I, Spy? (Sophie Green Mysteries, No. 1) (Sophie Green Mystery)

ignored that. “If you hadn’t locked me in, I wouldn’t be here,” I said. “Give me my bloody keys and let me go home.”
    “You’re going to walk home in your pyjamas?”
    “Yes,” I said, sticking my chin in the air, and then I thought about it, and it was a really stupid image. And then I made the mistake of glancing at Luke, and his mouth was twitching with amusement too, and I had to look away before I started laughing.
    Damn him. Damn him for making me angry, and damn him for making me laugh. And double damn him for sitting there looking so bloody desirable in the low light, strong and sure and everything I wanted, even if he wasn’t everything I needed.
    “Okay,” he sighed. “Bed.”
    I stared. God, I hope I wasn’t blushing. “Were you not listening back there?”
    “I don’t mean together. I mean to sleep. Separately. I don't know about you but I’m knackered. You are an exhausting woman, Sophie Green.”
    I’m not sure if that was a compliment or not.

Chapter Fourteen
     
    I awoke, for the second time in as many days, in Luke’s big soft white bed. Alone.
    Dammit.
    Everything was warm and cosy and I was really only half awake when I realised I really needed to pee. Don’t you hate that? All I wanted to do was go back to sleep. Sleep was good. I didn’t want to get up.
    But I did get up, sighing, and stumbled into the bathroom. My toothbrush leaned against Luke’s in the mug by the sink and I tried to tell myself it meant nothing. But my stomach still did a back flip at the sight of it.
    I went back into the bedroom and looked at the crumpled bed. He’d put clean sheets on and they smelled of fabric softener. It was ridiculous. I was getting heartfelt over fabric softener.
    Well, he’d taken the sofa, acting like a gentleman for possibly the first time since I met him. Not that I recall being particularly gracious about it. I think my exact words were, “You seduced me when I was concussed, Sharpe. Sleep on the sofa or sleep outside, but you ain’t coming anywhere near my bed.”
    “It’s my bed, Sophie,” he reminded me, looking slightly amused.
    “Well, I’m going to be in it. Alone,” I said, and stomped off in as dignified a way as I could manage, given that I was wearing his sports socks and was still huddled in my cat duvet.
    I fear this was not particularly dignified at all.
    Part of me had expected him to come crawling under the covers in the middle of the night, and been quite disappointed when he hadn’t. He was still asleep on the chesterfield, wrapped in my duvet. His hand was up by his face, his hair was tousled, and he looked adorable.
    Jesus, Sophie, get a grip! Do not fall for Luke. That would not be a smart thing to do.
    I sighed and padded over to the kitchen, looking for coffee. One of those filter things would be nice, but I’d settle for instant. I wasn’t fussy.
    Coffee made, I went and stood by the chesterfield, watching Luke sleep. There was no harm in looking. Didn’t everyone want to look at things that were beautiful? Like art and stuff. It was human nature.
    Yeah. Human nature to stare at someone who hadn’t bloody called .
    Bastard.
    Then the bastard spoke, and I scalded my hands with spilt coffee.
    “Sophie,” he said, “why are you standing there staring at me?”
    How did he know? How did he know? His eyes were still closed! Did he have see-through eyelids or something?
    No, he probably did. With bionic x-rays or something. Bet he could tell what colour my underwear was.
    I blushed, because I was, um, still wearing his underwear.
    “How long have you been awake?” I asked as coolly as I could, fetching kitchen roll to wipe up the coffee, keeping my flushed face turned away from him.
    “Since you put the kettle on.” He yawned and stretched and opened his eyes. “Make us a coffee, will you?”
    I made a face. “What am I, your housekeeper?”
    He rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, I’ll do it.” He pushed back the duvet and stood up. He was barechested and golden all over.
    Hello.
    Get a goddamn grip, Sophie. He’s doing this on purpose.
    And it’s bloody working .
    Bastard .
    Luke pulled on his T-shirt, which I suppose was probably for the best, and wandered into the kitchen. “Sleep well?”
    “Like a log.” It was nearly midday. I couldn’t believe we’d stayed up so long.
    “How’s your shoulder?”
    I shrugged experimentally. “Not too bad.”
    “Can I see?”
    This would mean I’d have to take my pyjama top