Meet NCIS Special Agent Damien Spiros from "Person of Interest"

Uniform Fetish Tour Banner2Hey everyone! I have a sexy new short story in Evernight’s latest anthology, Uniform Fetish. New story. New Hero. I think you’ll like this one. He’s definitely on the alpha side and smoking hot to boot in his uniform.

(c) 2009 Rob Lang

Meet NCIS Special Agent Damien Spiros. Yes, he is of Greek descent. His grandparents were from Crete. I’m sure you’ve noticed those baby blues. So did heroine, Connie Patel, a beautiful forensic specialist, also with NCIS.

Connie had her eye on Damien for quite a while, but professional bickering and his reputation as a ladies man, kept them at arm’s length for months.

Until that night…

In this post, Damien tells his side of the story of the events that led up to that night in a short prequel to “Person of Interest” contained in the Uniform Fetish anthology.


You ever ride a roller coaster in pitch darkness? You feel yourself click-click-clicking up a hill, but you have no idea when you’ll reach the top or how far the drop will be. Could be a mild dip or could be the mother of all freefalls that rips a scream from even the bravest of souls.

English: The First Drop Of Millennium Roller C...

English: The First Drop Of Millennium Roller Coaster At Fantasy Island UK (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

That was what knowing Connie Patel was like the first six months I knew her…the click, click, clicking part.

Connie’s first day with NCIS was imprinted on my memory—overdressed in a severe black business suit with high heels, frayed nerves on display and painfully polite. That didn’t last long. Within two weeks, she lost the heels and the suit in favor of colorful, gauzy attire that accentuated her dusky Indian looks—the plus side of familiarity. On the negative side, her emails lost the “dear Damien” at the beginning and the “thank you” with a smiley face at the end. She wasn’t rude, but she flirted with the boundary between curt and efficient. And she made my skin itch, my brain glitch and my dick twitch.

I made it my mission then and there to poke holes in her starchy demeanor, to ruffle her as much as she ruffled me. My day wasn’t complete until I found some way to fluster Connie Patel. Childish? Sure. Entertaining? Abso-fucking-lutely. Did it solve the problem of my itch, glitch and twitch? Not really, but creating the same effect on her did help salve her effects on me. We volleyed back and forth this way for months until one day I spotted her in The Brass Nuts, a local bar and night club. A bunch of us from NCIS were celebrating the end of a particularly nasty case.Busy young stylish business woman

“Wicked Game” began playing. By then I’d tossed back a few a drinks and a pleasant buzz had taken over. The place was packed. The dance floor lights reflected off Connie’s cascading black hair, little tiny tractor beams that ensnared me, made me leave my chair and head her way. She must have sensed me coming, because she peered over her shoulder and caught me in her gaze from a gap of at least five feet.

“Damien Spiros,” she mouthed. She slipped off her bar stool and met me halfway. “Dance with me,” she commanded grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the dance floor.

“Okay.” I had to laugh. I had been planning to ask her to dance, but she beat me to the punch. No matter. I’d beat her to the next one.

“Don’t laugh at me.” A ruby red bottom lip poked out for a brief second before curling into a Jezebel smile with its upper mate. “I need to dance. I need to burn off some of this alcohol making me all…” A hand fluttered about her head.

“I would never laugh at you, Connie.” I must have smirked a little because her brow wrinkled, and she poked a finger into my chest.

“You do. You do. All the time, you do.” A pair of cinnamon colored eyes lifted to meet mine.

“Let’s just dance.” I pulled her into my arms. She was a tiny little thing—my arms could have encircled her twice and the top of her head barely cleared my chin—but she fit like God had made her just for me.

The sultry twang of the steel guitar played and the din of the bar gave way to the singer’s mournful voice. The song was an oldie but goody and sexy as hell, but nothing compared to the woman I held.

She pressed her cheek against my chest. Her lilac-scented perfume drifted to my nose, a hint of femininity and a perfect choice for the warm soft woman who wore it. With one hand holding hers tucked in between us and the other wrapped around her body, we shuffled and swayed to the music.

I splayed my fingers against her back and thought I detected a moan. Testing my theory, I curled my fingers and grasped a handful of her blouse. Her head nuzzled in closer. My body responded in kind. No internal sharp shooting calculations could distract my dick from its mission. I hoped she hadn’t noticed.

She raised her head and looked up at me. “Did you wear your gun to the bar or are you just showing off.”

I had to chuckle–what else could I do—and come clean. “We’re expecting trouble, so I came prepared.”

“You and Mr. Johnson?”

She got me. I laughed, my shoulders shaking while my head did the same. “Mr. Johnson?”

“What do you call it?”

“I prefer Mr. Wonderful.”

“Really. Mr. Wonderful. Does he live up to his name?”

Oh shit, she was killing me. Killing me! But I could play along too, see how far she’d take the flirtation even if it ended in a “gotcha!” zinger. “Mr. Wonderful always takes a back seat to his guests’ needs first. He’s very polite.”

Connie’s laughter tinkled, her teeth gleaming beneath the black lighting I’d danced her under.

“In addition to being tough as nails, driven, and relentless.”

“Sounds like someone I’d like to meet, this Mr. Johnson,” she said in a husky voice. But when she lifted those cinnamon-colored eyes to mine, my lips parted in a soft gasp of anticipation as the roller coaster paused and leveled out.

“Take me home?” she asked, nudging us over the edge into a plummet that stole my breath and my soul.


Read “Person of Interest” to discover what happened next on Damien’s and Connie’s bumpy ride.

When Connie Patel’s computer and IP address turns up as a match to a recent hacking attempt into the Navy’s top-secret terrorist database, fellow NCIS employee, Special Agent Damien Spiros is sent to confiscate the device.


Over her dead body.


This isn’t the first time Connie and Damien have butt heads. They’ve butt other body parts too but that was when they were both drunk at a chance meeting in a nightclub and it didn’t count. Did it?


Damien doesn’t believe Connie is guilty, but he’s still got a job to do. The harder part will be keeping his head on straight where the feisty forensic expert is concerned.

Now for a little reward. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter for a chance to win a prize.

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MM-EvernightAntho-002-08012015-evernightpublishing-PersonofInterestPurchase Uniform Fetish at these fine booksellers:


Uniform Fetish Stories and their Authors:

Cat’s Rescue by Doris O’Connor
To Serve and Protect by Sandra Bunino
Wilde Start by Susan Hayes
Person of Interest by Lila Shaw
A Passionate Witness by Moira Callahan Always by Donina Lynn
Wings of Gold by Evie Knight
Unshakable Me by S.J. Maylee
Welcome Home, Jason by Wren Michaels
First Class by Meredith J. Scott

Uniform Fetish Manlove Edition Stories and their Authors:

Rain and Promises by Elizabeth Monvey
Fine Dining by Nicola Cameron
The Layover by Gale Stanley
Scars by James Cox
A Walk on the Wild Side by Pelaam
Real Life Role Play by Tamsin Baker
Mile High Rebound by L.D. Blakeley
The British Are Coming by Lilith Duvalier
Fired Up by Lucy Felthouse

Buy Links Manlove Edition:   Evernight Amazon