A thrilling cat and mouse romance. Coming Fall 2026.
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Jamie
Agent Matteo Locke slaps one handcuff on my wrist. The other goes around his.
“You’re not going anywhere this time, Moriarty,” he says in that smooth British-Italian accent of his.
I look up at him with all the innocence I can muster. “Is this really necessary?” I bat my lashes. I tilt my head just enough my blonde strands catch the sun.
His dark eyes go to pale pink robe barely covering my soft curves.
His breath catches in his throat. His cheeks flush with desire.
He swallows hard, finding his poker face. His I’m all business. I don’t care how much I want you tone. “Was stealing $200 million in art necessary?”
Three hundred million, but who’s counting?
“I can’t help myself.” I stare into his gorgeous eyes. I reach out with my free hand and run my fingers over his strong jawline. “I love Van Gogh.”
He leans into my touch for a second, then he’s back to the Mi6 Agent who doesn’t take shit. “If you play nice, I’ll talk to the warden. Get a print for your wall.”
He’s so fucking sexy here. In control and completely at my mercy at the same time.
“I’d rather look at you.” I make my voice soft and breathy as I run my fingertips over his chin.
He lets out a single sigh of need and he snaps back to the man he’s supposed to be. “I’ll send a photo,” he says, his voice ice and steel.
Which only makes me hotter. My core tightens. My chest flushes. I want him so badly. I always do.
“Will the picture keep me warm at night?” I ask in my best femme fatale voice. The one I only use for him. Devious, yes, but powerless to resist him too.
“I know I’m gorgeous, but I’m not the sun, mi diavolessa.” He calls me by his favorite pet name. His little devil. “I can’t warm that cold-blood of yours.”
That’s a good one. He’s getting better at this banter thing.
And he’s wrong—
He is the sun. He’s radiant.
But enough foreplay. Let’s get into this.
I trace a line down his chin, neck, collarbones.
His lips part with a groan as I undo the top button of his shirt.
“If we’re going to be stuck together, we might as well enjoy the hour until your backup arrives,” I say.
He looks down at me with heavy eyes as he brings his hand to my neck.
His touch is soft. Tender.
Not what I expect in this situation. And all the better for it.
For a moment, I savor the warmth of his hand on my skin. Then I shift into the seductress I invented just for this.
I drop to my knees and distract him thoroughly while I swipe the keys from his pocket.
He’s cuffed to the bed before he has any idea what’s happening.
I push him onto the soft surface.
He lands with perfect posture, poised and ready for anything.
Matteo looks up at me with that mix of vulnerability and confidence only he can offer. He’s starting to lose the character. And he doesn’t have another one, not really.
Only the loving boyfriend he really is.
“Now, I have you where I want you,” I say, as I slide out of my pastel pink robe. Then it’s the matching bra and panty set that blends into my skin, makes me look sweet and innocent.
He watches, helpless. Rapt.
I slide into his lap.
His eyes go wide for that perfect moment of union.
Then it’s a buzz against my thigh. His work phone.
“Jamie, baby. I’m sorry. I have to check that,” he says, pausing the scene officially.
Damn. I thought we’d finally get to the next phase of this roleplay. Where he distracts me, steals the keys back, and ties me to the bed.
But, no, it’s always work first.
I swallow the frustration that rises in my throat. He doesn’t want to see that. They never do.
I slide off so I can reach his phone. My body whines from the loss of heat, but I focus on action as I hold the phone to his ear.
He’s all business as he speaks with his boss. Yes, no, when, where.
The call ends.
I consider leaving him tied up here. It would be apropos. And it would make my task easier.
But that’s not how I want this to go. There’s just something about Matteo. I want to protect him.
“How long do you have?” I ask, in the sweetest voice imaginable. This is my last chance to play devoted girlfriend. I have to make it count.
“Not long enough to do this properly,” he says, regret in his voice, “but I won’t leave you wanting either.”
My heart thuds against my chest. My stomach fills with butterflies.
For a second, I reconsider.
I’m going to miss him. Miss this.
But what other choice do I have? Even if I wanted to quit my job—and I don’t—I can’t. There are strict rules around retirement.
So I focus on this moment. This last time that he’s mine as I uncuff him and surrender to the feeling of his head between my legs.
And then I kiss him like it’s the last time.
Unless the stars align, it is.
He releases me with a sigh—one that says, I don’t want to leave so quickly, but I know you’ll be here when I get back. Then he stands and washes up and I do what I need to do.
I get the address from his phone. I slide into my clothes. I walk him to the door.
I steal one more sweet, soft, slow, soul-filling kiss.
He looks down at me, curiosity in his dark eyes. He can tell I’m off someplace. He can tell the energy is different.
I rise to my tiptoes and wrap my arms around him and hold him tightly. “In case you don’t make it back,” I say.
He nods into my shoulder, accepting my answer but not buying it.
And then he leaves. What else can he do? He doesn’t have time to stop and break it down.
He has a witness to interview.
Hopefully, he’s distracted by this glimpse of the truth.
He sees me.
That’s why he calls me his little devil.
He just can’t see the one tiny thing I keep hidden:
I kill people for a living.
*
Matteo
The safe house is a quiet spot. A villa nestled on a cliff, surrounded by low brush and the brilliant orange light of sunset.
There’s a low likelihood of danger—only Jamie, my boss, and the witness know I’m in this little town outside of Nice—but I still need to bring my A-game.
If I don’t flip Cassanova, I hit another dead end. It might be another two years of chasing Olympus before I find one this good. And I need to stop them.
The female-run crime ring sells assassinations and information to the highest bidder. They’ve racked up quite the body count and we haven’t come close to stopping them.
This man knows Nike, the assassin who is constantly one step ahead of me.
But not today.
Today, I get a name
The pent-up desire from earlier threatens to steal my concentration. I love the occasional abrupt end, so to speak. It makes the eventual climax that much better.
I allow myself one moment to savor the memory of Jamie’s groan in my ear, then I check the dirt road for a tail, and I slip into the abandoned mansion.
Inside, the villa is gorgeous but unkempt. Dust covers old furniture. Musty blinds block the brilliant sunset, but they can’t keep the scent of salt and citronella from the air.
I creep up the winding wooden stairs.
But I’m too late.
Casanova is in the master bedroom, handcuffed to a chair, plastic bag over his head, body limp.
He’s turned to the messy four-poster bed like he’s ready to watch the action on the faded pink sheets.
Only there’s no action. The room is silent. No breath. No footsteps. No wire trap.
There’s no one here. No one alive.
His lack of a pulse confirms it. He’s still warm. He hasn’t been dead long.
Wait a minute.
Those handcuffs are familiar. The pink color. The furry texture.
The ones Jamie brought the first time she suggested a cop-criminal role play scenario.
But how could she—
How could anyone beat me here?
Then I see it, tucked into his pocket.
The card that came with the flowers I sent her on Valentine’s Day, along with a perfectly pressed rose petal.
My message on one side.
Ti amo, mi diavolessa.
Then the other, in her handwriting.
Sorry, baby XO.
It hits me all at once.
Nike—the assassin I’ve been chasing the last two years—
Is my ex-girlfriend.
*Coming Fall 2026*
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