Blood Money #1
November 3, 2014
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Born into a long line of spies, sanctioned killers and covert weapons developers, Beth Faraday carried out her first hit-for-hire when she was still a teenager.
That part of her life—the American spy royalty part—ended one year ago, with a job gone wrong in Afghanistan. The collateral damage she caused with a single shot was unfathomable and, for Beth, unforgivable. She’s worked hard to build a new life for herself, far away from the family business.
But someone, somewhere, hasn’t forgotten what Beth did in Kabul. And they want revenge.
As the Faraday clan bands together to defend Beth and protect their legacy, Beth is forced to flee her new home with the unlikeliest of allies—MI6 agent Raleigh Vick, the only man she’s ever loved. And the one she thought she’d killed in the desert.
Oh, these games we play. Beth smiled wryly as the crosshairs of her scope framed him beautifully from six hundred yards away, unable to prevent the melty little sigh that escaped her.
Not that she’d ever admit to sighing over him, whoever he was this time around. Her brows knit in a scowl as she studied him, loathing the desert sun for the way it burnished him bronze—and loathing him for looking like a god in its glow.
How long had it been since Cyprus? Nine months, twelve days, and… Well, the hours and minutes didn’t matter anymore, because here he was. Granted, six hundred yards away and completely unaware of Beth lying belly-down on a hill in the outskirts of deadly Kabul, but still—here.
Her pulse picked up its pace as she remembered the last time she’d seen him, nine months, twelve days and twenty-two hours ago. Yes, twenty-two. A girl didn’t easily forget the last time a pair of broad-palmed, callused hands had stroked her to orgasm. At least, not when those hands belonged to him.
He stood on a dusty street corner under an awning, talking animatedly with a keffiyeh-wearing man who appeared decidedly upset. Her attention focused on the hands she could still feel like a brand on the tender skin of her belly, her inner thighs. He gestured easily, attempting to calm his companion, clearly speaking the other man’s language with enviable fluency. She stared at his moving lips through her scope, unconsciously wetting her own as she caught a glimpse of the gap between his front teeth.
And there was her confirmation, dental and undeniable. Different as always, and yet the same, despite the change to his coloring and clothing.
His hair was shaved down to a close buzz, appearing to be some shade of brown; in Cyprus, he’d been a sun-streaked, shaggy blonde, all surfer chic as his cover had demanded. She couldn’t see his brows behind the large aviator sunglasses he wore, but as he turned his head, she caught a glimpse of his other identifiable marker—the scar cutting across his jaw to the left of his mouth, earned years ago during an incident in Serbia.
Coincidentally, Beth had been underneath him during said incident.
About the Author
Edie Harris studied English and Creative Writing at the University of Iowa and Grinnell College. She fills her days with writing and editing contract proposals, but her nights belong to the world of romance fiction. Edie lives and works in Chicago and is represented by Laura Bradford of Bradford Literary Agency.