"I'm off today."

"Oh?" Distracted, he turned back, a gorgeous silk jacket in deep charcoal in his hand. "I can reschedule some of my afternoon, if you like."

Which would be, Eve mused, a bit like a general rescheduling battles. In Roarke's world, business was a complicated and profitable war. "I'm already booked." The scowl snuck back on her before she could stop it. "Shopping," she muttered. "Wedding dress."

Now he smiled, quickly, easily. From her, such plans were a declaration of love. "No wonder you're so cranky. I told you I'd see to it."

"I'll pick out my own wedding dress. And I'll buy it myself. I'm not marrying you for your damn money."

Smooth and elegant as the jacket he slipped on, he continued to smile. "Why are you marrying me, Lieutenant?" Her scowl deepened, but he was, above all, a patient man. "Want a multiple choice?"

"Because you never take no for an answer." She stood, shoving her hands into the front pockets of her jeans.

"You only get a half point for that. Try again."

"Because I've lost my mind."

"That won't win you the trip for two to Tropic World on Star 50."

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "Maybe I love you."

"Maybe you do." Content with that, he crossed back to her and laid his hands on her strong shoulders. "How bad can it be? You can pop a few shopping programs into the computer, look at dozens of suitable dresses, order in what appeals to you."

"That was my idea." She rolled her eyes. "Mavis ditched it."

"Mavis." He paled a bit. "Eve, tell me you're not going shopping with Mavis."

His reaction brightened her mood a little. "She has this friend. He's a designer."

"Dear Christ."

"She says he's mag. Just needs a break to make a name for himself. He has a little workshop in Soho."

"Let's elope. Now. You look fine."

Her grin flashed. "Scared?"