Love
in the Time of Power Games
It’s no secret that I enjoy world-building
which involves immovable institutions conspiring to make life difficult for my
characters. In one of my earlier releases, Flight Made Easy, the state
effectively forces men to serve as either militia or chattel under a rigid,
oppressive regime. In Courting Treason, vampires and humans navigate a tepid
peace while the powers plot to end it. It’s little surprise that in sitting
down to write Best Kept Lies and the next five books in the Shadowplay series,
I would wind up with another villainous organization.
In this case, though, the bad guys aren’t
bad so much as they are made up of characters much like my protagonists. Grigory
is a perfectly normal guy, except that he happens to be a Russian spy working
undercover in Italy to recruit a British agent onto Moscow’s payroll. He has
friends, who are all spies, and a flat he sees now and again when he’s not
charged with stealing state secrets. He considers himself part of the
machine—and happy to be that way—until a rival agent abducts and makes him an
offer he can scarcely afford to refuse.
Karim’s intentions are no less pure than
Grigory’s. He, too, is loyal to his country and wholeheartedly believes the
mission he’s been tasked with. Their respective agencies have trained them to
be efficient at their jobs, a duty they’re both happy to uphold until their
paths converge.
The problem with oppressive systems is that
they’re only as resilient as the men and women who give their lives to form and
uphold them. At the end of the day, one little crack in that utterly human wall
can become a dozen, a hundred, and before you know it, the whole thing comes
crashing down. It is why two enemy agents fraternizing for their own pleasure
cannot be borne. Grigory knows this when he goes to bed with Karim for the
first time. He knows it the second time, too, when lust alone can’t justify the
mistake.
He knows it in signing Karim’s death
warrant to ensure his own survival. But disposing of Karim is not as easy as
he’d like. Weakened by his affection for Karim and worn down by the years of
service he’s already given Moscow, Grigory soon finds himself at a
crossroads—turn himself and his lover in, and pray that Moscow’s justice is
swift, or risk stepping outside the bounds of his organization in hopes of
something better? There’s only one way to find out.
Grigory shifted his weight. “Well? Are you
coming or not?”
“I’m sorry?” Karim’s earlier cheer was
suddenly dialed down to zero, easy smiles concealed behind a guarded
expression.
As victories went, it wasn’t much. Grigory
took what he could get.
“You’re walking me home,” he flung back
over his shoulder. “Easier to explain why I’m meeting strange men in bars if it
seems like I’m screwing them.”
Depravity was pardonable. Treason was not.
Grigory stalked out into the street without
waiting to see if his companion would follow. The click of Karim’s oxfords on
the cobblestones was its own opening move. Grigory slowed his long strides to
allow Karim to fall into step beside him.
They didn’t exchange a word as they
negotiated the maze of pedestrian-only streets back to Grigory’s hotel. The
front desk was unmanned and the elevator lacked CCTV, but that didn’t mean they
weren’t being watched.
“My superiors would like proof of your
willingness to cooperate,” Karim murmured, as though picking up the thread of
their conversation in Piazza Novona.
He didn’t look at Grigory when he spoke, so
Grigory didn’t look at him.
“And I’d like proof of their willingness
not to destroy my life with a single DHL delivery. Life is filled with
disappointment.”
The elevator doors crept open slowly.
Grigory slid through the gap, rummaging for his room key in the back pocket of
his slacks. A small part of him wondered if he’d left too much of a mess in the
room. He’d remembered to drop off his soiled clothes at the nearest dry
cleaner’s, at least. The evidence of Karim’s tender handling had been erased.
He expelled a sigh as he flicked on the
lights in the room. The bed was made, the carpet vacuumed. Fresh flowers
drooped in the vase on the narrow coffee table wedged between window and sunken
armchairs.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your
sense of humor,” Karim went on, “but the sooner you accept—”
The chances of catching an MI6 agent
unaware were pitifully slim. Somehow, Grigory was able to palm Karim’s cheeks
with both hands and press his lips to his in a rough kiss without his fellow
spy ducking out of his reach, let alone breaking his fingers.
Karim’s breath fled his mouth in a rush as
they parted.
Blurb
What
becomes of the Russian spy who lands himself in the crosshairs of a rogue
British agent?
Grigory Antipov’s work within the
intelligence community is exemplary, but attracting too much attention is
against his interests as a spy—a lesson painfully learned the night he is
abducted off the streets of Rome. Captivity is a dangerous thing and Grigory
already operates under a cloud of suspicion, given his predilection for male
company. Luckily, his stint in British custody is short-lived, a mere flex of
muscle from Agent Karim Awad.
Karim’s objective is obvious. Lure Grigory
into Section’s clutches and turn him against his own people—expose him to the
wrath of Moscow if he refuses. His mission brief may not specify the methods to
be used, but Grigory soon discovers that Karim is a man of many talents. With
powerful interests at play and the threat of deadly force in the air, Grigory
faces an impossible choice—surrender to his fate or sacrifice the only man
whose touch makes him feel alive after so many years.
General
Release Date: 22nd September 2015
About
Helena Maeve:
Helena Maeve has always been a globe trotter
with a fondness for adventure, but only recently has she started putting to
paper the many stories she's collected in her excursions. When she isn't
writing erotic romance novels, she can usually be found in an airport or on a
plane, furiously penning in her trusty little notebook.
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2015 ©Evelise Archer All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
