Clandestine_Affairs_-_Alexis_Adaire.pdf

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CLANDESTINE AFFAIRS
BOOK 1
ALEXIS ADAIRE
TWISTED PAIR PUBLISHING
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
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Clandestine Affairs series
Also by Alexis Adaire
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
A
fter only twenty minutes, I already knew this Dante guy wasn’t boyfriend material.
Perfect — I only needed him for a couple of hours of sex anyway.
Little did I know at the time that Dante Gutierrez would irrevocably change my
future, far beyond the next few hours. Hell, I’d just met him. In retrospect, it’s bizarre
how one tiny decision, made for reasons having to do purely with physical pleasure,
ended up altering the trajectory of my entire life. At that moment, though, the only
future I was thinking about was the rest of my night, which held a small amount of
promise if I could get Dante to invite me back to his place for a bit of naked fun.
“So what do you do for a living, Anna?” He leaned toward me on his bar stool,
probing me with his piercing blue eyes, violating me with the obviously nasty thoughts
percolating just behind them.
His tanned face and short razor stubble made those baby blues stand out. He had a
dark complexion and longish dark brown hair that he had to keep brushing back from
his face, a move I paradoxically found both ridiculous and sexy. I’d met Dante over a
game of pool, which I suspected he let me win when he scratched on the eight-ball.
“I’m with the Secret Service,” I said, arching an eyebrow playfully. “I protect the
president.”
Dante laughed skeptically and raised his beer bottle, clinking it against mine. “Here’s
to secrets then,” he said.
He might not have found it so funny if he’d known how close that was to the truth. I
actually was a government agent, kind of. As a member of the CIA’s Office of Technical
Service I helped support the exciting careers of international spies. My duties included
providing “physical cover” for agents on assignments — wigs, makeup, clothing. A
select few people in OTS were asked to travel overseas where an on-site disguise
technician was needed to give in-field assistance to agents. I, however, was among the
ninety-five percent of CIA employees chained to a desk at headquarters in Langley, an
unincorporated area of McLean, Virginia, across the Potomac from Washington, DC.
I compensated for that by finding adventure and excitement elsewhere, like looking
for a one-night stand on a Friday night at Dave’s Hardtail, a dive bar outside of
Leesburg, VA. The bar was half an hour from my home in Reston — far enough so that
I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew. Besides, the place catered mostly to bikers, so there
was little chance anyone from the office would be there.

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