Spying With Sir

by Judy Jarvie

  Hell, I’m considering resigning, and Dan is looking for me before he quits my life for good.

  Trouble is—this uptight, frustrated, afraid feeling that’s whirling inside me right now tells me exactly what the problem is here and it’s me. It’s not any of them at all.

  I know what this is about. It’s about me being too afraid to speak out. To say what I want and need. I’ve shut those things out since my family walked out of one life and invented another—shut it out for so very long in life it’s become second nature.

  And I grew afraid to hope for better. Do I risk asking for what I want? Do I push through the fear?

  And reach out and give it a try—for the first time in my life since all the secrets started.

  * * * *

  I’ve pulled my ethical socks up and patched together my esteem enough to put Santorini behind me and go into work.

  And pretty soon—within a few hours—my day feels back to normal. Had Dan really caused such a huge dent in my heart at all?

  And as it turns out by the end of the morning I’m in for a surprise.

  “Kate, visitor waiting for you,” says Nancy on reception.

  My pulse hammers and nerves kick off like an Olympian doing a kick-boxing star turn in my stomach.

  “Who is it?” I say into the line, but Nancy’s already gone. I speed down there with emotions in a tight ball of trepidation. Is it Dan? What is he going to say when we lock gazes?

  The realization that I now want the doors to open and it be Dan hits me like a cricket ball from a top world class batsman with a grudge to settle. I’m almost spitting out teeth. The doors slide apart and I hear them before I see them.

  “Kate—it’s us.”

  I try to mask my disappointment with the genuinely pleased reaction of seeing Havana and Rocco in normal ‘human’ clothes and no guns. They’re holding hands and both wear matching leathers that are so past cool and sexy it hurts. They’ll make beautiful badass babies together. I honestly hope they do.

  “Great to see you, but what are you doing here?” I ask, hugging each in turn.

  “London seemed as good a place as any for buying jewelry and exploring,” Havana tells me, raising their joined hands to show off her brilliant, sizeable diamond, shining with a thudding zonk. “Just engaged and we wanted to see you. Heard from Dan lately? Happen to know he’s in London.”

  I shake my head. “No. Not seen him.”

  Havana’s disappointment shows on her face. “Shame. Look, I never got a chance to properly thank you so much for saving my life with the bullet op. I so wanted to repay your kindness.” Havana removes an envelope from her bag.

  I open it and inside is a travel voucher for a great deal of money.

  “I can’t. It’s way too much.”

  “It’s from Interpol and all of us. After what we put you through, you need a holiday. You deserve one. Redman says you did not pick up your dues—said I’d deliver in person.”

  I really try my best not to let go of the tears that are now, much against my better judgment, clouding my eyes.

  “We’re planning to get married. We want to invite you to the wedding. Not sure if you’ll wanna come. Dan’s best man. Three months’ time in NYC. How about it? Use your voucher for the flight if you fancy, too? Figured we’d pre-empt your excuses.”

  I feel my heart shudder and quake, but do my best to keep control. It’s at the thought of meeting the gang again under happy circumstances. The thought of trying to break through this ice face with Dan would finish me.

  “By the way, expect to get a visit from Warbie soon. He’s not letting you escape his fag hag clutches that easily. He’s coming to London in a month or two.”

  Why are Interpol flocking to London all of a sudden?

  “I can teach him how to cook better.”

  Hav laughs. “Maybe he should teach you better self-defense moves. Don’t cry, Katie. We love you. Only question now is, do you love yourself enough to take action?”

  I blot the tears that are flowing. I don’t say a word. I can’t. The ability to talk is hampered by the emotion that holds my throat captive. I simply hug Havana, then Rocco and let the tears fall.

  “Your dad was a bastard. But those days are over, and it can have a happy ending without anybody having a guilty conscience. Maybe you and Dan both need a lesson in that. As in a big lesson—with guns to your head. Maybe a lot of knocking sense into you both with force too. You feel me?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kate

  The whole place has done nothing but talk about my life-threatening experience and mega story since my return—none have mentioned Dan’s role and hero status. His presence at Your News Today has been more of a whimper than a fanfare.

  Okay, his time with the company has been brief as well as fake. Now I’m back, Mel has had a meteoric rise to Channel Exec Director. Tonight there is a brief tribute party from the Your News Today guys, scheduled at a local inn. Free drinks, a buffet and goodbyes meets new pastures congrats.

  At least Archie’s bedroom extension financials will no longer be a concern and future female reporters won’t be sent on faked jobs against their will.

  “Coming for a quickie?” says Mel, grabbing her bag. “C’mon—you could do with a breather.”

  “I just want to finish making these arrangements for these jobs,” I lie. It’s seven o’clock at night. Chances are, most of the people I need to contact on my list won’t be around at seven on a Friday.

  But, I just feel weird knowing that any minute the man I had a big fling with will be arriving at the favorite journos pub two streets away. Mel told me she’s invited him and he agreed to come. Dan’s on my turf—due to walk into the pub where I’ve popped in once a week, every week for a baked potato and salad, or sometimes extreme loaded nachos.

  “Well—make sure you don’t disappear. I’ll call you on your mobile if you don’t show,” says Mel. “If you’ve not turned up in half an hour. Boxing gloves.”

  Seeing Dan is a no-no because I just can’t face it. My heart would be too squeezed—my conscience would smart too, but he really does have an effect on me and we’ve said enough already.

  I’m an experienced TV news journalist. I rarely make big gaffes. I’ve done assorted jobs, many places in most conditions. I know the unwritten codes, the pitfalls, the things to avoid. Yet, in the last few days, I’ve made more balls-ups than ever. I am losing touch. Since Santorini I’ve lost my edge. Perhaps the time has come to call it a day?

  I rise to leave and go home, when the office lights go out. Pitch black surrounds me, and if it weren’t for the streetlights through the windows, I’d be seriously stuck to walk out.

  I’m feeling freaked at suddenly being in darkness. It transports me to Santorini—the surveillance room. The only lights were from monitors…

  “Anybody there?” The Friday crowd have fled. I scan the office, craning to see round the pillar by my desk. A lamp light flicks on, from the desk nearby. I know exactly who’s in here with me.

  Black ops. His favorite brand.

  “I’m here. Taking direct action.”

  Dan’s not in action gear. He’s in a black cashmere coat. Black shiny shoes. Black expression too.

  “You scared me,” I say on a long breath. “You always do.”

  “You willfully ignored me. Though I might have guessed you’d be the only one here while everyone else is in the pub having a life. Hope you weren’t expecting to stand me up at the Mel gathering. Not when I only arranged it to see you again. I happened to give a glowing reference to all of the team on their conduct with this operation. Might’ve encouraged strings to be pulled.”

  Of course. It’s Dan. Of course he’d do that. Even for Mel. Why didn’t I guess? He walks over and tugs me out of the seat.

  His lips are on mine. Ravishing them, tasting them. Biting them, punishing me for being out of his life for this long, and I find that everything inside me melts and pleads for forgiveness.
/>   “Apologize.”

  “Sorry,” I breathe.

  “Sorry who?”

  “Sorry, Sir.”

  “Good girl. Some things never change.”

  This man, this is what counts. This is what matters.

  And I’ve been a fool not to see, and admit to wanting everything I know he has and will give to me willingly, if I only have the guts to ask and make myself vulnerable. Can I do that?

  “All this time I’ve been lying to myself, like I did with Dad. He doesn’t matter. Said it so long I believed it,” I say. My head falls against his chin. “But you count and no matter how much I tell myself that I can’t make it stick.”

  There I’ve said it.

  And suddenly I feel weak with relief.

  “I love you like nothing else on earth, and there’s no way we’re screwing up this chance, honey,” he whispers.

  * * * *

  Dan

  I’m carrying her abandoned beauty bag. Such was her haste she left it, Cinders-leaving-the-ball-style. I lay it down like the Crown Jewels come home.

  “A great agent always finishes the job.”

  She smiles at me. Coquettish to the core. “Thought taking out bad guys and sending them to jail for a long time was your remit. Not cosmetics logistics.”

  “I multitask very well. Try me.”

  She grins. “I’ve been privy to your bedroom skills. I can attest it’s true.”

  I smile at her dirty thoughts track. “Ditto, babe. In fact I’m here because it’s been rather too long without those particular talents in my life.”

  “But I thought you had a harem of ‘hard therapy’ girls that keep you right.”

  “Not quite the same after you’ve had a Joseph epiphany. Once tasted never forgotten. Pretty hard to recover from. I’m a goner.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” she says softly. So I tug her to me, with fingers on her hip bones. I stare deep into eyes that have had me bewitched since she glared at me at Manic Mambo and dared me to contradict her bravado.

  Full of fight.

  My favorite kind.

  “My dad is putting whatever luxury hotel we wish for at our exclusive disposal. That’s a lot of five-star bedrooms to try.”

  This girl deserves it. She’s way more special than she knows. I intend to make it my mission to prove that to her so she’ll never forget. Ever.

  “You’re something.”

  “I know I am. I have a bad addiction to your provocative ways. I always deliver on promises, and now my mission is complete.” I say then turn as if to go. It’s just for effect. I don’t intend to leave her, ever. But I’m unsure about what’s going on. “Coming to the party? Hav and Rocco are doing martial arts demos to rap music. Quite a sight.”

  Kate watches me walk toward the door. “Maybe I’m not in the party mood…you come in here and flirt and kiss me and walk away?”

  “The only person who can do something about that is you. You reckon you have me all worked out. So what does Kate need?”

  She lets out a long breath with her head tipped back, then pauses. “The trouble with me is rejection preys on old wounds. Being rejected by men is just a pattern I can’t shake. I’m scared we’ll be just the same. When you tire of me.”

  “You’re really getting this one mixed up, and anyway, lots of us have rejection issues. You didn’t do anything wrong, Katie. Ever. In fact you put the Dad thing right in a way nobody else could.”

  “I wasn’t enough. I’m never enough.”

  “You’re perfect and perfectly imperfect. I adore you and if it means saying goodbye to the job and taking time out for us—I’m there. Mission started.”

  She’s crying. So I tug her close and let her get it out. I make Katie sit on my knee as I rub her back to comfort her.

  “Donaldson was a very clever man. He’s evaded multiple attempts to trap him. You can’t go around blaming yourself for things that didn’t happen the way you think. I also need to tell you something about misplaced guilt…it’s a topic I’m somewhat experienced in myself.”

  She stares at me with those big pool deep eyes that get me in the gut.

  “I spoke to Nat’s sister. Nat was my partner—killed in action. I’ve spent way too long wishing I’d taken the bullet, not him. I blamed myself, I blamed everybody. It even got me to believing I wasn’t worth shit. You showed me otherwise—I let a part of me die with him. But I’m alive—and I want to enjoy all that life brings. It’s brought me you.”

  Kate’s eyes lift to mine and hold for a brief, searing second before she looks away, my own wounded and shattered heart is racing butterfly circuits around my chest.

  “We have us and that’s pretty huge. If we learned nothing more in Santorini, it’s that. You have to take your chance and just stop with the buts.” The proximity of this warm, vital, eager woman who loves me, and who after all these weeks still admits she feels something is a massive realization. “What else is there to think or panic about, Katie?”

  The lights flicker back on eerily. Somewhere a cleaning lady whistles Bruce Springsteen’s Dancing in the Dark and we laugh. “Somebody’s tampering with my plans,” I say, then I reach out to trace her face, from temple to jaw line. “If it takes a boring desk job to prove I’m serious, so be it. The memories of you kept haunting me and I couldn’t stay away.” I fix her gaze steady. “Most importantly, have you missed me?”

  Kate blows out a long, ragged breath. “I guess.”

  So I push it further yet. “I’m glad you missed me—I plan on being around all the time.”

  She kisses me, and this time it a proper kiss. The kind I’ve missed. The type that makes my cock spring to attention and feel like warm liquid is being poured into me from the toes up.

  “Future? Yes or a no?”

  “Give a girl a New York minute.”

  A face Kate recognizes appears around the door of her office.

  “Warbie! Wherever have you been hiding?”

  She leaves me to hug him like a long lost brother. Which kinda makes me pissed—I’m the hero, right?

  “Been at the party. C’mon, guys, you need to get there before all my appetizers are gone. I’ve so gone to town—satays, wontons and my own invention, the bruschetta bonanza.” He catches my eye. “Wanted to know what she said’s why I’m here?”

  “She hasn’t said yes yet,” I say.

  Kate smiles at us both. “It’s a yes. Of course it’s a yes, you guys.”

  I grin at her then at Warbie. “Why would she resist this much awesome?”

  Warbie adds, “Awesome. Erotically matched and set to drive one another crazy from dawn ‘til dusk.”

  She loops her hand around me and kisses my pride better. “Maybe I like his kinda crazy dawn ‘til dusk.”

  “Counting down already, honey,” I growl cupping her rear with a very happy, claiming hand. “You’ve so got it coming, d’you feel me?”

  She grins. Then nods. “Every which way, then some.”

  Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

  Sassy with Sir: Scoring with Sir

  Judy Jarvie

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  “Dis me and you’re roadkill.”

  “You and whose skankwad army, loserboy?”

  It’s a gray Monday morning and I can’t miss the yelled swearing across the school car park. My iPhone’s Bruno Mars megamix can’t sweeten the F-bomb napalm by the third years at the tennis courts. I long to flee but I still have hours of teaching torture ahead.

  Today will herald a watershed in my life. Because I—Izzy Tennant, English teacher at Netherfield Secondary School in Barnet, North London—have a secret. Over the years, I’ve hidden the real me behind the mask of an oh-so-nice and proper English teacher. But at heart I have dark, private appetites. I may teach the classics of literature to kids that don’t give a stuff by day, but at night I’m an insatiable erotica-holic.

  Little do I realize that my fantasies are about to i
gnite with a man who can liberate these passions.

  This is the story of my journey.

  With he who must be called Sir.

  * * * *

  If David Attenborough studied chavvy North London school kids, instead of mating penguins ice-bonking for hours, he’d explain the brawling teenager ritual. I’ve consumed insufficient coffee to try. I beeline for the school’s back door but the yelling mob turns and charges straight toward me.

  “Is it true, Miss Tennant?” asks Darren Blackwater. He has the name and look of a repugnantly splendid extra in Game of Thrones. One you hope will get impaled before the ad break. From what his mother said at open day he’s no stranger to sticky ends—he gets a little too much solo bedroom exercise and I don’t mean kickboxing his punch-bag.

  “Tell us,” Eddie Childs butts in. “They’re sayin’ ’es comin’ ’ere? We’re askin’ you cos, for a woman and a teacher, you know most about football.”

  I yank out my iPhone earbuds, succeeding in thwacking myself in the teeth. I remember not to swear but shouldn’t bother—none of the pupils pay me such regard.

  “I’ve nothing to impart. And no time at present, boys.”

  But Darren, Small Lord of the Blackwater and perpetrator of much school evil, is not mollified. “Ethan’s brother said we’re gettin’ a new PE teacher and ’e’s famous. Tell us if it’s true, miss.”

  My tooth’s throbbing. I’m more interested in calculating if I’ve brought painkillers or my dentist’s number.

  “I don’t know anything about a new teacher.”

  “Ethan’s bruvver said, miss,” says Darren, “’E ’erd it from Matt Riley. ’Is mum’s a cleaner an’ she reads stuff on the desks. An ex-premier league player as head of phys ed, she says.”

  “If Matt’s mum’s so good at surveillance, who is he?”

  Always answer a challenge with a question. This is my ‘teacher’s gold’ tactic. “Tell Matt Riley he should employ his mother’s reading habits himself if he wants to pass English.”