His Spy at Night (Spy Games Book 3) (27 page)

We’re going to be seeing a lot more of him in the upcoming
Spy Games
books.

I’ll just leave it at that.

Acknowledgments

I have some amazing author friends whose books you should check out. Samanthe Beck, Roxanne Snopek, Robin Bielman, and Hayson Manning all contribute to my work in one way or another. Blame Roxanne and Guinness if storylines take weird turns. It’s Robin’s fault if the characters end up in jail. In fact, it’s her fault if anyone ends up in jail.

And of course, a special thanks to Annette Gallant for being my first reader and a great friend. Keep your eye out for her name in the future. Her books are coming. She promised.

About the Author

Paula Altenburg
lives in rural Nova Scotia, Canada, with her husband and two sons. Once a manager in the aerospace industry, she now enjoys working from home and writing fulltime.

Visit her at
www.paulaaltenburg.com
to view more of her work and to sign up for her
newsletter
.

You can also follow her on
Twitter @PaulaAltenburg
and friend her on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/PaulaAltenburgAuthor/
.

Other Contemporary Romance Titles

by
Paula Altenburg

Spy Games series:

Her Spy to Have—Book One, available now

Her Spy to Hold—Book Two, available now

His Spy at Night—Book Three,
 
available now

Her Spy at Dawn—Book Four, coming February 2017

Broken Hearts series:

I’ll Love You Forever—Book One, available now

Book Two—TBA

Book Three—TBA

From Tule Publishing:

Her Montana Love

From Entangled Publishing:

Her Secret, His Surprise

Desire by Design

Read on for excerpts from
Her Spy to Have
, Garrett and Isabelle’s story in Book One, and
Her Spy to Hold
, Kale and Irina’s story in Book Two.

Excerpt from

Her Spy to Have

Garrett and Isabelle’s story

by Paula Altenburg

“Why do you do this?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Follow me around. Look at me as if you find me fascinating. Touch me, and say nice things to me. And then, you pull away as if you did nothing at all.” She gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve already agreed to tell you everything I know. There’s no need for these games.”

He didn’t deny it, as she’d expected him to. He didn’t look sorry for it, either. He raked fingers through his sun-streaked hair, spiking it in the front. He looked like an older version of Kiefer, but much sexier.

And far more dangerous to her peace of mind.

“I do it because I can’t help it,” he confessed. His eyes glittered. “You seem to bring out the worst in me.”

She could say the same about what he did to her. She’d never had a problem with insecurity, or of second-guessing herself, before he came along. All she could do was continue to pretend that he didn’t affect her. That her heart didn’t race when he looked at her that way.

“Do your worst, then,” she said. “One of these days I’m going to call you on it.”

His voice dropped, developing a seductive edge to it that sent a frisson of awareness through her body. “You don’t want to do that.”

She clenched her fingers more tightly together. “No?”

“Absolutely not.” He reached for the door, popping it open. “You might discover I’m not bluffing.”

“Wait a moment.”

He paused, half turning, one foot already on the ground. Amusement—and something more—lit his eyes as they met hers. “You’re calling me on it already?”

Excerpt from

Her Spy to Hold

Kale and Irina’s story

by Paula Altenburg

Irina was cooking dinner when the knock came on her kitchen door.

She froze with the steel butcher knife she’d been using to chop green onions for an omelet suspended in midair. She wasn’t expecting visitors.

She laid the knife on the wooden cutting block, then crossed the kitchen to the two-panel steel side door of her bungalow, the one that led to her carport, and peered through the curtain. All of her doors and windows were locked. The air conditioning took care of the summer heat and humidity.

Thor stood on her doorstep, hulking and blond, and scary.

He wore his hair in a man bun. The wide smile on his lips and the ridiculous courier uniform did nothing to offset the alarming effect of the shiny black eye and the darkening bruise on his forehead.

Adrenaline kicked her heartrate into high gear. She left the chain in place on the inner door, opening it only far enough so she could speak through the crack. The locked screen door added another layer of protection. It wouldn’t stop him if he tried to force his way in, but it would slow him down enough for her to slam the inner door shut and shoot the deadbolt.

“You must have the wrong address. I’m not expecting a delivery.”

“Dr. Irina Glasov? My name is Kale Martin. Detective Buchanan suggested I pay you a visit. He said you’d asked for a meeting.” He fumbled in his shirt pocket for a piece of ID. He flipped it open and held it up.

She couldn’t get a close enough look at it through the screen, not that it mattered. She’d never be able to confirm the legitimacy of it even if she did. Hope warred with suspicion. “Do you mind waiting a few minutes while I give Detective Buchanan a call to confirm it with him?”

The giant didn’t take offense to her caution. “Not at all.”

She left him on the doorstep while she dug her cell phone and the business card Detective Buchanan had given her out of her purse. She punched in the number.

As it turned out, the detective had, indeed, asked Mr. Martin to stop by. The description he gave her matched the man at the door, right down to the black eye, courier uniform, and running shoes, but Irina continued to hesitate even after she disconnected the call. While this seemed a little elaborate for a hoax, whoever had managed to hack into her computer wasn’t trying to be subtle. The implicit threat had been frightening.

She wished she were taller and more assertive. A self-defense course wouldn’t have been remiss, either. She’d let Mr. Martin in, but she’d stand at the counter so she’d have the butcher knife close at hand. She’d never be able to use it on anyone, but he didn’t need to know that.

She slid back the chain and unlocked the screen door. She didn’t open it but retreated to the counter, leaving him to let himself in.

The Norse god stepped over the threshold, his sheer size swallowing what she’d considered a spacious kitchen. If he lifted his hand above his head he could plant his palm on the ceiling. Fine gold hairs sprinkled tanned calves and forearms. Bulging biceps and broad pectoral muscles strained the seams of the gray cotton, short-sleeved shirt. Faint blond scruff, caught in the light from the bay window, stubbled his jaw.

The guy was beautiful. She had a difficult time believing he was an intelligence officer. Weren’t they supposed to blend in?

The only place he’d go unnoticed was Asgard.