COMING SOON! YAY!
- Riley Murphy
- Aug 3
- 2 min read
A BRUSH WITH IRON
So excited! Still working out tweaks with the cover, but check this out. There's a short book video at the end...
This is Willa and Iron's story!
When espionage specialist Orson Doom (Iron) is tasked to deliver an up and coming artist with her crate full of paintings to Utah for a gallery opening, he expects a little trouble.
The woman is wealthy, smart, and being groomed to be a pedestrian asset in his line of work. So when he finds out that she has higher clearance, better access to back channels and an uncanny ability to make a stoic guy like him smile, he immediately identifies her as the trouble.
Willa Fae Wallace is in desperate need of a change. Due to an unforeseeable stroke of rotten luck, she needs to leverage her most recent invitation into basically becoming a domestic tattletale on naughty foreign entities, into a way out of her ethical conundrum. Finally, the perfect escape is in reach right when Mr. Doom shows up.
He’s short on words, long on dead-eye stares, and completely melt-worthy to look at when she’s forced to challenge him in order to throw him off course. She can’t let him get close. If he did, he’d learn the awful truth. The only thing she has to hide is the one item he needs to close his biggest career case with a global bang.
She sighed.
It didn’t matter, she supposed, because she still felt like rewarding him for the move. “Oh, alright. I’ll give you back your three count. What do you want to know?”
“The name of your highest contact and that will be the only question I ask you. Formally stated?” He leaned forward and spoke as he looked into her eyes, “Willa, who is your highest level of contact at The Agency?”
“John.”
He narrowed his gaze and spoke through his teeth, almost pleasantly. “There are four of them above my head.”
She spoke through her teeth, replying. “So?”
He sat back. “The guy’s a prick with a limp.”
She laughed. “You really are a cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater.”
“I’m required to have a certain flexibility.”
She straightened, her smile still lingering because he was…so, crush worthy. “Me too. Ask me for his last name and we’ll do another shot.”
“I’m surprised there aren’t two women in your collection of paintings.”
“Why? I’d still be the one kneeling.”
Was his eye ticking now too?
He leaned forward, without his hands on the table. “You are a verbal rapist and I’m beginning to feel violated.”
This time she chuckled, long and slow, before she whispered back, “You set the rules. You pushed the game. You have the advantage. In a court of law, Iron, who do you think would win? Violated?” She shook her head, still smiling. “That only happens when the clothes come off and here you are in your armor. Shall I pour while you ask?”
(End of excerpt)
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