Page 382 of The Romance Adventure

Pressing her lips together, she says, “I was the one who was upstairs in bed all night. Where were you, CJ?”

Guilt swims in my stomach. “I was asking questions.”

“Come up with any answers?”

“Maybe you can help me with that.”

Her arched eyebrow suggests game on. I’ve dealt with the worst sorts of people. Jolie is the best sort, so long as she’s playing for the right team. I don’t need to know which one, but my heart will break if I someday have to put her behind bars.

“Asset, agent, officer?”

“No comment.” She tilts her head to the side and looks at me carefully. Her eyes narrow as if pieces to a puzzle she didn’t know were missing appear and come together. “Covert operative?

“Is that a question or an admission?”

“CJ, are you a covert operative?”

Our gazes lock together. The depth in her brown eyes goes deeper than I first saw. The small furrow between her eyebrows isn’t from concern about closing on a property. The set of her lips now tells a different story.

At last, I answer. “That’s classified.”

Her eyes widen a fraction before her careful mask of innocent curiosity returns. Does she think we’re playing the game we played last night at the Halloween party, or is this something else?

“Operation Enigma?” she asks, by way of trying to get me to confess that I’m in the CIA. I’m not.

I do the same, only referencing a case carried out by the MI6. “The Red Herring Heist?”

She gives a small shake of the head. “Paragon Pawn Sting?”

I snort a chuckle. No, I’m not in the FBI. “Viper’s Nest Crime Syndicate?” Her reply will tell me whether she’s connected to Interpol.

“Child’s play.”

“I take that as a no,” I ask a follow-up question about an international money laundering case that involved a nation’s president, a prime minister, and a priest.

“That’s above my clearance.”

We go back and forth. Several other agencies work with international intelligence, including mine, but I won’t play those cards just yet.

Wearing the coyest smile, Jolie says, “You’ve whittled down my alliances and revealed that you don’t only have a good bum.”

I snort. “The status of my bum is highly confidential.”

She frowns. “But we’re married.”

“You’ve lost bum-admiring privileges.”

Jolie wears her Mona Lisa smile because if she’s as good as I think she is, she’ll find a way to admire my bum. But that works just fine for me because I don’t want this to break us.

“What’s your real name?”

“Jolie Elizabeth McGregor. Yours?”

“Jolie Elizabeth McGregor’s husband.”

Her laugh tells me we might make it through this and remain married.

When she goes quiet, she leans in, gazing steadily at me. “I’ve only ever omitted the truth about my job. Nothing else. I wouldn’t lie to you intentionally or hurt you.”