UPDATE: The winner is…Melissa Metz!
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“Sex, Spies, and Subterfuge” by Elle James – Scottish UK SAS Agent on an undercover weekend assignment tangles with a beautiful Russian seductress and potential assassin.

My inspiration for “Sex, Spies, and Subterfuge” was this dance scene in the movie True Lies. I wanted to write a prequel to my book, Belgium Betrayal, coming out in September. My protagonists are spies from opposing countries who are attracted to each other, trying to fight that attraction while doing their job. I loved Arnie’s entrance to this party and tried to recapture the elegance in my story. This is a prequel that sets the stage for what brings these two together in the full novel. I hope you love this little glimpse into their lives and chemistry. You can preorder Belgium Betrayal now:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CVJR922T
Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/belgian-betrayal-elle-james/1144881741?ean=2940186002031
Apple: https://tinyurl.com/2s8vkx2f
Kobo: https://tinyurl.com/5fk7z6kb
Googleplay: https://tinyurl.com/3h38faaj

Snippet from “Sex, Spies, and Subterfuge”…

Fearghas Gordon drove the rubber boat with its electric engine up onto the shore of the River Tay at the base of Scotland’s Roxburgh Mansion.

With only starlight to guide him, he stepped out onto dry land, dressed in a black tuxedo with shiny patent leather shoes.

After pulling the rubber boat up further onto the shore, he made certain it would be hidden from view from the mansion up the hill.

Without an invitation to the event, Fearghas had to rely on sneaking in through the garden and back door. The mansion’s security would be tight that night, as it had been hired out by Hanson McAuliffe, one of the richest men in the world.

Fearghas Gordon tapped a finger to the earbud in his ear. “Com check.”

“Read you loud and clear,” Bryan Gall responded. Positioned in a van behind trees along the side of the road in front of the mansion, his tech guy ran communications and monitored the comings and goings of the event.

“Fox has landed,” Fearghas said.

“Roger,” Bryan said. “Manage to stay dry?”

“Of course.” Fearghas checked right and then left for any security elements that might have been stationed on the water’s edge. The shoreline was empty; no men carrying rifles. The coast was clear.

He walked up the bank onto the manicured lawn and into the garden surrounding the back of the mansion. Soft lighting, illuminated prize, rose bushes, and an arching arbor full of morning glory vines. Though full of blossoms, the garden was empty of people.

Just the way Fearghas wanted.

“The Raven is pulling up now in a black Lamborghini,” Bryan informed him. “If you’re not inside now, you might want to step lively.”

Fearghas’s pulse kicked up a notch.

She was earlier than he had anticipated.

He increased his pace, weaving through the garden path to the tall French doors leading into the ballroom. The doors stood open wide, allowing the fresh night air to cool the ballroom.

A gray-haired gentleman in a tuxedo and a svelte woman in a black gown stood on the stone patio, deep in discussion.

Fearghas stepped past them quickly, giving them a brief nod before he entered the ballroom.

A five-piece orchestra, positioned at the far end of the ballroom on the dais, played a waltz. Guests danced or circulated around the edges of the room, congregating in small clumps, all dressed beautifully in lavish dresses and formal tuxedos.

“Raven is entering the building,” Ryan said.

“Roger,” Fearghas said. “I’m in the ballroom.” He kept his voice low and barely moved his lips. He smiled and nodded as he passed a woman dressed in a gold lamé gown. He glanced away quickly so as not to encourage her to stop and chat. Moving with purpose across the ballroom, he stepped through the arched opening that led to the foyer and hurried toward the front entrance.

As he reached the foyer, she stepped in.

The raven-haired killer, Catya Romanov. As beautiful as ever, if not more so.

Fearghas’s pulse leaped, and his groin tightened. The last time he’d seen her was when he’d left her bed in Moscow after a cold night of hot, passionate lovemaking. He’d been on an information-gathering mission, specifically to discover what she was up to.

Having been tagged a Russian spy and a lethal assassin, she’d been his mission. He’d been sent to get “close” to the infamous Raven—hopefully, to find out who would be her next target. She’d proven to be as tight-lipped as she was fiercely passionate.

Fearghas hadn’t been able to ascertain the name of her next target until that target had turned up dead in the River Seine two days later.

Poisoned.

Not that Fearghas had any proof it had been the Raven who’d murdered the man. But she had been seen in France earlier that day with the deceased before his demise.

Catya spotted him almost as quickly as he spotted her. Her eyes flared briefly, and a slow, sexy smile spread across her lips. She met him in front of the coat check door.

“Darling,” she said in her sensual, gravelly voice as she let the velvet cape slide off her shoulders, exposing a sequined red dress that plunged in the front almost to her belly button. “Did you lose the coin toss?”

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About the Author

Elle James spent twenty years livin’ and lovin’ in South Texas, ranching horses, cattle, goats, ostriches and emus. A former IT professional, Elle happily writes full-time, penning adventures that keep her readers begging for more. When she’s not writing, she’s traveling, snow-skiing, boating, or riding her ATV while concocting new stories.

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