From Paris, With Love. Samantha Tonge

definitely be on Team Joe Bloggs. He hauled the flasher off to the local gendarmerie (see how quickly I’m picking up the local lingo?)

      What strength. Such speed. Plus a fearlessness to match that of sexy Damon from The Vampire Diaries. Of course, no one compared to Edward– whose disappointed but generous smile twisted my heart when, that night, I’d visited him with John and spun the tale about my supposed catering weekend…and the fact that our first day or two in Paris would be spent apart. You’d think me lying to him would easy after last year, when I pretended to be his cousin for a fortnight. But any deception still scrunched my stomach into tight knots.

      Thank God Saturday – my first day here in the secret bunker – was now almost over and my spy training (*big grin*) had gone well. Don’t get me wrong, I’d enjoyed every minute, but longed to be back with my hot man for a night of Parisian passion.

      ‘Right, one last run through of the moves you’ve learnt since this morning, with some role-play – get to your feet,’ said Joe, in his usual clipped tones. Abrupt was his style – he used words on a need to know basis, as if every one contained secret information.

      And what did he mean “morning”? His car had picked me up at five a.m. which was practically the middle of the night. The day had involved full-on self-defence training in this glaringly bright room, several metres under the ground. Not that I felt it was necessary. I mean, Joe was only asking me to act on a hunch of his, right? But Mr Bossy Bloggs was adamant that he should teach me how to protect myself. That yes, his suspicions might come to nothing, but he wasn’t prepared to risk me being hurt.

      The bunker was huge– with a canteen, gym, computer room and corridors. People in black suits to-ed and fro-ed carrying clipboards and left me in no doubt that Joe actually worked for the Secret Intelligence Service. Au naturel, I’d been blindfolded during the car journey there, even though it was dark outside. However, I could have sworn John muttered something about “the woods” and said “Bois de Boulogne”.

      Having swilled back some water, I got up from an uncomfortable metal chair. So did Joe.

      ‘Remember,’ he said, ‘give it your all. Flight if possible. Fight if necessary. Learn to recognise imminent aggression and avoid it where you can. Employ all the tactics we’ve practised.’

      That was some challenge, as he’d shown me more moves than Jackie Chan probably knew. Apparently tomorrow we’d focus on crash courses in basic lock-picking and surveillance. By Sunday night my head would be ready to explode.

      Without warning, Joe grabbed my arm. ‘Get in the car, bitch…’ he growled and pointed to an imaginary vehicle.

      What a terrible actor! I giggled.

      ‘Concentrate, Gemma!’

      ‘Sorry, but you’re no Daniel Day Lewis.’

      Chiselled face expressionless, he raised one eyebrow.

      ‘Oh, come on Joe, loosen up…’

      Those determined lips pursed.

      ‘Let’s head off for a burger and chips. I’ll even buy you a Martini, shaken not stirred, or whatever it is you agents drink in real life…’ I stuck out my tongue and winked.

      Wait for it… There it was, his shoulders relaxed and… Pow! With my free hand I punched his solid throat. Joe staggered back, just giving me time to yank myself away and charge to the other side of the room. Yay! I’d done it, but how my knuckles throbbed.

      ‘See, I have my own tactics,’ I said, ‘like chatting my heart out. It’s called distraction… Did you really think me fluffy enough to cut training for a fast food snack?’ Cue what I imagined to be a smug look from me. ‘Dear oh dear, I’m surprised you dropped your guard. Perhaps MI6 should lower their retirement age to… what are you, Joe, in your mid-thirties?’ I strolled back over to him.

      Those maple eyes danced for just one second – blimey, sign of human life under that starched veneer. He straightened up and rubbed his neck.

      ‘Not a bad attempt, but as you probably guessed, I let go of you then, on purpose. Just to boost your confidence. But that was the last time I cut you some slack.’

      ‘Yeah, yeah, stop trying to save face.’ I glanced at a red blotch on his neck and my stomach pinched. ‘Um, you okay? Soz about the punch but…’

      ‘Hardly felt it.’ Joe put both hands on my shoulders. ‘Right, try to get away again.’

      I stared straight at him. ‘You’ve got amazin’ long eyelashes.’

      Joe sighed. ‘Gemma! You’ll need more subtle distraction tactics than that.’

      ‘But seriously…’ I leant forward. ‘Did you know there’s a Brazilian cockroach that eats the eyelashes of sleeping children? Learnt that in a pub quiz, I did. Gross or what?’

      He paused and then nodded. ‘Impressive insects in Brazil… On a mission there I once got bitten by…’

      Ha, ha! Fooled him again! I stamped hard on his foot (still didn’t like hurting him so used the front sole of my shoe, not the heel). Yay, one of his hands dropped. Frantically I wriggled but just couldn’t get out of his grasp.

      ‘Nice try,’ he said dryly. ‘Now, remember – don’t panic. Good foot work but keep calm. If your first move doesn’t work, try something else, like…?’

      ‘Um… I could poke you in the eyes or knee your groin. Perhaps lift the heel of my palm upwards and strike you mega hard on the nose…’

      ‘Excellent. Now, what if I’d grabbed you from behind?’

      ‘An elbow to the ribcage… Although I hate all this violence. Soz about your foot…’

      ‘Stop apologising, Gemma. Learn to trust and respect your instincts. Whilst it’s a last resort– used in a proper, controlled manner, violence is a useful tool.’

      ‘S’pose…’ I looked at his hand on my shoulder. Nice nails. Clean. Well-groomed. ‘Well, whatever. Look, Joe, you can let go of me now. My training’s all done. I proved myself anyway, yesterday, when you first spoke to me and I screamed in your face before making my escape across Paris.’

      ‘Nope.’ His grip tightened.

      ‘Huh?’

      ‘Earn your return to Edward tonight by getting free. No holds barred… Really act as if I’m the enemy.’

      ‘But I’ve already hurt your throat and foot,’ I said.

      A smile almost flickered across his face. ‘I’ll survive. Us agents are made of strong stuff. Right. Let’s crack on.’ Roughly, Joe dragged me a few feet across the room, by one shoulder.

      ‘Ow! My arm will leave its socket at this rate.’

      ‘Do your worst then – unless I’ve made a mistake and you’re not up to the job.’

      Thinking back to the childhood wrestles I’d had with my brothers, I gritted my teeth and jerked my body from side to side. With no progress made, I remembered Joe’s advice not to panic. Okay, step one, try a knee to the groin. But Joe saw it coming and dodged to one side. So quick as a flash, I pushed the heel of my palm up to his face, but he grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm behind my back.

      ‘Ow!’

      Joe didn’t respond. Nor did he loosen his hold. I bit my lip. This was no joke… Wait a minute. What about that move involving slipping out of clothes? I could wriggle out of my cardigan and get away.

      With all my might, I yanked out my free arm and almost escaped but again he saw through my manoeuvre – and then things took a nastier turn. Joe lifted me up and carried me to his imaginary getaway car. All urge to laugh left me. What would I do if this was for real and he was some terrorist or assassin? What if…? Deep breaths… Okay, inhale, exhale… There was only one thing for it…

      ‘Joe,