Spy Girl (Spy Girl #1)

“I’m going to tell you the truth,” he says. “I’m not here for the race. I work for a government that’s worried about the Prince’s safety.”


“So why don’t you have your government call their government and set up a meeting?”

“Because his government isn’t throwing your party.”

“Do you think someone is going to try to kill the Prince at my party?”

“I don’t know.”

“Uh, huh. And exactly which government do you work for?”

“British.”

“So you’re a real-life James Bond? Wow.” I laugh in his face. “You know, if you’re trying to seduce me, you’re working way too hard. The purse was a good start. You should have followed it up with a kiss, not some ridiculously crazy story.”

“I believe the Prince is in danger, and so are you.”

“And how do I know he’s not in danger from you?” I kiss his cheek. “Thanks for the bag.”

Take that, Intrepid.





The rest of the evening continues with exquisite food and flowing drinks. The Prince and I take to the dance floor for a couple of hours until he asks if I’d like to go somewhere more private.

He takes my hand and leads me off the boat and toward the water, not back to his car like I expected.

“Where are you going?” the Prince’s security asks.

“I’d like to show the lovely Miss Von Allister the gorgeous view of our great city at night.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’m not asking for permission, Juan. This is a completely unplanned whim. Common sense tells us that anyone out to get me would have done so at the party. They couldn’t scramble fast enough to plan anything right now. We’ll be quick and perfectly safe.”

He leads me to the end of the dock then turns me around to take in the view of Cap. The lights go up the hillside, showing off beautiful homes and a few sleek high-rises.

“It’s gorgeous,” I say, turning to face him.

He puts his lips on mine. “I think I’m falling for you, Huntley.”

“You’re standing next to the water at the end of a dock. One little push and you’d literally be falling,” I tease, gently putting my hand against his chest and pretending to push.

He grabs my hand and flops backwards, taking us both into the water.

I take a deep breath just as we hit but still come up sputter-choking.

“You are totally insane! I love it. Even though you probably just ruined my dress.”

“I’ll buy you ten new ones.” He pulls me close, kissing me.

"Your Royal Highness!” his bodyguard yells as a flashlight beams down on us.

He doesn’t reply, just threads his hands through my hair and deepens our kiss with a dart of his tongue. The Prince is polite and well-mannered, asking for permission rather than assuming. It’s sweet.

And fun to play along. Although, it’s a little difficult to concentrate on kissing someone and feeling super sexy when your beaded cocktail dress suddenly feels like it weighs about two hundred thousand pounds, and even though you float in the salt water, you find yourself needing to tread water every so often so that you don’t ruin your mission by drowning the Prince yourself, who is too busy caressing your back to worry about those pesky details.

It’s also hard to kiss a prince who you are supposed to be protecting. Especially when you should have your eyes open to scan the area for danger—from assassins, sharks, whatever—and you’re seriously considering using the knife blade in your shoe to cut yourself free of your dress.

I wiggle my toes. Shit. My shoes have drowned.

His hands move to cup my ass and give it a little squeeze.

I pull out of his embrace. “You know, it would be a pity if the newspapers reported tomorrow that our cause of death was that we were drowned by a beaded party dress.”

He chuckles. “You, Lee, make me laugh.”

“What did you just call me?” I ask as a memory flashes though my brain—fast and painful. But I have to ignore it.

“Lee, like short for Huntley. I didn’t think anyone probably called you Hunt. I’m sorry if that’s too forward of me.”

“You just had your tongue in my mouth and your hands on my ass, I’d say you’ve already been forward.”

“And?”

“I like it. On both accounts.”

He snaps his fingers, and two guards appear at the top of the dock. He helps the guards hoist all six hundred pounds of me out of the water.

The top of my silk chiffon dress has become transparent, allowing everyone in the vicinity—including two photographers who start snapping photos of me—to see my braless boobs, which are at attention from both the make-out session and the cool night air. The Prince’s bodyguard graciously slips his jacket on me while the Prince comes up the ladder—which would have been my preference instead of looking like a damsel in distress being hoisted out.

“Prince Lorenzo! Prince Lorenzo, what happened?” the paparazzi yell.

“I got fresh, and Miss Von Allister threatened to push me in the water. Being the cad I am, I pulled her in with me.”

I’m about to give a witty comeback when a red dot skitters across the Prince’s head.