Spy Girl (Spy Girl #1)

And that’s when he kisses me. It’s possessive, passionate, and full of heat.

Body language and nonverbal clues are important in spying. The body often can’t lie the way the tongue can. But even though he’s kissing me hotly, his body language is tentative. His hands are motionless at his sides. He isn’t sure how I will react, so he isn’t all in. No one likes to be rejected, especially someone with an ego like his.

I slip my fingers into his dark hair and let my body do the talking, even though I know I shouldn’t.

Which is what he was waiting for. He pushes me against the wall, delving his tongue deeply into my mouth while he’s shoving up the layers of my gown.

It doesn’t help that I’m unzipping his pants.

My body is on fire with desire, and Daniel is ready to fulfill my need. His need. Our need.

But then a vision of the Prince getting killed while I’m in the bathroom letting the Vice President’s son screw my brains out flashes in my head.

I reluctantly rip my lips away. “Daniel, wait. I can’t.”

He doesn’t say a word, just angrily zips up his pants and walks out the door—leaving me breathless and unfulfilled.





I take a few moments to compose myself. Fix my lipstick. Check my hair. Anything not to think about how Daniel makes me feel.

When I meet the Prince at our dinner table, he says, “I saw Daniel follow you toward the ladies’ room. When he came back a few minutes ago, he seemed upset. Did you two have a row?”

“No, it’s just that he wants, um—”

“You? Again?” the Prince asks, bluntly.

“Possibly. I’m sorry.” I let out a big sigh.

The Prince takes my hand in his and kisses it. “No need to be sorry, my dear. You have the ability to put a man under your spell.”

“Except that I gave you my love potion.”

His face beams—apparently that was the answer he needed to hear—as he takes me into his arms and leads me out to the dance floor.

I can’t help but get a little swept away by the grandeur of it all. The ornate ballroom. The live orchestra. The waltzing. The gowns. The jewels. When I was waiting in the Prince’s residence the other day, I saw a tabloid that mentioned my parents were killed when I was a teen. The headline said that the orphan was dating the Prince, like we are part of some fairytale.

I don’t care much about what the papers say—I consider it mindless babble—but that headline struck me.

I never thought of myself as an orphan. My parents died, and I went to live at Blackwood.

The other night when Daniel slept in my bed, I confessed that the label bothered me.

He hugged me. Held me. Kissed the top of my head. And even though I knew I should have kicked his muscular body out of my bed, I couldn’t.

I know he’s mad at me now. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to lose control like that for even a second. I am on a mission.

I am on a mission.

And I have to succeed.





X X X





The ball is over, the guests have left, and I’m extremely relieved we managed to get through it without another assassination attempt. The Prince has invited a few of us to stay, the guys planning to smoke cigars on this clear, starry night. The breeze is chilly, so a steward lights a fire in a built-in pit, then takes our drink order.

We all huddle around the fire for warmth, the boys passing around a lighter to start their cigars.

Allie asks me to run to the restroom with her. She’s quite tipsy and would probably get lost, so I agree to take her.

The Prince gives me a sweet kiss, and mutters something about missing me while I’m gone. Daniel watches the Prince’s show of affection with a scowl. Ari and Peter are too busy trying to light their cigars to notice we’re leaving.

I help Allie into the castle and down the hall. It’s taking a while because she’s drunker than I thought and keeps running into the wall. She giggles and says something about it jumping out in front of her.

I finally grab her elbow and lead her.

We’re a few steps from the entrance to the bathroom when she pukes all over her ball gown and the polished marble floor. Then she lays down in it and starts crying.

I haven’t drunk more than a glass of champagne all night, but the smell makes me sick. I summon a guard, who summons a steward, who summons a janitor.

I hear cheers from the guys outside, their cigars probably finally lit. I wish I was out there enjoying myself.

I move Allie into the bathroom, leaning her against the wall near the toilet, where she gets sick again.

I pat her arm. “I’m going to get Peter so he can take you home. You stay right here.”

“Peter doesn’t love me like he should. I want you to bring Ari,” she says with a sob.

Honestly, I doubt she wants either boy to see her like this, but I just nod in agreement.

I go back down the hall, hearing my shoes clicking on the marble. The guys have quieted down.

Which is odd.