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- Herausgeber: Heather Hiestand
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
He’s a CIA agent. She’s a bartender at her family’s small town pub. A sexy encounter isn't against the rules, unless her brother is a dangerous criminal.
Elias Nader is on temporary assignment in Washington State, helping the FBI build a database of Americans suspected of chatting with foreign terrorists. When he sees pretty young Angela Stan, he’s thunderstruck, in lust, and in love. Instantly. It doesn’t matter who she is…until he verifies her family is involved in a terrifying local plot.
But when a baby is on board, a hardened spy has to take care of his lady, even if that means a Wedding with a Baby Bump.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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Heather Hiestand
Table of contents
WEDDING WITH A BABY BUMP
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
More From Heather Hiestand
WEDDING WITH A BABY BUMP
Written by
Heather Hiestand
www.heatherhiestand.com
Newsletter
Wedding with a Baby Bump
Copyright 2017 by Heather Hiestand
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Coffee on Sundays Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Coffee on Sundays Press
Visit us at http://www.heatherhiestand.com
Publishing History
First Streetlib Edition, 2019
V 1.0 R 1.0
Published in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
More From Heather Hiestand
About the Author
Chapter One
Twilight descended early along the Washington–Oregon border in late November. At barely five o’clock, Elias Nader could only see a vague outline of the log cabin–style building ahead of him. Tires crunched against gravel as he pulled his rented Dodge Ram alongside a beat-up white Ford 150 and parked.
His liaison at the local FBI office in Vancouver, Dale Wood, had texted to say he’d turn up about five-thirty, but Elias had already been on the road from the Portland airport and decided to head directly to their meeting place—The Stan Pub, outside of Woodland, WA.
Elias zipped up his leather jacket and then jumped down from the cab. Pain shot through his bad leg. He winced and grabbed at it, using his considerable strength to massage out the spasm. The bullet had torn through muscle, not bone, a minor injury, really, but he hadn’t had time to shake it off yet. Carla McLean, his handler, had met him just as he checked out of the hospital in Washington D.C. yesterday. When the orderly had wheeled him out, instead of the town car he’d ordered, she’d been waiting for him in an expensive two-seater. Then the tall, dark-haired stunner had given him this assignment. Instead of a few days of R&R followed by a return ticket to Jerusalem, he’d been on a cross-country flight less than twenty-four hours later.
Justin, their resident tech genius, had sent along a new gadget for him to use. Elias limped over to the other side of the cab and opened the glove box. Inside was a case with a pair of brown-lensed sunglasses. All he needed to do to take pictures was adjust the left side of the frames. The photos would be uploaded to a CIA/FBI joint database of prospective domestic terrorists, both with international ties and those acting alone. He slid the shades over his eyes and slammed the door shut.
The Stan Pub appeared to be a sleepy place. He counted eight trucks, two SUVs, and one beat-up old sedan in the parking area. A couple of other vehicles were parked off to the side toward the back of the building. Employees, probably. Ahead of him, the porch lit up as another vehicle turned in. Elias found the break between split log rails and went up the porch steps before pushing open the door.
Inside, he recognized Cole Swindell on the jukebox, courtesy of his sister giving him a new iPod with all the country hits of the year on it for his birthday, and the scents of cheap cigars, marijuana, spilled beer, and cologne in the air. He moved straight to the bar. The best camouflage in a place like this was a beer bottle. The second best was the Mariners ball cap he’d picked up at an airport shop then stomped on a few times in the rental parking lot to make it look lived in.
Though the space behind the bar was empty, he saw a swinging door push forward as someone came through. “What will you have?” called a young female voice.
The bartender smiled engagingly as she reached him. Elias, too thunderstruck to respond immediately, catalogued the honey brown hair curled over her shoulders and the large, round breasts decorated with the wavy ends of her locks. Those tits were almost too large for her body frame but were counterbalanced by wide hips flaring from a tiny waist. Her jeans were low rise with a ribbed white tank tucked in. Her belt was constructed out of ivory seashells, and she had tiny shells dangling from her earlobes as well.
“ Shelly?” he guessed.
She did an adorable little double take, then recovered herself and grinned at him. “No, Angela. Angela Stan, of the, you know, Stan family.” She pointed above herself, to where an old wood burned “Stan Pub” sign hung. Beneath the sign was a mirrored wall, densely covered with shelves of liquors.
Nader. Shelly Nader, some fierce voice said inside him. “Honey, you’re going to have to change that name, and I’m the one to change it for you.”
“ What?” she said with a giggle. “That’s a new one.”
“ I’m not kidding,” he said. “But I’ll settle for a Blue Moon until you’re done with your shift and we can start our life together.”
“ Oh, shut the front door,” she said good-naturedly, the shells below her earlobes shimmying around her cheeks as she reached under the bar to grab his beer. She slapped a coaster down in front of him with practiced movements then placed a bottle directly in the center.
He checked out her hands. Square, manicured nails with pale pink polish, no rings. Good. He wouldn’t have to get rid of a husband or a fiancé. Because one thing he knew: this girl was his.
He leaned forward and flicked the small silver sand-dollar necklace resting against the creamy skin of her throat. His cock jumped as the medallion bounced and he got a look down her cleavage. “Pretty. Who gave it to you?”
She glanced at him quizzically, her eyes narrowing. “My mother, I think. High school graduation present.”
“ Suits you.” His gaze moved swiftly up and down. The breasts were real, the personality unpolished.
“ Thanks. My mother has good taste.” She opened his bottle for him and discarded the cap.
“ I believe it.”
“ What brings you here? On your way to explore Mount St. Helens? Go hiking or something? Or did you just pull off the freeway short of Wal-Mart?”
He chuckled. “No, Shelly. Just meeting a friend.”
“ It’s Angela, remember?”
“ Shelly,” he said. “I like it better. You aren’t that angelic, right?”
Her lips curled into an adorable pout. “What if I only wore shells today? Maybe it’s not my thing.”
He winked at her. “Your jeans have permanent grooves where your shell belt has shaped the fabric. I noticed the skin under your necklace is pale compared to the skin around it. You wear that necklace every day.”
She giggled. “Busted.” Her eyes drifted over his shoulder as the door opened and closed.
Elias turned casually, lifting his beer to his lips. Over on the right, a couple of men in John Deere caps played darts. An old man sat hunched over a table near the entrance, working on a crossword puzzle. The man at the door lifted his chin in Elias’s direction and walked toward him. A bit shorter than the norm, about five feet seven inches, he had sandy hair flopped over his skull from a side part, and protuberant cheeks, though he wasn’t overweight.
“ Nader,” the stranger said with a nod.
“ My man,” Elias said, faking an acquaintance. “How you doing, Dale?”
“ Can’t complain,” he said, exposing large, rabbit-like front teeth. “Feels good to get out of the office for a few hours.”
Elias flexed his shoulders, pulling his shoulder blades down the sides of his spine. “Know what you mean. I spent all afternoon cramped into the middle seat of an airplane.”
“ Where did you come in from?” Shelly asked behind him.
He’d still been aware of her presence but found it odd that a bartender would mix herself into a customer’s conversation. Family bar. He supposed it had different rules. “DC, honey. Long flight.”
She worried her plump lower lip between her perfect teeth. “I’ve never been there.”
Dale pointed to one of a trio of tall tables, barstools underneath, on the opposite side of the pub from the dart players. “Rather stand at one of those while we catch up? I wouldn’t mind.”
Elias nodded. While he didn’t want to leave this stunning girl, he had work to do. “Works for me. I’m drinking Blue Moon. Sound good?”
“ Sure.” Dale glanced up at Shelly, who was taller than he was. “Got any of the holiday ales left?”
“ I’ll check in the storeroom,” she said. “Back in a minute.”
She turned around, and Elias’s gaze followed her swinging hips, a perfect upside down heart under the molded jeans.
“ God bless America,” Dale said.
Elias heard a growl and realized it came from him. Dale raised his sandy blond eyebrows. Elias just sneered defiantly and picked up his beer again, then limped over to the table.
