Page 49 of The Bachelor Spy
They grappled in the narrow space, each trying to gain advantage without making enough noise to alert the household. Evie was smaller, but she was quick, and she knew every trick he did—because they’d learned them together. She went for pressure points; he countered with joint locks. He attempted throws; she turned them into reversals.
It was frustrating and exhilarating in equal measure.
Finally, Blake managed to get behind her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders in a hold that wasn’t quite threatening but was definitely controlling. She was pressed back against him, both of them breathing hard, and for a moment they simply stood there in the darkness, their twin breaths the only sound in the stillness.
“You’ve always been persistent, haven’t you?” she whispered.
“One of my more charming qualities.” His voice was low, spoken close to her ear. “Along with my dashing good looks and impeccable taste in shirts. Though you did ruin my favorite oxford with that shot.”
He felt rather than saw her smile. “That shirt was the wrong color for you.”
“It was Egyptian cotton.”
“Pretentious,” she repeated.
Despite everything—the fight, the suspicion, the very real possibility that she was here to kill him or to spy for the Germans—Blake found himself wrestling with a smile. God help him, he’d missed this. Missedher.
Which was deeply inconvenient and possibly suicidal.
“You know,” she said, and her voice had shifted into something more dangerous. Something that made Blake suddenly very aware of how close they were, how her back was pressed against his chest, how her hair smelled faintly of lavender soap. “You look as if you’re highly interested in taking that kiss, Blake.”
His breath caught. Blast her for noticing. Blast her for saying it aloud.
He tightened his hold slightly—not threatening, just … grounding himself. Reminding himself that this woman had shot him. That her brother was a traitor. That he didn’t know whose side she was on.
“I only kiss traitors during an assignment,” he whispered in her ear, throwing her own words from theLusitaniaback at her.
The silence stretched between them, loaded with everything they weren’t saying.
“What a shame.” Her response came soft, breathless. “SinceIam no traitor.”
Blake’s heart squeezed at her echo of his words. “Prove it, Evie.”
A sound down the corridor made them both freeze. Footsteps. Someone else was awake.
“Dash it,” Blake muttered.
Evie moved, and this time he let her. She slipped out of his hold with ease, putting distance between them in an instant. When she turned to look at him before turning the corner of the hall, her face was carefully composed, but her eyes—those mind-blanking eyes—held something he couldn’t quite read, but it only tightened the vice in his chest all the more.
“Stay away from me, Blake,” she whispered. “For both our sakes.”For both our sakes?“Not likely.”
“If she recognizes me …” Evie’s gaze held warning, desperation. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“Then tell me.”
The footsteps were growing closer. She glanced toward the sound, then back at him. “Trust me.”
And then she was gone, slipping into the shadows like she’d never been there at all.
Blake stood in the darkened corridor, his shoulder throbbing, his heart racing, and his mind churning through everything that had just happened.
Trust her?
How? Yet something in his gut wanted to. Yes, she’d shot him, but she’d also shot him in the shoulder. Precisely placed. Nonfatal.
“What a shame, sinceIam no traitor.”
Blake touched his wounded shoulder absently.
