His Spy at Night (Spy Games Book 3)

by Paula Altenburg

  The latter wasn’t at all a stretch of her acting abilities.

  She didn’t set the glass down but continued to hold it, rolling the stem between her fingers, so he couldn’t top it up until she was ready. She smiled as if sharing a secret. “I make him nervous. He’s afraid I’ll offend someone important because he thinks I ask too many questions.”

  “It must be uncomfortable—to be watched so closely every day.”

  She shrugged. “Harry is Harry. He’s good to work for and he’s generous about introducing me to people, even if he does tend to hover. I don’t like updating his electronic filing system though.” She made a face as she tossed out the lure. “He might as well have taken a bunch of papers and thrown them in a basket. I’ve been sorting unlabeled data for weeks. I have no idea what’s important and what’s not.”

  She’d just let him know she had free access to embassy defense information and very little discretion. The next move was his.

  “Will you be going to the helicopter expo with him?”

  The helicopter expo was an annual international event hosted by the Dutch government and tended to draw the same crowd every year. He’d hardly need Harry’s connections for that. She’d thought he would ask about the Canadian trade mission here for the shipbuilding tours that Harry was hosting.

  “Of course.” The expo was on Harry’s agenda because of the visiting trade commission. Helicopters were used on ships all the time. Planning for landing capabilities at sea would be part of a shipbuilding contract.

  “If you’re serious about advancing your career, I have a few people I can introduce you to. I’d be honored if you’d accompany me to dinner on opening night.”

  She felt his hand on her thigh beneath the table, very briefly. He was testing her to see how she’d respond.

  She set her glass down and allowed him to refill it, then met his gaze. “I’d love to. Thank you. You’re very kind to offer.”

  After that, the conversation switched to non-work-related topics. Bernard might be tight-lipped about his business, but when it came to his personal life he was far more forthcoming. It was easy for Lies to see how he’d attracted the Albanian diplomat’s young wife. Bernard lived a high lifestyle. He owned a sailboat he took out almost every weekend in the summer. He’d white-water-rafted in the Amazon and climbed Kilimanjaro. He’d gone on safari in South Africa several times.

  Other than the sailing, however, he talked very little about his travels within Europe. To Lies, it was a telling omission. She also knew from her research that, despite being Canadian by birth, he steered clear of North American travel completely—at least under his own name. It wasn’t as difficult as it should be for people with the right connections to maintain a number of fake passports. It would never be one hundred percent impossible.

  She enjoyed the rest of the evening. Bernard was an entertaining companion. When she turned down more wine, reminding him she had to bicycle home—it was illegal in the Netherlands to ride a bicycle while intoxicated, a law strictly enforced and she was an embassy employee—he didn’t persist but finished the bottle himself.

  After the better part of two hours had passed, she mentioned how late it was and that she had to work in the morning. He offered to see her home, but he’d had more to drink than she did and his flat was within walking distance, so she declined. Never once, however, did she get the sense he was not in control.

  They parted ways at a street corner. Bernard leaned in as if to kiss her, only to offer the same three perfectly respectable brushes of the cheek they’d shared earlier. It was silly of her to feel so relieved. A kiss was nothing.

  And yet she suspected Harry would disagree. The way he’d kissed her had definitely not been nothing.

  She cycled the long route that led along one of the canals ringing the heart of the old city, taking the extra time to clear her head. She’d learned nothing worth reporting to John at CSIS headquarters in Ottawa, and yet she believed she’d made significant inroads. Bernard would never trust her because he trusted no one, but he could be made to underestimate her.

  Harry was waiting outside of her flat when she finally arrived home. He shouldn’t be here. If he were seen it might be perceived as prearranged.

  Her heart leaped at the sight of him all the same.

  He was an attractive man, dignified and well-dressed, who gave off an aura of quiet but confident authority. The lightweight cotton navy sweater, the relaxed-fit designer jeans, and red chukka boots showed another side to his character and it suited him perfectly—expensive, without being either dated or trendy.

  His dark eyes were always so serious. One had to look closely to discern the tightly-leashed heat in them. Fire scorched over her as his gaze touched her. Bernard’s hand had been on her thigh and yet she’d felt nothing. Certainly not the breathless excitement and confusion Harry caused in her with a mere brush of his eyes. If Bernard’s expectations were raised through a little harmless flirtation, it was all part of the game.

  Harry’s expectations, however…

  She should be more careful. Their flirtations were hardly harmless. This wasn’t the same as the situation with Michael, but she wasn’t convinced her bosses would fully appreciate the difference.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

  “And you should have been home hours ago. I called several times.”

  He sounded like an over-possessive and jealous boyfriend, something she would never have tolerated in any other man, but Harry was playing his part far better than she’d given him credit for. Plus he’d expressed—more than once—a genuine concern for her safety, and for that, she’d give him a pass.

  He held her bicycle while she unlocked the door to the storage garage, then wheeled it inside behind her and tucked it into an empty space on one of the racks. She locked the tire before pocketing the key.

  As she straightened, she and Harry collided. He’d deliberately moved closer so that contact between them would be unavoidable. Her fingers clutched at his sleeve to steady herself. They stared at each other. She held her breath.

  “Can I come up?” he finally asked when the long stretch of silence made it obvious she wasn’t going to extend any invitation.

  She slowly exhaled. They both knew what invariably happened whenever they were alone together. Her conscience nudged her, giving one final warning. Her bosses would never approve.

  What they don’t know won’t hurt them, the daredevil inside her whispered back. It wasn’t as if Harry would kiss and tell. He didn’t have it in him to be anything other than discreet.

  She settled for a compromise. “On the understanding that we aren’t going to talk about my evening,” she warned him. “Or about work at all.” If she allowed him to come to her flat, he didn’t get to accuse her of playing games with him. What happened next would be straightforward.

  This was about sex, plain and simple.

  His face clouded over. He was going to walk away rather than argue the point. His expression said so. Part of her was relieved. Another, bigger, part wasn’t.

  Before disappointment could fully manifest however, he acquiesced. “Fine.”

  He held his palm pressed to the small of her back on the short ride in the lift. His thumb rubbed back and forth over her hip in a discreet but effective gesture that left her uncertain of her legs’ abilities to keep her upright. She couldn’t look at him, whereas he never took his eyes from her face. She felt them on her as plainly as she felt the weight of his hand.

  They were barely inside the door of her flat before he had her pressed against the wall.

  Chapter Eight

  What he was doing was insanity.

  It was also so out of character he could hardly believe it of himself. But Harry had wanted Lies from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her in John Carmichael’s office and he planned to have her. He needed to get her out of his system. Out of his head.

  She wore tight leggings and a loose, sleeveless tunic over a T-shirt
. He lifted the hem of the tunic and tugged it over her head, dropping it to the floor. He took her hips in his hands and her lips with his mouth. Her height meant their pelvises touched, his erection hard on her belly, and he would have loved to take her right there.

  He had to slow things down. This wasn’t going to happen at the door of her flat where anyone happening by could hear them. It was going to be loud and he’d be taking his time. He wasn’t the only one who’d find satisfaction tonight.

  Continuing to kiss her, he hooked his thumbs over the waistband of her leggings and touched naked flesh. She gasped against his lips, arching her back, the feel of the soft mounds of her breasts on his chest impeded by the sweater he wore. Her fingers went to his belt. She unbuckled it, sliding it slowly from the loops of his jeans. It clattered to the tiled floor. Her teeth grazed his lower lip. She drew it into her mouth, the tip of her tongue playing with it. He had his hands inside her leggings, cupping her buttocks, his palms under the thin scrap of her panties, when a problem presented itself. He hadn’t used protection in years.

  “I’m clean,” he said. He’d had himself checked after he found out about Alcine’s affair. “Do I need a condom?”

  “So am I. And no. I’m on the pill.”

  “Bedroom,” he commanded. “Now.”

  She twisted in his arms, catching the buttoned front of his jeans with her fingers as she kicked off her shoes. “This way.”

  She led him down the narrow hall and past the darkened living room where city lights sparkled through the sheer curtains she’d left drawn closed. Her bedroom was small, barely large enough for the queen-sized bed, but right now the bed was all that mattered to him. Soft light from the street spilled into the dimly-lit room. The far wall, facing the building next door, was crafted entirely of heavy, opaque glass panels. Clothing littered the floor and draped off the top of the open closet door. Tidy, she was not. He noticed it all in passing. His primary focus remained on Lies and how beautiful she looked, all lithe-bodied and tousled blond curls.

  She peeled off her T-shirt, revealing delectable breasts encased in a plain white, serviceable bra. The leggings followed. Beneath them were plain white cotton bikinis. His hard-on, straining against the fly of his jeans, throbbed with an even greater insistence. She had not an ounce of self-consciousness, which he hadn’t expected of her anyway, but the lack of frilly, feminine lingerie loosened the tight knot in his chest that had tortured him all evening at the thought of her in bed with another man. Lies might be far different from most women he knew, but in his experience, this wasn’t what one wore if she were planning a seduction. She’d said there was a limit to how far she’d go to gather information and the evidence indicated she meant it.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her hands with her long, naked legs dangling over the side, and watched him undress. Shoes first, then the sweater. When he began to unbutton his jeans she reached out to intervene, catching the backs of his thighs with her heels and pulling him closer to the bed. She worked the zipper, easing its throat carefully down the teeth, then slipped her fingers inside the open fly to close around his length as he sprang free. He hissed a breath through clenched teeth. He shucked out of his jeans and his briefs and kicked them aside. He was totally naked and she had him in her hand, and God, she was so incredibly beautiful as she ran her fist up and down him and teased the backs of his legs with her bare toes.

  She would have taken him in her mouth if he hadn’t stopped her, not that he wanted to, but because he intended for her to enjoy this as much as he did and the night would be over too soon if she did. He was in no hurry. When it came to getting Lies out of his system, he’d do it right.

  He pressed her flat on the bed. Then, he flipped her onto her belly. She still had on her plain panties and bra, which he found oddly exciting, although she wouldn’t be wearing them long. He dipped his fingers beneath the fabric and into her damp heat, first one, then a second, in and out. She moaned encouragement, but not nearly loud enough. The hell with not being overheard. He planned to wake up the neighbors.

  “Do you like that?” he asked, removing his fingers. “Do you want more of it?”

  “Yes.” She lifted her hips, parting her thighs as she did so. “Yes. Don’t stop now. I’m so close.”

  He had to shut his eyes to help him concentrate, to keep from easing his erection inside her instead, because it was still too soon for that. Ego now factored in. There’d be more than one orgasm in this for her. She was going to remember him and their night together. She was going to dream about it at the office while she sat at her desk, thinking up new ways to torment him. The joke was on her. He knew his way around women. He explored her folds with the tip of his finger. She was wet, she was hot, and right now she was his.

  When he found the tiny nub, she cried out his name and an admonishment—half of pleasure, half in frustration. “Harry! Stop teasing me. Who knew you were cruel?”

  He took that as a challenge. She brought out the worst in him. Soon she was panting, grinding against the palm of his hand as he worked his fingers deep inside her, trying his damnedest not to come all over them both. She cried out, her back stiffening, her tight inner muscles clenching. When she collapsed, her whole body trembled. “Oh my God that was amazing.”

  Pride had him smiling with satisfaction. But she’d been torturing him for weeks and it was payback time. “We aren’t finished yet.”

  He eased the panties down her legs with one hand, slowly, while he stroked her cleft with the other. Once the panties were gone, he knelt over her and rubbed the length of his erection between the cheeks of her buttocks. He slid his palms up the length of her narrow back, panting at the sensation of all that smooth, naked skin. His fingers snagged in the clasp of her bra and he unfastened it with ease. He began again, at the base of her spine, trailing the tip of his tongue to the base of her neck. He nipped at the tender side of her throat, then gently sucked, careful not to leave any marks. He eased his hands beneath her and cupped her breasts in his palms. They were swollen, the tips peaked and firm, and he wanted desperately to taste them again as he had that night in the car. He nudged her hip with his knee, and taking the cue, she wriggled onto her back.

  He took a moment to admire what he’d done to her. There was enough light in the room for him to see how flushed her cheeks were, and the heat in those languorous, heavy-lidded eyes. She wasn’t delicate or fussy, which only added to the potentials for pleasure, and he’d barely begun. He discarded the bra, untangling it from her arms.

  He took her breasts in his hands, feeling their weight, kissing the tip of first one, then the other. He suckled the nipple, tormenting it with his tongue. She bucked on the bed beneath him. Reaching between his legs, she stroked his erection.

  That was all he allowed her to do. This was going to be faster than he’d wanted because he couldn’t wait any longer. His balls were so heavy they hurt.

  Planting his hands on either side of her head, he leaned down to kiss her. The tips of her fingers bit into his thighs as her tongue thrust against his. She hooked her legs around his waist.

  He positioned himself at her opening, and with a distinct lack of finesse and control, thrust inside her. Her legs tightened, her whole body arching as she took his entire length. She threw her head back, her eyes closed, moaning with pleasure. “Harder, Harry. Faster.”

  “I’m going to come.” His breathing was ragged and he was about to explode. He could feel it building. He thrust harder and faster, just as she’d asked for, with no rhythm or thought other than to make her come again with him. Her head touched the headboard with each jerk of his hips.

  “Now, Harry. Now!”

  Her fingers scrabbled at the cheeks of his ass. She sank her teeth into his shoulder, not hard, just a nip, but enough to add to the excitement shooting from his groin to his ribcage. He felt the first ripples of her orgasm massaging his shaft and was lost.

  “Son of a bitch,” he growled, giving up on res
traint. He came on an explosion of light that burned into the backs of his eyelids, blinding him for a few moments. When his vision cleared Lies was exhausted and shaking beneath him, the aftershocks of her orgasm wringing the last of his out of him.

  He rolled off her, stretching out on the bed, waiting for his heart to quit pounding so he could breathe normally again. He’d foreseen the excitement of making love to her. It was the intensity of her enthusiasm that had been so…unexpected.

  The hammering of his heart had progressed to his ears. Then he realized it wasn’t his heart at all.

  The neighbors in the next flat were banging on the bedroom wall behind his head.

  * * *

  Harry left in the wee hours of the morning, while she was asleep, no doubt driven by second thoughts and a guilty conscience.

  He’d have to deal with his conscience on his own. Lies had problems to work through too. She rinsed soap from her body with the hand-held sprayer linked by a flexible hose to the tiled shower wall of her compact bathroom. Suds swirled around her bare feet, circling the floor drain.

  Harry was as good in bed as she’d suspected he’d be. He’d been all about seeing to her satisfaction. Every inch of her skin hummed with contentment. But he was in danger of becoming a competent lover. He was too much in control of his own pleasure, keeping it carefully contained until certain of hers. Whatever his and Alcine’s relationship had been in bed, it wasn’t adventurous.

  That was the other woman’s loss. For Lies’s part, she’d like to see his natural inclination toward dominance further unleashed so she could figure out his preferences too. Given a bit of encouragement, she’d bet he’d be naughty. Harry in bed was not at all the same man he was at the office.

  Speaking of which, she was about to be late. She turned off the water, which had grown cold, and scooped a towel from the shelf next to the shower enclosure. As she dried off, she tried to decide what her next step should be. While she had no regrets over last night, did she tell the CSIS director that she’d slept with Canada’s aerospace and defense trade commissioner while on assignment? Or did she keep to herself the fact that she’d slept with a man she admired very much?