Kissing Sin (Riley Jenson Guardian 2)

"We're here to uncover the trail to whoever is behind the gene manipulation business. I happen to think Hunt is just another rung in the ladder, which is why I want to scout the room first. There may be other players here."

Besides, I needed the time away from him. Needed to regroup my thoughts before I was tempted to tell him where to shove it. Hell, given fate's twisted line of thinking, it'd be my luck that the one man I walked away from would be the man who was my destiny.

"You find Hunt," I continued. "I'll join you once I look around."

I didn't give him the chance to argue, and quickly faded into the crowd milling on the dance floor. I was three-quarters of the way around the room - and feeling more than a little nauseous from the overwhelming wall of scent coming off every woman in the room, all of whom seemed to have bathed in the stuff - when I smelled it. Pine and springtime. Two of the scents I'd smelled in that breeding center.

I stopped abruptly and studied the people standing immediately in front of me. Just a bunch of gray-haired old ladies done up to the nines. No men. I frowned, and carefully sniffed the air, wondering if the press of aromas was confusing my senses.

The scent was there, as strong as before, and it was definitely coming from the group of women just ahead. Maybe there was a man in there somewhere, and I just couldn't see him.

I edged around a woman whose scent was so thick and orangy it made my already troublesome stomach threaten to rise, then moved closer to the group of elderly women. Still no men. Yet the scent was closer than before.

"So where is the delicious Martin?" one woman asked. "He owes me a champagne over that little wager we had."

Martin? Did she mean Martin Hunt? Did that mean his wife was in this group somewhere? I sidestepped around another couple, and finally saw her. In real life, she was just as broad set and nondescript as she'd been in the picture, and looked totally ill at ease in the blood red, calf-length evening gown.

She looked my way at that moment, and our gazes locked. Shock hit, freezing me in place. Her eyes were a muddy brown, but the irises were ringed by two separate colors - blue, and a pale amber. I knew those eyes. They were the eyes of the man from my past. The eyes of the man who'd visited me in the breeding center.

Only this wasn't a man, it was a woman.

The memories were faulty. Had to be. This wasn't possible.

Then the familiar scent swam around me, confirming the impossible was indeed possible.

It was Martin Hunt's wife, not Martin Hunt himself, who had used me in that breeding center. gave me the once-over, though he couldn't really see much thanks to the coat. "Very good." He handed me a bit of paper. "Memorize this. Ring it when you come out of the club, and we'll have a car pick you up."

I took the paper, inscribed the number to memory as ordered, then handed it back. "What next?"

"Next we get you to the car."

"Is it safe for us to be going direct from here to the airport?"

Jack pressed a hand to my spine, guiding me down the hall. "You'll be changing cars. Quinn's limo will actually be taking you to the airport."

I nodded. "Did you happen to find out anything more about that breeding center we were in?"

"Not a lot."

"What about building permits and the like?" Surely someone somewhere had to give approvals. Surely you couldn't build a structure that big without someone noticing.

"None registered. The land itself was bought by a Peter James some three years ago."

"Let me guess, Peter James doesn't exactly exist."

"And he paid in cash, so there's no credit trail to follow."

That raised my eyebrows. Credit cards were the norm these days - cash was something rarely seen, let alone used. "And that didn't trip any alarms?"

Jack grimaced. "No."

"I don't suppose the security cams at the land office caught Peter James's pic, did they?"

"As a matter of fact, they did. We're working on retrieving it at the moment."

"Give me a look when you do." Hell, it might just trigger a much needed memory.

We walked through the center and out the doors. Quinn waited near a pale gray government car, looking like a dark angel in his black suit and burgundy shirt. His gaze slid down my body, then rose to linger on my face and hair. He didn't say anything, but his hunger burned across my skin, leaving a prickle of perspiration in its wake. It wasn't only sexual hunger, but blood thirst. And that thirst was so thick, so strong, it left me breathless. He was pushing his limits, and it was reaching dangerous levels. I had to wonder why.