THE SECRET LIFE OF MAGGIE BLAKE is a contemporary romantic suspense, light action & adventure tale by New York Times & USA Today bestselling author Marilyn Brant! This story is for fans of humorous husband/wife spy films such as “True Lies,” readers who love slow-build romantic suspense, admirers of heroes in disguise like Zorro & The Scarlet Pimpernel, and anyone who’s ever found themselves having “Walter Mitty”-like fantasies in the middle of the day…
In an affluent Chicago suburb, Maggie Santori Blake, a clever stay-at-home mom with vivid daydreams of a more exciting life, is caught up in a dangerous game of espionage when an elusive motorcycle-riding hero returns to town.
The Motorcycle Maverick’s top-secret government mission puts Maggie’s life, her family’s safety, and her marriage at risk…especially when she discovers that the sexy, highly skilled, and masked special agent is none other than Preston A. Blake III—her seemingly mild-mannered CEO husband.
To protect those she loves, Maggie must not only confront the man she thought she knew and the decade of lies between them, she’s also forced to put aside her fantasies and become the heroic woman of her imagination.
Maggie halfheartedly moved through her chores, meditating all the while on the Motorcycle Maverick. What he was like. What she’d do if she were ever face to face with him again.
She cleaned the kitchen and wondered, What did he like to eat?
She threw in a batch of laundry. What did he wear underneath that black leather jacket and those skintight leather pants?
She took out the garbage. Was he good about recycling?
She’d just moved on to polishing the chrome of the bathroom sink’s faucet when it magically morphed into the chrome on the M.M.’s motorcycle, and her daydream began in earnest.
“In between the tailpipes, Maggie,” the M.M. whispered to her with his ultra-genteel but oh-so-sexy British accent. “It’s easy for it to get rusty there if you don’t remove all the moisture.”
He tenderly guided her hand as she held the soft polishing square, instructing her with a touch as to where she should slide the cloth next. She followed his directions, marveling at the wonder of simply being near him.
He reached for the cleanser, squirting a bit on the pipes, then nudging her to polish them. Long, smooth strokes. Together they shined his bike.
She couldn’t see his whole face, but she could hear his sexy James-Bond-esque voice dropping his Rs and Hs.
“I remember you,” he said, his voice soft, low. “From the parade. You were there that day.”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Is it just me, or is it hot in here?”
“It’s not just you. Take off your helmet,” she suggested, knowing, of course, he had to protect his identity, but hoping he’d somehow trust her. Make an exception for only her.
“Not yet.” He removed the scarf from around his neck and wrapped it lightly around her. “But that’s one thing I can take off. And this,” he added, slipping off the leather jacket and tossing it to the ground.
Maggie knew she shouldn’t be staring, but how could she help herself? He wore a tight, black sleeveless muscle shirt under the jacket, his well-defined biceps clearly visible, his skin a tanned bronze. It was all she could do not to reach out and skim her fingertips along the length of his arm. Was a hug from the legendary Motorcycle Maverick too much to ask?
But he had a better idea.
He pulled the cloth from her fingers and let it drop to the floor. She swallowed as he grasped her hand in his and raised it to his mouth. Her knuckles grazed his bottom lip and she held her breath as he kissed—
The loud, distinctive, clanging of the garbage truck yanked her away from this fantasy. Her heart pounding, Maggie stood in the bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror.
Life was passing her by. And she wasn’t going to let it. Not anymore.