I Spy a Wicked Sin

“In my study. Hand me that, if you don’t mind.” Squelching the urge to deliver a sharp retort that would jeopardize her mission, she turned to see what item he was gesturing for. A PA’s job entailed seeing to her boss’s every need, and she had to play the part. For now.

Glancing toward his padded stool, she hesitated, her jaw dropping in shock. The earlier interaction between the couple clicked into place. To be taken completely unaware by this sort of revelation wasn’t a familiar-or comfortable-feeling. There, propped against the stool, was a cane. A white one.

“You’re-”

“Legally blind, yes.” The warmth bled from his voice like blood from an open wound. “You have a problem with working for a boss who can’t see?”

“No. Only one with an attitude or a chip on his shoulder.”

Slowly, his smile returned. “Fair enough. I’m still learning to cope, but I’m far from helpless. Should you accept the position, I won’t expect you to wipe my ass. I’m a grown man, not an infant.”

Oh, yes, sweetie pie. That’s apparent.

“Good to know.” Walking to the stool, she retrieved the cane and went to him, taking his hand. She guided the handle to his palm, and he grasped it. “Here. Lead the way.”

“Thank you. Point me toward the door, and I’ll be glad to.”

She did, letting him exit the studio first, and then walked beside him down the long, tiled corridor.

“Lily of the valley,” he said suddenly.

A shiver trailed down her spine. “Excuse me?”

“Your name, and the perfume you’re wearing.” He grinned.

“They say, whoever they are, when one of the senses is lost, the others make up tenfold for its absence.”

His acute perception shook her to the core, and she was damned thankful he couldn’t read her expression. “So I’ve heard. Is there any real truth to the claim?”

“I think so, though it’s a bit too soon for me to be certain. It’s only been twelve weeks since my accident, and with the migraines-no, never mind. We have more important things to discuss.”

His “accident.” God, if you only knew. And he was in pain? Guilt speared her, fierce and intense, regardless of the fact that she hadn’t been a part of the number done on his brain. Dammit to hell, she empathized with him.

Despite his being a killer.

Like herself.

Free to scrutinize his face, she noted the two-inch scar above his left eyebrow. She could well imagine how he’d gotten it, and the unaccountable anger it inspired filled her with confusion. Especially since, according to Robert’s intelligence and the fat file in her possession, he deserved much, much worse.

Why the hell hadn’t Robert informed her St. Laurent had been rendered blind by the procedure? The answer was simple. Robert Dietz, the son of a bitch, enjoyed playing mind games, tossing zingers at his agents to see them react. Sometimes fail. And with Michael Ross, SHADO’s leader, in seclusion, Robert stirred the pot more and more often.

“Do you often enjoy playing the voyeur, Miss Vale?” He tapped the cane on the floor, sweeping it from side to side as they strolled. He didn’t appear angry or even annoyed by her indiscretion.

Taken by surprise, again, just when she’d decided he hadn’t been aware. Not pleasant. “I see everything because that’s my duty,” she answered honestly. “But I rarely enjoy the things I learn.”

“Such as your new boss’s penchant for naughty trysts in unexpected places?”

Ahead of them, a bucket and mop had been left unattended, by his housekeeper, she presumed. The bucket sat directly in his path, and she resisted the impulse to grab his arm, to steer him around the hazard.

His cane missed the obstacle and as his toe kicked it, he almost lost his balance. “Shit!” Recovering quickly, he took a step backward and tapped the object, sniffing. “What is it? Cleaner?”

“Yes, in a bucket. Move around it and you’re all clear ahead.”

“Thanks.” He cocked his head as they continued down the corridor. “Would you have let me fall, Miss Vale?”

“Falling is how we learn to get up, Mr. St. Laurent,” she said softly.

“True,” he replied with a throaty chuckle. “And I did imply I prefer not to be coddled, didn’t I?”

“You did. Lucky for you, because my nurturing gene is defective.”

“You never answered my question,” he said, redirecting their banter.

“Which was?”

“I’m not accustomed to hiding my sexuality, especially not in my own home. Will this be a problem?”

“As you said, this is your place. What you do here or anywhere else is your business. But to answer you, no. I suppose you could say I’m… freethinking when it comes to sex.”

“A kindred spirit, then.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re like me, it would seem. I like to think my friends and I are sexually enlightened. Doing what feels good, with whoever it feels good, as long as everyone is happy and safe. I do enjoy indulging.” He shook his head. “You’re probably wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into here. If you want to bolt, I won’t blame you.”

The picture he’d painted plucked her nipples, made the heat in her pussy torturous. “Not at all. Your lifestyle sounds… wonderfully tempting.” God! What would it be like to really let go, to explore her desires without the albatross of her assignment always hanging around her neck? Without subterfuge?

Reaching a door, he felt for the knob and pushed it open. “Good, because I’d hate to get slapped with a sexual harassment suit from my new PA on top of everything else.”

Once again, guilt reared its ugly head and she tamped it down. “Not going to happen.” She allowed her voice to warm with suggestion as she trailed him into his study. “I was quite captivated watching you and your girlfriend.”

He gave a quiet, good- natured laugh as he eased around his desk to lower himself into his chair. “Tamara is one of my favorite models, not a girlfriend. My subjects know I love to play, and sometimes they’re willing to indulge. No strings, no harm.”

“Models? If I can ask without sounding rude, how do you see your models in order to paint?”

He appeared amused. “How did Ray Charles see to create beautiful music on his piano? With his hands and his soul.”

Of course. She’d observed him “looking” at Tamara by using his hands. But the idea of St. Laurent possessing a soul capable of creating beauty disturbed her. A great deal.

“Well, my question seems foolish in light of your answer.” She settled into a chair across from his desk, blinking at his openness. So unorthodox, unlike anyone she’d ever met. “Back to the point-does your circle of bedmates ever extend outside your stable of models? Just so I’ll know what visitors to expect.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you know who to allow inside, whatever their business. As for lovers, I take those who arouse and intrigue me, Miss Vale,” he said, his voice deep and husky. “Whenever I’m lucky enough to find them, in every type of social setting. I don’t have a line formed at the front door, but I won’t shy from doing what pleases me. I’ve found life is much too short, so I live it like there’s no tomorrow.”

A truer statement was never made.

Staring at this vibrant, enigmatic man, her throat closed to the size of a pinhole. “Then you’re light-years ahead of most people, Mr. St. Laurent. It’s a policy many adopt much too late.”

He sat back in his chair, falling silent for a moment. Eerie how he appeared to be studying her with those beautiful, sightless eyes. He’d been a goddamned good agent, one of the best. If he was faking the blindness, not to mention the gaping blanks in his memory, she was in deep shit.

Because that would mean he’d made her from a thousand miles away, and he knew why she was really here.

She’d played this game many times, but never with her equal. Never with one of Ross’s deadliest assassins.

“Why do you want to work for me, Miss Vale?”

The question threw her, though she’d prepared for it. Had seasoned her answer with half-truths. Mentally, she