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

off. Not a good move, the way I was feeling. “Erm, you know what, I’m going to take a shower first,” I said. “Freshen up.”
    “How are you going to take a shower without getting the dressing wet?”
    I held up a finger in a “wait” gesture, and retrieved the cling film. Luke stared.
    “You’re kidding.”
    I shook my head. “Worked yesterday.”
    He laughed. “You’re unbelievable. Okay. Shower’s yours. I’ll help you change the dressing when you come out.”
    I looked him over, leaning against the kitchen counter in his T-shirt and boxers, sipping his coffee, his hair tousled, looking sleepy, and took a deep breath.
    “Luke…”
    “Hmm?”
    Can we share the shower? Can we please have sex one more time? Just so I know it’s still good when I’m not concussed?
    “Can I borrow your shampoo?”
    He frowned, and nodded. “It’s by the shower.”
    Dammit. I was such a coward.
    I turned the shower water to cold, but it didn’t help much. All I could think of was Luke and his bare chest and his sleepy eyes. I was pathetic. I was like a horny teenager. Although, come to think of it, I wasn’t that horny when I was a teenager, so maybe I was making up for it now. Yeah. That’s what it was. Not my fault at all.
    He was waiting for me when I came out, making me jump. “The dressing,” he said, holding up some gauze and scissors. I went and sat on the bed, clutching my towel very tightly, while Luke inspected the stitches and cut a clean piece of gauze to cover them. He was dressed, more’s the pity, and somehow managed to smell really good without having gone anywhere near the bathroom.
    “Look at you, all serious,” I teased, trying to distract him from my rapidly rising pulse rate.
    “Combat medical training. If you make a mistake early on, it can make for serious problems.” His face was grim, and I didn’t want to ask about it any more. Luke was scary when he went all professional.
    Then he looked up, and his face was neutral again. “Breakfast?”
    I found some clean knickers in my bag, but no bra and no other clothes, so it was either pyjamas again or Luke’s clothes.
    He looked me over when I came out in joggers and a T-shirt, and his eyes fixed on my chest. “No bra?”
    “Maria didn’t seem to think I’d need one.”
    “I like Maria.”
    I rolled my eyes. “I need to go home and pick some things up.”
    “I’ll do it.”
    “No, I need to go.”
    “No, you don’t. Unlike some people in this room, I’m quite good at following instructions.”
    I made a face. What I needed was to somehow get that revolver out from under my bed and back in Luke’s secret cupboard before he noticed it was missing.
    “So, what are we doing today?” I asked as Luke handed me a plate of toast.
    “ I am going to see if I can find out who chucked a Molotov cocktail through your window. You are staying here.”
    “Nice try.”
    “I mean it, Sophie. You need to rest and stay away from people who want to firebomb you. That wasn’t an idle threat. If Maria hadn’t been there you could have been killed.”
    If Maria hadn’t been there. “So, what, you think I’m totally helpless? You think I need to be locked away from danger? I’m a bloody secret agent, Luke, and you won’t even let me have a gun.”
    “You need a licence—”
    “So get me a fucking licence!” Aware that I was shouting, I tried to lower my voice. “How am I supposed to protect myself if all I have is a green dye defence spray?”
    “You have the stun gun.”
    “Maria didn’t pack it.” I drummed my fingers on the counter. “I mean it. I need weapons, not bubble wrap.”
    “A weapon makes you a target,” Luke said calmly, finishing his coffee and rinsing out the cup. “You’re not getting one.”
    I scowled at him as he sauntered away from me into the bathroom and locked the door.
    “What if I just upped and left?” I said. “I did it yesterday. You can’t keep me here.”
    “There’s a keypad alarm on the inside and outside of that door,” Luke said from inside the bathroom. “All the windows are laser-sensored. I couldn’t break into this place.”
    “Doesn’t tell me much,” I grumbled. “You can’t keep me here,” I repeated in frustration.
    “I can. I’m your superior and I can.”
    “You’re such a bastard.” I kicked the door and flounced out to watch TV.
    I was checking the news when he came back out, shaved and dressed and smelling even more divine.
    “You’ll be fine on