Spying With Sir

by Judy Jarvie

  I reach out for her hand and we do a clenchy handgrip thing that they do in movies. It’s a nice moment. Hav and me bonding. Don’t quite think she’s ready to blast The Eurythmics though.

  But, in an instant, I’m back on the floor, being pressed into the mat as she pushes her face into mine like the antichrist.

  “Yeah. We’re buddies. But if you ever hurt the Dan Man on my watch I will hunt you down and drink your blood at sundown. Feelin’ my realz?”

  She’s pressing on my windpipe so hard I can’t answer. I just nod. Loud and clear.

  Wow. I’d commit harakiri before I’d ever face Hav in murderous mood.

  I stagger up to my feet. “Glad we’re buddies now. Because you scare me rigid otherwise.”

  “Makes sense for us to be kinda okay around together. I’m not gonna watch chick flicks or do your hair or anything. I’ll still bust your balls if you’re outta line.”

  “I’d never ask different. Suspect you still hate my guts deep down about the Dan thing.”

  She gives me that sidey glance thing she always does. “I don’t hate you. Have to admit you kinda pissed me off when I saw the way he got around you. But I’m woman enough to wake up about that. The better person admits defeat.”

  “What happened to no surrender?”

  “We agents fight tooth and nail, but we know when to refocus. Question is—what are you going to do now? Responsibility is on you.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I’m backing up on Sir. But you’d better not bail out. You’re exactly what he needs. Even though he’s on a mission—you have every right to what’s going on between you! Job or no job.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It wasn’t a suggestion or a question. It was a damn order.” She breathes out steam like a bull at a fiesta. It’s thoroughly unsettling. “Right—let’s repeat the move again. Then back to the first sequence—over three times without fail.”

  “Hard mentor.”

  For the first time ever she falters. Then bites her lip. “Um. Maybe you could teach me a few things back.”

  “Like?”

  “Scaling down make-up.” She has a point. She’s got more kohl than the kohl master using his kohl discount during kohl centenary week. But I don’t want a kick in the jaw.

  “When I get my bags back, I have natural make-up. I also do a mean smoky eye.”

  “Good plan, copy that. It’s back already, your case,” she tells me. “I was the one who hauled it to your room. What the fuck you got in it?”

  “Halle-fuckin’-lujah!” I say and do a mini-disco dance. “Just bits and bobs.”

  “So, let’s get to it. But this time, no ruddy mistakes. When the guys see you do this they’re gonna realize how bloody great I am at teaching. You’ll be my star trophy!”

  “And what’s in it for me?” I pout.

  “I’d tell you, but I’d have to…”

  I sigh. “Kill me. I know this. Then start at the bloody beginning, yet another time already!”

  * * * *

  Today’s done me no favors. Warbie’s lunch smelled delicious—but it was so not-doing-it-for-my-nervous-belly. I couldn’t manage the juice, never mind a plate of food as a follow-up.

  Today’s activities, and the preoccupation with preparing me to meet the dangerous criminal, A.K.A. my dad, have left me in a clenched ball of nerves.

  Sir’s rejection bent me out of shape completely too. I’m left ego-crushed and stuck here alone, and up against it. I’ve no bandages or sex-rejection recovery tonic to nurse it better.

  The only sunshine in my day is the welcome return of some of my long-lost luggage. I’m rearranging stuff into neat piles now—OCD, thy name is Kate.

  I’m actually waiting for another summons for Mission Prep. I have a plan, a script, Havana’s moves and some idea of how to use them. Only a brief summary tour, via CCTV footage of the locale and the baddies’ hideout, left for my full day’s tuition to be complete.

  Just as I pull on my favorite soft red T-shirt and super-worn gray jeans, here’s a tap on the door. Thank God. I’m saved from death by clothes pile stacking.

  “It’s me,” says Dan. “Can we talk?”

  Why do my insides do a mambo at that deep roughed-up voice? Dark as an NYC alleyway and as enticing as a kiss in the back of a yellow cab. I want to smile in excitement but won’t let myself.

  At least I’m facing him in my favorite casual clothes combo. I know I feel normal and look more relaxed dressed this way.

  I clear my throat. “Why ask—you have the key, don’t you?”

  The door clicks and opens a crack. “Trying to be a gentleman. Being the good guy. Can I come in?”

  I shove my hands deep into my pockets. Damn—feeling way too much without guile before this hunk of cop God. He is a cop God—this time in sports clothes that make my pulse go pit-a-pat.

  “Not as if I’m doing anything useful. Don’t fancy your chances re the gentleman passing-out ceremony, though. Gentlemen by the Brit definition tend to tell only the truth.”

  He’s fully in the room now. So big and muscular in his clothes, it hurts my impulses not to just stand and drink him in.

  “I tell the truth. When I’m allowed to,” he parries back.

  “So what did you do to Ivan earlier? He won’t even glance near me now, and goes to the other side of the room. What happened?”

  Dan breathes slowly through his nostrils. “Orders from above.”

  “Isn’t that your answer for everything?”

  Dan’s jaw tenses. A sure sign I’m on the nose of the truth. “We had a chat. He’s been assigned other duties. Massage is not in his remit. His lines got blurred. Won’t happen again.”

  “He’s an okay guy. He was trying to be friendly.”

  “There’s friendly and there’s missed the mark and landed in a pool of reprimand. He’s fine. You’re fine—topic dismissed.”

  “You’re so commanding, Sir.” He’s so fucking hunky it’s criminal.

  “Because that’s my job. Get over it.”

  Then my conscience starts to rag me—why am I milking this?

  Dan is one of the only two friends I have here and I’m still doling out the snitty. That won’t win me favors, or save my skin. Or help me cope with my meet-up with the one man I hate beyond all others. The person best qualified to help me with that is standing beside me now.

  Dan shuts the door and moves closer. His sporty, black fitness gear is fit for a soccer ninja. Every time I see him, I’m aware of his height and muscular but athletic build. I deny the presence of awareness that’s goose-bumping my skin. Betraying urges be gone!

  “What’s up?” I ask him. “You bored out of your mind too?”

  His gaze oil-drills my retinas. “Checking on you. I worry you’re not eating. Noticed you’ve barely had anything. What’s with that?”

  As usual he’s just being all anal agent with the whistles and bells on. But his voice is soft. He’s looking at me with a gaze that doesn’t tempt a fistfight. Maybe I should be saying sorry for earlier—is that why he’s come? I was pretty pissy and petty, now I recall. But then, he rebuffed me and told me to put my clothes back on. Then got all heavy on Ivan as a calling card. “I shouldn’t have showed you my tatt. It was totally over the top. If I was shitty earlier, don’t take it personally.” Not an apology, but as close as he’s getting. “Sir Who Must Be Obeyed must learn that I’m the girl least likely to play Obey Orders Beach Ball. I have history on that.”

  He shrugs. “You do tear me down but, I admit this at my peril, you actually make me like it.”

  “You have a strange way of showing it.”

  “Nobody else has the balls to really nail it.” He sits on my bed. Uninvited. My bed. Him. Big, muscly and very fit. My bed is not the most helpful place to put himself. Especially when his muscles are revealed at close range and it’s where we did intimate things before.

  Perhaps sateen trim has that effect on him?


  So I blurt it out before my brain can tell me to do a U-turn. “I’m sorry for blaming you and kissing you and launching myself at you when my blood was up.”

  He stares hard. “Tatt was a shocker. But not in the way you think. Total power move with badittude. I didn’t see that coming.”

  I narrow one eye as I watch him to see if he’s being serious. “Seb, my ex-fiancé, was too much like you for comfort—makes me react. He was Mister Command and Make It So. Including when he worked out I’d outstayed my use to his career. I lash out at rejection. But you’re not Seb the Bastard. I also figured you pushed me away because of the Dad thing. That kind of hurt me too.”

  “Your biological father is nothing to you. Why would he matter to me?”

  I shrug. Because he shows the family shady side. Reveals that Perfect Kate isn’t so perfect when you dig deep. The thing I struggle with most.

  “My dad isn’t someone I’m proud of. I figure agents like you would prefer the people they tangle with to be pretty squeaky clean.”

  “You think I’m that shallow?” He’s offended and it bounces out in waves. “Was Seb the Sir on your back?” his voice is low.

  I shake my head. “No. He was strict vanilla control freak—my rebellion in ink was the Sir who came next. Seb was a guy who thought he was in control—as an antidote I went for one who truly was and who wore that well in the bedroom. He went only by the name of Slash.”

  Dan is watching me, saying nothing.

  Which is something.

  “Shocked?”

  “Not as much as you probably think.”

  I like it. Because he’s not judging. He’s just listened, which is more than either of them would have done.

  “Sir is history. After Seb I really wanted to let loose and tap my wild side. Turns out I did—only to be bummed out when he found a new interest. Shame he didn’t dump me before I committed it to ink.”

  Dan’s eyes darken and he reaches out to link his fingers with mine. “So, Sir is not your steady?”

  I shake my head. “Sir wasn’t the steady type. He went on to first-time submissives new. Saw my tattoo and did a dump and run.”

  Shit—why am I sharing my disasters?

  Dan lets out a low breath through his teeth. “Quite a tatt to claim for someone with a short attention span?” He’s nailed it in one sentence. “But hopefully you’ll find other Sirs who can live up to the position.”

  I stare back. Shake my head. “Why do you care?”

  “Because a tatt like that nails attention. I’m thinking you just need to find yourself that new Sir.”

  Is he teasing? He’s so unfazed by my stuff—a cop thing? It’s so bloody refreshing not to have guilty baggage. Not to feel like I’m a kinked-out reject.

  “Plenty more Sirs in the sea,” he says.

  “I live in hope.” I do. But I’m choosy as hell too.

  I stare at Dan, who stares right back—irises on fire. The sparky vibes crackle like space dust as a gourmet dessert topping.

  Dan whispers, “Forgive me, but both guys sound like idiots. Don’t sweat the sorries to me—I dig the tatt. Wish I’d thought of Kink Ink myself.”

  ‘Kink Ink’—how does he manage to make that statement sound like an intimate proposal? Why would he want kink ink too? Unless…

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?” I say. But I’m wondering if friends who match in the kink stakes can stay friends?

  He answers, “We can try. But we both need to work on control issues. You need to learn to trust me. I need to stop letting you fry my brain and make my dick go crazy.” He smiles. “So—let’s loosen up and treat one another like project partners.”

  Ah, project buddies.

  But, woomph, the oxygen in my lungs doesn’t work, because I’ve already imagined him inked for kink. Causing a distinct lack of breathing ability and dizziness. Dan is in his muscle-back gym vest, tattoos as sidekicks, and in shiny loose shorts that display legs that could cause seizures, is too much of an open invitation not to imagine him naked. If I could pick, it would be a massive black snake circling up his inner thigh…

  And the word ‘partner’ takes on an entirely new fixation in my head.

  One my greedy brain grabs with relish. It doesn’t help that his gym-ready clothing isn’t good for my healthy pulse.

  I softly repeat a mantra I really should be taking more heed of. “Sounds like a good plan, Dan. I’d sworn off dangerous men. Given my heritage, I should be sticking to that like glue.”

  He stares from under dark, curled lashes. God—so unfair at how blessed he is with those! He rises to go.

  “Heading to the gym, Kate. All this flight time and briefings eat into my training schedule. Gotta pay with sweat.”

  “Thought I was getting another briefing?”

  “You’ve done enough. Time to get sweaty and kick back.”

  I nod. Watch his mouth—that’s just formed a word I can’t release. Sweat. What’s with me? He slowly winks.

  “Maybe you should forgive yourself for that tattoo for starters, huh?”

  I jump in seizing my chance. “Can I come? To the gym, being here is driving me nuts without exercise. I need to escape this room.”

  “You didn’t eat—you sure you can take that?”

  I let out a breath. “I need a workout so badly it’s criminal. Endorphins always help my equilibrium. I even have fitness gear now.” I snatch my pile of Lycra and a towel, and my shower gel, and I’m good to go.

  Then I realize what I’m putting myself through in choosing Dan as a gym buddy—in the six-pack stakes, he’s buy one get one free phenomenal. It could turn a girl’s head. He shrugs shoulders made for martial arts. He stares at me. Gray gaze boring into mine. I really have to work not to stare at that very fine chest. That dusting of hair—who knew I’d’ve liked that so much? Even his neck cords are so cute I want a collection in a cabinet…never mind the legs that make mine shake like an earthquake’s hit.

  Hey sista. Step away. Sweet Jerusalem, don’t puddle on the floor.

  I guess the whole abducted by Interpol situation is getting to me, re the lust attacks. But I’m still going to grab my chance to escape to the gym.

  “If it’ll cheer you up let’s do it.”

  “You can let me beat you on the treadmill,” I answer.

  “I’ll cuff you up and make you watch my work out before that happens.”

  I follow him to the gym faking huffy. But we’re smiling, and inside I’m quivering thinking of cuffs and sweat.

  And that body. With a new snake tattoo.

  Plus the revelation that Dan isn’t deterred by my kink ink. In fact he seems not to mind it on me at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dan

  When it comes to fitness, Kate is my match plus a foot floored on the gas pedal. A kissable smile in the mix—which ain’t allowed.

  Sure, I like that she’s hot at fitness, but I hate it in equal measure. The competitor in me can’t stand the showdown. Will she be that way in bed? My terms? Or hers?

  The urge to stride over and plant a smacker on that mouth grinds inside me. Even without glossed lips she vibes me—can’t get my head around this spell.

  “How do you like our gym?” I’m breathing hard but I wanna play normal. Talking lightly. Focusing on the run. Not letting my gaze latch on to her fine ass in full spray-on active-wear high definition.

  “Fine.”

  “Just fine?”

  She grins. “I’m in the zone. Talk later.”

  I block out hard-ons and force my attention from her ass in gym-pants and the impressive curves of her biceps and breasts. For a slim girl, she has undulations that a man likes. She causes craziness to my libido and brain cells.

  We push ourselves to our limits. Treadmill, kettlebells, bikes and a full range of machines that ends up a full-on workout stretching us both. My legs shake, and that’s rare.

  We get to the locker room drenched in sweat and endorphin-pumped, mainlining water li
ke Rocco does sports drinks.

  “Nice workout, Joseph.”

  “When in Rome…can’t have these agent types showing me up. I’m a fitness hobbyist—makes me take it personally. I was kidding about the gym—it’s great,” she remarks, between gulps of water. “Full of surprises.”

  “See, you’re not the only one with all the moves,” I let slip. Damn. It’s that tattoo’s repeat play on my brain track, so I hastily cover. “You’re fit. Really fit. You don’t give in. It’s not about the running to show your butt off either. Or to look cute in kit. You push.”

  She stares at me, ensnares me, and I have to work not to falter.

  “From you that’s a compliment, Sir.” She fakes a military command tone.

  “Do you have to deflect every damn compliment?”

  She shrugs. So I go back to her original statement. “Yeah—we smuggled some perks in. Without the gym work we’d go crazy. Rocco already is.” I slug water. But I’m trying not to notice the sweat patches on her intimate areas and wishing I could peel layers and push her down for more action—then really make her head turn with my moves.

  She throws me completely with a random question, “Tell me about Warbie. I sense you’re his blue-eyed boy wonder. He’s fun, got charisma—I like him a lot.”

  “I’d put a word in but he’s gay.”

  “This I knew. So does he just idolize you or fancy you?”

  “What’s not to love?” I grin. Shit, I’m sounding like Rocco. I know how much that slimes me. “Nah. He has my back. I also got his. Worked a lot of jobs together. Seen a lot of stuff.”

  “Ah, you captain for that team too?” she says, and does a Jack o’ Lantern smile.

  “Straight as a very straight line. Women all the way. Thought you’d have twigged to that by now.” I try not to stare at the droplet of water on her lower lip. Or the sweat beads heading south to her valley of no return. The nipples showing through the top are my undoing. Wow—the thought of tasting spins me on mental skates on a lake. I’m already on my butt and doing Bambi legs.

  You want this you doofus.

  Stop playing high school games. Go for what you want.