The FBI Bride: An Undercover Bridesmaid Romance Read online

  The FBI Bride

  An Undercover Bridesmaid Romance

  Kimberley Montpetit

  Contents

  Title Page

  Free Book Offer!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  16. Chloe’s Epilogue

  17. Liam’s Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Dear Romance Lover

  About the Author

  Also by Kimberley Montpetit

  THE NEIGHBOR’S SECRET: A Secret Billionaire Romance

  THE EXECUTIVE’S SECRET: A Secret Billionaire Romance

  THE FBI BRIDE

  * * *

  PREQUEL to THE UNDERCOVER BRIDESMAID

  The Undercover Bridesmaid Romance Series

  * * *

  by

  Kimberley Montpetit

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  Chapter 1

  Chloe Romano put the airline tray table back into its locked and upright position and then checked her seatbelt. Butterflies rose into her throat when she sat back to read—for probably the hundredth time—the acceptance letter from The Federal Bureau of Investigation while the aircraft began its final descent into Washington, D.C.

  The paper was so creased, it was practically falling apart. There might have even been a stain on the envelope from her tears of joy when it arrived in her mailbox with its official lettering and the seal of an eagle.

  Chloe’s best friend, Jenna Fielding, nudged her elbow and gave her a grin. “I thought you were going to frame your letter.”

  “I will just have to frame it in its overly loved and worn-out state,” Chloe said, laughing at herself.

  The two young women had received the same letter on the very same day three months earlier. That night their two families splurged on a big celebration dinner, replete with champagne and Godiva chocolate.

  “To think we’ll be in Quantico in just another couple of hours,” Jenna said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Remember the pact we made when we were twelve?”

  Chloe’s brown eyes met Jenna’s dark gray ones. “We’ve worked hard for a really long time—and it paid off.”

  They had even shaken hands on their solemn pact, while playing games of spies and reconnaissance in the sprawling backyard of Jenna’s house.

  The rest of their teen years were spent learning how the art of rifles and weaponry from Jenna’s dad who was the Police Chief for a Charleston suburb. Or competing on the high school track team and pushing each other to physical exhaustion. Including studying like maniacs to get the best grades in their high school and university classes.

  “I told you we’d both make it,” Jenna said, leaning in close.

  “Hm. One of your premonitions?”

  “Don’t they usually come true?” Jenna gave a secret smile. “You have to trust me.”

  “You have to admit,” Chloe said. “That it seemed impossible for both of us to get accepted to the FBI training program—and end up in the very same class.”

  “Maybe they know that we’ll make a great team.”

  Chloe looked at Jenna sideways. “Are you sure your dad didn’t pull any strings? Bribe someone?”

  The muscles in Jenna’s face twitched. “My lips are sealed.”

  The airplane from Charleston landed with a bump on the wet runway. A steady downpour pounded against the aircraft while low, gray clouds loomed far across the horizon through the small aircraft window.

  Chloe finally released her grip on the seat’s arm rests. Landing always gave her a moment of tension ever since that long-ago winter when she was fourteen and her family flew to Montana for Christmas to visit her mother’s sister’s family.

  Despite the pristine snow creating a wonderland, the Montana runway was iced over which caused the plane to skid ever so slightly.

  After a week of skiing and pumpkin pie, Chloe was glad to spend the rest of Christmas vacation at Myrtle Beach with Jenna, basking in the lovely sound of crashing waves and happy to have made it back home alive. A fact that Jenna still liked to tease her about.

  “After we become FBI agents we could be flying all over the world. You might be taking planes two or three times a week—to Alaska or Russia.”

  “Bite your tongue. Maybe I just need to take a larger dose of Dramamine and sleep through the entire flight. But then I’d miss out on all the extra reading time.”

  “While you were engrossed on your Kindle, I watched two movies.”

  “There are only so many times I can watch all the incarnations of the Avengers, despite gorgeous Chris Hemsworth as Thor with his Australian accent and sexy hammer.”

  “Hemsworth isn’t the only Chris I like to drool over,” Jenna drawled, adding, “Hey, we’re up,” when the family in front of them slid out of their seats to disembark. Grabbing her carry-on from the overhead bin, she said under her breath, “We’re actually here. Quantico. How lucky are we to end up in the same class—and roommates to boot!”

  “I’ll feel better when I can get out of this cramped plane and breathe real air,” Chloe said while they made their way through the jet way tunnel.

  “Just wait until some two-hundred-pound guy throws you down on the mat during training. You’ll think flying is a piece of cake.”

  “Don’t mention cake. I’m starving.”

  “Let’s grab some lunch in the airport before we get our shuttle. I think we have an hour’s drive to FBI headquarters, and who knows if there’ll be food until dinnertime.”

  “First, our luggage,” Chloe said, swerving toward the signs for Baggage Claim.

  “Oh, right,” Jenna said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Or they’ll kick us out of Quantico before we even get there.”

  After several downward escalators, Chloe spotted the correct rotating carousel for their flight and waited for the luggage to begin sliding down. Black suitcase after black suitcase with the odd bag in blue or purple.

  “Oh, there’s mine,” she said at last, darting forward to lug her large black suitcase off the carousel.

  While Jenna retrieved her blue set, Chloe spotted her second bag and walked toward it, weaving her way around the crowd of passengers while pulling her larger bag behind her on its wheels.

  It had been hard to fit everything she might need for the next five to six months into just two suitcases. She could go shopping, but who knew how much time they’d have off—but she and Jenna didn’t have a car. They’d be walking or taking buses or taxis around D.C.

  Just as she reached for her smaller, black bag with the silver cording, a large male hand reached out from nowhere to pop up the handle and begin rolling it across the tile floor.

  Adrenaline shot through Chloe as she lunged to grab at it again. “Um, this is my suitcase,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on the piece of luggage so the guy wouldn’t steal it from her.

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid this bag is mine,” a deep voice said, inches away from her ear, as they both bent over the luggage piece.

  Chloe held herself still for a moment and then yanked on the suitcase again, panic surging
through her to claim what rightfully belonged to her. “Did you bother to read the name tag?”

  The man chuckled and then Chloe froze into place when she lifted her eyes to meet two large, brown ones gazing at her. A smile played on the guy’s mouth, amused at their predicament.

  Whoa. Chloe’s eyes traveled the length of this man who had to be at least six feet four with broad shoulders and flat abs that were so chiseled she swore she could see the six pack of muscles under the shirt that perfectly fit his body like a glove.

  She tried not to drool when her eyes roamed across the crisp white shirt under his navy blue tailored jacket. A shirt and jacket that accentuated his incredible physique. He was carrying a black leather laptop in his left hand while his right hand remained cupped over hers which still clung to the suitcase.

  Heat spread up Chloe’s cheeks, burning like it was the middle of steamy August and not a cold March day. She probably looked like an idiot, but the sensation of his warm, firm palm against her hand shot a bolt of electricity straight up her spine, fanning out to every cell of her entire body.

  Had a rod of lightning just come down from the ceiling? Glancing up, Chloe fully expected to feel raindrops falling through the roof due to the jolt of lightning that must have peeled back the roof of the terminal.

  Chloe blurted out, “I’m sorry, sir, but I promise that this is my suitcase.” She gave it a sudden yank to get him to release his grip, but when he didn’t, she nearly fell backward.

  He caught her arm so she didn’t crash to the slick tile floor, and Chloe’s stomach flew into her throat at the touch of his hand along her skin.

  “You could say I’m a detail guy,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I know my own suitcase.”

  Was he OCD, Chloe wondered? But she knew it was her luggage. Why didn’t the man just let go for crying out loud?

  After a few more seconds of a silly tug-of-war, the man finally released the suitcase and held up both arms in surrender. “If you’d like a bag full of slacks and jockey shorts, be my guest, miss. But why don’t we compare luggage claim tickets first?”

  “Oh, right,” Chloe said, running a tongue along her dry lips. Her stomach gave a flip when she realized that he was watching her. To cover her nervousness, she added, “I’ll bet you don’t have purple colored name tags on the back of the case.”

  Turning the bag over, she immediately blushed. Oh, gosh, this was even worse. There were no purple name tags. Like anywhere. Unless someone had removed them, she was wrong. This was not her bag. Her face burned all over again thinking about how much she had argued with him over a piece of luggage.

  “You’re right, no purple here.” He lifted the name tag to the light, a square of gold metal engraved with lettering that read L. Esposito—not Chloe Romano. “Just plain old name tags. See?”

  Chloe’s eyes zeroed in on his name, dying of curiosity to know what kind of a name this man who looked like a fashion model possessed.

  L. Esposito. It was a strong, masculine—and sexy name. And Italian, just like her own surname. No wonder he was ornery and full of himself. Or had she just described herself? And what did the L stand for? Leroy? Larry? Luther? She hoped not.

  Wishing she could disappear into the floor, Chloe scanned the crowd, searching for Jenna who had disappeared momentarily while travelers headed out the turnstiles toward the exit doors that led to taxis and buses.

  “I’m—I’m really embarrassed, L. Esposito,” she added, trying to make a joke. “Here, the suitcase is yours, jockey shorts and all. And you can keep the electric razor and gym socks, too.”

  He laughed and his voice was deep and—almost magical—the way it thudded up through her chest. Good grief, she loved the sound of it.

  A flicker of amusement crossed his lips. “Good one,” he said, his eyes hovering on her face. “Hey, let me help you find your suitcase. I assume it looks a lot like mine?”

  “You’re so intuitive,” she said with a small laugh.

  Her own lips quirked into a grin despite trying to remain cool, calm, and collected after wrestling him over a piece of luggage. He’d made her so mad a minute ago, and now Chloe was smiling.

  Darn it, he smelled so good up close. The nearness of him was driving her a little crazy, as if she’d suddenly lost twenty I.Q points.

  Pulling the suitcase behind him, he beckoned. “There’s some more luggage from Flight 206 over here.”

  Had he been on her flight? She hadn’t noticed him, and L. Esposito was the type of man she would notice . . . heck, he was the kind of man any woman would have her radar senses tuned to high alert.

  The carousel had ground to a halt, passengers dragging the last few suitcases off and hurrying away.

  “I need to purchase a set of obnoxious orange luggage next time I’m shopping,” Chloe mused under her breath.

  He must have heard her muttering because he smiled. “Orange huh? You’d blind yourself every time it drops into the carousel, but the good news is that you’d never lose it. And you wouldn’t have to arm wrestle total strangers to wrangle it out of their hands.”

  “Oh, is that what I did?” Chloe asked, raising her eyebrows. “Must be my black belt skills. It just comes out without me realizing it.”

  What was wrong with her? She was flirting outrageously like she was sixteen and back in high school.

  “Black belt, huh? Impressive. Which style?”

  “Oh, a small school, but I had an amazing teacher. The Kenpo Karate schools. I will forever have the saying for my sensei . . . XXX.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “A most exacting phrase.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chloe said, without realizing she was saying it. “I mean—” she stuttered. “Old habits die hard.”

  Liam Esposito lifted his chin. “I believe that’s your missing luggage, ma’am.”

  “Hey, I’m no ma’am,” Chloe chided good-naturedly. “I’m not my mother yet.”

  He grinned at her. “I just flew in from Charleston, so I got back into the habit of ‘yes, ma’am and ‘no, ma’am’.”

  “That must mean you’re a Southern boy,” Chloe said, her interest perking up even more. “And here I was assuming you were a Yankee.”

  “I hail from rural Alabama so I guess we’re neighbors so to speak. If I was to guess, you’re from Charleston proper.”

  “What gave it away?”

  “Your slight accent. And the fact that you were on the Charleston plane.”

  “So, you were on the same flight? Flying back to D.C. from Charleston?”

  He nodded. “I noticed you and your friend get on, although I booked my ticket late so I had a seat in the very back.”

  He’d noticed her? Chloe looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Business in Charleston? Or the other way around, as in you’re in D.C on business?” She couldn’t resist teasing him. “Or perhaps you’ll tell me that you have an old aunt you were visiting as a way to hide all your secrets.”

  “Both, actually. Business secrets,” he added, giving her a crooked grin. “But you know what they say about secrets . . .” his voice trailed off.

  Chloe tilted her chin. “Tell me. What do they say?”

  He lifted an eyebrow, a crooked grin on his lips. “If I told you my secrets, I’d have to kill you.”

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” she said. “I guess Washington, D.C. is the perfect place to keep secrets—unless you’re a devilish leaker of classified information like so many congressmen in this town. Of course, I wouldn’t know since I’m not from here. The tranquil south has no politics, just alligators and pecan pie.”

  Of course, he didn’t know that Chloe was the daughter of South Carolina’s governor, Albert Romano. She knew how crazy and cutthroat politics could be. She wasn’t about to tell him that, and it was fun to pretend she was someone else. Good practice for when she got to Quantico and began her training. Could she become someone else on the spur of the moment? A stranger in an airport was a good place to start.


  Mr. Esposito shrugged, his expression turning mild. “Then I will have to plead the Fifth myself.”

  Chloe stared at him. Her question seemed pretty benign, but he didn’t appear to want to answer any questions.

  “Fine, Mr. Mysterious. Shall we double check our luggage?” She made a show of checking the suitcases, trying not to laugh as they inspected the series of numbers on the airline claim tickets. Chloe wished she knew his name. And she hoped he might ask for her business card.

  “Looks like you have the correct purple tagged black suitcases,” he said, his eyes settling on her face while she tried to remain cool, calm, and collected.

  “And you have yours,” Chloe said faintly.

  “Taxis and shuttles are through the glass doors at the end of the concourse. Have a good visit in Washington. Watch out for those devilish politicians, and be sure to visit the Lincoln Memorial.”

  He tipped his head at Chloe and then then nodded at Jenna before heading through the crowded terminal. Thirty seconds later, he was gone from sight.

  “That was quite a conversation,” Jenna said, throwing Chloe a wicked grin. “For two people who didn’t know each other and were just looking for misplaced luggage.”

  Chloe shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Why are you looking at your hand?” Jenna asked, giving her a knowing look.

  “Nothing. No reason. Let’s go find out shuttle.”

  Except, Chloe was lying. She could still feel the imprint of the man’s hand against hers when they brushed fingers. There had been a definite connection, but Mr. Esposito left without a backward glance.