Piers Lamont stood in the open doorway. He wore a pair of faded jeans. And that was all. They’d obviously just been pulled on, the button at his waist still unfastened. The denim looked supple and clung to his lean hips, hanging off the jut of his hipbones. The skin of his stomach was pale over ridged muscles and was dissected by a line of blond hair that disappeared into the loose waistband of his pants. She raised her eyes just a little and breathed in sharply.
His chest was broad and smooth, his shoulders massive. She peered a little higher, finally getting as far as his face. Blond hair hung loose to his shoulders, gold shading to silver. As she watched, he raked a hand through the strands, brushing them away from his face.
Asmodai had said he was handsome, but that didn’t do him justice. With his sharp cheekbones and sculpted mouth, he had the face of a fallen angel. A shiver ran through her; she didn’t believe in angels, fallen or otherwise.
His heavy-lidded eyes were watching her with an undefined expression in their dark depths. “You woke me up. I hope you have a good reason for that.”
She thought about pointing out that it was past ten in the morning and perhaps he should have been up anyway.
“What do you want, Sister Rosa?” His voice was like rough velvet.
What did she want? Right now—to stroke her hands all over that delectable body, to see if the skin was as silky as it appeared, to peel those jeans down his long, long legs and…
Whoa.
She dropped her gaze and shook herself. Was he mesmerizing her already? But she knew that wasn’t the case. No, it was just that she was a sad, frustrated woman who hadn’t had a man hold her in…well, longer than she could remember. Now she was paying the price.
A woman cannot live by vibrators alone.
She was just desperate, that was all. It had been too long. But she couldn’t allow her unruly libido to take control, however tempting this man might be. She was here to do a job.
Taking a deep breath, she swallowed and clasped her hands in front of her so she wouldn’t be tempted to reach out. She stared straight ahead, but that meant she was gazing directly at his chest, with those dusky, lickable male nipples—dark against his pale skin with little tufts of blond hair. She dropped her gaze. His feet were bare. He had long toes. Wasn’t that supposed to—
“Well?” He interrupted her wayward thoughts, and she shook herself again.
“I remembered something else.”
He studied her for a moment, head cocked, then stepped to one side and gestured to her to enter the room. “Come in.”
Roz peered into the shadowy room behind him; it was some sort of living room with large scarlet couches. She didn’t budge. She really needed to get to his office so she could place the bug.
“Could we not go to your office? I would feel more comfortable.”
“You don’t feel comfortable with me, Sister?”
She lowered her eyes, peeking up at him through her lashes. “I’m not used to the company of men,” she said demurely. Well, that was the goddamn truth. Sort of.
After studying her for a minute longer, he shrugged. “Give me a second.”
He disappeared and came back a minute later, tugging a T-shirt over his head. She sighed—it was a sin to cover that body but she supposed it was for the best. His feet were still bare and his hair still loose, but that was obviously all the concessions she was getting.
He didn’t speak as they waited for the elevator, and once inside, he leaned against the back wall, arms folded across his chest, his gaze wandering over her body as though he could see beneath the heavy nun’s robes.
Not for the first time, it pissed her off that the robes made her appear overweight. She wasn’t; she was curvaceous. She liked that word. But in the long loose habit, she just looked straight up and down. It was probably for the best.
Once out of the lift, she followed him down another corridor, one she recognized. Finally, he led her into the office they’d been in the previous evening. This time, she took the time to study it, searching for a suitable place to plant the bug.
Piers Lamont perched on the edge of his desk. “So, Sister, what is it you remembered that was so important it brought you from the safety of the mother house?”
“I’m sure you are a man of God and I am equally safe here, Mr. Lamont.”
“Are you? How…trusting. And please, call me Piers. And I will call you…Sister. So?”
She cleared her throat. “The man at the convent. He said his name was Jack.”
“Did he now? And you forgot to mention that?”
“I didn’t know. It was Maria who remembered. She was exhausted last night.” She still was—Roz had left her sleeping. “Does it help?”
“It confirms something I suspected. Is that all—or did Maria remember anything else?”
“Not remembered, no, but there is something else.”
She’d thought about this carefully. She had to find Jessica and soon, but she assumed, from the little Asmodai had told her, that the Order would not get involved with missing humans unless the case impinged on their world in some way. So she had to make it appear as though the two worlds were close to colliding. She’d stopped off on the way here and spoken to Ryan, worked with a police artist and gotten a rough picture of Jack.
“And?” His voice was tinged with impatience. He was probably thinking about his nice, warm bed.
“I saw a news report last night. There’s a girl missing—the police have one of those made-up pictures—”
“An identikit picture?”
“Yes. Of the suspect, and I recognized him. It was the man—Jack.”
“Really?”
She nodded. There was a risk here, that they might check up and find she was lying. But she considered the risk worth it.
Piers drummed his fingers on the table then picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Graham—did I wake you again?” His lips twitched as he listened to the answer. “I have a job for you. Check out a missing person.” He glanced across at Roz. “Do you have a name?”
“Jessica Thomas.”
“Jessica Thomas. Just get the details, and I’ll talk to you later.”
He placed the phone down and leaned back, his hands resting on the desk behind him as he looked her over.
“So that’s business taken care of. What shall we do now, Sister?”
Oh Lord, had she ever heard a speech filled with so much innuendo? She fought down the little voice inside her that was screaming, Take me, take me.
Instead, she smiled demurely. “I must be getting back to the mother house. Sister Maria is very anxious, and she likes me close.”
“I bet she does.”
He pushed himself to his feet, making her jump, and strolled slowly toward her, coming to a halt only inches away. She breathed in sharply, and her nostrils filled with a wild, musky scent that caused the muscles in her stomach to clench. Reaching out, he placed one long finger under her chin. His touch felt cool, and a shiver ran through her, but she didn’t object as he gently raised her head so she had no choice but to stare into his eyes. She had one quick peek and glanced quickly to the floor. The urge to close the space between them was almost overwhelming, and she bit down hard on her lower lip to concentrate her thoughts. The sweet metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, but the pain brought her back to herself.
His sharp indrawn breath sounded loud in her ears, and she glanced up quickly. His gaze was intent on her mouth, and she looked away from the hunger in his face.
Suddenly she knew what he was about to do—the mesmerizing thingy.
“Look into my eyes, Sister.”
It was a good thing she wasn’t looking into his eyes right then or he would have seen hers roll. How corny could you get?
She had to do this. She didn’t have a choice—she never had a choice, and she was starting to get pissed off at that. Carefully, she blanked her expression, raised her lashes, and gazed into his eyes. They were beautiful, so deep a blue they were almost black, and fringed with thick lashes.