Going undercover as a nun turns out to be a lot harder than I thought.

Searching Sean’s apartment has given me a wealth of insights into the man. Not only is he doing his own undercover work, but he’s also helping people in need…and painting.

I stop by an etching of a nude figure and nearly swallow my tongue. How? He’s never seen me in anything other than this drab tunic. Still…Without touching, I run my fingers above the edges of a body he’s gotten exactly right. My body.

Swallowing my rising heart, I imagine his hand holding the pencil, imagine him tracing lines, mentally stroking my body.

“Sister?”

“Ay!” Startled I swing around. To my horror, I find Sean squatting on the fire escape, staring at me through the window, his mouth set in a firm, disappointed line.

I bring a hand to my chest, mostly to buy time. “Dios. You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry about that, Sister.” With alarming dexterity, he climbs in through the window. “Don’t usually have guests break into my flat. Not sure of the protocols.”

Hard to miss his sarcasm. “I didn’t break in. The apartment was unlocked…”

He’s shaking his head in outright disbelief. It’s not hard to figure out why. The apartment couldn’t have been left open if he’d gone out through the fire escape.

I turn back to the door and scan until I spot it. There’s a small, nearly invisible device at the foot of the door. It must’ve registered me entering. I missed it, not only because it is so very tiny, but because it’s very high-tech. I’ve underestimated this man.

I spin back around, smiling. “I need your help.”

Auburn hair a windy mess, brown eyes smoldering, he swallows the distance between us with his sexy swaggering gate. “You broke into my flat because you need my help?”

I’m scrambling. My brain is scrambling. My heart is scrambling. He stops feet from me. I have to crane my neck, which is rare and uncomfortable.

My height has always allowed me to look men in the eyes or look down on them. Not having that advantage is supremely disconcerting. Also, he’s a lot of muscle. The heat of him rolls forward like lava, enveloping my senses.

“Want to try the truth, luv?”

Luv? Not even Sister or Dee. I switch tactics. What man doesn’t like to have his ego stroked? Plus, I’d be a fool if I pretended I hadn’t noticed the way he looks at me. The way he’s looking at me right now.

“Help might be the wrong word.” I make a point of running my tongue along my lips. His eyes follow the movement. “I felt a strong need to be near you. With you.”

Feminists everywhere are cringing at me using my sexuality to get out of the fact that I was spying on him and, internally, so am I. Well, a little. He is so very hot.

“Really,” he smirks, both interested and not buying it even a little. He leans closer. “Is that how you intend to play this?”

He obviously requires proof of my sincerity. Not giving myself a chance to second guess, I fist his T-shirt, tiptoe, and place my lips on his soft, firm mouth.

For a breathless moment, he freezes. My tongues plays along the seam of his mouth.

With a moan, he relents.

Eager and hungry, I let go of all the tension of playing at being someone I’m not and let myself feel, really feel, the intense attraction I have to this man.

Heat and naked desire rake painfully through every cell in my body as we grab at each other, tongues intertwining, bodies screaming for more.