SPY: His Mission. His Orders. His Promise. Read online

  Spy

  His Mission. His Orders. His Promise.

  MAGGIE CARPENTER

  ADULT ADVISORY

  This book is for adults only, and contains scenes of spanking, graphic sex, bondage, sensory deprivation, and are fantasies only, intended for adults. This book is not for children, nor does it condone corporal punishment of children. This book also contains scenes of violence. This book does not support nonconsensual spanking or any other nonconsensual activities, sexual or otherwise.

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  PROLOGUE

  A Remote Mountain Cabin

  Blissfully dozing, Natalie Freeman was wrapped in the arms of her masterful lover. Though she could hear the ferocious winds and could imagine the swirling snow, she had no complaints about the raging storm. It was making their post-orgasmic moment even more intimate, and snuggling closer she sighed contentedly. Oliver Barton had introduced her to a world she'd once seen as depraved, but now she lived in a state of surrender so sublime, she knew without it she'd be like a ship without its sail, floating aimlessly on a dark grey sea.

  "Just you and me in a luxury cabin on the side of a mountain," he'd promised. "You'll be able to wail your pleasure as loudly as you want, but only with permission of course."

  It had been a helicopter flight to reach the luxury cottage nestled on a gentle slope in the middle of nowhere. They'd been left with an array of gourmet food, fine wines, and a plentiful supply of firewood. Both the bedroom and the living room offered a fireplace, and when she heard a profound crackle it sent a soft smile to her lips.

  "Natalie!"

  Oliver's urgent whisper startled her, and opening her eyes she was about to speak when he unexpectedly placed his hand over her mouth.

  "Did anyone give you a gift before we left?" he asked, his lips pressed against her ear. "Maybe a piece of jewelry?"

  Her eyes grew wide as she lifted the silver locket around her neck. Pulse racing, she remained still as he slid the chain to reach the clasp, unhooked it and placed the pendant on the nightstand. Completely bewildered she stared up at him.

  "Get under the bed," he whispered urgently. "Quietly as you can."

  "Under—?"

  But his finger touched her lips before she could finish.

  "Under the bed!"

  He'd breathed the command. Completely confounded and with panic rippling through her body, she climbed from between the sheets and wriggled beneath the bed frame. The dark wood floor under her naked body was cold and hard, and she didn't know if she was shaking from the sudden chill or the fear coursing through her veins. A moment later he was squirming next to her, and seeing a revolver in his hand she wordlessly pointed at it with terror in her wide eyes.

  "I hope I won't need it," he said under his breath.

  His words offered little comfort. Though she knew Oliver was involved in law enforcement, he didn't like to talk about his work so she didn't push, but they were supposed to be having a romantic getaway. Nothing had prepared her for the suddenly terrifying circumstances.

  Scary seconds ticked by.

  Everything was deathly quiet.

  Another crackle echoed from the fire.

  With a start she realized it wasn't a crackle at all, it was a creaking floorboard! Someone was on the other side of the bedroom door, but why would—?

  The door burst open.

  A spray of bullets peppered the room.

  Oliver's arm was gripping her waist.

  His hand was over her mouth.

  The floor beneath her dropped away.

  She was falling…

  Miraculously she landed on something soft and forgiving. He was holding her tightly. The gunfire had stopped, and though every part of her was shaking she opened her eyes. The only light was a dim grayish hue, and looking up she found a ceiling staring down at her.

  "Natalie, are you okay?"

  "No, I'm n-not f-fucking okay," she stammered. "I just g-got shot at and the f-floor gave way. Where's the b-bed? What the f-fuckl?"

  "Better the floor gives way than we end up looking like swiss cheese covered in tomato sauce."

  "This is n-no t-time for your s-stupid j-jokes."

  "Wrong, it's exactly the time for my jokes," he said, his voice still low, "and I take offense at you calling them stupid."

  "Where are we? What's g-going on?"

  "Some not very nice people followed me here."

  "Oliver…"

  "It's okay, you're completely safe."

  "The h-hell I am."

  "Just stay put. I'll be right back."

  "N-no! Don't leave me! D-damn, it's c-cold."

  "I'm going to get some more light in here, and as much as I'd like us to stay in our birthday suits that's a really bad idea."

  "You have to tell me what the hell is happening."

  "I will. In a minute."

  "How can you be so b-bloody c-calm?"

  "Don't go anywhere," he said with a grin, and quickly pecking her on the cheek he climbed off the strange spongy pad.

  As he moved away she could barely make out his shadowy form, but only a few seconds passed before the space was filled with an amber light. She assumed she was in a basement, and she could see Oliver standing in front of an open cupboard, but looking past him she saw a large opening in the wall leading into a tunnel.

  "What size shoes do you wear?" he called. "Let me guess. Seven?"

  "Yes. Seven," she replied, darting her eyes to him.

  Turning around he started walking towards her carrying a pair of boots and a sealed plastic bag.

  "Here, put this on," he ordered, handing her the package, "and you need to hurry."

  "Is this a track suit?"

  "Yes, make it quick. We can't dally."

  "What's the rush?"

  "There'll be a helicopter on its way to pick us up. We need to be at the rendezvous point."

  "Be where?" she pressed, slipping into the fleecy clothes and discovering a pair of gloves in the packet. "Wow, this is really warm. Thanks."

  He didn't respond but moved swiftly back to the cupboard to dress, and as she unzipped the boots she discovered they were lined in soft wool.

  "Oliver, you have to tell me what this is all about. Why were these clothes here? What about the falling through the floor thing? And who the fuck was shooting at us?"

  "Natalie," he said sternly, marching back to her, "you need to stop asking questions and do as I say."

  "Whoa, hold on there. Seriously, you need to tell me…"

  "No I don't," he retorted, cutting her off, grabbing her arm and bustling her off the pad. "Come on, we need to move."

  "I'm not going anywhere until—"

  "Listen to me," he said gruffly, dropping his voice and locking his eyes. "Right now those shooters are above our heads tearing that cabin apart. If they happen to trigger the floor mechanism we'll both be dead before you can blink, and if we don't reach the pick-up point in time we'll be trapped in a snowstorm with bad guys carrying guns chasing us on skis! Got it?"

  "Fuck…"

  Clutching her gloved hand he strode ahead and moved swiftly through the hole in the wall, pressing a button on the other side. To
her shock a steel door lowered into place, and utterly unnerved she turned her head and stared down the tunnel. It was lit by overhead lamps casting a blueish sliver glow. It fit the freezing air, but the clothing was remarkably warm.

  "Let's go," he said urgently, marching forward at a speedy clip.

  "How far is it?"

  "Far enough."

  "What does that mean, and who are you?" she demanded, almost having to run to keep up. "I mean, what are you? Shit. I don't know what I'm asking."

  "You'll move faster if you don't talk."

  The passage had a slight downward slope, and she realized they were making their way down the mountain. The journey seemed to be taking forever and she was beginning to run out of breath, but as they followed a slowly bending corner, they reached a dead-end.

  "It's not what it looks like," he said hastily.

  "Is anything?"

  He didn't answer her, and hurrying across to the wall he pressed a button just as he had when they'd left the room. The dead end slid sideways, and staring out at the weather she let out a weary breath of relief. Instead of a blustery snowstorm she was watching gently falling soft white flakes.

  "Come on," he said moving back to her. "We're almost there."

  Taking her by the elbow he led her through the gaping exit and she found herself in a forest, but they'd only been walking a short time when a clearing came into view.

  "We've made it in time," he said confidently, then glanced at his watch. "They'll be arriving any minute. We need to get out of the trees."

  "How did they know to come?"

  "The floor, it sent out a signal."

  "Oliver! Please. Bullets flying! Trap doors! Tunnels through mountains! A helicopter to the rescue! What the hell is going on? You have to give me something."

  "I will, but not now," he promised, and starting off again he put his arm around her waist and supported her as they trudged through the snow.

  Natalie's head was spinning. She'd met him at a Chateau in the South of France. The evening had been an elegant party to commemorate the unveiling of a magnificent bronze. The owner was her cousin, The Honorable Bradley Gilford, and he had commissioned the work to immortalize his champion show jumper. When she'd looked across the room and laid eyes on the tall, powerfully built, dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger, she'd insisted Bradley introduce her.

  "That's Oliver Barton. He's a rolling stone," Bradley had warned. "A dashing one, I'll admit, but he's still a rolling stone."

  "I just want to meet him, not marry him," she'd quipped. "Besides, I like living dangerously."

  "Yes, I know, and I have to assume that's why you shunned your family's connections and became an insurance investigator."

  "It's fun, now please tell me about him."

  "As I said, his name is Oliver Barton, and I know he's government connected, though God only knows what he does for them. A diplomat maybe, could work for Special Branch, I really have no idea."

  But Natalie had no interest Oliver's job. All she wanted was to meet the man who epitomized the phrase, tall, dark and handsome.

  After a lengthy conversation that she never wanted to end, Oliver had guided her on the terrace. Under the stars he had clutched her hair and devoured her mouth in an all-consuming kiss. From that moment her body was lost to him. A short time later so was her heart. In the weeks that followed he had taken on a journey of sexual awakening. Fur-lined cuffs, blindfolds, ropes, and other decadent tools of his tantalizing torment had made her gasp, whimper, beg and bleat, and cry out in euphoric ecstasy.

  "There's living dangerously, then there's living dangerously," she panted as they reached the edge of the woods.

  "Excuse me?"

  "The night Bradley introduced us he scolded me for becoming an insurance investigator. I told him liked living dangerously. I had no idea what I was talking about."

  "Do you hear that?"

  "The last time you said something like that, bullets started flying through the—."

  "Look," he said, cutting her off and pointing at the sky. "Come on."

  Dropping her arm from her waist he ran into the clearing to make his presence known, and as the helicopter began to descend she hurried through the snow to join him.

  "I'm sorry about all this," he said regretfully. "Truly, I am."

  "Finally, the Oliver I know and love," she said, surprised by his sudden change in attitude.

  "I didn't mean to be brusque but I had to get us out of there. And I am sorry. I thought it was over."

  "What was over?"

  "A case."

  "Are you a detective?"

  "Not exactly—"

  "Oh, my God," she gasped. "You're a spook. You're a bloody spook."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Several hours later she was in a magnificent country home behind tall walls and even taller gates. After a hot shower she'd been given fresh clothes by a kindly woman named Violet, who then led her down the stairs and into an elegant living room. Promising to be right back she'd left, closing the door behind her. A few minutes later Oliver walked in, Violet behind him carrying a tray of tea, finger sandwiches, and scones.

  "How are you?" Oliver asked as Violet left. "I meant what I said. I really am dreadfully sorry."

  "I know you couldn't say anything once we were picked up, but now that we're alone—Oliver, was I right? You have to tell me. Are you a spy?"

  "It doesn't matter what I do," he replied, a heavy frown crossing his brow, "what matters is I need to keep you safe. Until this blows over you'll be in danger if you're with me. Natalie, you need to leave England for a while."

  "What am I supposed to do? What about my job and my flat?"

  "All that will be taken care of. I know you were born here, but you've spent a great deal of time in the States. I'll arrange for you to work there until this blows over. New York, LA Anywhere that appeals to you."

  "How long will I have to be gone?"

  "I hope only a few weeks. I can't tell you more than that, but I promise I'll be in touch the minute this situation is resolved."

  "I can't believe this is happening."

  "When the time is right, and it will be, you'll be meeting me at an airport to fly off to a tropical island for a romantic reunion."

  "Really? Please don't say that if it's not true. If this is goodbye, then it's goodbye. I can handle it. Don't make a promise just because you think it will make me feel better."

  "I never make a promise unless I fully intend to keep it."

  "Sorry," she said with a sigh, "I do know that. I'm just flustered."

  "Natalie," he said, lowering his voice, "I'm not supposed to become emotionally entangled, but I have."

  "Oliver…" she breathed, fighting the hot tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "I, uh, me too."

  "Now I need a promise from you."

  "Anything."

  "Be wary. Don't connect yourself to anyone suspect."

  "What do you mean?"

  "If someone offers you an opportunity you think might not be on the up-and-up, walk away."

  "I would never accept a job that wasn't legit."

  "Sometimes offers can be cloaked in respectability. Be careful. Promise me."

  "I promise, Oliver, but don't keep me waiting too long. I might get bored and do something foolish."

  "You'd better not. When we get back together you know what will happen if you do."

  "Promise?"

  "Most definitely," he breathed, sliding his fingers into her hair, "and if you ever find yourself doubting me, remember this."

  Tugging back her head he pressed his lips against hers, and pouring out all the love he held in his heart he consumed her mouth, kissing her with a fervent passion that turned her knees weak and set her heart pounding…then he was gone.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Two Years Later

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Staring down at the neon fantasyland that promised great riches but usually delivered empty wallets, Natalie
tried to quiet the drumming of her heart. Her boss, Victor Pichenko, would be walking through the door of her luxury suite at any minute. It was a visit she was dreading. She'd have to tell him the truth, or at least a version of it. She didn't know why Oliver had appeared at the exhibition. She hadn't seen or heard from him in two years and suddenly there he was! She'd been so shocked she'd almost dropped her martini, and when he'd caught her eye and gripped her gaze her entire body had turned to jelly. Victor had seen it of course. He didn't miss a thing. The sound of her door opening made her jump, and taking a breath she slowly turned around.

  "Hello, Victor."

  "Tell me why he knows you," Victor demanded, striding across the room, "and don't fuck with me Natalie. Don't even think about it."

  "You don't have to worry," she said calmly. "He was a passing fling and it was ages ago. Why are you so freaked out?"

  "I'm not freaked out. I don't get freaked out. I am sometimes angry, sometimes furious," he exclaimed, with the slightest hint of his Russian accent, "but I don't get freaked out."

  "Fine. You don't get freaked out, but why are you so concerned?"

  "I'm asking the questions! How did you meet him? Where were you living when you were going out with him?"

  "I met him at a party in the South of France, and we saw each other for a short time when I returned to London," then softening her voice she added, "Please tell me why seeing him has made you so upset?"

  He was glaring at her, then he abruptly dropped his eyes and began to pace. Pacing meant he was thinking. Pacing meant he was considering her story. She might actually survive the night.

  "I don't like this. I don't like this," he muttered. "He recognized you instantly, I saw it."

  "Of course he did. We had a brief fling, but I haven't seen or spoken to him for, gosh, it's been a couple of years."

  He paused. His eyes narrowed.

  "Pour me a drink."

  That meant she had to turn her back to him. Would she end up with a knife at her throat or a gun at her temple? Managing to keep her hand from trembling she poured the vodka into a shot glass and slowly pivoted. He'd moved behind her and was only foot away. The smell of cigar smoke tickled her nostrils. He wasn't a tall man, but he was scary. Ruthlessness oozed out of him like the stench from rotting meat.