Spy Girl (Spy Girl #1)

“That’s what he said. What do you know about him?” I try to make the question sound curious and not like an interrogation.

“He works for the government. Covert stuff.”

“Like a spy?”

“I believe so.”

“He was following me.”

“Why?”

“He asked me if we were going to the yacht party tonight. I told him I didn’t know. It seemed weird, you know? After everything that’s happened.”

He calls Juan over and asks him to find out why the hell a British spy is on his soil, if his government knows about it, and why he was following me.

“You have good instincts. You’re very clever.”

“Thank you. Um, do you think it’s okay if I keep the clutch?”

He laughs. “Did you really love it and not buy it?”

“Yes.”

“Then William and I are in agreement. You should have everything your heart desires, Huntley, my dear.”





X X X





After an afternoon on his yacht, we head to the castle to take our bath and prepare for the party tonight.

I put on the teeny white thong and find him waiting for me in a mini euro Speedo type thing. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

I remind myself that topless is normal here and fight the urge to cover my boobs. And although the other night there was some over-the-dress boob action that went on, this is the first time Lorenzo has seen them naked. It’s both awkward and stimulating.

He leads me into a palatial bathroom, which features a huge sunken tub large enough for a crowd. The water has been drawn. The bathroom glitters with ornate blue and gold metallic tiles and features a cathedral ceiling covered with paintings of mermaids, Greek gods, and elaborate sailing vessels—all supported by marble Doric-style columns.

“Are you ready to add the bath bombs?” he chuckles, holding up the bag.

“Why don’t you do the honors?” I suggest, sitting on the edge and watching his expression as they bubble and fizz.

“The water is turning very blue,” he says nervously.

“Don’t worry.” I grab the smaller bag of golden bars, get into the tub, and break them up under the faucet. “It’s not dye. We won’t go to the party looking like Smurfs.”

He laughs. “That is a relief. Would you care for some champagne?”

“I’d love some,” I reply as he pours me a glass. It’s French, dry, and tastes expensive.

He steps into the bath, sits down, and we both relax. It’s really quite nice, sitting close to him, mostly naked, all warm and sipping on champagne.

He wraps an arm around my shoulder, and I lean back into it.

“So are you only here for the week?” he asks.

“We leased the villa for a few months.”

“Do you like it?”

“Are you kidding? It’s beautiful.”

“Would you ever consider settling in my great country?”

“I read Montrovia is very easy to visit, but living here is another story. Foreign real estate transactions must be approved by the government for anyone who isn’t Montrovian by birth.”

“You could always stay at the castle.”

“If you tell that to all the girls you date, there’s probably a waiting list.”

He chuckles, and it’s clear I’m amusing him. “Would you like to?”

“I would like to, but I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not looking to be your nanny.” I cup water in my hand and pour it onto his chest with a grin.

Which causes him to do the same to me, the warm water gliding through my cleavage.

“What about a princess?”

I laugh—choke, practically, on my champagne.

“Ohmigosh, that usually works, doesn’t it? No wonder when I Googled your country all the images that came up were photos of you with different women. It seems tourism ranks second place by a mile.”

He takes a sip of his champagne, looking thoughtful. Probably trying to figure out how to make himself sound less of a cad. I mean they call him the Playboy Prince for good reason.

“If the papers are correct, there may be a royal wedding soon,” he says, finally, apparently deciding it’s better to just change the subject.

“That stands to reason, since your cousin got engaged yesterday in a very public way.”

“Why do I get the feeling you haven’t read the papers or seen the articles about us?”

“Because I haven’t. I saw the photo on the front cover of the local paper, and that was enough.” I move away from him and swim across the pool-sized bath.

“Why?” he asks, following.

“I’m not sure hats are a good look for me. I looked awkward.”

He pins me into the corner and kisses me. “You were beautiful. Did you get your invitation for tonight?”

“Ari said they were delivered while I was out this morning shopping for a dress.”

“And did you find one?”

“That was the good thing about the photo in the paper. Everyone in the stores was very helpful. And I did.”

“What does it look like?”