Promise Me the Moon
© Martin T. Lopez Designs
Behind every great spy there's a Q covering his assets.
When Grace Quincy (“Q”) lands a job as the lead scientist and engineer in the CIA’s Clandestine Operations and Properties group, she becomes the Quartermaster for U.S. reconnaissance—the creator of spy gadgets for Jayce Jackson, special agent with a license to kill.
As charming as the famed British double-O, Jackson is one-hundred percent all-American, from his dusty cowboy boots to his unending Southern charm. His conquests in and out of the bedroom are the stuff of legends, yet Q daydreams of being something more to Jackson.
At the highly sought-after event, Nebulas and Novas, Q gets tangled in Jackson’s latest mission and the mysterious disappearance of NASA’s green glass Moon stone. Q must trust her wits to survive the dangerous operation, thwart Dr. Faust’s sinister plan, and save the sexy spy she loves.
“They’re worried that I’ll hurt you.” Jackson stepped away from me. “They’re probably right.”
“You haven’t hurt me yet.” Lately I worried more about the forces separating us than I did about Jackson hurting me in a relationship gone bad. “Don’t you think I can handle what you do? I know who you are even when the world doesn’t. I’m not that breakable, Jackson.”
His gaze dropped. “I live a complicated life, Q. Feelings—emotions—just get in the way.”
“So, you do have feelings,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. I hated this over-thinking version of Jackson, but my jibe only made him more anxious.
“Christ, Q. You used to understand this,” he countered. “I do my thing, and you are there. Always there. You ground me to the real world, yet you understand what I’m up against.”
“What makes you think that I won’t still understand it? Jackson, I lo—”
“Don’t say it.” He threw his hands up and stepped around the car. Opening the driver’s door, he grumbled, “Don’t say it. We can’t go there.” He slid into his seat.
I froze, afraid that my knees might give out. I almost said it. Jackson, I love you. He heard me, my feelings on display, and he shut it down. But, at my most vulnerable moment, I glimpsed the fatal flaw of the hero I worshiped.
Jackson feared love.
The man faced perils that would break anyone else, yet he feared getting too close, connecting too deeply, or losing part of himself in a relationship.
But Jackson hadn’t counted on me.