Spy for Hire (For Hire)

by Cat Johnson

  “Hello, love.” I strode forward, cupped her face and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth.

  Zane must have walked over and relieved Chelsea of the plastic cup filled with pulverized grass clippings or whatever it was.

  When her hands were free, she wrapped her arms around me. Deepening the kiss, she moaned against my mouth.

  Sanity returned momentarily. I broke the kiss, and turned my head. With my chin wresting on Chelsea’s head as she buried her face in my neck, I got a glance at Zane’s amused expression as he sipped on his straw.

  Still entangled in Chelsea’s embrace and in no hurry to extricate myself, I said, “I want the job.”

  He grinned. “I had a feeling you might.”

  EPILOGUE

  I stood outside the GAPS office and surveyed what I had with me.

  Flowers. Champagne. I patted my pocket—ring.

  My heart pounded as I juggled the two larger items into one hand and reached for the doorknob with the other.

  Chelsea glanced up from her desk. “Hi. I didn’t know you were stopping by. I don’t get off for another hour. I thought I was just going to meet you at home. There’s dinner in the slow cooker.”

  “I know.”

  She’d gotten very domestic recently. We both had.

  “What’s this?” Her gaze dropped to what I held. She looked hopeful it might be for her.

  Silly girl. Who else would I bring flowers to? Since she’d already seen them, the flowers wouldn’t be a surprise, but the other part of my plan would be.

  I strode forward and put the bottle and the bouquet down on her desk. She glanced at them and back up to me.

  Drawing her close, I ran my hands down her arms until I reached her fingers, then I laced mine through hers.

  “Do you know what today is?” I asked.

  A wrinkle creased her brow as she shook her head.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. It’s not your birthday or something. Is it? I thought that was in May.”

  “It’s not my birthday. It’s exactly one year since I walked in that door for the very first time and asked you if Zane was here. And when he wasn’t—”

  “You said I’d do nicely instead, drove me home, dressed me in an insane outfit consisting of nothing but a bra and my good suit and brought me to a party at the British embassy.”

  I smiled. “You looked great in that suit and you know it.”

  She pursed her lips. “I can’t believe that was a year ago. And I can’t believe you remembered the date.”

  “Of course, I remembered.” I’d never forget the first time I laid eyes on Chelsea. The first time we made love.

  She made quite an impression.

  That night had led to us being here now and me doing what I was about to do.

  Clearing my throat, I dropped my hold on her hands and reached into my pocket. After drawing out the ring, I dropped down on one knee. I looked up and saw the shock in her expression.

  She pressed her hands over her mouth as I said, “Chelsea Bridges, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  I ignored the tears spilling out of her eyes as she nodded so hard a tendril of hair fell across her eye.

  With a smile, I stood and tucked that piece of hair behind her ear.

  “Is that a yes?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I slipped the ring onto her finger as the tears continued to flow. I pulled her against me and kissed her anyway.

  The door opened, interrupting us, and I turned to see Zane. He paused in the doorway, his gaze moving between the openly weeping Chelsea and me.

  “Everything all right here?” he asked, ever diplomatic.

  “Everything is brilliant.” I grinned as Chelsea thrust her left hand out.

  Zane’s gaze dropped to the diamond.

  “Well, holy shit. Congratulations.” He walked to us, kissing Chelsea on the cheek and then reaching out to shake my hand. “I believe this calls for the bottle.”

  I laughed. “I do believe it does.”

  He paused and looked to Chelsea. “You’re not going to quit on me after you’re married. Are you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I promise.”

  Zane nodded. “All right then.”

  I pulled her close again. “I am completely in love with you.”

  “And I love you.” She glanced down at the ring and then frowned. “Is this . . .”

  “The ring you wore at the embassy party the night you were pretending to be my fiancé? Yes.” I cringed. I had figured that since SIS had already paid for it and I’d conveniently forgotten to return it when I left, why waste it? Now I was second-guessing that decision. “Is that a problem? I’m a wanker. I shouldn’t have given that one to you. I should buy a new one—”

  “No. I want this one.” She pulled her hand away, hiding the ring from me with her other hand possessively. “It’s been with us from the very beginning. It’s perfect.”

  “No. You’re perfect.” I closed in for another kiss, this one a bit more passionate than the last. We were up against her desk, me between her spread thighs, my hand on her bum, when I heard Zane clearing his throat behind me.

  I ignored the interruption. He’d have to get used to this. I had a feeling this would be the first of many times I’d indulge myself with Chelsea in this office. Especially once she was my wife.

  Wife. It was a huge step . . . and I was as excited about the prospect as I was frightened to my core.

  I pulled away and turned to Zane. “I think I need that drink now.”

  He let out a snort. “Believe me, after that display, so do I. And we have something else to celebrate too." Zane tossed a newspaper onto the desk.

  I scanned the bold headline, something about a company I wasn't familiar with declaring bankruptcy. I glanced up at him, not understanding the significance.

  "That's the corporation that owns both Angel Escorts and Sanctuary."

  Chelsea gasped as I blew out a shocked laugh.

  Zane continued, "With all the shady dealings they were involved in, it turns out it was their misuse of customers' personal data that ended up shutting them down. They got fined so heavily for breaking the new data protection laws in the EU it drove them out of business."

  "Definitely something to celebrate," I agreed.

  Grinning, I pulled Chelsea close. It really had been one hell of a year.

  If you love hot alpha heroes like Tristan and sassy heroines like Chelsea, check out

  Hot SEAL, Dirty Martini

  a SEALs in Paradise standalone

  He wants seclusion. She craves the spotlight. The deal they make could give them both what they need...if they don’t kill each other first. Home renovation has never been so hot!

  Navy SEAL Clay "Dirtman" Hagan's retirement plans are simple. Buy the dilapidated beachfront cottage he found listed for a song, fix it up, and live out his days in solitude. Everything is set until an anonymous bidder starts driving up the price of his future dream home.

  TV talk show host Tasha Jones is flying high, until one word—CANCELED—sends her crashing down. Now she's looking to resurrect her career with a new home renovation show, if she can get around the obnoxious buyer standing between her and the perfect property.

  When her competition turns out to be none other then the a-hole from her embarrassing drunken one-night stand, the battle for the property really heats up as the insults—and the sparks—fly. Her agent notices the chemistry between them and decides the viewers will too, and the concept for "Hot House" is born.

  If Clay agrees to have the self-centered star and her cameras in his bungalow for the duration of the show, he gets to walk away with the property free and clear in the end. If Tasha can put up with living in the house with the Neanderthal control-freak during the construction, she gets a hit show and her career back.

  It shouldn't be hard since the director loves when they argue on camera, which is good since they agree on nothing. Well, almost nothing. They do bot
h agree that they pretty much hate each other and neither one wants a repeat of their one night together . . . So why does it keep happening?

  One-click Hot SEAL, Dirty Martini

  Read more about Zane and his SEAL friends today!

  HOT SEALS

  Night with a SEAL *FREE* (Jon)

  Saved by a SEAL (Zane)

  SEALed at Midnight (Thom)

  Kissed by a SEAL (Chris)

  Protected by a SEAL (Rick)

  Loved by a SEAL (Brody)

  Tempted by a SEAL (Mack)

  Wed to a SEAL (Rocky)

  Romanced by a SEAL (Jon & Ali)

  Rescued by a Hot SEAL (Grant)

  Betting on a Hot SEAL (Craig)

  Escape with a Hot SEAL (Thom & Ginny)

  Matched with a Hot SEAL (Will)

  SEAL the Deal (Zane & Missy)

  Want more sexy, action-adventure romance featuring Tristan, Zane and Brent?

  Read Brent’s story today in

  Billionaire for Hire

  BILLIONAIRE FOR HIRE

  A For Hire Standalone Novel

  "I owe you one."

  I didn’t realize when I said that to my Navy SEAL buddy he’d actually collect on the debt. Or that it could cost me my life.

  I'm Brent Hearst, for God's sake. A member of the one percent. As in old family money. Yet somehow I'm standing here, smiling while there’s a gun strapped to my leg ruining the line of my Italian suit.

  But my real issue isn’t with that gun. Oh, no. It’s my other weapon I can’t control when I’m around the sexy-as-sin brunette who might or might not be a spy. It seems I don’t care which while I’ve got her against the wall with my hand fisted in her hair.

  Oh, and while I figure out if I’ve been sleeping with the enemy, I’ve also got to keep us both from being killed by a couple of gun-toting Russians.

  No problem.

  Read Billionaire for Hire today!

  Billionaire for Hire is a standalone, full-length romance novel with an HEA and NO cliffhanger, and it features appearances by Tristan and Zane! Billionaire for Hire is part of the Hot SEALs spin-off, the For Hire series, but you do not need to read any of the books in either series to enjoy this one.

  BILLIONAIRE FOR HIRE

  EXCERPT

  I remained inside the elevator. Turning away from the open door and the yawning cavern of darkness it had revealed, I faced her. “Where are we?”

  “The theater level.”

  The space looked completely deserted, dark except for a few scattered security lights that cast an eerie red glow.

  Ignoring everything that told me we shouldn’t be here, Alex exited the elevator, leaving me still standing inside wondering what to do next.

  She reached back and pulled me by the hand. “Come on.”

  Nothing about this felt right.

  Maybe if I didn’t suspect her, then yeah, fine, I’d be all over doing the nasty in the deserted theater while the party goers continued unaware floors above us.

  But given what I knew from Zane, this felt more like a good place to be murdered than a place for getting naughty.

  Zane.

  I realized I wasn’t alone. I could tell him where I was if the comm worked all the way down here. Did it?

  I decided to find out. “This T-Level you brought us down to is pretty deep underground. I mean we’re two floors beneath the main lobby level. I wonder if there’s even any cell signal all the way down here.”

  I threw as many hints in Zane’s direction as I thought I could get away with.

  “I copy.” For once, Zane’s voice in my ear was welcome, until Alex narrowed her eyes and glared at me.

  She held out her hand palm up. “You can just hand over that comm right now.”

  My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  What the hell? How did she know? And who the hell was she that she was talking more like one of Zane’s covert operatives than a college student or a volunteer?

  “That communicator in your ear. I figure you got it from your friend Zane Alexander. It looks like something a SEAL turned mercenary would use.”

  “Fu—why does everyone think I’m a fucking mercenary?” Zane’s voice came through loud and annoyed.

  He was bothered by that?

  How about the fact I was alone and in a very precarious situation with a woman who was starting to scare me and was now about to take my communicator so I’d be cut off from my only support?

  “Zane’s just a friend. We went to school together . . . and he’s not a mercenary.” I threw him that bone, hoping he’d be satisfied and concentrate on getting me out of this situation instead of obsessing over semantics.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But that still leaves the question of who you are and who you’re working for.” Apparently tired of waiting for me to turn over the comm, Alex took a step closer. “Give it or I’ll take it.”

  I was starting to get pissed.

  Who could blame me? This was turning into the worst date of my life.

  I’d probably end up dead and buried beneath the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Sculpture Garden if the hate-filled glare Alex had leveled on me was any indication, but I didn’t give in.

  Folding my arms across my chest, I said, “No.”

  “Fine, have it your way.”

  A step, a reach, a twist and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me, gasping for breath as Alex straddled me.

  She poked a finger into my ear none too gently. With satisfaction she held up the comm, peering at it by the glow of the exit sign.

  “It is a nice piece of equipment, I’ll admit. Too bad I have to do this.”

  Still sitting on me, she took off one shoe, put the comm on the floor and smashed it.

  I watched in shock, unable to stop her. “What are you doing?”

  “Disabling your means of communication with your friend.” With the deadly looking heel still clutched in her hand and poised above my eye, she said, “Tell me who you work for and what your assignment is.”

  She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it. Could she? Kill me with a high heel?

  Was it even possible? Even if I didn’t die, I had no doubt she could blind me with that thing.

  Did her wielding the heel at me mean she didn’t have another weapon? Did she not have a gun on her?

  That thought made me brave and I said, “How about you tell me who you work for.”

  She lifted a brow and I wondered if my bravado had impressed her or if she was just thinking I was an idiot who deserved to die.

  The sound of the elevator rumbling to a stop and the door opening sent both of our heads swiveling in that direction.

  I didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried when a man stepped off the elevator, gun first.

  “Another one?” She sighed. “Who the fuck are you?”

  It was my turn to wonder if she was brave or stupid. After all, she was the one bringing a shoe to a gunfight.

  “I do fancy hearing a naughty word from the lips of a beautiful female now and again. Don’t you, Brent?”

  The man with the accent that made him sound like British royalty knew my name?

  “Yes. Usually.” I answered his question, though chances were good it had been purely rhetorical.

  He had to be my backup, but where the hell had Zane found this guy?

  In an obviously bespoke suit that fit him like a glove and with a face that was made for modeling, he looked more like he’d stepped out of GQ Magazine than the GI ranks . . .Well, except for the gun, of course.

  I didn’t know who he was but boy was I glad to see him and his gun.

  “MI6?” Alex asked.

  I frowned at her question to the man. MI6? Like James Bond?

  The stranger smiled. “That obvious?”

  “Sorry to blow up your delusions, but yeah. It is.” She shrugged.

  How come I seemed to be the only one in the dark here? Feeling clueless was getting annoying. And how was Alex
so calm with a gun pointed at her?

  “Now, let me guess what you are, Alexandra. I’d put money on KGB, if I were a betting man.”

  “KGB?” To my horror, my voice squeaked.

  She laughed still looking at him while sitting on me. “Your age is showing. The KGB was replaced by the FSB in 1991.”

  I noted she never denied his accusation. But she also didn’t confirm it. How stupid was I that her omission gave me hope?

  “What can I say? I’m old school.” The stranger shrugged. “How about you stand up and put your shoe back on—it’s lovely by the way. Louboutin?”

  “Good eye,” she replied.

  Her fucking shoes were Christian Louboutin? I knew enough to know that with what those things cost, there was no way she was a struggling college student living off her parents. Not that there could be any doubt left in my mind about that now.

  Meanwhile the surreal banter between the British spy and the possible Russian one continued, as if I weren’t even here.

  “Thank you.” The man nodded. “Now, why don’t you get off my friend there?”

  Finally, someone remembered my existence.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” She shook her head. “And I wouldn’t worry about my deadly shoe, if I were you.”

  “Because of the gun in your leg holster?” he asked. “Don’t look so surprised, Alexandra. I can see the bulge through your pants from here. That fabric is much too thin to hide a weapon. You must choose better.”

  “MI6 training you guys in fashion nowadays?” she asked.

  “Just a hobby. Beautiful women in beautiful clothes are a passion of mine.”

  This conversation would have been entertaining on the big screen accompanied by hot buttered movie popcorn. But from my position on the floor of MoMA’s underground theater, I didn’t find it amusing.

  On top of it all, I was getting pretty damn tired of being bested physically by a woman. Call me chauvinistic. In light of this newest turn of events I didn’t care.