“God, yes.” After a few more bobs over his lap, he moaned and gently pulled her head back. “Wait. Come here, darlin’.”
The woman crawled between his legs as he sat up, and brushed a kiss against his lips. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Giving his lover a warm half smile, he reached out, skimmed a hand up her arm, to her shoulder. He combed his fingers through her hair and then brought his other hand up as well, his palm finding her breast.
His touch was tentative, careful, as his fingers searched. Probed her feminine curves, traveled to her cheeks and lips. Her forehead. His tender exploration made the woman giggle.
“You’ve
“That was for the sake of art.” He grinned, dropping his hands. “This is for fun. Lie down on my left and spread out for me.”
Lily remained quiet, trying to make sense of the puzzling exchange-and of the way his dazzling smile snatched the breath from her lungs. His smooth voice, laced with a hint of the Deep South, the New Orleans variety, was the cherry atop the sundae. She could almost forget the man didn’t own a soul.
The brunette did as he asked, stretching out on the pillows like a cat, eyes glittering in anticipation. Despite everything, Lily couldn’t blame her.
He laid one big palm on her thigh and moved his hand up, as though mapping new territory. Moving carefully, he straddled her torso and positioned himself on his knees, thighs spread wide. “Slide down and guide me to your mouth, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Lily’s curiosity grew. How could he hurt her?
The woman scooted down and guided the broad head of St. Laurent ’s cock to her lips. She took him down her throat and he moaned, lean body shuddering. As he bent to her sex, Lily had the fleeting thought that a nice, decent person would excuse herself until the couple was finished.
Nobody had ever accused Lily of being either.
She had a perfect view as St. Laurent parted the woman’s nether folds and lowered his head. His tongue darted out, lapped at the tender pink flesh, and his sensual, satisfied groan of male appreciation set Lily’s pussy afire. She gripped the doorframe, forcing herself to remain in place no matter how badly she wanted to join them. The need to slide her hand into her panties, to relieve the ache, was barely tolerable.
St. Laurent laved and suckled his lover’s little clit like a starving man feasting on his last dessert. The brunette writhed under his attentions, muffled whimpers sounding around his cock.
Thrusting his hips, he fucked the woman’s mouth faster, with more fervor. The muscles of his biceps and chest, his flat stomach, bunched, playing under all that lovely, sun-kissed skin like a symphony. Graceful movement and desire, flowing rapidly toward a forceful climax.
Lily stood in the doorway to St. Laurent ’s studio, riveted by the scene. And yes, God help her, aroused as she hadn’t been in months, years. Possibly ever, and on the worst possible assignment. In her job, to allow passion into the act of sex was to invite disaster-she merely did what must be done.
The tight fist in her gut-as well as the dampness between her thighs-hinted she was doomed from the start. Sex with this man would be anything but passionless.
Remain detached. Neutralize the threat, however necessary. Nothing you haven’t done before.
Yet at the moment, she found it difficult to believe the fate of thousands depended upon her ability to deceive this unusual specimen of physical perfection, maneuver her way into his heart and bed, and then… She shuddered, the chilly ripple snaking all the way to her toes. A rare shard of regret lanced her breast at the reality of the situation, of her sworn duty.
St. Laurent ’s exultant shout jerked Lily into the present. The brunette manipulated his balls, eagerly swallowing every drop as he drove her over the edge in kind.
The woman bucked, arching her hips. Rode the waves of pleasure until she lay limp and sated on the pillows. She released his softening penis, lips curving in satisfaction. “Mmm. You taste every bit as divine as I knew you would.”
Smiling, he crawled off her and lay at her side, propping himself on an elbow. “I’ll bet you say that to every lusty artist who struggles in vain to capture your essence,” he quipped, his tone light.
“My God, Jude. If you’re that good with your tongue, I can only imagine how talented you are with your cock-in other ways, I mean.”
So they hadn’t yet slept together. Lily filed away the in formation.
Sitting up, he laughed, obviously pleased by the compliment. “Well, I’m probably not the best judge of my own prowess. Nonbiased opinions are always welcome.”
“Hmm. Is that an offer?” Giving him a hungry look, the woman stood and began to gather her clothing.
“Pardon me for being vague.” Still seated on the pillows, he tilted his head toward her, burnished hair falling over his eyes. “Tamara, come back tonight. I’ll have Liam make us something spectacular for dinner.”
“Wine? Soft music?”
“Whatever you want.”
Lily couldn’t tear her gaze from him as he rose and turned a half step, groping a nearby stuffed chair for his discarded jeans.
A delectable treat worthy of making a woman forget her diet. Tonight, this woman, Tamara, would not be the only one to indulge. Lily would know every word, every deed, spoken or performed in this house.
Doing her job, of course. Nothing more.
Ducking back into the hallway, Lily paused, giving the pair a few seconds to make themselves halfway presentable and focusing on her current role. Okay, lovebirds, time’s up. She rapped on the door and stepped inside.
“Hello, Mr. St. Laurent, I’m-” Breaking off, she pretended surprise at finding them in disarray. The woman closed her blouse over bare breasts. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but faded jeans, the fly unzipped.
Lily let her gaze drift over both of them, her tone and body language making it clear she was not the least bit averse to what she saw. St. Laurent was no longer the only one in this house skilled in seduction.
“I’m so sorry,” Lily continued, sounding anything but. “A housekeeper greeted me at the front door and said I should come on back.”
“Miss… Vale. Is that right?” He shrugged on his shirt and began to button it, casual as anything. He didn’t quite meet her gaze, which she found odd. Tamara, however, had no such compunction, giving Lily an assessing look as she put her clothing to rights.
“Yes, I’m Lily Vale,” she answered honestly. No point in using a second alias in this case. He wouldn’t remember her name from the agency, and if that ever changed, it still would make no difference in the outcome.
“You’re early.”
“I’m on time. Always.”
His full lips curved upward. “I stand corrected. When will I learn that women are always right?”
Tamara patted his chest. “The sooner the better, if you’re a smart guy. Your new personal assistant doesn’t appear the type to take crap off of anybody, even from a master bullshit artist like you,” she said, gathering her purse.
St. Laurent looked relaxed, not offended at all. “I beg to differ-I use oil and watercolor on my canvases, not manure. And I don’t know whether she’ll agree to be my PA until after she and I meet in person.”
Lily suppressed a scowl. She wasn’t used to people speaking around her. “I’m ready to talk whenever you are.”
“Seven o’clock?” Tamara said, and gave him a lingering kiss.
“I’ll send the car for you.”
“Sounds good. Nice to meet you, Lily.”
“Same here.” Lily watched as Tamara disappeared from the studio, and wondered whether the two knew she’d seen them playing. She turned her attention to St. Laurent again, to find he hadn’t moved.
He stood in the center of the room facing her, sunlight streaming in from the glass windows and catching his long hair, setting it ablaze. The muscles of his chest and arms filled out his shirt wonderfully, and she grew wet thinking of what those muscles had been doing a short while ago. His thumbs were hooked in the waistband of his jeans and he sort of stared past her, his eyes a sparkling, beautiful green. And strangely blank.
Lily had never felt quite so… ignored? No, that wasn’t quite right. “Where would you like to meet?”
