And she wasn’t going to ask him to give up anything either.
The fact that she also loved him filled him with awe. She was beautiful, clever, brave, and dedicated. How had he ever gotten so lucky?
Because he’d taken a risk.
For her, he’d take more.
“Marry me,” he said.
“Someday.” The bed groaned under their combined weight as she moved to sit on top of him, her knees digging into his hips as she carefully balanced. “But we’ve got to get our stages in the right order. Let’s concentrate on building our relationship and planning our future. Once we’ve got those stages settled, we can work on trust and stability.”
“I trust you.” He hadn’t trusted himself. She was right to refuse to marry him. He still had to prove himself to her, although he doubted if that was what she meant. She knew what she wanted.
So did he. Finally.
He was willing to wait for some things but not others. He smoothed his palms up her thighs to caress the bare buttocks straddling him. “How quiet do you think we can be?”
“Given past experience with you and judging by these bedsprings? Not quiet enough.” She leaned forward and kissed him, the dark room a cocoon of intimacy around them. Her mouth hovered above his, her breath teasing his lips. “Do you want me to go back to my own bed?”
Never.
He’d talk to John. Between them, they’d pull a few strings. Then Lies, who’d shaken his world from the first moment he met her, could continue to turn it upside down.
He planned to enjoy every minute.
Epilogue
The shiny, plain gold band on Lies’s ring finger drew Harry’s attention from across the crowded room. He’d never grow tired of seeing it there or stop appreciating what it had gained him. After three years of pulling strings and planning vacations together, never knowing how long they’d be in the same place, he’d finally convinced her to marry him.
He’d placed that ring on her finger less than a week before their departure from Ottawa for Astana, Kazakhstan, where he was the northern Central Asian country’s newly minted Canadian ambassador. He and Lies had arrived in its capital city a day before the first major snowstorm of the season. He’d accepted this posting for her work, not his.
Espionage still created some issues between them. In the spring of the past year he’d gotten word from an old friend in the Netherlands that Bernard Vanderloord had been found dead in his Amsterdam home, cause unknown. It had been mentioned to him in passing, a piece of gossip based on a shared acquaintance with the deceased. He hadn’t asked Lies if she knew anything about it or if Canada was somehow involved. Some things were best left alone and he’d learned to let go.
He chose to believe karma had caught up with Vanderloord.
In contrast to the impressively bitter temperatures that had settled over Astana, the people here were warm and welcoming. The party the Canadian embassy was hosting tonight for local staff and their families was designed to help ease their way into Astana society. They’d been warned that even very young children were almost always included in social functions, so Lies had brought an assortment of Canadian candies to distribute as small party favors.
Her Russian, the local language of business, was progressing much faster than his. Right now she had a wide-eyed toddler on her hip and was also trying out a few words in Kazakh on him, much to the amusement of the child’s mother. She looked very beautiful and elegant, but in the wholesome, approachable way of the Dutch. The sleek, silver dress she wore fell to the toes of her matching high heels. The tangle of short blond ringlets she couldn’t seem to keep under control fascinated the child in her arms, far more so than her mangled attempt to converse.
Harry had finally talked her into marriage, but not yet convinced her it was time to start a family. Maybe the value the Kazakhs placed on it would have some influence. He was thirty-nine years old. She was thirty-one. He’d give it another year or so, and if she still refused to be swayed, he’d let the matter drop. She was enough for him. Children, although nice, weren’t a necessity. Her cousin Yasmin had two already, and while Lies adored them, she said she preferred handing them back to their mother.
He dragged his attention away from his bride. Roman Bayzhanov, his eager young translator, had said something to him. It was his son whom Lies was trying to charm.
“Your wife is very eager to explore the country,” Roman repeated, more slowly. His English, while good, was heavily accented and he must have thought Harry hadn’t understood him. “I’ve advised her it’s best to enjoy city life until the warm weather returns.”
Harry had to admire her dedication. She’d wasted no time. Since Canada had gone into serious trade business with Kazakhstan, the Prime Minister’s Office was interested in tracking Kazakhstan’s progress toward achieving international human rights standards. Her task was to meet with women from all levels of Kazakh society and gather the required information. She’d also provide her opinions and recommendations regarding the status and education of Kazakh women, and if Canada could—or should—offer support.
She’d conducted similar research in other countries he’d been posted to over the past few years, and with impressive and eye-opening results. He predicted that within the next decade she’d be working for the United Nations fulltime as an advocate of international women’s rights.
He could hardly wait. There’d be a measure of safety in such a position that currently didn’t exist. He’d never like that she sometimes risked her life, but had come to accept and even admire her unwavering dedication to a worthy cause.
She passed the child back to his mother.
Harry excused himself and went to her side. He slid an arm around her waist and whispered in her ear. “We’re still on our honeymoon, Mrs. Jordan. Another half hour, then we’re out of here.”
Her cheeks flushed with color, although not from embarrassment. She hadn’t taken his surname. Calling her Mrs. Jordan was code for what would follow later, when they were in bed and alone.
“Have I told you yet tonight how much I love you?” she asked.
“I can’t remember,” Harry lied. “You should tell me again.”
He’d never grow tired of hearing her say it, or saying it back. He’d once been so certain he’d wanted nothing to do with intrigue or spies. To be truthful, he didn’t. He’d be thrilled if—when—the UN made that call and Lies put CSIS behind her. Until then, she remained an intelligence officer masquerading as an embassy personal assistant.
And his spy at night.
THE END
Note to Readers
Thank you for choosing His Spy at Night, the third book in my Spy Games series. I hope you loved Harry and Lies. (Wow. Wasn’t her name appropriate? I swear I didn’t plan it.)
My usual disclaimer:
Canada prides itself on its freedom of information policies and public disclosure, and CSIS, Canada’s spy agency, isn’t exempt. If you read the actual Canadian Security Intelligence Act, however, you’ll note there’s a great deal of ambiguity to their mandate, and my characters have chosen to exploit it. They are spies, after all.
Next up is Dan and Alycia’s story in Her Spy at Dawn. I really didn’t start off with a story in mind for Dan in this series, but by the time I’d finished writing Her Spy to Hold, the second Spy Games book, I knew he was going to have one. Poor Dan…
We’re going to be seeing a lot more of him in the upcoming Spy Games books.
I’ll just leave it at that.
Acknowledgments
I have some amazing author friends whose books you should check out. Samanthe Beck, Roxanne Snopek, Robin Bielman, and Hayson Manning all contribute to my work in one way or another. Blame Roxanne and Guinness if storylines take weird turns. It’s Robin’s fault if the characters end up in jail. In fact, it’s her fault if anyone ends up in jail.
And of course, a special thanks to Annette Gallant for being my first reader and a great friend. Keep your eye out fo
r her name in the future. Her books are coming. She promised.
About the Author
Paula Altenburg lives in rural Nova Scotia, Canada, with her husband and two sons. Once a manager in the aerospace industry, she now enjoys working from home and writing fulltime.
Visit her at www.paulaaltenburg.com to view more of her work and to sign up for her newsletter.
You can also follow her on Twitter @PaulaAltenburg and friend her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PaulaAltenburgAuthor/.
Other Contemporary Romance Titles
by Paula Altenburg
Spy Games series:
Her Spy to Have—Book One, available now
Her Spy to Hold—Book Two, available now
His Spy at Night—Book Three, available now
Her Spy at Dawn—Book Four, coming February 2017
Broken Hearts series:
I’ll Love You Forever—Book One, available now
Book Two—TBA
Book Three—TBA
From Tule Publishing:
Her Montana Love
From Entangled Publishing:
Her Secret, His Surprise
Desire by Design
Read on for excerpts from Her Spy to Have, Garrett and Isabelle’s story in Book One, and Her Spy to Hold, Kale and Irina’s story in Book Two.
Excerpt from
Her Spy to Have
Garrett and Isabelle’s story
by Paula Altenburg
“Why do you do this?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Follow me around. Look at me as if you find me fascinating. Touch me, and say nice things to me. And then, you pull away as if you did nothing at all.” She gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve already agreed to tell you everything I know. There’s no need for these games.”
He didn’t deny it, as she’d expected him to. He didn’t look sorry for it, either. He raked fingers through his sun-streaked hair, spiking it in the front. He looked like an older version of Kiefer, but much sexier.
And far more dangerous to her peace of mind.
“I do it because I can’t help it,” he confessed. His eyes glittered. “You seem to bring out the worst in me.”
She could say the same about what he did to her. She’d never had a problem with insecurity, or of second-guessing herself, before he came along. All she could do was continue to pretend that he didn’t affect her. That her heart didn’t race when he looked at her that way.
“Do your worst, then,” she said. “One of these days I’m going to call you on it.”
His voice dropped, developing a seductive edge to it that sent a frisson of awareness through her body. “You don’t want to do that.”
She clenched her fingers more tightly together. “No?”
“Absolutely not.” He reached for the door, popping it open. “You might discover I’m not bluffing.”
“Wait a moment.”
He paused, half turning, one foot already on the ground. Amusement—and something more—lit his eyes as they met hers. “You’re calling me on it already?”
Excerpt from
Her Spy to Hold
Kale and Irina’s story
by Paula Altenburg
Irina was cooking dinner when the knock came on her kitchen door.
She froze with the steel butcher knife she’d been using to chop green onions for an omelet suspended in midair. She wasn’t expecting visitors.
She laid the knife on the wooden cutting block, then crossed the kitchen to the two-panel steel side door of her bungalow, the one that led to her carport, and peered through the curtain. All of her doors and windows were locked. The air conditioning took care of the summer heat and humidity.
Thor stood on her doorstep, hulking and blond, and scary.
He wore his hair in a man bun. The wide smile on his lips and the ridiculous courier uniform did nothing to offset the alarming effect of the shiny black eye and the darkening bruise on his forehead.
Adrenaline kicked her heartrate into high gear. She left the chain in place on the inner door, opening it only far enough so she could speak through the crack. The locked screen door added another layer of protection. It wouldn’t stop him if he tried to force his way in, but it would slow him down enough for her to slam the inner door shut and shoot the deadbolt.
“You must have the wrong address. I’m not expecting a delivery.”
“Dr. Irina Glasov? My name is Kale Martin. Detective Buchanan suggested I pay you a visit. He said you’d asked for a meeting.” He fumbled in his shirt pocket for a piece of ID. He flipped it open and held it up.
She couldn’t get a close enough look at it through the screen, not that it mattered. She’d never be able to confirm the legitimacy of it even if she did. Hope warred with suspicion. “Do you mind waiting a few minutes while I give Detective Buchanan a call to confirm it with him?”
The giant didn’t take offense to her caution. “Not at all.”
She left him on the doorstep while she dug her cell phone and the business card Detective Buchanan had given her out of her purse. She punched in the number.
As it turned out, the detective had, indeed, asked Mr. Martin to stop by. The description he gave her matched the man at the door, right down to the black eye, courier uniform, and running shoes, but Irina continued to hesitate even after she disconnected the call. While this seemed a little elaborate for a hoax, whoever had managed to hack into her computer wasn’t trying to be subtle. The implicit threat had been frightening.
She wished she were taller and more assertive. A self-defense course wouldn’t have been remiss, either. She’d let Mr. Martin in, but she’d stand at the counter so she’d have the butcher knife close at hand. She’d never be able to use it on anyone, but he didn’t need to know that.
She slid back the chain and unlocked the screen door. She didn’t open it but retreated to the counter, leaving him to let himself in.
The Norse god stepped over the threshold, his sheer size swallowing what she’d considered a spacious kitchen. If he lifted his hand above his head he could plant his palm on the ceiling. Fine gold hairs sprinkled tanned calves and forearms. Bulging biceps and broad pectoral muscles strained the seams of the gray cotton, short-sleeved shirt. Faint blond scruff, caught in the light from the bay window, stubbled his jaw.
The guy was beautiful. She had a difficult time believing he was an intelligence officer. Weren’t they supposed to blend in?
The only place he’d go unnoticed was Asgard.
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