data. Plus, we had to make sure we didn’t violate privacy laws. We got our foot in the door by trending data from local sources and providing it to medical facilities and research facilities across the state.” A touch of pride crept into her voice. “We now harvest information from more than three thousand sources, analyze the input, and supply trends to a host of private and governmental medical research centers across the U.S.”
“Only the U.S.?”
His slouch was the epitome of lazy relaxation, but his obvious interest reassured Nina. She always worried about boring folks with her passion for what she did. Or worse, lapsing into so much technical jargon that she lost her listeners completely.
“We still have to work within privacy laws,” she said, “but I’m hoping to go international soon.”
The seemingly casual comment put a sudden kink in Wolf’s gut. The woman wanted to go international, did she? With the help of Sebastian Cordell, aka Stephen Caulder, aka a half-dozen other aliases?
Or was she after the sensitive, top-secret information Cordell had stolen and intended to auction to the highest bidder? Had she staged her vehicle’s breakdown? Used it as an entree into Cordell’s heavily guarded compound? Was she that good?
Wolf was still trying to decide when the waiter delivered their drinks. The man placed two frosted glasses in front of Grant and earned a surprised look.
“I didn’t order two drinks.”
“This is happy hour, señorita. You order one, I bring two.”
“But …”
“Same price. No problem.”
She gave in with a shrug and a smile.
Wolf had to give her credit. She had that polite half smile down pat. Friendly, but with just enough reserve in it to keep a man at a proper distance.
Nina Grant didn’t know it yet, he thought grimly, but the two of them were about to get up close and very personal.
The muscles low in his belly tightened at the prospect. This is what he did. What he’d done now for almost ten years. Why he kept to himself and trusted no one outside his immediate circle of friends and fellow agents. Over the years, he’d locked horns with too many men and women who’d crossed the line. In more than one instance, it was kill or be killed.
In this one…
He didn’t have a fix on Nina Grant yet, and the uncertainty scraped on his nerves. Extracting the lime wedge from the neck of his beer, he tipped the bottle in her direction.
“Here’s to international cooperation.”
She clinked her frosted glass against the bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”
He let the lager slide down his throat, watching while she licked some salt from the rim before taking a sip of her drink. The small act was completely natural, the way most people tasted a margarita—and disturbingly provocative. Wolf’s belly tightened another notch as he followed the movement of her tongue.
Come on, he urged silently. Drink the damn thing.
He knew from experience that two-for-one happy hour drinks at most Cabo San Lucas dives were usually so watered down you couldn’t even taste the booze in them. The Purple Parrot, however, had a reputation to maintain. That’s why he’d chosen it. Another double round, and he’d have Nina Grant singing like a tanked-up canary.
“How long have you lived in Albuquerque?” he asked to get the ball rolling.
“I got a job there after grad school and decided to stay. I love the climate. The people. The mountains. The incredible sunsets. Seems I’ve spent almost as much time traveling recently as I have at home, though. I almost cringe when I have to get on a plane these days.”
Wolf pumped her for information, subtly, smoothly, and hid a smile of satisfaction when she took another taste of her drink.
“Whew! This is potent.”
“Not that potent. It goes down easier after the first few sips.”
“I’ll bet.” Her nose wrinkling, she set the glass aside. “It’s hitting my empty stomach like a sledgehammer. I’d better stop with this one and head to my hotel.”
So much for his plan to get her sloshed. No matter. He wasn’t about to let her wiggle out of his net now.
“So let me buy you dinner.”
Nina blinked at Blackstone’s unexpected invitation. An automatic refusal formed on her lips. Before she could voice it, his cell phone emitted a low, vibrating hum.
“'Scuse me.” He slipped a sleek little jobbie out of his pocket and held it at an angle. “Sorry, I need to read this text message.”
“No problem.”
His face remained impassive as he scrolled the screen. She couldn’t tell if the news was good or bad, but the brief interruption gave Nina time to reconsider his surprising offer of dinner.
She had to admit it was tempting. Extremely tempting. She didn’t need her string of degrees—or the intent look in this sexy stranger’s eyes—to make the leap from drinks to dinner to a quick tumble into bed.
The mere thought made her throat go tight. It affected other parts of her, too. Parts that hadn’t felt this sudden sizzle in way too long.
No surprise there. She was a biologist by training and a medical researcher by profession. She knew she possessed a normal, healthy sex drive. One that she and Kevin had made the most of. At first.
In the later stages of their engagement, their lovemaking had been less adventurous. It went decidedly flat when she began to suspect he’d courted her more for what she could do for him in the business arena than in the bedroom.
Maybe … Maybe this was just what she needed. An hour or two or three of hot, sweaty, completely mindless sex. What better way to get over the humiliation of Kevin’s lies? How better to revalidate herself as a woman?
Ha! Who was she kidding? Inviting Blackstone back to her hotel had nothing whatsoever to do with validation, and a whole lot to do with his impact on her pulmonary system. The mere thought of peeling off his T-shirt and popping the snap on those wrinkled khaki’s constricted her lungs and put a lump the size of Rhode Island in her throat.
Unfortunately, the biologist in her didn’t have to delve very deep to compile a comprehensive list of diseases she could pick up by exchanging bodily fluids with a total stranger. Even one as hot as Rafe Blackstone. Especially one as hot as Blackstone. With a stab of real regret, she groped for the tote bag hooked over the back of her chair.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass on dinner, too. Let me pay for the drinks.”
“I’ll get them.”
“Really, I want to. I’ve enjoyed our—”
“I’ve got it covered.”
Oooh-kay. She dropped her wallet back into her tote. That was twice today she’d stepped on it: first with the guys who’d fixed the fuel line on her rental, now with Blackstone. Guess she shouldn’t have let his bristles and rumpled shirt mislead her into thinking he would appreciate a woman who preferred to pay her own way.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
She started to decline the offer. The vendors milling outside the bar, waiting to pounce, changed her mind. With the sun gone down and the crowds of tourists thinning out, they would swarm all over her. Why not let this lean, tough-looking gringo deal with them?
Which he did, with a few well-chosen words. He also took her arm to weave a path for her