Spy Girl (Spy Girl #1)

I don’t know what this man’s real name is—no one does—but I certainly know his code name, Intrepid. He’s a British spy. A freaking legend. I should know. I studied his body of work for my senior dissertation. We were given old case studies and classified files to work with. I saw a few grainy photos of him and was smitten. The combination of his expertise and his classic good looks make him my ultimate spy crush. Meeting him is like a fantasy, and I’m dying to ask him if the accounts I read are true. Like did he really jump out of a van traveling fifty miles per hour and onto the car of a rogue agent—who was going to sell a flash drive with a list of all the undercover British Intelligence agents on it—and then shot him through the roof? And what about the time he supposedly hung from the base of a helicopter while it was flying and managed to board it, take control, and defuse the bomb they were about to drop onto Buckingham Palace? I also want to ask if he really retired. It seemed odd that he did, since he’s only in his early forties.

Did I mention he’s extremely handsome? If they were to cast my perfect spy in a movie, it would be this guy. I can picture him buying a dress for a beautiful girl and then taking her to the casino and always having time for sex, even though he’s in the middle of a mission. It’s probably the reason why he is an expert at recruiting people to help his cause. I know the key to his success is charm combined with deadliness. Compassionate eyes that hide a cold killer. A body made for long hours of sinful sex, and a face that belongs on a statue.

I’m so enthralled by his presence, I can’t do anything other than smile at him. It’s not like I can go all fan girl and tell him I admire his work. Particularly, the job he did in Northern Ireland, where he alone killed seventeen men who were working in a farmhouse creating a car bomb that they planned to detonate at the Summer Olympics.

“Do you have a name?” he finally asks, making me feel like a moron.

“Oh, yeah. I’m, uh, Huntley. Huntley Bond. I mean, Huntley Von Allister.”

“I saw you with Prince Lorenzo last night at the fashion show. And with the Vice President’s son at the Smithsonian gala. You run with a pretty influential crowd.”

“Sounds like you’ve been hanging out at the same places as I have, yet we’ve never met.”

“Are you and Daniel close?”

“We met when we were seated at the same table at the gala, and he introduced me to the Prince a few days ago.”

“I heard about your father, Ares, may he rest in peace. Funny, I didn’t know he had children.”

“Neither did I until his attorney told me to come to a reading of his will. To say I was shocked, is an understatement. My parents never told me I was adopted.” I study the clutch in my hand. “And even though I can easily afford this now and am absolutely in love with it, I’m having a hard time spending the money. I have a party to go to tonight, and it would look adorable with my dress, but it’s not very practical.”

“Can a four thousand euro evening bag ever be considered practical?” he jokes.

I scrunch up my nose. “You’re right. I shouldn’t get it.”

“The party you are going to tonight. Would that be the one on the team owner’s yacht?”

I almost answer yes. But then stop.

He supposedly retired. What if he’s not working for the British anymore? What if he’s become a hit man, working only for the highest bidder? And what if he’s here to assassinate the Prince?

It would really, really suck if I had to kill this man. I briefly wonder if I could sleep with him first.

“I’m not sure where we’re going. I was just told to dress hot.”

“I also heard you’re throwing a party in your lovely villa.”

“You’ve heard an awful lot. Been reading the tabloids?”

He smiles at me and shakes his head. “I’m friends with Wesley. He mentioned both you and your upcoming party. I was sort of hoping he would get me an invitation.”

“He hasn’t even asked.”

“I guess he’s not a very good friend.”

“Apparently not. Nice to meet you, William. I have to go,” I say, then hightail myself back home.

I’m barely in the front door when I get a call from the Prince.

“What are you doing right this second?”

“I am walking in the front door. What are you doing right this second?”

“Thinking about you in a bikini.”

“For our bath time?”

“It’s a lovely day. What would you think about spending the afternoon on my yacht watching the charity races? You can have your household staff deliver the bath bombs. I’ll alert the guards to expect it.”

“I’m pretty sure if I send any kind of bomb to the castle, I will get arrested. Maybe we should call them fizzies.”

“Very well, then. Bath fizzies—although I’m partial to the name bath bombs. Way more intrigue. Have them delivered along with whatever you need to get ready for this evening to my residence.”

“I have hair and makeup appointments.”

“Send them to the palace.”

“Um, okay. It’s a date.”

“Perfect. Can you be ready in five minutes? I am quite possibly on the way to your villa as we speak.”





I shout orders to Ellis as I run to my room. I quickly change into a bikini then prepare to pack a tote with essentials. Then I realize I have no idea what to pack.

“Ari!” I yell out in a panic.

He comes rushing into my room, gun first, eyes sweeping the area.

“What are you doing?”

“The way you screamed, I thought you were in danger.”

“Danger of looking stupid on the Royal Yacht. What the heck does one wear on a yacht? Do you have any idea? The Kates didn’t brief us on that.” He sighs for a long moment. “Sorry, I scared you. Oh, shit. I almost forgot. You’ll never, ever believe who I met at the store today. Who I’m pretty sure was following me, and who I’m pretty sure wants to come to our party before the race.”

“Who?”

“William Gallagher.”