Kitt retrieved the novels and made a new pile. “What matters is I’m here, with you, and—” he glanced at the titles, all spy novels: The Day of the Jackal, Eye of the Needle, Where Eagles Dare. “Was this your research?”
“Of course not. They belong to the new tenant.”
“Felix isn’t the new tenant?”
The dog put his head on Mae’s thigh. “No,” she said, absently rubbing soft fur. “If our only safe option was to go on as we were, I thought restoring the rear pantry staircase between downstairs and up made sense. The staircase is quite narrow, but it is hidden. You simply press a panel beside the washer. Think of all the fun you’ll have creeping down the back stairs to my pea-sized bed.”
“You’re moving in downstairs?”
“And you’re staying where you were.”
“My, aren’t you clever.”
“Yes, clever enough to be a spy.”
“Let’s not get full of ourselves, Mae.”
With a laugh, Mae picked Alistair MacLean’s Puppet on a Chain from the pile of books and drew out the postcard she’d used to bookmark a page. “No one’s ever given me a Valentine before.” She gave an amused airy chuckle and held it out to him.
All in soft pastels, the postcard showed a Victorian-era gentleman on one knee before a woman, her hand in his. It was sappy and sweet and Kitt was surprised. “Why did you keep this one, but not the others?”
“You’re alive this time, and hope has a strange way of making one hold on to silly things.” She tapped the picture. “Is this supposed to be you with the moustache and me with the rather ample bosom?”
“That was the idea. I picked the soppiest, most saccharine Valentine I could find so you could mock me and I could revel in that mocking.”
She knocked away another tear. “You succeeded.”
“Not quite.”
Mae gazed at him flatly. “Have I not mocked you since you arrived, am I not mocking you still?”
“Indeed, you are, you’ve done nothing but mock me since I got here. Shall I propose again, so that there’s no confusion about my intention, so that you know I am serious about our very long engagement?”
“I’ve been thinking about that.”
“I’m aware there are a few things that need to be sorted.”
“Such as a ring.”
“I have a ring.”
“Let me see it.”
“You’ve seen it. You’ve worn it.”
“I gave it back to you and you gave it to Simon, didn’t you?”
His head slanted to one side. “I’d very much like to take you to bed to continue this, but there is no bed and the place is full of tradesmen, dogs, and obedience trainers.”
“I have an idea,” she said.
“I have several,” he said and door buzzed again. Felix scrambled off the window seat and ran about, barking. Kitt swore, strode across the room and yanked open the door, ready to give Bryce a blast, but a man built like a welterweight boxer stood on the other side of the threshold, a suitcase in his hand.
A tinge of pepper sprinkled the salt of thinning hair, and the man regarded him, a small smile, a crease in his brow, and narrowed, very blue eyes casting immediate judgment. He set down the suitcase. “You’re the killer,” he said.
“You’re the priest.” Kitt stared at a man whose brow-line and nose bore a resemblance to the woman behind him.
Very blue eyes flicked over Kitt’s shoulder. “Keep that humpin’ canine away from me.”
Kitt half turned. Mae stood behind him, Felix in her arms. “Your new tenant, Mrs Valentine?”
Padre Sean Vincenzo had a boxer’s cauliflower ear and an Irish lilt, the kind his sister had when she was angry. “I’m here for your confession, Major Kitt.”
“I’m not Catholic,” Kitt said.
“She is.” The padre squinted. “And if I’m to marry ya, ya best be convertin’ for her.”
“What?” Kitt squinted back. And then he understood. He turned to Mae and watched her set Felix on his feet. “Yes, yes, you’re very clever.”
“No, she’s not. It may not be a legal marriage,” Padre Sean muttered, pushing the sniffing dog away from his leg, “but it was my idea.’
Mae ignored her brother’s grumbling and looked up at a slightly crooked nose and blue-grey eyes, at features that were cold and ugly and warm and beautiful, at a man bound by a lethal profession, at a man she loved. Life, however they lived it, would always sit beneath a shadow, but there was no sense in not being together any way they could. She took his hand and kissed two truncated, stubby fingers. “Are you afraid, Hamish?”
Kitt’s mouth quirked ever so slightly. “My love, I’m terrified.”
“I’m not,” she said.
Acknowledgements
I am ridiculously grateful to Ainslie Paton for her patient hand-holding, video-making skills, sharp eye, and kindness to me when she should have been focusing on her own writing. There would be no book without Rebekah Turner’s amazing patience, coffee-drinking, and graphic design skills. Thank you to my editor and tall little love Belinda Holmes and her little love Charlie. Every blessing on earth to Anne-Marie Scoones for wanting to read and finding a ‘Kiss in Kitt.’ My gratitude to dear reader Susan Garbanzo is overwhelming and I am thrilled she likes the book as much as the last. Thank you to my beta readers Lily Malone, Cindy Siverly Hollabaugh, Ann Cleary, and Annette Christianson. Love and thanks to Elle Gardner for wanting more of Kitt and Mae, to Lisa Barry who was so excited that there was going be more Kitt and Mae. I am indebted to Megan Whalen Turner—who knew where all the serialised high school fan fiction and adventure stories would lead?
I am forever beholden to my big, bearded Sicilian husband, who supports and encourages me, and finally read one of my books—and loved it nearly as much as he loves me.
About the Author
All my books present women over the age of forty as lead characters. I am so interested in dispelling the myths and ‘Hollywood’ stereotypes of older women you often see (or don’t see) in fiction and film I did a doctorate on the subject! You can call me Dr Sandra.
Although I live in Australia, please note I use both UK and US English spelling depending on the characters and setting of the book. My US-based novels, A Basic Renovation, For Your Eyes Only, Driving in Neutral, and Next to You, are romantic comedies and romantic-comedy-mysteries published through Escape, a Harper Collins imprint. My UK-set books that are part of the In Service series, At Your Service, Your Sterling Service, are cosy and gritty romantic spy mystery-thrillers.
All my books are available via www.sandraantonelli.com.
I am not the fastest writer, but I aim to have True to Your Service, the third and final book in the In Service series, ready for publication in 2020.
Did you love Forever in Your Service? Then you should read Your Sterling Service by Sandra Antonelli!
A widowed former butler.
A disagreeable spy.
A tray of tempting baked goods.
Trapped in his new home by a healing serious injury that could end his career, Major Kitt's more surly than usual, and his moodiness doesn't shift when his landlady drops by expecting a favour.
Mae Valentine knows her new tenant is a tad mysterious—turns out he's also a bit of a prick. She's of half a mind to turn around with the Chelsea buns she baked, but that would be impolite.
It's clear neither one of them suffer fools. Soon, these two professionals find surprising common ground, a service arrangement that suits them both, and changes their lives forever.
Also by Sandra Antonelli
An In Service short story
Your Sterling Service
In Service book 2
Forever in Your Service
Standalone
At Your Service
Forever in Your Service Page 32
