"A fun read of working out issues with your spy of a husband"
Reviewed by Kathyrn Little
Posted January 8, 2012
Romance Contemporary
Treflee and Ty were newly married when Treflee discovered
just what it entailed to be the wife to a spy. She decides
that she wants a divorce rather than waiting long nights for
Ty to come home and worry over just who he may be meeting in
those exotic locales. Ty can see why she might want a
divorce, but he never said he wouldn't try to change her
mind...which lead to events that are both humorous and sexy.
Treflee, as amusing as her name sounds, is not flakey or an
airhead. She has her feet planted firmly on the ground and
knows what she wants from life. Ty has that handsome,
charismatic, and enigmatic look that keeps Treflee and the
reader interested in him. It is never fun to meet one's ex
while on vacation, but Treflee has never had the best luck,
now she must deal with her ex and decide just how to avoid
him - assuming she wants to.
THE SPY WHO LEFT ME has all of the right ingredients for a
great romance. Treflee is a somewhat serious heroine who
knows when to push and when to relent. Ty is the
stereotypical hero and their romance scenes are steamy. The
author manages to inject just the right amount of humor to
keep a reader who does not want constant romance happy. Pick
up a copy of THE SPY WHO LEFT ME for a fun read.
SUMMARY
If there’s one thing that can ruin a vacation, it’s running
into your ex. Just ask Treflee Miller. If she’d only known
that her husband Ty would be here in Hawaii—muscular,
sun-bronzed, and infuriatingly gorgeous—she would have
brought the divorce papers for him to sign. But life is full
of surprises when you’re married to a world-class spy…
Ty Miller can understand why his wife is tired of playing
Mrs. James Bond. He’s never home, he’s always on a mission,
and he’s usually surrounded by exotic informants. He has to
admit that the perfect spy makes a pretty lousy husband. But
for the sake of Ty’s security and Treflee’s safety, they
can’t blow his cover. Not here. Not now. Not when his
longing is so strong, her lips so tempting—and his enemies
so close…
ExcerptChapter One
There are two things a girl would really rather not
experience on her Hawaiian vacation—the monthly curse
and a run-in with her soon-to-be ex. For the first time
since puberty, Treflee Miller had managed to dodge the
first. She was staring at all six-foot-two well-muscled,
lying, spying, ran-out-on-her inches of the second as he
hefted her cousin Carrie’s bags up the steps of the Big
Auau Sugar Plantation’s lanai.
He’d bleached his brown hair to a sun-streaked blond and
grown a goatee, but it was him. The corner of his mouth
curled into that sexy half grin of his and his eyes danced
with flirtation as he stared at Carrie, not seeing Treflee.
Treflee flushed, feeling an unexpected jolt of jealousy.
Whether she wanted him or not, he was still her man. Her
mouth fell open into what was surely an unflattering gape.
What was he doing here on her vacation? Shouldn’t he be
playing spy boy, not bellhop, on something other than U.S.
soil?
Damn! She didn’t have the divorce papers on her.
Technically, he wasn’t legally her ex-husband. Yet. He’d
run off on another top secret mission without signing the
final paperwork. If only she had them with her, she’d make
short work of her still-married status.
She snapped her mouth shut and gave him her hard-
core "I’m so angry I could kill you" glare. He should have
known it well by now. She’d aimed it at him with regularity
this past year. When he was around, that is. But he clearly
hadn’t noticed her yet as he flirted with Carrie.
In the distance, past the stately trees of the
plantation and waving fields of sugarcane, the Pacific
Ocean sparkled behind him. The scent of plumeria and ginger
wafted toward Treflee, tinged with a hint of his all too
familiar, and totally hot, cologne. The man knew how to
scent himself, that’s for sure. It was commitment and the
thought of family life he had trouble with.
As his gaze lifted from Carrie to Treflee, his eyes went
from dancing to clinically cold.
"T-"
He cut her off. "Aloha! Ty Smith. General purpose
vacation instructor and island guide." He sounded
deceptively friendly and charming.
Yeah, he could really put it on. But as he extended his
hand and leaned toward her, he flashed her a hard-
edged "you blow my cover and there will be hell to pay,
nearly ex-wife or not" look. His threatening look was much
more convincing than hers.
She backed off, but not before she mouthed the
word "bastard" for his eyes only.
"Treflee Miller," she said, voice dripping with
artificial sweetness. "Vacationer." And hacked-off wife,
she could have added, but it wasn’t totally necessary. She
thought he pretty much knew how she felt.
"E komo mai! Welcome to Hawaii. And your week of fun and
adventure." Ty’s voice gave away nothing of his displeasure
and discomfort at seeing her. His ability to hide his
emotions made him a fantastic spy. And a miserable husband.
Treflee didn’t want an adventure. She loathed adventure.
She longed for peace and quiet, sunbathing and solitary
beach walks at sunrise and sunset. Maybe the occasional
tropical drink featuring a heavy dose of pineapple juice
and rum.
It had been Carrie’s sadistic idea to drag her
beleaguered bridal party to Maui after she dumped her
fiancé, Kane, a week before the wedding for cheating on
her. Carrie had planned a Hawaiian wedding and honeymoon
and she was going to get them. Well, a Hawaiian vacation
anyway, with her bridesmaids in tow. Why would the girls
complain? They’d already paid for their nonrefundable
airfare. She was simply making sure Treflee and company got
to benefit from it.
Carrie was not your typical weepy, depressed ex-bride. A
lady cop, she had a take-no-prisoners personality. If she
wanted to go to Hawaii with her nearest and dearest, they
were going with her. End of story.
So she salvaged what she could of her wedding budget,
sweet-talked the hotel she’d reserved for her wedding into
letting her bridal party stay sans wedding, and booked a
vacation package for all of them. And here they were,
dancing supportive attendance to her as if she were still
the happy bride and they were still the dutiful bridesmaids.
Beside Treflee, Carrie’s curvy, amply endowed best
friend, Laci, whispered in her ear, "He’s hot. This is
going to be fun."
Yeah, it’s going to be fun all right. If Treflee could
keep from murdering Ty. She shrugged noncommittally.
"You don’t like?" Laci asked, nodding toward him,
obviously incredulous.
"Not my type." Treflee could lie pretty well, too, when
she wanted to.
There were six in their party, with enough baggage for a
dozen. And Treflee wasn’t thinking strictly of luggage. If
Ty was planning on carrying it all in for them, they were
in for a wait.
Treflee grabbed her bag, not out of any charity toward
him, but because she was wilting in the afternoon sun.
The plantation door opened and a heavy, middle-aged
Hawaiian woman dressed in a muumuu stepped out, followed by
a broad-shouldered blond guy. The woman spread her arms in
an all-encompassing gesture of welcome. "Aloha auina la!"
She nodded toward the blond guy and he started grabbing
bags.
"Meet Greg, my fellow instructor, and Tita," Ty
said. "She’s the big wahine around here."
Tita’s rich laugh shook her body and brought a smile to
Treflee’s face. "Who you calling big, skinny boy?"
"I meant that in the most honorable way, as in you’re
the boss lady." He gave her a deferential nod of his head,
but his grin said he was half teasing.
"You mean kahuna, haole. I’m the big kahuna and don’t
you forget it."
"Yes, wahine."
With a smile and a flip of her hand, she dismissed his
lack of respect. "Come, let’s get you all settled in and
refreshed before your night on the town."
Ty handed Carrie’s bag to the blond guy and grabbed
Treflee’s. "We need to talk," he whispered in her ear.
"There’s nothing to talk about," she said. "I’ll have my
lawyer e-mail or fax you the papers here. We’ll never have
to talk again."
He gave her the look again. "No e-mailing. No faxing.
We’ll talk." He turned to Tita, and nodded toward
Treflee. "Which room?"
"Makai one."
"Excellent." He hauled Treflee’s bag into the building,
up the beautiful, coiling wooden stairs, and down a hallway
with her trailing after him, trying to take in the sights
so she didn’t explode with anger. She only maintained
control out of a sense of patriotism. What if blowing his
cover meant vital U.S. secrets got out, security was
breached, and we had another Pearl Harbor on our hands? It
sounded melodramatic. But you never knew with Ty. You never
knew anything.
He walked so fast, they lost the rest of the girls.
Finally, he came to an abrupt stop in front of a red
door in the middle of the mellow, sea-foam-green hall. He
pulled a universal key from his pocket, let them into the
room and pulled the door closed behind them.
Being led into a bedroom by Ty used to be a totally
exhilarating experience. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit
to feeling a thrill of the old excitement. She brushed it
off, relegating it to a somatic response.
The bedroom was truly spectacular. Just what she would
have picked for herself. Large comfy bed covered with
tasseled pillows and a linen comforter. Bamboo floors with
deep cream throw rugs. A ceiling fan floated lazily above
it all. At the far end, a door stood open onto a balcony
that faced the ocean. The white curtains surrounding it
fluttered in the ocean breeze. Paradise.
Ty broke the spell by speaking. "What are you doing
here?"
Ty was his real first name. He hadn’t been terribly
creative in his choice of cover. Maybe he was tired of
answering to so many different names.
"Why the surprise?" She snorted. "Any spy worth their
salt would have looked at the guest log and seen my name."
"Tita keeps the guest list. I barely glanced at it." He
paused, frowning, looking as if he couldn’t have missed
something as obvious as her name, even at a glance.
Suddenly, he cursed beneath his breath. "Wait a
minute—you’re Betty Miller?"
"What? Betty! Are you crazy?" She hated that nickname
and he knew it. Her given name was Elizabeth. Everyone
called her Treflee, a childhood mutation of trying to call
herself Bethy and being unable to make the "th" sound.
Beffly had somehow morphed into Treflee and stuck. Her
mother had wanted to call her Betty. No way.
"You’re Betty according to the list." Ty shook his head,
looking at her suspiciously. As if she’d tried to pull one
over on him.
"That Carrie and her warped sense of humor. I’m going to
strangle her." Only the family and Ty ever called her
Betty, and only when they wanted to pull her chain.
Treflee had another beef with him. "Speaking of my
cousin Carrie, you were flirting with her!"
"Flirting with the ladies is part of my cover--" He
stopped short as if registering what she’d just said. "Your
cousin?"
"Yeah, duh. You’d know that if you were ever around long
enough to attend a family function or two." Spite was not
an easy thing to keep out of her voice.
He cocked a brow. "She wasn’t at our wedding."
The man had a photographic memory. "She was serving in
Iraq."
"You never showed her a wedding picture? She didn’t seem
to recognize me."
Treflee shrugged. "I’m sure she saw one a long time ago.
I haven’t been in the mood to flash one around lately." Did
she sound put out? She didn’t think she sounded
sweet. "You’re obviously incognito now. I doubt she’ll make
the connection. The bleached-blond look is good on you."
He ignored her jibe. "I don’t recognize the others."
"I just met the others. They’re all Carrie’s friends,
fellow cops and former military. Except for Carla. She’s a
nurse. You’d better watch yourself." Treflee couldn’t help
smiling. "Cops have a habit of sniffing out the truth."
Carrie and Treflee lived states apart. They weren’t
actually that close. Mostly it was blood and the devoted
relationship between their mothers that bound them. Carrie
had been under duress to make her part of the bridal party.
When the whole thing fell through, she couldn’t very well
exclude her from the vacation, even though Treflee had
tried to wiggle out of it.
She put her hands on her hips as they stared each other
down. "I checked the weather every day for the past six
months."
When he was away on a mission, they communicated by
posting seemingly innocuous comments on their hometown’s
local weather blog. Their comments were actually coded
messages to each other.
"You always check the weather," he said.
He was probably being deliberately obtuse just to
frustrate her. "You know what I mean."
"What would I have said, Tref? Graupel?"
Graupel? That one wasn’t in their lexicon. Graupel was
hail snow. Hail snow? Then it hit her--hell no!
"Very funny, Ty. Hail hath no fury."
"That’s obvious."
She crossed her arms. "You could have been dead for all
I knew."
"And lying in a ditch," he added. "If I was dead, Emmett
would have shown up at your door with a folded American
flag and your widow’s benefits."
Okay, he has me there. As chief spy, Emmett Nelson was
the Agency’s harbinger of death.
Ty ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "How can I
get you to go home?"
"Sign the divorce papers."
"You don’t have them on you."
"I can get them. If you insist on the no e-mailing, no
faxing rule, I’ll call my lawyer and have him overnight
them."
He snorted in disbelief. "E-mailing, faxing,
overnighting, texting, posting them to a Web site,
skywriting, or carrier pigeoning, I can’t take the chance.
I’m on an important mission. I can’t have anything around
anywhere with my real identity, anything that will blow my
cover."
She lifted her chin. "You have me."
He shook his head and crossed his arms. "Do you have a
picture of me in your wallet?"
"Egocentric bastard," she said. "I shredded every last
picture I had of you months ago."
"On your cell phone?" He grabbed her purse from the bed
where she’d dropped it. Before she could stop him, he had
the phone and her camera out. He dropped them in his
pocket.
Shoot! There might be a picture or two of him still on
the phone. Call her a sentimental fool.
"I’ll return these when I’ve checked them out." He
pulled her wallet out and leafed through as she stood
watching him, fury making her almost speechless. Only a few
sputters managed to escape her lips.
Finally, he dropped the wallet back into the purse and
the purse back on the bed. "Clear. Now, go home before
anyone gets hurt." His eyes twinkled wickedly. He was
deadly serious.
"I can’t. Ex-bridezilla out there will hunt me down and
kill me." She explained about Carrie. Besides, she wasn’t
leaving without her divorce. When she finished her story,
she shrugged. "So, sorry, but I’m staying. Want to fill me
in on the mission?"
"If I told you that--"
She waved her hand at him. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’d have
to kill me. That’s what all the spies say. You really
should come up with something more original. You know it’s
all this secrecy that killed our relationship?"
He smiled. Her heart thawed just a tiny bit. She’d
always loved his smile and the way he got her sense of
humor.
"You won’t tell me?"
"What do you think?"
What she really thought was that it was a crying shame
they hadn’t worked out. She always liked sparring with him.
Instead, she said, "As long as I’m here, I may as well
enjoy myself. I’ve never seen you at work before. This
could be fun. Take-your-nearly-ex-wife-to-work day. I like
it."
He gave her a warning look. "Don’t say a word. Nothing
slips, got it?"
She held up her hands to show him she was no threat, no
threat at all. "Hey, silence is my middle name."
He arched a brow and patted his pocket. "I’ll return
these later." He turned and walked to the door, pausing
before he left to speak over his shoulder. "I’ll be
watching you."
"Just like old times," she said and winked, trying to
get his goat.
He shook his head and left.
Treflee plunked down on the bed and put her head in her
hands, taking a deep breath. She’d never imagined seeing Ty
in his element would shake her up so much or that
witnessing him flirt with other women could still make her
jealous. But he’d definitely thrown her equilibrium off.
Hadn’t he always? Hadn’t that been part of the excitement
and the problem?
When she finally calmed down, she got up, opened her
suitcase, and pulled her travel jewelry pouch out. She
reached into it and pulled out the dangly charm bracelet Ty
had given her when they were dating. He brought her back a
charm from every mission. When he originally gave the
bracelet to her, it had a single charm on it—a tiny
silver heart locket. Now it was loaded with charms.
As she opened the locket and stared at the miniscule
picture of Ty, her eyes watered and she couldn’t help
sniffing. What type of a charm would Ty have brought her
back from this Hawaiian mission? A silver palm tree? A gold
Maui sandal? A hibiscus flower? Or a white pearl?
Deep down Ty was a romantic and had a wicked sense of
humor. The pearl was her birthstone, and a white one
represents honesty and faith. Yeah, he would have gotten a
big kick out of the dual meaning. As if he were ever honest.
She told herself she only brought the bracelet with her
so she could see how well the big, honking black pearl she
planned to buy for herself would look on it. But in all
honesty, sentimental fool that she was, she never left home
without it.
You aren’t as smart as you think, spy boy, she thought.
She had a bit of leverage after all.
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