way slid open revealing the young, red-haired man who’d been on reception the night before. Last night, he’d been immaculate. This morning, he looked as though he’d pulled on whatever clothes he could find the quickest. He was dressed in grey sweats and a T-shirt and his feet were bare. He smothered a yawn with his hand when he caught her watching.
His eyes widened slightly as he took her in. Then he gestured for her to join him in the elevator. “Hey, you’re back, Sister. Not sure that’s wise.”
Neither was she, but too late now; the doors were closing. “Really? Why is that, Mr.…?”
“Graham. Call me Graham. Well, shouldn’t you be in a convent or something?”
“I’m here to do God’s work.”
He shrugged. “Not a lot of that going on around here.”
“Piers isn’t always at his best in the morning. So…” he trailed off. Roz got the distinct impression he was attempting to warn her about something, but his loyalty lay first with his employer. Then it was too late. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.
“Good luck,” Graham said.
“You’re not coming with me?” All of a sudden, she didn’t want to be alone with Piers Lamont and his mesmerizing ways.
“Hell, no.” He sounded positively alarmed at the idea. His lips twitched as if he realized he’d been less than diplomatic. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” His brows drew together. “Hey, I’ve got to check—have you got a cross?”
“No.” She should have one, though, shouldn’t she? Who ever heard of a nun without a cross? “I lost it in the attack on the convent.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
She frowned, but he ushered her out of the elevator, and the doors slid shut behind her, leaving her alone in a bare corridor. She’d thought she was going to the same place as yesterday, but this was different. Had they come further down? She wished she’d paid attention—though did it really matter? She was deep underground, and she suspected she wasn’t going anywhere they didn’t want her to.
Slipping her hand in the pocket of her habit, she fingered the bug while she wondered what to do next. The place was deathly quiet. She glanced up and down the corridor and had almost persuaded herself to recall the elevator when the door opposite opened.
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
