He pointed off to their right. “Sixth floor.”
She glanced at him. “If you were out on your balcony last night, you might have seen some of what went on around the storage and incineration building.” Her expression was keen yet mocking. Why? She couldn’t know where he had really been during most of that night—but it was definitely far from his balcony and the rest of the building.
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t watching.” Not from here, at least.
She waited a second before turning her head and striding up to the front door. He obliged by opening it, then took her elbow to lead her through the large entryway with its conversation pit where light brown upholstered chairs formed a semicircle, past a few potted plants, and to the elevator bank. He pushed the up button—and removed his hand from her arm. The current that had leaped through him at the contact seemed more than electric.
At least there hadn’t been anyone else downstairs or in the elevator. People here tended to be friendly, and Simon wasn’t in the mood for long introductions and idle chatter.
When they arrived on the sixth floor, he gestured toward the open elevator door. “This is it.”
Grace preceded him out and waited for him to lead her. “This way.” He pointed to the right, trying to stay casual even as he wanted to pick her up and carry her fast down the wide, lighted hallway.
When they were inside his apartment, he shut the door, then turned toward her. Oh, yes. He wanted her. Bad. Yet he wasn’t about to rush her. Assuming she even wanted what he did. But why else would she be here?
As she had downstairs, she looked around. “I like it.” He tried to see the place through her eyes. The entry opened into a recessed living room, and the hallway to the two bedrooms was off to the left. The walls were bland and white, but he’d hung photos he had taken of local desert scenes. His furniture was sparse but comfortable. The kitchen door was off the side of the living room.
“Tour first, or wine?” he asked.
“Tour. Is that the balcony?” She pointed to a sliding glass door in the living room.
“Right.”
She headed there, and he accompanied her, opening the door. The Charles Carder campus was well lighted even though it was dark outside, and he could see part of the building where the hazardous materials were to be stored and destroyed, just beyond a parking lot behind the looming hospital structure.
“Yes, too bad you weren’t up here looking out,” she said again, then stared up at him in the artificial light he had turned on. She seemed to study his face. No sign of sexual interest in her expression now.
It was as though she was searching him, trying to find out just by watching what his subliminal thoughts were.
That was easy. He wanted her.
“Yeah, too bad,” he agreed. He stepped toward her and took her into his arms. She didn’t back off, but neither did she react as he’d hoped—like grabbing him and starting to tear his clothes off.
Instead, she continued to look at him. “Do you ever see any wildlife from here? We’re far enough from Phoenix that I bet there are some interesting populations.”
Was this her way of leading back into the discussions that had driven them apart before?
“Do you want to know how many owls and roadrunners I’ve glimpsed around here?” He didn’t try to hide his irritation. “Coyotes, maybe? Or wolves? I thought I saw a couple of them in the distance, too. Why? Do you think there are shapeshifters?” He inserted scorn into his voice. If they were going to dredge up old differences, they might as well get it out now. Although he’d really been looking forward to sex with Grace—again.
“Maybe I do,” she said softly. “Maybe I saw one.” But before he could respond she reached up and drew his face down closer to hers.
And then her lips were playing hot, seeking games with his, and any sarcastic—or defensive—response he might dream up was suddenly toast.
This wasn’t what she had planned. Grace was not an impulsive person. She had anticipated that Simon might touch her. Hold her. Even kiss her. She had intended to respond cordially, showing some interest but not leaping into bed with him.
She had barely started the recon she had intended to do here, looking for clues about who Simon really was, whether he could have stolen the biohazards, how he had shifted outside of a full moon without being part of Alpha Force.
But though all that flashed through her mind now, it disappeared in a storm of sexual lightning as hot as the real thing. Her body had reacted to his touch, no matter what her mind had intended. And now she was definitely engaged in his torrid embrace.
Simon’s mouth seared hers, even as his tongue teased in small thrusts that suggested what the stiff erection she could feel against her would do once they were off the balcony, in his place, out of their impeding clothes.
She wanted that to happen. Longed for it, even edged her body back toward the door that would take them inside.
Simon needed no further prompting. In moments, they were in his living room, the patio door closed, the slatted shades drawn, and she was pulling at the buttons of his shirt.
Her T-shirt was suddenly gone, as quickly as if it had evaporated in the heat outside. Her bra, too, and she gasped as the palm of one of Simon’s hands rubbed gently but firmly against one nipple, then the other, springing them to full attention.
His shirt was off now, and Grace managed to pull away long enough to glimpse again his hard, muscular chest. She used the opportunity to reach down to his zipper—but that was unnecessary since Simon suddenly stepped out of his pants. His boxers, too. His nudity was familiar, but now that he was so close it was like experiencing the view of him for the first time in years, and Grace nearly cried out in her need.
He had gotten the rest of her clothes off, too. “Show me your bedroom,” she managed to gasp.
“Too far.” He responded by moving her sideways as he remained against her, toward the nearby sofa.
He laid her down upon it first, and she pulled him with her, managing to maneuver her hand between them so she could touch, then stroke, his large, hard erection.
He groaned, even as he touched her between her legs, causing her to gasp once more.
She heard the crackling of a plastic wrapper. Where had he found a condom? But she felt an instant of relief and pride in him. He’d already indicated that he was a responsible doctor. Clearly it was true…and the protection could prevent a lot of unwanted complications.
And then he was inside her, hot and moving and driving her to the pinnacle of arousal that she remembered from so long ago.
“Simon,” she cried, even as she reached her climax and heard him call her name, too, as he soared into his own release.
“Déjà vu,” Grace said into Simon’s shoulder as she finally caught her breath. “Or something like that. Wow.”
“‘Wow’ is a good description.” His voice was raspy, and his breath lifted her hair as he spoke.
“I guess some things don’t change. Although—”
“Although this time, let’s do it in a more comfortable place. Care to see my bedroom?”
She absolutely did. And, yes, some things didn’t change. Way back when, Simon’s stamina and abilities for multiple sex acts had amazed her.
She suspected he was about to amaze her, again.
He did.
A while later, Grace lay beside Simon in his king-size bed, the blue, silky sheets and patterned coverlet strewn around them. Her back was to him, and she lay against him as one of his arms held her close.
She felt thoroughly sated. Happy. Exhausted.
Yet frustrated, too. Not sexually. Definitely not sexually. But she hadn’t come up with a casual, nonconfrontational way to tell Simon what she knew about him.
Making love with a shifter was no different, while they were in human form, from having sex with a regular person without those abilities. She knew. She’d had a few short relationships after Simon, but none had amounted to anything.
On
ly—well, that was true as to the mechanics, but not otherwise. Not with Simon. His lovemaking had always been extraordinary. It still was.
But it didn’t reveal his shapeshifting side.
Plus, although she wanted to clear Simon completely from any suspicion in the theft of the biohazards, she couldn’t, yet. Yes, it was unlikely that he could have gassed the guards and taken anything while in wolf form, but she had no idea when, and how, he had changed. Maybe he’d decided to shift to observe the area from which he had stolen the hazardous materials. He obviously had a way of changing outside the full moon, and she had no idea of the parameters of his method.
But if he had stolen them, why would he have done it? He had shown his compassionate side over and over. It would be more in character for him to leave the materials there, to be incinerated the next morning.
Or was that the character she ascribed to him because she wanted to?
Simon’s breathing had deepened beside her. He was asleep.
Maybe now was a good time for her to do her recon, see if there was anything to be seen—good or bad—in Simon’s apartment.
Slowly, she untangled herself from him and from the bedclothes. If he awoke and asked what she was doing, she would just say she needed a trip to the bathroom. She’d noticed one across the hall from this bedroom.
Instead, she edged her way into the living room, listening for any indication that Simon was stirring. She found her purse and sent a quick text message to Kristine, letting her aide know she was working and wouldn’t be home until very late that night, if at all. She could explain—some of it—later.
Next, she took a brief look around the living room and kitchen areas, not expecting to find anything useful. She slipped on her underwear, which remained in a heap with the rest of her clothes on the floor, uncomfortable about sneaking around the place nude.
She had noticed a door to what appeared to be another bedroom near the room where Simon was, and that was where she went next. If he had a home office, that was likely to be it—which it was.
She wished she had a flashlight, but instead there was a lamp on the desk that she turned on after closing the door behind her.
She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. If she was certain he’d stay asleep, she would boot up Simon’s desktop computer and see what files were there. Maybe check out his e-mail if he hadn’t logged off. But if he woke and came in here, it would be obvious that she had violated his privacy.
Instead, she slowly opened the drawers in his desk and glanced inside. It wasn’t likely he’d have hard copies of any correspondence that described his intent to steal biohazard samples, but maybe there’d be something from his family that hinted at his shifter background.
The better thing to do might be to “borrow” Simon’s apartment key and send Kristine here sometime to hack into the computer. She’d be good at something like that. For now, snooping into the drawers had yielded Grace nothing useful. All she’d seen so far was personal bookkeeping materials, some medical journals, and—
“Hey. What are you doing, Grace?” The door had opened, and the overhead office light flicked on.
She jumped, startled, and closed the drawer she’d been surveying on her hand—not hard, fortunately. She pulled it free quickly and lifted her bruised fingers to her mouth. “Oh. I didn’t want to wake you, but I was looking for…a pen and paper. I wanted to start a to-do list, with bringing Tilly to meet that boy Eddie at the top.” Lame, but it was the best she could think of that fast. “I’d gotten up for a bathroom break, and—”
“What the hell is this, Grace? I want to know the truth. Come with me.”
He had pulled on his boxers, limiting her view, but the parts of his otherwise unclothed body that were visible still made her remember—and react. As they got into the hall, her gaze slid toward the door to his bedroom. But he was leading her the other way.
“We never did get any wine,” he said, striding away from her. “Now’s as good a time as any.”
Wine? In the middle of the night? She didn’t want her mind any muzzier than it was.
But going along with him—as much as possible—might help to take the sting out of the inevitable confrontation between them. She grabbed the rest of her clothes and got dressed, then followed him into the kitchen.
There, he opened a bottle of merlot that he pulled from a wine rack beside the refrigerator and poured some into long-stemmed glasses. The action seemed out of sync with reality, an attempt at being courteous while all etiquette had been discarded. Even so, Grace accepted the glass and took a sip.
“Sit down,” Simon ordered, pointing toward the small oval table in the middle of the room. Chairs on wheels had been pushed under it, and he pulled one out for her.
She didn’t obey. Standing, preparing to flee, felt more appropriate.
“This wine is good,” she said. “It has a slightly nutty essence, and—”
“What is really going on, Grace? What were you looking for?”
The fury on the gorgeous male face that had so recently looked at her with lust-provoking heat made tears rush to her eyes. She blinked them back, modifying her own purposely bland expression into one of chilly observation. “All right.” She finally took the seat that he had offered to her. “I’ll tell you the little that I can. I am a medical doctor, as you know—an infectious-disease specialist, and I’m also in the military. What you don’t know is that I am in a special ops unit that has been designated to look into the thefts of biohazards here at Charles Carder.” That was as much as Colonel Otis had been told, somewhat classified but not at all as secret as the true nature of Alpha Force.
“I get it.” Simon took a large swig of his wine, then returned to glaring at her. “And you somehow think that I’m involved?”
“I don’t want to think so, but I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “Simon, I saw you the other night, after the theft—walking by the parking lot near the storage and incineration building.” She couldn’t bring herself to confront him now about his shapeshifting just before the time she mentioned. That might follow, but she so much wanted him to admit it to her first. “I have to include you in my investigation. Please, give me any evidence, any proof you have, about what you were doing before that, and why you couldn’t be the thief.”
Chapter 7
Simon had no proof. He resented that Grace even asked for it. At least she had apparently seen him late enough that he had already shifted back to human form. Otherwise, she would have said something about seeing a wolf—or seeing him change.
He got up for the bottle of wine, needing more—especially with that image in his mind: Grace, seeing him shifting. As he sat again, he studied her face. Beautiful, but unreadable.
What was she thinking?
Whatever it was, he needed to respond to her. “I shouldn’t have to defend myself to you,” he asserted. “I didn’t steal those damned biohazards. Why would I?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “Just tell me why you were in that area then. What you were doing. Please, Simon.”
Her expression turned imploring. But he wasn’t about to tell her what she asked—at least not all of it.
She wasn’t pushing, goading him to admit he was a shapeshifter, as she did in the old days. Wouldn’t she be doing that if she knew the truth? Or did she have a different agenda now?
Back then, the pain his family had suffered was too raw for him to admit to anyone what he was, even someone he had cared about as he’d done with Grace.
She had hinted then that she, too, was a shapeshifter, a werewolf, daring him to admit that he also could morph that way. But he had trusted no one, not even the woman he had formed a relationship with. Just as well, since the relationship had proven to be tenuous.
She hadn’t insinuated that she could be a shifter now, though. Whatever her reasons back then, her hints could not have been true. She was in the military, some special investigatory troop, so she couldn’t possibly be anything but a
regular person. Otherwise, someone would have found out—during training, on missions, whatever—especially since, as far as he had determined after long efforts at research, no other shifter besides him, and the few family members he had occasionally allowed to test his formulations, could avoid changing, even for a while, under a full moon.
Now she might not be eager to tease him about what she’d probably been kidding about back then, irrational woo-woo stuff, at least to her.
What she hinted at could be even more serious.
And, damn it all, her suspicions hurt. Especially after they had made love so enthusiastically.
A thought penetrated his skull, generating so much pain that he stood, draining his wine glass. “Did you come here with me last night just so you could snoop around, look for evidence that I’m some kind of terrorist, Grace? One who would resort to stealing biohazards that might be used to kill people, rather than cure them? Did you use sex as your ticket to get in here?”
She stood, too, so fast that her chair rocketed out behind her on its wheels. “How can you ask something like that? I came here because…because I’m still too damned attracted to you. I don’t want to believe the worst about you. I need some answers, yes, but I came here because I wanted to make love with you. And because I was hoping—still hope—that you’ll stop keeping secrets from me. Tell me the truth.”
“Which you think is that I’m a thief or worse?”
“No, damn it. I want you to tell me—”
“What I’ll tell you is that it’s time for you to leave, Grace. It’s been fun. You’re still one hot lady. But like before, as soon as we start talking instead of having sex, things go to hell. I’ll walk you back to your place.”
“Don’t bother. I’m a lot better prepared to take care of myself than you are. I’m a highly trained military operative. You’re only a man with one huge…ego.” She slammed her wine glass back onto the table so hard that he thought she’d broken the stem, although it still looked intact.
Then she stormed out of his apartment.
Guardian Wolf Page 7
