Her eyes were shining when she smoothed out Ben’s lapels.
“But congratulations. I’m happy for you guys.”
Ben brushed a kiss on his colleague’s cheek. “You’re next.”
She swiped at her nose. “Well, if you three can do it, there’s hope for me yet.”
Adam pulled her in for a hug before Griff followed suit. Seconds later, Arabelle came skipping over to them.
“Uncle Adam.” The little girl grabbed Adam’s fingers. “It’s your turn to dance with me.”
Griffin laughed out loud as the normally stoic sniper allowed a six-year-old to drag him onto the dance floor with little struggle.
“Uh-oh, Griff.” Christine gestured toward the wedding cake. “I think you better go get your wife before she commits a federal crime tossing her cookies in the White House rose bushes.”
“Ah, shit. I thought morning sickness was supposed to only be in the morning.” Griffin raced across the garden to rescue a very green Marin.
Ben shook his head with a smile. “You’re right, Christine. We have become saps.”
“And knowing you three, you’ll excel at it. They’re very lucky women.” She gave his shoulder a pat and wandered over to the bar.
Quinn made her way through the maze of tables to join him. She gifted him with one of her sexy smiles that never failed to make the back of his neck tight. Ben couldn’t help himself. He leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to her mouth.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked against her lips.
“Totally. You have amazing friends.”
“They’re your friends now, too.”
“I know. And I’m still pinching myself.” Her voice was filled with wonder. “I never let myself dream of ever having a normal life that included friends.”
“It’s the ‘normal life’ part that’s going to take some getting used to. Particularly for you.”
“About that. . .” Her emerald eyes were solemn. “Secretary Lyle had an idea—”
“No!” The tightness in his neck wasn’t so erotic any longer, more like a boa constrictor was wrapping itself around him. No way was Quinn putting herself back in danger. Not when he’d just found her again. Not when she was his future. He’d kill the secretary first.
She closed the distance between their bodies and placed her palm on his chest. His breathing seemed to steady with her touch.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she explained. “She wants me to teach. At Langley. And she’s asked my mum to come, too.”
His vision began to clear. “Would that make you happy?”
“It would make me feel useful.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “But I only need one thing to make me happy, Ben Segar. And that’s you. We’re a team. Now and forever.”
“I think I can get behind that mission.”
From across the rose garden, Secretary Lyle watched two of the intelligence community’s best operatives exchange a passionate kiss.
“They make a nice couple,” her companion remarked.
“They do,” she replied with a sigh.
“Don’t sound so disappointed. You did a kind thing finally putting them back together.”
She hadn’t done it to be kind. She’d done it for Ethan. To right a wrong. Ethan was always the more romantic one. In her line of work, happy endings were rare. It was nice to finally orchestrate one.
“Love wins out,” she replied.
“As it always should.”
The End
Acknowledgements
Some books it takes a village to prop me up and keep me writing. This one would not have been possible without three people in my village. Allison Baker, thanks for always being my plot whisperer. I love that you dream about my books. Or was it a nightmare? Melanie Lanham and Anna Doll, huge thanks for volunteering to proofread the final version days before Christmas. I love you ladies!
The Men of the Secret Service Series
Book 1: Recipe for Disaster
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Book 2: Shot in the Dark
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Book 3: Between Love and Honor
View the series here!
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Holiday at Magnolia Bay
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Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from
Recipe for Disaster
Tracy Solheim
Book 1 in the Men of the Secret Service series
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The springtime sun was slipping past the horizon as a line of government vans and black SUVs quietly snaked their way through the New Jersey industrial park. Most of the one-story buildings were deserted for the night, but light from a few of the offices bathed areas of the parking lot with a soft glow. Civilian casualties weren’t something Secret Service Agent Griffin Keller wanted to contemplate right now. Not when he was so close to capturing the man who had eluded him for nearly two years. A man, known only as The Artist, who was responsible for flooding the world’s monetary system with nearly fifty million dollars in counterfeit one hundred dollar bills.
Griffin fidgeted in the front seat of the Chevy Tahoe, an SRG rifle on his lap and a lump in his throat. Any one of those occupied offices could be housing a lookout who might alert their prey to the incoming visitors. They needed to get the strike team in place before that happened. The intel he’d received earlier in the day indicated the group was preparing to relocate. Possibly overseas. Griffin would be damned if he let the counterfeit ring slip away from his grasp. He hadn’t played nice with the FBI for all these months just to lose the biggest collar of his career.
“Subject on the move.” The voice of one of the agents staking out the warehouse whispered through his earpiece.
“Damn it! Let’s move in,” Griffin shouted into his radio transmitter. “I don’t want that son of a bitch getting away!”
Agents from the Secret Service and the FBI quickly slipped out of the vans, their bodies forming a wide circle around a darkened office/warehouse unit at the end of one of the buildings. Their dark battle dress uniforms and sleek black helmets equipped with night vision goggles made them look like a bunch of cockroaches fanning out in a kitchen after dark.
“Hey, Agent Keller, let’s not forget who’s in charge here,” Leslie Morgan’s husky voice floated through his earpiece. “No one enters that building until I give the go order.”
Louis Silva, the driver of the SUV, chuckled next to Griffin. “Damn. That woman loves her position of power,” Silva said. “I’ll bet she’s like that in bed.”
At Silva’s comments, Griffin felt himself go hard. Leslie was like that in bed; constantly trying to dominate her partner. Sex with the FBI Special Agent always turned into a sweaty wrestling match. One Griffin never let her win. He frequently wondered if Leslie’s need to best him was what kept her coming back for more. Not that he minded. Their relationship—if it could be called that—was about blowing off steam. Nothing more.