A Valentine from Harlequin

goggles. There was no time for a test, but any fears she’d had about the upcoming showdown had subsided. Now that she had happiness just an inch from her hand, nothing was going to stop her from grabbing it. Especially not John Rotham. If their plan didn’t work, they’d find another way.
    “Ready?” she asked Alistair.
    “More than.” He leveled her a lethal smile and the door cracked open.
    Rotham strode in, gun first, as usual. His shifty eyes flickered around the room until he spotted them both.
    “Well?” he asked, eyeing the purviewers in her hand.
    “They’re finished.”
    “Excellent! I’ll need to test them, of course.”
    “Of course.” She nodded and handed him the goggles. She sucked in a breath as he lifted them to his face then paused.
    His icy eyes narrowed and he tipped his head. “Why don’t you try them first, while I watch? Wouldn’t do to flip the lever and have needles shot into my eyes or some such, would it?”
    She willed her lips into the shape of a smile and held out a hand. “Certainly not.” She slid the purviewers on and adjusted the lenses before depressing the lever. There was a soft whirring, and suddenly, her perception wavered. She could still see Rotham in the background, but the foreground had become a ghostlike image of the same space, five minutes into the future. Her heart pounded at the image before her eyes but she schooled her features and gave him a wan smile.
    “See? No needle shooting.”
    Chilly fingers brushed her cheek as he yanked them unceremoniously off her head. “All right then, my turn.”
    He kept the gun trained on her as he pressed them to his face, forgoing the leather strap. With a flick of his thumb, he activated them. The whirring began and he murmured his approval. Suddenly, the color drained from his face.
    “No!” he cried and wheeled around, letting the goggles crash to the floor. Alistair had slunk up behind him and was almost upon him. Rotham let out a shout as he raised the pistol to shoot. Charlotte kicked the back of his knee with a booted foot and he stumbled. The gun discharged, but the shot went wild. Just as he righted himself, Alistair dropped the stool he’d been holding and let loose a right hook that landed on Rotham’s chin with a resounding crack. The bastard dropped like a stone, out cold. Just the way he saw himself in the purviewers, she thought with perverse satisfaction.
    Charlotte bent and pulled the gun from his slack fingers and pointed it at him as Alistair positioned him on his stomach. A manacle still encircled each of Alistair’s wrists but only a bit of corroded chain hung from each, jangling as he moved.
    “It was a sound idea. The nitric acid did a magnificent job on those chains,” she observed with satisfaction.
    Alistair nodded and pulled the twine from his pocket and made quick work of tying Rotham up before turning to her with a grin. “We did it.”
    “I was so afraid the floorboards would creak, or you’d sneeze or something,” she said, a giggle bubbling in her throat. The emotional stew of the past couple of days finally boiled over and she began to laugh hysterically.
    Alistair chuckled and pulled her close. “There there now, don’t fall apart now, love. We’ve got a lot of making up to do and I’ll have you in your right mind when we start.”
    She choked back another laugh and took a calming breath. “Let’s leave this place, Alistair. We’ll send a runner for the constable and be sure Rotham’s locked away for a very long time.”
    “And then?”
    She pressed a soft kiss to his jaw and whispered, “And then we skulk around carrying on a torrid affair until we can marry.”
    He captured her chin in his hand and met her gaze with shining eyes. “You asked me once, bold as brass. Ever the fool, I turned you down. I shall ask you, now. Charlotte Phillips, love of my life, will you marry me?”
    She tucked her head into the curve of his neck. “I will,” she sighed. “I will.”
    * * *
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    Live a Little
    Cynthia Baxter’s sex life needed spicing up. She hoped her colorless fiancé would get into the spirit of things when she brought home Raunch magazine’s fantasy issue, but she was wrong. Her ex-fiancé left her naked and tied to the bedpost after being called