Angie rose. Walked over to him with purpose and gripped his arms. “You thought this would matter to me? You thought I’d love you any less—because why? You’re the same man I fell in love with, but now you have a sexy title and a really cool place in Paris—and that was supposed to make me not love you or something?” She shook her head. “Honestly, Colt, I fail to see the problem.”
He lowered his forehead to hers. Sighed. His heart was beginning to beat normally again. “I had to show you. You deserved to know.”
“I already know everything I need to know about you.” She reached up and touched his face. “But I’m so honored you wanted to show me this.”
Something inside him broke free. For the first time in his life, he felt like a weight had been lifted. Because she loved him. No matter what, she loved him.
He kissed her almost desperately. Then he stripped her and carried her to the bed—the ridiculous, antique tester bed with all the gilding—and made love to her in it until they were both so emotionally wrung out they fell into a deep sleep for the next several hours.
When he woke, Angie wasn’t in bed. He rose. It was dark out, and he found her sitting by the windows—the glorious picture windows—that looked out on the city of Paris and the Eiffel Tower. It was an amazing view. One of the reasons he stayed here when he was in town.
Angie looked up, smiling. She was wearing a robe and she had a glass of wine. Chateau d’Duchesne of course. She poured him one when he sat beside her. He took a drink, appreciating the bouquet as the flavors burst on his tongue.
“You probably wonder why I joined the Marine Corp when I had this,” he said.
“No, I don’t. You’re a man of action, Colt. You can’t sit in a place like this—a glorious, wondrous place—and not do anything about the world’s injustices.”
He was almost stunned into silence. She knew him so well. Already. He couldn’t sit idly in this gilded palace and do nothing while his uncle ran the company and he lived on a stipend given to him because of an accident of birth. “Parisians have a long history of fighting injustice.”
“Yes, but that’s not why you do it. You can’t do anything else.” She smiled. “I’m beginning to think I can’t either.”
It took him a moment. “You plan to join BDI?”
She held her glass out to clink. He met her. “Yes, I think I do,” she said, and then she sipped.
He sipped too. “The Marine Corp wasn’t quite right either,” he said, because he wanted to tell her everything. “I loved being a Marine, the structure and camaraderie, but when I shipped out to Iraq, I learned how random fate can be. My squad was killed on a patrol when a terrorist detonated a bomb. I escaped. I still don’t know how. Or why.” He sucked in a breath. “Ian recruited me. Somehow, he knew I’d fit. I went to work for him and I haven’t looked back. It’s been a wild ride.”
“You’re amazing, Monsieur le Comte. And I love you, whether you’re a count or an earl or just a plain old dude.”
He put an arm around her, pulled her close. “What do you think about becoming Madame le Comtesse?”
She reared back. “Wait—are you asking me to marry you?”
“Yes. You’ll be a countess, but in name only. We’ll still have to work for a living.” He said it lightly, but it meant everything to him.
She pressed her mouth to his, kissing him, and sighed. “Yes, Colt. I’ll marry you. I’ll be a countess if I have to—but being your wife is all I need.”
March 1st
“I can’t believe you’re leaving us,” Liam said. “It won’t be the same.”
Angie smiled at him. They’d gone to lunch at a café near Barton, Barnes and Blake’s new temporary location and they were waiting for their food to arrive. Angie had gone in to sign some paperwork, but she was officially done. Her clients had all been turned over to other accountants and tomorrow was her first official day at Black Defense International.
“We can still meet for lunch sometimes. And we can text,” she told him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure your fiancé isn’t going to beat me up if we keep meeting?”
Angie laughed. “Positive. Colt trusts me to make my own decisions. He also knows how crazy I am about him.”
Their food arrived and the waiter poured more water. Then he was gone.
“Old Mr. Barton is setting up a scholarship fund for Jenny’s kids,” Liam said. “We’re all contributing to it. I know you’re leaving but I thought you’d want to know.”
“Absolutely. I’d love to contribute.”
Jenny’s death was still officially a suicide, and her involvement with Paul Sobol and the illegal activity he’d been part of would never be known. Ian said that her kids had enough to deal with, having lost their mother, and there was no need to add to that burden with information that served no purpose other than to show her in a bad light. Angie hadn’t been sure how much she’d liked Ian until that moment, but now she knew she’d always adore him for that decision alone.
In the past couple of weeks since returning from Paris, Angie had put her condo on the market and moved in with Colt. The house was stuck in the sixties, but it had good bones and they’d been talking to Maddy about making an offer and doing some renovations. Maddy had
