Secrets in Lace

Thursday, March 26, 2015

The Spy I Loved, by Dusty Miller.

Not exactly as pictured.


























Constance 'Dusty' Miller




Liam hadn’t realized there was a dimmer switch. He was just examining a velvet painting of some big-eyed children on the living room wall when the lights dropped and he turned to look. 

Wow. 

Lindsey stood in the arch, and his jaw dropped. 

She was wearing high-heeled shoes, sheer black stockings with a line up the back, a garter belt, also in black, and a thin, sheer teddy with a high neckline. Her breasts were just a nice B-cup, riding firm and high, with puffy nipples that would be pink when he got them out into the light. 

Around her neck was a silk bow and she had dangly black hoop earrings in some kind of polished stone segments. 

With her lips parted and her eyes locked on his, she sashayed into the room, turning and striking a pose. She had him cornered. She circled in, inexorably. There was no place to run and no way to hide. Not once he’d seen it. There wasn’t much he could do except sit down on the single upholstered armchair as she bent forward, face inches from his. 

The look in her eyes was wild, angry, abandoned. 

“Lindsey—” 

“Shut up.” 

“This is a real bad idea—honestly. You’re upset, you’ve been through a rough time—” 

“This is not how it ends, Liam Kimball.”


End of excerpt.


It’s a calculated risk for the Canadian Security and Intelligence Service in the classic game of spy-versus-spy. In a game where there are no rules, sometimes even no clear objectives, it’s a question of who gets there first—and who gets hurt.

The Spy I Loved is now available from Amazon.

Shit! I almost forgot. The book is free for a limited time at Smashwords.
















 


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