I know stuff because my husband is James Bond.

“I prefer brunettes.” His gaze left the waitress and found me.

I pretended not to notice him while I ate my second serving of cake.

His deep baritone dropped an octave. ”Excuse me. Are you new here?”

I met his gaze and wiped the chocolate off my chin. “Er, yes. I’m on vacation.”

His gaze dropped to my empty plate. “Let me take you to my villa. You need more cake.”

Who doesn’t need more cake? I accepted his offer.

I tripped on my way out of the cafe and knocked over a pretty Ming vase.

My new friend graciously offered to pay for my lunch…and the broken pottery.

We drove to the Mediterranean coast in his Ferrari. He smiled when I broke the seatbelt.

“Your clumsiness is charming. Are you always so nervous around handsome men like me?”

“Actually, I’m nervous around everyone.” I pointed to a brawny man holstering a gun. “Especially him.”

“That’s just my bodyguard.” My friend’s lips curled into an arrogant grin. “He’ll protect you, too.”

“Terrific.” I sucker punched the guard, grabbed his gun, whipped a badge out of my bra.

My friend paled. “You work for the CIA. How long have you been following me?”

“The agency asked me to find you an hour ago.” I slapped handcuffs over his wrists.

He whimpered. “I’m just a businessman. Tell me what I did wrong, for Pete’s sake.”

I gripped his arm a little tighter than necessary. “You tailgated me fifteen years ago.”

His eyes widened. “That was you? I didn’t mean it. I swear. Let me go. I’ll be nice.”

“Sorry, buddy. It’s too late. The party’s over.” I shoved him into the waiting police car.

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Fantasy is the best way to get even.

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Were these pictures taken near a Mediterranean villa…or Boston harbor?