Guardian Wolf - By Linda O. Johnston Page 0,22
human—sexy—abilities of his she had learned about in the old days? The idea sent a tickle of warmth through her insides that she ignored. That wasn’t a distraction she needed.
“You seem both professional and caring to me—a good thing, Simon. You’ve impressed me so far.” She took a sip of iced tea and let the cold, sweet liquid run down her throat while she thought of what to say next. When she glanced up, Simon was watching her, a hint of a smile curling his lips.
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “I had the impression… Well, that our memories of the past were hanging over us, ready to interfere with our ability to work together now.”
“I can deal with it,” she said quickly. “How about you?”
“Definitely.”
For a while, they discussed the Charles Carder facility in general, and how Simon had ended up here. “I did a lot of research, thought this place had a great reputation. I hadn’t initially considered working in a military environment, but the fit made sense, so I applied and here I am.”
Grace knew there had to be more to it than that. Had he chosen Arizona because wild wolves lived in the area so his being seen while shifted wouldn’t draw undue attention? What else about this place had attracted him?
She could come right out and confront him. Tell him what she knew, what she had seen. Ask the underlying truths to all he said to her. But not here, even with the possibility being unlikely—in this large and noisy crowd—that anyone would be eavesdropping on them.
Besides, even if he admitted to being a shifter, that didn’t preclude his having something to do with the theft of the biohazardous materials, as much as she hated to imagine the possibility. She had to do all she could to rule him out—or not—as part of her mission.
She pondered her next step. Why not be direct—about some questions, at least? “Do you have any ideas about who stole the biohazards?”
“No, but I wish I did. Infectious-disease specialists like us know too well what those kinds of materials could do in the wrong hands.”
Grace nodded. “And since they were stolen, they’re more likely to be in the possession of the worst kind of tangos—terrorists—than a little old lady who thought she was borrowing some kind of cleaning solution.”
Simon’s wry grin caused Grace to smile back as she watched him. They hadn’t been talking suggestively. Their discussion had been on an especially serious topic. Even so, his expression grew hot as they looked at one another, and she knew hers did, as well.
He took a drink of his cola, his eyes not leaving hers. Waves of heat started pulsing inside her that had nothing to do with the Arizona temperatures outside. She tried to shake off her sense of wanting to touch him, and be touched.
Not an easy transition while looking at the man who had driven her so crazy with lust all those years ago. But maybe she could use their attraction to take a look around his quarters, see if she could find any answers there.
Then leave, fast, before she did something she would regret. Not that she had ever regretted making love with Simon before—only its aftermath.
“I’ve had enough to eat,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind a glass of wine somewhere quiet, though. Do you happen to have any at your place?”
“Sure do.” The huskiness in his voice was also tinged with surprise.
“Do you live in one of those really nice, up-scale residential buildings at the other side of campus? I’ve heard that most of the nonmilitary doctors have apartments there, even if they’ve got another home somewhere. It helps having a place to catch some sleep after busy days and nights on duty. I’ve been hoping to see what the apartments look like.”
“Yes, I’ve got a place,” Simon told her, “and I’d be happy to give you a tour.”
Chapter 6
Was he nuts?
Getting involved again with Grace was way off his agenda. Simon knew that as well as he knew his own name.
Although in her presence, after that suggestive look they’d shared that had gotten the attention of some of his most critical body parts, he might have stumbled over his name if asked to identify himself.
The walk from the hospital, where the cafeteria was located, to one of the farthest reaches of the property comprising the Charles Carder facility should have cooled him off, but it didn’t.
He tried to blame it on the desert heat, even