The fact that on my first covert mission I will be photographed seems odd to me. Spies are taught to remain nameless and faceless. One of our most important classes at Blackwood was how to avoid being photographed on all the surveillance cameras around the world—your head down, a scarf, a hood, the tilt of your head.
“Maybe we should avoid the red carpet hoopla and sneak in through the kitchen, Ari.”
He holds out his elbow. “We’re going in the front and establishing our cover.”
“Aren’t you worried about how this will affect future missions?”
“I think this is our future mission. If we succeed, there will be many more missions together. It’s brilliant, really. Being undercover in plain sight. So smile for the cameras.”
I wrap my hand around his elbow and allow him to escort me up the stairs. We smile and pose for the cameras when told to, and as we enter the reception, there are already numerous people. A waiter presents us with a tray of champagne, and we each take a glass.
“To us,” Ari says, raising his flute. “And to our great country.”
We are allowed to roam the museum and mingle before the event. Somehow, people already know who Ari and I are and offer us condolences on our father’s passing.
Mostly, these seem to be the politicians.
“Ari, don’t you find it a little odd that people know us and know who our father was when you and I met less than nine hours ago?”
“When were you told about our mission?” he asks me.
“Nine hours ago, when were you?”
“Three weeks ago. A few days after he passed.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Not much, but I know his company worked with the government on numerous projects. He was a brilliant inventor, but a recluse for the past few years. We inherited his D.C. estate. You should see the place. It has a research facility that was second to none.”
“Ari, we didn’t really inherit it. It’s just our cover.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s our new life.”
I ponder that as we’re being herded into the rotunda where we will dine. We’ve yet to meet our dining partners for the evening, but I have been given numerous business cards so I can invest some of my new money and was told I should consider a career in politics. I met a famous actor and had my ass grabbed by a lecherous old senator, whose wife informed me that he meant no harm.
The man’s lucky he still has an arm.
When Ari and I arrive at our table, Peter Prescott and his date, a model named Allie Peterson, are already seated. Ari and I introduce ourselves as the Von Allisters.
“Sorry to hear about your father,” Peter says. “He and my dad worked together back in the day.”
Really? Why the hell wasn’t this in my packet? But I just found out he was my father. I shouldn’t know anything about him. Other than his net worth.
“I’d love to hear about that. We never knew him.”
“You never knew your father?” the model asks.
“Haven’t you seen the papers?” Peter asks, squinting his eyes at her like she’s an idiot. I’d wipe that smug look off his face if I were dating him. Of course, I probably wouldn’t date an arrogant asshole.
She kisses him on the cheek. “You know I don’t read them. All bad news. It’s depressing.”
I decide to fill her in. “Ari and I just met at the reading of our father’s will. We didn’t know he was our father until we were notified by his attorney.”
“You’re looking at our country’s two newest billionaires,” Peter proclaims.
Her eyes brighten. “Oh. Well, congratulations.”
I wince. So do Ari and Peter. But secretly I love this clueless, beautiful girl.
Peter whispers something to her. She frowns then looks at Ari and gives him a dazzling smile. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry for your loss.”
We are joined by Senator Bill Callan and his wife, Sissy. He chairs the Senate Appropriations Committee and is known as a good friend of the director of the CIA, Mike Burnes. He shakes my hand, also offers his condolences, and introduces us to the actor Rob Howden and his wife, Angie. Bill’s secretary apparently doesn’t warrant an introduction. She sits silently at the table on her phone with the air of someone doing something very important, but she blushes when I catch her scrolling through her Instagram feed.
We are all seated at the table making small talk about the new exhibit we toured.
The chair to my left is still empty when I get my first glimpse of Daniel.
He’s rushing toward us, buttoning his jacket; his cheeks flush. I half expect him to be zipping his pants. He looks like he’s been involved in a coat room quickie. His hair is mussed. His blue eyes sparkling.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he says to the table. “My parents decided last minute to attend the event and made me ride with them. Traveling with the Secret Service is a bitch.”
He shakes his buddy Peter’s hand and gives him a slap on the back, air kisses Allie, and then works his way around the table shaking everyone’s hands.
When he gets to me, he says, “I’m Daniel Spear.”
“I’m Huntley Von Allister, and this is my brother Ari.”
A speaker on the stage addresses the group, so we all quickly take our seats.
Daniel’s piercing blue eyes continue to hold mine, occasionally flitting across the curves of my red gown. His eyes are mesmerizing, a warm lush shade of lapis with lighter flecks of cerulean. His eyes speak of oceans and tropics, and it’s not surprising he’s talented in the water. I imagine that Neptune, the Roman God of the Sea, would have had eyes just like his.
We toast to the event and let the senator and his wife carry most of the table’s dinner conversation.
After dessert, the talk turns to travel spots of the rich and famous. Sissy and the senator are vacationing at their six thousand square foot “cottage” in the balmy Cayman Islands starting next week, and Allie is headed to Puerto Rico tomorrow for a popular sports magazine’s bikini shoot.
The senator and his wife excuse themselves, along with the actor and his spouse.
“We’re going to Montrovia,” Ari says.
“Montrovia?” Daniel replies. “I just happen to be pals with the Prince of Montrovia. Haven’t seen him in a couple years. I’ll tell you what, though. He knows how to party. I never thought I’d recover from our night out.”
“A prince, huh?” I tease.
“Don’t start dreaming of a royal wedding just yet,” Daniel teases back. “You’d have a lot of competition. Me, I’m easy.”
“So I’ve read in the tabloids.”
“Who is accompanying you on this trip?” Allie asks.
“It’s just me and Ari. We’re going to have some brother-sister bonding time.”
Daniel’s blue eyes smolder as he whispers to me, “Maybe it’s time to go visit my old friend. Although, if I go, you know we’re going to sleep together.”
“I do love a good slumber party. Maybe I can braid your hair,” I tease, tousling his dark, shaggy locks.
“When do we leave?” he asks.
“Tomorrow.”
“Mode of transportation?”
“Well, if you’re coming with, why don’t we make a splash in Air Force Two?”
“You know I could make that happen.”
“You talk a big game.”
“And I deliver the goods.” He smirks and raises an eyebrow at me. Gosh, this guy is a flirt. I love it.
“My prediction is that the Prince, who you claim to be friends with, won’t remember you.”
An amused smile plays on his lips. “I’m hard to forget.”
“So you go both ways, huh?”
“What? No!”
I grin. “I’m just screwing with you.”
“Not yet, Huntley, but soon you will be.”
He grabs my phone, enters his number as AirForceTwo and says, “I’ll be in touch.” Then he excuses himself f
rom the table.
Ari and Peter are talking exotic cars.
“That’s why we’re going, really. To hit the car show and the Formula One race. One of the things on Ari’s bucket list.”
“I’d love to go to Montrovia,” Allie gushes. “We should go too, Peter.”
“It’s race weekend. No way we’d find a hotel room.”
“You’re welcome to stay at our villa,” I suggest.
“That would be amazing!” she says, then turns to Peter. “Peter, you could come to my photo shoot, and we could leave from there.” She gives him a little pout. “Please, baby.”
Peter’s face softens, and he gives her a sweet smile. “I hate to say no to you, but I have other plans.”
Allie huffs at him then switches to Daniel’s vacated spot next to me and gives me a girly rundown of Montrovia. She seems to know all about the place even though she’s never been there. She goes on about what kind of clothes I should take, all the amazing yachts there, and how her publicist could get us into some A-List parties. I suppose when you have a body like hers, getting invites is probably easy.
“Have you and Peter dated long?”
“About three weeks. I’m not sure he’s all that serious about me, though,” she admits. “He likes models.”
“I’ve heard he’s a bit of a playboy.”
“Yes, me too. He’s so sweet though, and the lifestyle of a billionaire’s son is crazy. I grew up on a farm in Illinois.”
“I know what you mean. I just inherited that kind of money. I’m still in shock.”
“Well, better to have it than to date it, if you know what I mean. Your brother is pretty cute.”
“Uh, thank you.”
“You two look alike. I see the family resemblance. Let’s go to the bar and get a drink. Meet some more people.”
I’m not sure, but by people, I think she’s possibly shopping for men. Peter may be using her for her beauty, but she’s using him as well. I guess I shouldn’t judge. My job is to use people to get what I want. She seems really nice, though. If I wasn’t who I am, I think we could be friends. Ari’s words earlier about this being our life play back in my head. I wonder if he’s right. Could there be more to this mission than I have been told?
Allie grabs my elbow and leads me to the restroom, where we touch up our lipstick and then head to the bar.
“That Daniel is quite a looker. He seemed very interested in you. Like, he didn’t even look at me. Which is something I’m not used to.”
“Do you believe his story about showing up with his parents? Looked to me like he just rolled out of bed.”
“I hope he wasn’t alone. That would be a shame. Don’t you think he’s cute?”
“He’s like sex on a stick.”
“I do like a big stick,” she giggles, downing a glass of champagne.
“Care to dance?” a velvety voice says into my ear.
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.
“Do you mind?” I ask Allie.
“Oh, no,” she says, latching on to Ari who is with Daniel. “Your brother can keep me company.”
“I’d love to,” I say to Daniel, taking his hand.
We dance close, his hard body pressed against mine, and his lips nuzzling my neck. I suppose in some ways being a covert operative and going undercover is much like an actress playing a role. And although I know my role is to become friendly with Daniel, friendly takes on a whole new meaning when he lowers his lips to my neck and nips at it.
He turns me on. Plain and simple. While my mind is calculating different scenarios in which Daniel can further help my mission, my body is highly recommending that I sleep with him.
It’s like I’m one of those cars, that all you have to do is push to start. And Daniel revs my motor further when he whispers in my ear, “I’m hungry. Would you want to go back to my place and have a real dinner?”
I know I’d like to feast on him.
I nod yes, tell Ari not to wait up, and before I know it, I’m in a limo staring at Daniel’s hella good hair, his perfect profile, and his jawline of delicious scruff.
I was taught to exploit an opponent’s weaknesses, and it’s quite clear I’m going to need a much closer inspection to find anything weak on Daniel. From his strong, chiseled jaw down to a thick neck and broad shoulders. All of him is hard and muscular.
Which is probably what makes his brilliant blue eyes look so sweet and his lips look so soft and lush.
* * *
Daniel’s town house is incredible, an old brownstone on a prestigious street lined with embassies.
“Is this your parents’ house?”
“No, it was my grandparents’. I inherited it last year. Isn’t it great?”
I nod. The home is old with thick crown moldings, wood floors, finials, wood and stone fireplaces, lots of wainscoting and marble. But all the furnishings are a healthy mix of modern and antiques.
“I like what you’ve done to the place. You’ve kept all the original details but brought in modern furniture.”
I’m rewarded with a smile and a peek of a dimple on his right side.
“I think it’s my new goal in life to see your other dimple,” I tell him.
He has a cocky smirk and a body built for all kinds of naughtiness, but his eyes are warm and tender.
At Blackwood, my professors couldn’t find my weakness, but I might be looking at it right now—a pair of intense blue eyes.
“I only have one dimple.” He holds a plethora of takeout menus in front of my face. “Pick one.”
“And here I thought that was just a ploy to get me back to your place. I’m a little disappointed. Allie was regaling me with what she’s read in the tabloids about you. All your tricks, Air Force Two.”
He sets the menus down and studies my face, his blue eyes boring into mine. “I don’t need tricks to get a girl to sleep with me.”
And I don’t doubt it.
He lowers his eyes to the menus and pulls a few out. “Let’s get rid of the healthy options. I’m in the mood to be bad.”
Oh gosh, me too, Daniel, me too. I’m going to drag him back to the bedroom even if it means I’ll have to overcome and restrain him to do it. Those thoughts alone set my panties ablaze. And he’s yet to kiss me.
He finally settles on a pizza menu.
“Best thick crust in the city. Anything you don’t like on a pizza?”
“No anchovies. No onions. Other than that, I’m game for anything.”
My answer is rewarded with the single dimple punctuating a small smile. A line like that at Blackwood would have earned me a lot more than a smile. It would have either gotten me four hours of wilderness survival training or thrown on a guy’s dorm bed and wonderfully attacked.
I have a moment of self-doubt.
Maybe he really just wanted a dinner companion?
“So, Montrovia, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s first up on the list.”
“There’s a list?”
“Yes, of all the places and things we’d like to see and do.” I don’t mention that he has rocketed straight to the top of the all the things I want to do.
Preferably now.
Like, right now.
I consider stripping off my clothes just to see what would happen, but when his stomach growls I realize he really is hungry. And if—no, when—I end up in bed with him, the last thing I want is for him not to have enough fuel for that amazing body. With all those muscles, he must burn like a thousand calories a minute just staring into space. I remember reading an article that said he eats like ten thousand calories a day when he’s training.
“They said it will be about thirty minutes,” he tells me after placing our order. “Want to play some Xbox?”
The night is going downhill quickly. He wants to play video games with me?
I tap my perfectly manicured nails on the island in response. I look down at my evening gown, the red color a contrast to my blonde hair, the straps highl
ighting my cleavage and the fabric floating over my curves.
If Daniel wants to be my friend, so be it. I’m going to be the sexiest best friend he’s ever had.
I remind myself I’m on a mission but, in my mind, sleeping with Daniel has just become an integral part of that mission.
And I must not fail.
He plops down on the couch and pats the seat next to him as he readies the gaming controls.
I stop by his fridge, grab a couple beers, and hand him one when I sit down in the exact spot he patted, allowing the silk covering my thigh to brush against him. He hands me a controller and points to a list of games on the screen.
“Choose one.”
I scroll through the list while he’s busy staring at my cleavage.
Fortunately, I find what I’m looking for. It’s a very popular game that allows you to go on missions either by yourself, with a partner, or as a team. Only a few people know that this game started out as a teaching and training program for students at Blackwood Academy.
And I’m the best.
When I click on it, Daniel’s eyes light up.
“This is a really complex game,” he says, probably expecting me to choose something like Mario Kart.
I shrug noncommittally. I’m pretty sure this game is some kind of a litmus test. Daniel’s way of screening girls. Which is odd. Never once in all the accounts I’ve read of his hookups have I read about there being pizza and Battleground involved.
We opt to go into battle together rather than against each other. And although the competitor in me wanted to go head-to-head and kill him in the game, my lady parts remind me that might be bad for his ego, which may have an adverse effect on his performance in bed.
I’m kicking butt in the game and, although we are partners against the bad guys, I’m amassing points at about a three-to-one ratio to his.
He pauses the game and slides out of his jacket. “I can’t move in this monkey suit,” he says. “Undo my tie, will you?”
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