Kissing Sin (27 page)

And while I would have loved to use the excuse that I couldn’t go to Misha aching with need because the bastard didn’t deserve it, truth was, I wanted
this
wolf just as much as he wanted me.

He strode out of the main ballroom and up the hall to the elevators, his grip on my hand forcing me to almost run to catch up with him. “Where are we going?” I asked, a little breathlessly.

“To my office. We won’t be disturbed there.”

The thought had my pulse skipping. As did the heated, determined look in his eyes. “You work here?”

“I own the building.”

“Wow.”

A smile touched his lips as his gaze slid down my body. Heat stirred deep within. “That dress is a wow.” His gaze rose. “But I intend to take it off you in precisely”—he glanced at his watch—“twenty seconds.”

The elevator chimed softly as the door opened. He tugged me inside and pressed the top-floor button.

“You’re getting a little presumptuous, aren’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

The elevator zoomed upward, and for a change, my stomach had no reaction. Maybe it was the presence and heat of the wolf standing so close keeping any reaction but desire at bay. “I came here with someone, you know.”

“Quinn O’Conor.” Cold amusement touched his green eyes. “It gives me a great deal of pleasure to steal you away from that bastard.”

I stepped back. “I hope that’s not the only reason because otherwise—”

He laughed, cutting me off. “If I truly wanted to annoy him, I would have taken you somewhere closer, somewhere his vampire senses could feel every little glorious thing I intend to do to you.”

And I thought the horse-shifter was hot….

I blew out a breath and resisted the urge to fan myself.

The elevator stopped and a small bell chimed as the doors opened. Only they didn’t open into a hallway but a huge office with billion-dollar views over the harbor.

“Stunning,” I said.

“It is,” he agreed, but he was looking at me when he said it.

I smiled, liking this wolf more and more. “That elevator a private one?”

He waved a keycard I hadn’t noticed before. Observant, that was me. “Totally. Why?”

“Because I’d hate for us to be interrupted.”

“Oh, we won’t be.” He tugged me forward. The office was huge, and not just an office. There were double doors to our left that led into a bedroom that looked to be as big as my whole apartment, and a single door farther along that same wall that led into a bathroom.

“You live here?” I asked, almost running to keep up with him again as he skirted around several perfect-for-seduction leather couches.

“Most of the time. I have an apartment in Melbourne, too.” He looked over his shoulder, his eyes flashing green fire in the shadowy light. “I intend to be there a whole lot more often.”

“Well, good.” Then I saw where he was headed and stopped. “Umm, sorry, but I’m afraid of heights, so getting near the windows is not a good idea.”

He switched tack, tugging me toward a long mahogany board table. He pushed several chairs aside, some of them crashing to the thick beige carpet as he spun me around and backed me against the table.

My breath caught as his hands slid teasingly down my waist and hips. His fingers briefly caressed my thighs, sending little sparks of electricity shooting through my system, then he caught the hem of the dress and it was being pulled up and over my head. “Twenty seconds, on the dot,” he said with a smile.

“I do so admire a man who keeps his word.” I hitched my butt onto the tabletop. “Now that you’ve got me naked, what are you going to do with me?”

“Offer you a drink, of course. What would you like?”

“Would a coffee be pushing the friendship?”

“One espresso coming up.”

He walked over to a bar that was bigger than my entire bathroom back home, and grabbed one of the cups sitting beside the coffee-making machine. “Why are you here with Quinn?”

I shrugged. “It’s business more than pleasure.”

The machine hissed as he began pouring coffee into the cup. “So you are fucking him?”

There was no judgment in that question, just a statement of fact. Which was nice when compared to Quinn’s uptight attitudes. I smiled. “Of course I am—why?”

“It just makes it all the more delicious when I steal you away from him.” He walked across the room and handed me the cup. “Now, where were we?”

“Chatting,” I said. “And drinking coffee.”

“You’re drinking coffee,” he corrected, his voice slightly distracted as he ran one finger down my neck and across my shoulder.

Desire trembled through my veins, and the fires of need leapt into focus. I took a quick sip of coffee, but it didn’t do a whole lot to ease the deep-seated ache. “It does take two to keep a conversation going.”

“I’ve always found talking to be overrated.”

“And I’ve always found one person being dressed while the other is naked somewhat unfair.”

He grinned and stepped back, then unhurriedly began to strip. I sipped my coffee and enjoyed the show—and it
was
a good show. The man knew how to do a decent striptease. Once naked, he stepped between my legs, brushed my hair from my left shoulder, and lightly planted a kiss on it.

“I prefer the natural color of your hair,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. “It’s so much prettier.”

“And yet you recognized me, despite the changes,” I agreed huskily. “How?”

“An alpha always recognizes his chosen mate.”

His words made my heart do crazy things. I barely even knew this wolf, and yet here he was, declaring his intent to make me his. It was thrilling, sexy, and just a little scary. “I’m not your mate.”

“But you will be.” His mouth replaced his breath on my shoulder, and slowly, languorously, he kissed his way toward my ear. When the sweet heat of his tongue delved inside, a helpless sound of pleasure escaped my lips.

He chuckled, a throaty sound as seductive and as arousing as his touch. His fingers trailed from my hips to my breasts, and lightly began to tease and pinch the engorged points. I squirmed, put my coffee on the table, and forgot about it as every inch of my body vibrated with the hunger that flowed through my veins.

When I could stand no more, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close, so that my breasts were squashed against his chest. The beat of his heart was as wild as mine, and the heat of his desire a furnace that burned my skin, making me sweat. Want.

His mouth brushed mine, a tingling, tantalizing promise of what was to come, then he reached behind me. “Your coffee, madam,” he said, offering me the cup.

I smiled and accepted it. “And what will you be doing while I drink it?”

“Oh, this and that.”

His fingers slid into my moistness. I groaned, put the cup back down as I shifted to give him greater access. He caressed me, teased me, bringing me to the edge all too quickly. But he offered no release, withdrawing his touch, kissing me fiercely and thoroughly, until the threatening tremors had subsided. Then he offered me coffee and started all over again.

By the time I’d finished the rest of that cup, the coffee was cold and I burned. My heart was hammering so loudly its cadence seemed to fill the silence, and every fiber in my being quivered.

His hand slid up the inside of my spread thighs, his fingers grazing me yet again. I shuddered, thrusting into his touch, sure I was going to burst if he didn’t get on with it. “Stop teasing,” I moaned, when he did it a second time.

He chuckled, then wrapped his free hand around my neck and kissed me hard. As his mouth claimed mine, his fingers slid between us, pressing into my slickness, caressing, delving, until he’d slipped inside. Then his thumb pressed into my clit, and he began to stroke, inside and out. I shuddered, writhed, as the sweet pressure built and built, until it felt as if I was going to tear apart from the sheer force of pleasure.

Then everything did tear apart, and I was shuddering, writhing, moaning. The tremors hadn’t even subsided when his hands tightened on my rump and he pulled me forward. His hardness speared me, and it felt so good I groaned.

He began to move, and thought became impossible. All I could do was move with him, savoring and enjoying the sensations flowing through me. But the calm control of his initial seduction quickly disappeared, replaced by urgency, need. His strokes became fierce, hungry thrusts that shook my entire body, his fingers bruising my hips as he held me close. I didn’t care. The sweet pressure had begun to build again, and was quickly reaching boiling point.

We came together, his roar echoing across the silence, his body slamming into mine so hard the whole table seemed to shake.

When I finally caught my breath again, I took his face between my palms and kissed him long and slow. “I think we both needed that.”

His grin was that of a man who knows a job has been well done. “Yeah. Though I have to admit, it was a little too fast for my liking.”

I grinned. “Fast can be good.”

He raised a hand, and gently thumbed away a trickle of sweat from my cheek. “Fast was very good.”

“So, you feeling up to answering a few questions now?”

“I think I could manage one or two.” He parked his butt on the table beside mine. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you know about Mrs. Hunt?”

“She’s a snobby old fart who does a marvelous job for her chosen charities.” He studied me for a moment, then said, “Why?”

I hesitated. How much could I tell him? How much
should
I tell him? “Her name cropped up in an investigation,” I hedged. “I’ve just been sent up here to check her out.”

“By whom?”

Oh, crap. Still, if we were going to get involved, he’d have to know sooner or later who I worked for. “The Directorate.”

“You’re a guardian?” Disbelief edged his voice.

I laughed. “No, just a liaison. But we’re short staffed at the mo, so I get to do the unimportant stuff, like follow leads that probably go nowhere.”

“What was the lead?”

“That she was involved in some funds going missing.” The lie slipped easily off my tongue, and part of me felt guilty about it.

Though the more worrying thing was the fact that only
part
of me felt guilty about it.

“How is missing money connected with a Directorate investigation? The mob you work for only go after killers, don’t they?”

“Generally.” I shrugged. “I do what I’m told. Makes life there a whole lot easier.”

And if Jack heard me saying that, he’d laugh his head off. Doing what I was told had never been a priority of mine.

He frowned. “She’s from an old money family, and takes pride in her charity work. I can’t imagine her wanting to jeopardize either her family’s standing or her own in the wider community by becoming involved in anything nefarious.”

“So you haven’t noticed anything odd about her behavior over the last few months?”

“No.” He hesitated. “Although she did miss several charity events a few months back. The general said she was ill.”

“You didn’t believe him?”

“We’re talking about a woman who dragged herself out of hospital after an appendix operation to attend one of her pet events.”

“Did you talk to any of her friends about it?”

“One. Not that I was concerned or anything.” He shrugged. “Apparently, she refused to see anyone for at least three weeks. Her friends were quite concerned.”

“Did they speculate why?”

“Plastic surgery gone wrong. The general beat her up. Her new nails dropped off and she was mortified with shame.”

I raised my eyebrows and he grinned. “Okay, I made that last one up.”

“So, once the three weeks was up, she acted same as normal?”

“As far as I noticed, yeah.”

“What about her scent?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“Did it change any after her three-week stint of seclusion?”

He hesitated. “Sort of. It got sharper. More distinct.”

“In what way?”

He shrugged again. “I really wasn’t paying that much attention to the old cow, trust me.”

Great. No clue to sate my confusion in
that
answer. So were my memories totally scrambled, or were they giving me bits of the bigger picture? One I couldn’t yet understand? Maybe Mrs. Hunt
had
been there. Maybe she enjoyed watching her husband taking other women. She didn’t exactly look the voyeur type, but these days, you couldn’t judge a book by its dowdy cover.

Yet her scent was exactly what I remembered smelling in that room, and it was also the scent of someone in my past. But two people
couldn’t
have the exact same scent. A spoor was as individual as fingerprints or eyes. No two were ever exactly the same.

So why did I remember her scent and not her husband’s, if indeed he was there? What the hell was going on?

“What about her husband? Anything odd happen with him over the last few months?”