Bittersweet Magic to-2 Page 5

  But the other factor was Jessica Thomas. Roz couldn’t live with herself if she had a chance of helping the girl and she did nothing.

  Still, facing up to her own particular scary monster was hard.

  The Order of the Shadow Accords.

  The organization set up thousands of years ago to police the supernatural world, including ridding that world of undesirables. Like her.

  It had occurred to her over the years that she was relying on Asmodai for all her information. And he could be telling her whatever he considered would be most useful for her to hear. Useful to him, that was. She had no clue why he had saved her all those years ago. Maybe just a whim. She’d done twelve tasks for him since, but nothing of any significance until the Key. She had a feeling that was important. Which made it all the weirder that he had taken her failure so well.

  She’d called Ryan that morning, told him she believed Jessica Thomas was still alive—for now—and described every single detail she could come up with as to her whereabouts, and then warned him she was coming in. She wanted to give him a description of “Jack,” though she somehow doubted he would be on any police files. Well, not ordinary police files anyway.

  But she was betting Piers Lamont would know exactly who “Jack” was and could maybe tell her something that would help her save Jessica. All she had to do was maintain her cover, and she would come out unscathed. Probably.

  Asmodai’s words came back to her. Piers would try to mesmerize her? Why? To do what? Well, there was only one way to find out.

  Catching sight of her reflection in the glass, she winced. She was back in the habit, actually sown into the thing, as she’d ripped off most of the buttons in her rush to get out of it last night. She took a moment to adjust the ugly headdress—rescued from the bin—and smooth down the black robes. Her fingers checked for the bug in her pocket. If Piers didn’t cooperate, she’d plant it in his office, providing she got as far as his office.

  There was a woman at the reception desk this morning. She glanced up and smiled, the smile fixing on her face as she caught sight of Roz, hovering just inside the doorway.

  Roz forced herself forward, settling her face into a nun-like expression. “I’m here to see Piers Lamont.”

  Something flickered in the woman’s eyes. Surprise maybe. “I’m afraid Mr. Lamont is unavailable this morning. Could I take your name and get back to you with an appointment?”

  No. If Roz left now, she wasn’t sure she could make herself come back a third time.

  “Please,” she murmured. “I’m doing God’s work. It’s important I see Mr. Lamont immediately. I was here last night—Mr. Lamont told me to return if I remembered anything, and I have…”

  The woman bit her lip, but nodded. “I’ll try, but he might not be very… happy to be disturbed.”

  Hard luck, Roz wanted to snap, but she kept her expression tranquil. He took ages to answer, and when he finally did, the receptionist winced.

  “Mr. Lamont, there’s a… a nun here to see you.” She listened for a moment. “I’ll send her right down.”

  As she replaced the phone on the desk, Roz noticed her fingers were trembling, but she managed to paste a bright smile on her face.

  “You’re to go down. I’ll get someone to escort you, if you’ll wait just one moment.”

  Roz waited, narrowly resisting the urge to tap her feet. Instead, she gripped her wrists and held them in front of her in a nun-like fashion. She kept her eyes downcast, only raising them as the elevator door across the 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.”

  I’ll bet. But she kept the words to herself and smiled serenely.

  “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.

  Holy mother of God.

  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 gazi
ng 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.

  For a moment, some dark force caught her, as though the very will was being sucked out of her. Her mind clouded, tendrils of mist wrapping themselves around her consciousness. Instinctively, she fought it, and the fog cleared slightly, enough so she was back in control of her own head.

  She forced her mind back to Asmodai’s instructions and blinked a couple of times. Piers’ large hand hooked around the back of her neck and drew her closer. She didn’t fight. Hell, she might not be mesmerized, but she wanted this. Just one little taste, then she’d plant her bug and be out of there.

  He was much taller than she was, and he lowered his head to lick the blood from her lower lip. At the touch of his tongue, heat shot along her nerve endings to pool at the base of her belly.

  He straightened, and she caught sight of his eyes, glowing with hunger. “You taste so sweet.”

  Fear slithered down her spine. She managed to keep it from her face; she’d had a lot of practice at hiding her emotions. What the fuck was he? But even as the question sounded in her mind, the answer flashed up in big neon letters.

  Vampire.

  She remembered her dream of last night—Jack drinking the blood of the missing girl. And she recognized what tied the two men together. They were both the same.

  Holy crap, he was a vampire. Why the fuck hadn’t Asmodai warned her? He wouldn’t have sent her back here just to be killed, would he? Did he think her usefulness was over and this was his way of getting rid of her once and for all? But strangely, she didn’t believe that. She thought the demon, for all his wicked ways, had gained some slight affection for her over the centuries. Besides, from her dream she guessed the vampire, Jack, had drunk from the missing girl numerous times, and she still lived, or at least had as of last night.

  She had to let him do this; otherwise, it would be obvious she wasn’t under his power.

  Would it hurt?

  Would she be able to maintain the pretense if he hurt her? She had to.

  “Come here.” He dragged her closer. His hands gripped her shoulders then he l
owered his head again and kissed her. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue pushing inside, filling her, and the heat in her belly burst into roaring flames.

  Holy crap, but this guy could kiss. After the first thrust, she gave herself up to the sensual delight, the glide of his tongue against hers.

  Her hips were pushing toward him and his mouth left hers.

  “You like that?” he murmured. “You want more?” He laughed softly as his hands slid down the curve of her back to rest on her hips. He pulled her against him so she could feel the length of his erection pressing into her stomach, and moist heat flooded between her thighs. He breathed in. “Hmm, the scent of sex-starved nun—one of my personal favorites. But unfortunately, I’m afraid my brand of ethics won’t allow me to take you while you’re under my influence.”

  Roz very nearly screamed. What did he mean? And what sort of vampire had ethics? Weren’t they evil creatures of the night, preying on the innocent? Well, she might not be innocent, but he didn’t know that.

  “Sister, raise your head.”

  She did as she was told. His eyes still blazed with hunger. She’d thought he was finished with her, but obviously, while his ethics wouldn’t let him shag her, they weren’t about to stop him from eating her.

  One long lean finger ran down her throat, leaving a trail of fire. Fear churned inside her, and she forced her mind to blank as though she really was in his thrall. His fingertip rested against her racing pulse, and then he lowered his head and kissed her there.

  A small moan escaped her lips as heat streaked along her nerve endings.

  He stroked her with his tongue, tasting her, then with no other warning, he sank his fangs into the flesh of her throat.

  She went instantly still, waiting for the pain. But there was nothing until the first tug as he drew her blood from her vein. She felt it like an arrow of pleasure straight to her groin.

  His hands were stoking her back, shifting lower to the curve of her ass, fingers digging in, kneading her flesh in time with the tugging pull at her throat. A pulse was beating between her thighs. It was as though he was inside her, deep inside, and her muscles were clenching, tightening, pleasure spiraling.