Free Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency) by Samanthe Beck

can also answer.”
    “Let’s hope.”
    Two fingertips traced a meandering pattern down her back all the way to the base of her spine. She shivered, but stayed strong. “I’m afraid I have to insist on a verbal response.”
    “Two,” he said, and shifted his hips, managing to dislodge his personal parts from hers in the process. “Do I owe you an apology?”
    He couldn’t have looked or sounded less apologetic, with his shadowed jaw, growly voice, and general air of tense, dissatisfied male. She held back a grin.
    “No need. After all, we’re engaged.” She crawled off him and settled onto her back on the bed, then double-checked her robe to make sure all the essentials remained covered. They both stared at the ceiling and took a moment to settle.
    “Ready to play doctor?”
    She felt rather than saw him turn his head to look at her. “Only if I get to be the doctor.”
    The grin threatened again, but she shook her head. “Maybe next time. What’s your name?”
    “This seems like something my fiancée would know.”
    “I’m not asking for me, I’m asking for you.”
    “I already know my name.”
    She thumped him on the leg with the back of her hand. “Don’t make me beat it out of you. Dr. West told me to have you recite your name and date of birth.”
    “Ow. I liked your earlier bedside manner better. My name is Beauregard Miller Montgomery.”
    “Beauregard?” Now she turned to look at him. He had his arm propped behind his head and stared at the ceiling again. Nice profile. “How did I not know Beau was short for Beauregard?”
    “It’s my paternal grandmother’s maiden name. There’s a way-back connection to General P.T.G. Beauregard.”
    “Impressive. And Miller?”
    “My mom’s maiden name. Now you know as much as I do.”
    Strangely, she did feel a bit more intimately acquainted, though the conversation might not be the sole cause. “I’m prepared for the fiancée quiz.”
    “If there’s going to be a quiz, we better exchange this information, don’t you think?”
    “Wait. I’m not done with my questions yet. I need your date of birth.”
    “August sixth.”
    “Hmm. That’s a problem.”
    “You got something against Leos?”
    “Not at all. But assuming we started dating shortly after I moved into Camden Gardens, and now we’re engaged, I surely gave you a birthday gift reflective of my deep and abiding love. A keepsake.”
    “You did?”
    “Of course I did. I’m a romantic soul. I gave you something thoughtful, and fun. Something you’d treasure forever.”
    “You gave me a Ducati?”
    “You really are suffering a brain injury if you think I can afford a Duc. I’m a starving artist. No. I gave you”—she tried to imagine a personal gift she could actually afford—“an original glass sculpture of my own design. You keep it on your coffee table, so you can show it off when people visit.”
    He looked worried. “A small, unobtrusive sculpture?”
    Okay, she wouldn’t take the comment personally. The man kept no mementos of any kind in his apartment, and her “gift” threatened to disrupt the sterile, uncluttered surfaces of his home. “Very small,” she assured him. “I know my man. But we need to make a few changes, because right now, this place doesn’t bear the stamp of guy in a serious relationship. No pictures of us at a Braves game, no seashells picked from the surf during a long weekend in Pismo Beach. Nada.”
    The rasp of a hard palm across whiskers filled the silence, and every delicate expanse of skin on her body clamored to be on the receiving end of the subtle abrasion. Not wise. He was, though, and she read him well enough to know he saw her point.
    “Don’t go to a lot of trouble. My parents don’t come to my place.”
    “They’re coming next week, and we want to make this look real. It’s no trouble. It’s not like I’m under the gun creating new works for a big exhibit anywhere.”
    As soon as the words left her lips, she wanted to