Spies Don't Fall for Their Asset (Romancing the Spy, #1)

by Meg Easton

Plus, every once in a while, I decide to run, and I last about ninety seconds before I am convinced that I will die if I continue. Which, quite frankly, is a little embarrassing. So, instead, I power walk like a sixty-five-year-old in the mall thirty minutes before they open.

“Good luck, have fun, don’t die!” Three things that are always part of my plan.

Guys in suits are my Kryptonite. The chink in my armor. My catnip. If I had to work in an office with Jace and see him dressed like that all the time… well, let’s just say that whatever work I did would be riddled with mistakes and never finished by its deadline.

But just because he has a great smile, dresses nice, is asking me on a real date, the confidence in the way he stands is rather delicious, and it’s pretty darn cute that he wants to use a picnic basket his mom gave him, doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for him. It does mean I’m going to say yes to going on a date with him, though. I mean, how often do all those things happen together? The answer is never.

I just feel drawn to her like a code-breaker to a cipher.

This might not be my first fake relationship, but it is my first fake relationship that has started to feel all too real.

This mission is to fake a relationship with Mackenzie. The part of my heart that is squeezing in fear right now tells me that I am no longer faking it and maybe never was. That part is telling me to run right now.

“But don’t you attempt to make me fall for you because it isn’t going to happen.” I try to keep the smile that’s threatening to overcome my face from doing exactly that. In my head, I hear the words, “Challenge accepted,” which leaves me feeling like I’m the conflicted one. This is not a challenge I should accept. But I hold out a hand, shake hers, and say, “Deal.”

I am a huge fan of kissing, but I like that Jace is taking things slowly. I am soaking in every single little touch of his and appreciating it more than I ever have.

Who doesn’t have a mirror in their bedroom? This girl. Because I’m apparently not the “have a long mirror to check my outfit” kind of girl, either. I’m more of a “when needed, stand on the edge of the bathtub to see more of my outfit in the mirror above my sink” kind of girl.

He nods. “When you go to his work today, good luck, have fun, and don’t die.” I laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

It’s good for the soul to let yourself dance big because it helps your body remember that it can experience big things.”

By the time they start playing Footloose, I am feeling anything but footloose. More like foot rigid. But at least I’m a slight bit less rigid.

Eventually, though, she smiles against my lips and then pulls back just enough to say, “I knew it was a good idea to have you come today.” “And I knew I didn’t want to miss it for the world.” Yep. She has definitely worked her magic on me.

Nations rise and fall because of kisses like that. I’m an addict. Like a raccoon who has discovered where the camper’s stash of Oreos is. I’ve never related to a raccoon more.

I spend every minute of the flight either snuggled up to Jace or pushing my face against the window. Mostly snuggled up to Jace. What’s outside the window is pretty amazing, even in the dark, but the beautiful man in the tux next to me wins out most of the time.

Jace holds out a hand. “Would you like to dance?” Why, yes, yes I would. I am here, dressed like Cinderella, at an actual ball, and a very stunning Prince Charming is asking me to dance. You better believe I’m going to dance. But I am not leaving a shoe behind. I don’t care how big of a hurry Cinderella was in— if she’d had shoes as fabulous as mine and one fell off while she was running, she would’ve gone back for it no matter what.

“You, Mackenzie,” he says as he spins me, then meets my eyes again, “are anything but forgettable.” The way he’s looking at me makes me believe it.

“So, you don’t need me to be charming, alluring, or exercise all of my ‘feminine wiles’ on you?” Jace turns to breathe into my ear, tickling my neck as he does, “You have been all along.” Then he kisses my temple, and yeah— I definitely feel like I’m in a fairytale.

Instead of looking for colored relationship flags, I am metaphorically waving a white flag. I surrender. Jace has won, and to the victor goes my heart.

“Unless you count anatidaephobia.” When her eyebrows scrunch together, I shrug and add, “A fear that a duck is watching me. I had a traumatic experience as a kid involving a duck and a peanut butter sandwich. But I don’t usually tell people about that.”

Mackenzie is the kind of woman that you thank your lucky stars that you know. And if she falls in love with you, you consider yourself the luckiest man on earth, and you do whatever it takes to stay worthy of that love.