"Not at the moment, you're not."
He placed an arm over my shoulder, and slid me closer. "At the moment, the only thing I'm representing is self-interest."
"Well, I'm here on work's time, and I really should be going back downstairs." But I didn't get up, didn't pull away. It felt too good being close to him.
"You've only been gone half an hour or so. No one important will have missed you yet."
Quinn would have—but I had a feeling that was who Kellen meant when he said "no one important."
His lips met mine and thought went south, not returning until a good hour later. By the time I did make it back down to the main ballroom, meals were being served. Energy caressed my mind, a tingling warmth that curled through my soul. Quinn, wanting me to open the psychic door and talk to him.
Which was not something I wanted to risk given what I'd just been doing. I didn't need the hassle he'd undoubtedly throw my way. So I ignored him and made my way back to our table, sitting down and picking up the napkin like nothing at all had happened.
"Where have you been?" His voice was short. Annoyed.
"Out scouting around."
"Scouting where?"
"Oh, here and there." I resisted the urge to say it was none of his business and took a sip of wine. "What do you know about Mrs. Hunt?"
He glanced around. "We cannot have this conversation here." His voice was little more than a stroke of sound. "There's too many ears."
"So why not just touch their minds and tell them all to ignore us?"
"The room is full of psychic-deadeners, in case you hadn't noticed."
I hadn't, but then, I rarely used my telepathic skills so there was nothing unusual in that. "Since when have psychic-deadeners worried you?"
"They don't, but they do stop you from chatting back."
Which I would have thought he'd actually enjoy. Still, we did need to talk about Mrs. Hunt, so we'd have to do so with the very link Quinn had tried to use moments ago. While the deadeners meant normal telepathic channels wouldn't work, the bond we'd created worked in a whole different area of the brain, and owed its existence to the fact we'd once shared blood.
With a slight grimace, I imagined that psychic door in my mind and threw it open. It was certainly easier to do than the first few times I'd tried.
Why do you ask about Mrs. Hunt? he asked immediately.
His mind-voice was as rich and as sexy as his regular voice, flowing through every corner of my being like a hot summer breeze.
I found the scent I remembered, only it belonged to Mrs. Hunt. And Mrs. Hunt's scent is very similar to the scent of a man from my past.
Then you must have the wrong scent. No two persons have the same scent. Besides, it was a man who abused you in the center, not a woman.
Don't you think I'm more than aware of that fact? I thanked the waitress as she placed an entree plate in front of me, and picked up my knife and fork. I'm just telling you what my senses ate telling me. I can't help it if it's not making sense.
I tucked into my meal as I tried to remember the name of the man who had smelled like Mrs. Hunt, but my memories refused to cooperate. Maybe he'd been a one-night stand. I didn't do it regularly, but I was a wolf, and I didn't not do it, either.
Once I'd finished my meal and the waitress had come back and collected the plate, I asked, How well do you know the Hunts?
He frowned slightly, and somehow managed to carry on a polite conversation with the woman sitting on the other side of him as he said to me, I've only ever seen them at chanty events like this.
And has Mrs. Hunt always looked so… dowdy?
His quick glance was somewhat irritated. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and not always evident on the surface.
Says the man who is never seen with someone less than stunning.
Quinn's amusement shimmered through me. I have an image to uphold.
I snorted softly. In so many ways, this old vampire was so typically male in his responses. And a human male at that.
What pack does Mrs. Hunt come from?
I would have said brown, except I've never seen a wolf from a brown pack with eyes quite like hers. But there again, I wasn't exactly well traveled. Quinn, on the other hand, was.
He sipped his wine, flashed a toe-curling smile at the waitress as she picked up his uneaten plate, then gave me a somewhat darker look. And had me wishing he'd flash a few toe-curling smiles my way occasionally.
Mrs. Hunt isn't a werewolf. His tone suggested I was an idiot to believe otherwise.
But while my memories might be whacked, my instincts were working just fine. Trust me on this—she's a wolf.
No, she's not.
Well, the Mrs. Hunt in this room is. I paused to look around the room. She had to be on one of the tables near the stage, which I couldn't see thanks to a pillar. Could she be a doppelganger of some kind?
Doppelgangers are ghostly replicas, not human tissue.
You know what I mean.
Yes. He paused. If she's a wolf, then she's obviously not the real Mrs. Hunt. The question is, when did the exchange take place?
Kellen's comments came to mind. She apparently disappeared from the charity scene for three weeks a couple of months ago. Wouldn't even talk to her friends, apparently.
How do you know this?
I asked.
Who?
People, I said airly.
Annoyance ran through his gaze. And was that a hint of jealously? Did the vampire suspect?
The vampire suspects, all right. Who the hell did you fuck to get that information?
I met his gaze, and shook my head. That is none of your damn business.
We are here to do a job—
Which I'm goddamn doing, so stop acting like a cuckolded husband.
He looked away. But his anger swam around me, breathtakingly sharp. Well, tough. And it wasn't like our deal had even started yet.
So, why would someone want to replace Mis. Hunt? I said, more to get the conversation back on track than any real desire to continue conversing with the stubborn, stupid man.
The why is easy. Hunt's a general He'd have access to many top secret military areas, Including Landsend?
He looked at me, eyebrow raised. Possibly.
But would Hunt be the type to share military secrets during pillow talk?
Having talked to the man, no. But he might not be doing it knowingly.
Wolves aren't often telepathic.
You are.
Yeah, but that's thanks solely to a vampire background.
So your mother wasn't telepathic ?
I gave him a sideways glance. That comes under the heading of "none of your business," doesn't it?
You are such a bitch sometimes.
I grinned. When you share, I share. It's as simple as that, buddy-boy.
At that point, an MC got up and started proceedings, which included a charity auction. Having no money to play with, my attention wandered back to my original problem—who was the lover in my past that smelled of pine and springtime?