw us a party, a real one, to celebrate.”
“It’s not a good idea,” he argued. Whether out of simple stubbornness or because he really did foresee huge pitfalls, she wasn’t sure. “There’s a lot that could go wrong.”
“Don’t be such a worrywart,” she said, laughing. “It’s only a party. No big deal.”
The look Aiden gave her was exasperated, frustrated and just a bit baffled. In other words, the same look he’d been giving her most of their lives.
“Tell you what. We’ll spend an afternoon, a couple of evenings together. We’ll go over every possible scenario, map out all of those scary pitfalls you’re so worried about. We’ll get to know each other so well that we could win one of those newlywed games.”
“I hate games,” he muttered.
“I love them.”
“Shock.”
Sage laughed, delighted in his dry humor and exasperated look. He was so sweet. Why hadn’t she realized that before? Or had she, and just ignored it because of his relationship with her father?
The smart thing to do would be to keep this all friendly and sweet. Nothing naughty that’d get them into trouble.
But...she liked naughty. Especially when naughty provided such a wonderful distraction to worrying about her father, about her future.
Unable to resist, she stepped closer. It was what she imagined getting close to a lightning bolt would feel like. Electric energy zapped through her system, making her feel edgy and needy and excited. And, at the same time, a little nervous.
Like, who knew what could happen if she reached out.
If she touched.
If she tasted.
Excitement stirred, needy and intense, deep in her belly. Her eyes met Aiden’s. The look in his hazel gaze should have warned her to be careful. Maybe tipped her
“Fake engagement party. And the subtle and overt dangers of both are cause for concern,” he told her, his tone deadly serious.
That hurt. It actually hurt. Her lower lip trembled. It took a second, then Sage saw a glint in his eyes. A little of the tension that’d been creeping into knots along her shoulders faded and she blew out a relieved breath.
“You worry me sometimes,” she told him, shaking her head.
“Ditto.”
“Me?” Truly shocked, Sage pressed her palm against her chest and gave him an openmouthed look of surprise. “What do I do that’s worrisome?”
Unlike some people who regularly jumped out of perfectly good airplanes to go into battles and be shot at, she was the epitome of mellow.
“Let’s see. You traipsed off to Tibet with a guy named Moon Petal. You sold your car and donated the money to a research group attempting to teach dogs to talk. When you volunteered at that recovery program in Brooklyn, a heroin junkie tried to use you to mop the floor because he didn’t like your views on using happy thoughts to overcome the shakes.” He paused, for a breath, she realized, not to try and think up more examples.
“Aww, you read my blog,” she realized, her heart warming at the news. He just scowled, then slanted his head to the side as if reminding her to get back on track.
“Okay, fine,” she said. “So I’ve been cause for a little worry in the past. That has nothing to do with right now.”
“You’re trying to rope me into a fake party.”
“And you hate parties,” she remembered with a grimace.
“Who needs a bunch of strangers around demanding attention and forcing you to engage in social chitchat? I’d rather hang out with a few people I actually like.”
“There will be a few people you actually like there,” she vowed, clueless where she’d find them. “I promise.”
He huffed, then shrugged as if giving in.
“Besides, this isn’t a fake party,” she reminded him. “You’re the one who said we have to treat Mission Engagement as if it’s real. So it stands to reason that people—and by people, I mean my father—would want to throw us a party, a real one, to celebrate.”
“It’s not a good idea,” he argued. Whether out of simple stubbornness or because he really did foresee huge pitfalls, she wasn’t sure. “There’s a lot that could go wrong.”
“Don’t be such a worrywart,” she said, laughing. “It’s only a party. No big deal.”
The look Aiden gave her was exasperated, frustrated and just a bit baffled. In other words, the same look he’d been giving her most of their lives.
“Tell you what. We’ll spend an afternoon, a couple of evenings together. We’ll go over every possible scenario, map out all of those scary pitfalls you’re so worried about. We’ll get to know each other so well that we could win one of those newlywed games.”
“I hate games,” he muttered.
“I love them.”
“Shock.”
Sage laughed, delighted in his dry humor and exasperated look. He was so sweet. Why hadn’t she realized that before? Or had she, and just ignored it because of his relationship with her father?
The smart thing to do would be to keep this all friendly and sweet. Nothing naughty that’d get them into trouble.
But...she liked naughty. Especially when naughty provided such a wonderful distraction to worrying about her father, about her future.
Unable to resist, she stepped closer. It was what she imagined getting close to a lightning bolt would feel like. Electric energy zapped through her system, making her feel edgy and needy and excited. And, at the same time, a little nervous.
Like, who knew what could happen if she reached out.
If she touched.
If she tasted.
Excitement stirred, needy and intense, deep in her belly. Her eyes met Aiden’s. The look in his hazel gaze should have warned her to be careful. Maybe tipped her
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