Chase, Zara - Tigers' Temptation [Impulse 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (2 page)

Chapter Two

“Someone’ll be right out,” the pretty receptionist said, smiling at Layla before returning to her computer. “Take a seat. They won’t keep you a moment.”

“Thanks.”

Layla sat, wondering if she was wasting her time. Still, at least her labored breathing had eased now that she was inside and the air-conditioning was blasting away. When she got out of her car in the parking lot, it was as though someone had wrapped a vise around her lungs and squeezed the air clean out of her body. She thought she was having a heart attack and panicked, which made matters worse. The moment she stepped inside, though, the feeling passed.

She had expected Florida to be humid this time of the year, but it hadn’t been this bad on the other side of the bridge leading to Impulse. She’d stopped there for gas, and to try and get more information about the place she intended to visit. She hadn’t been able to extract much from the Internet, which surprised her and set her wondering. The whole universe and his dog were on the World Wide Web nowadays. What secrets did Impulse have to hide?

She’d found tons of articles about the strange climatic conditions in this small peninsula of southwest Florida. Scientists had conducted extensive research, only to put the thin air down to an anomaly created by global warming. Layla rolled her eyes when she read that, wondering how many sharp minds and how much money it had cost to reach such a nebulous conclusion.

She hadn’t been able to find mention of any thriving medical facility in Impulse. There appeared to be a general doctor’s office, and that was it. They told her in Tampa that they thought there was a medical research facility in the town, but they were unable to say what sort of research was conducted in it. Even so, Layla felt encouraged, until she went online again and found diddly-squat about research programs based in Impulse. Research required private or government funding, didn’t it? In turn, that equated to boasting about what they did, if only to attract greater sponsorship. It was strange, to say the least, and Layla’s journalistic antennae were on high alert.

The place she was in now called itself Impulse Ecology, with the words
Research Facility
written in such small letters underneath that Layla had almost missed them. She would have passed the place by, but for the fact that there appeared to be a clinic attached to the large pink building that occupied an imposing corner lot.

“What sort of research do you do here?” Layla asked the receptionist.

The young woman wore headphones, presumably because she was typing from dictation, and either didn’t hear the question, or chose to ignore it.

After a good ten-minute wait, a door opened and a man stepped up to her, hand outstretched. No, not a man, she mentally amended, short of breath again for a very different reason, but a god. This man was tall, probably over six foot, and had a hard, muscular physique that implied he took care of himself. Not to put too fine a point on it, he was drop-dead gorgeous.

His chin was stubbled with a good day’s worth of growth, his features were ruggedly handsome, and he had the most incredibly deep blue eyes guarded by an extravagant sweep of lashes. But it was his hair that held Layla’s attention. The guy couldn’t be more than thirty-odd, but at first she thought he’d gone prematurely gray. Thick and sleek, his hair reached his collarbone in shimmering shades of…not gray but deep cream. She’d never seen anyone with hair that color before. Surely it had to be dyed? His vanity disappointed Layla, until he got closer and she could see that it was actually natural. There were no telltale roots coming through to give him away, and the stubble on his chin was the exact same color.

“Ms. Dubois.” The man held out a large hand with long, slender fingers. “I’m Philo Hart, Administration Director of this facility.”

He smiled, a slow, ironic smile that made her realize she was gaping at him. Worse, her mouth was hanging open in admiration. She imagined that was a situation Mr. Hart was used to. Even so, she abruptly shut her mouth and took his hand. That only made matters worse. As his fingers closed around her palm, sparks ignited in her belly and went straight to her pussy. Damn it, she was here to investigate, not get all gooey-eyed over a good-looking man.

“Thanks for seeing me without an appointment,” she said, retrieving her hand, all business.

“No problem. Come this way. We can talk in here.”

He led her into a small, windowless room with upright chairs arranged around a small conference table, the walls lined with shelves that housed books, pamphlets, and odds and ends. Perhaps she’d learn something about the place from those pamphlets.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Well then, Ms. Dubois, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wondered if you could tell me a little bit about what you do here.”

“Why?”

She hadn’t expected to be stonewalled quite so blatantly, even if the one word was delivered with a disarming smile.

“Well, Mr. Hart—”

“Call me Philo.”

“Thanks. I’m a freelance journalist, and I’ve heard some good reports about the work you do here. I thought it might make for an interesting article.”

“What have you heard?” Layla stared as Philo crossed one leg over his opposite thigh. He did it with such dexterity and lithe grace that it looked as though he had no bones in his body. “Ms. Dubois?”

Shit, she was staring again.

“It’s Layla,” she said, moistening her lips and pointedly averting her gaze from his legs. Shame that, because he was sporting a rather impressive bulge in the front of his pants. Given different circumstances she wouldn’t be averse to investigating if it lived up to its visual promise.

“Okay, Layla, what have you heard about us?”

“I have a better idea,” she said, trying not to sound too desperate. “Why don’t you tell me what you do, and I’ll let you know if it correlates with what I’ve heard?”

Philo’s smile was devastating, but it was obvious that he wasn’t falling for her fishing expedition.

“We’re not big on publicity, Layla, so unless you’ve got a specific reason for coming to see us, I don’t think there’s much I can do to help you.”

“What do you have to hide?”

The challenging question didn’t appear to faze him. His lips twitched as he leaned back and balanced his chair precariously on two legs, stretched his arms about his head, and arched his back with a feline grace that fascinated her.

“Tell me why you’re really here, and I’ll see if I can help you. You haven’t heard anything at all about us, have you?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I wondered if you knew anything about a child called Billy who came to Florida with terminal lymphoblastic leukemia and returned home completely cured.”

She watched him carefully as she posed the question, but he didn’t flinch. Damn, he was good!

“What makes you suppose I know anything?”

This was getting her nowhere, even if she was enjoying her verbal sparring with the hunk. “Do you always answer a question with another question?”

“Florida’s a large state, Layla.” He picked up a pen and flipped it in the air, catching it one-handed. “What makes you think this child came to Impulse?”

Layla’s gaze swept the shelves behind Philo’s head, desperately seeking inspiration. If she didn’t come up with something quick then she’d be out on her ass, back to square one. She absolutely couldn’t let that happen. Impulse had everything to do with Billy’s recovery, and she’d bet what little money she had in the bank that Impulse Ecology was at the center of it all. Philo appeared content to wait her out while she frantically tried to decide how to answer him. She noticed in the periphery of her vision that he was checking her out. Well, that was good. Whatever it took. Taken up with Philo’s interest in her, she almost missed what ought to have been obvious to her the moment she walked in the room. Her eyes swiveled back, making sure she hadn’t imagined what she just saw. Nope, she had them! She wanted to punch the air in jubilation. Instead, she ignored her inner turmoil and tried to project an image of calm.

“Layla?” Philo prompted.

“Oh, sorry, what was the question?”

His lips quirked. He was toying with her, the bastard! “I asked you what made you think the child came to Impulse.”

“Oh yes, that. Well, because when I went to see him, he was playing with a snow dome,” she said sweetly. “Just like the ones you have piled up on that shelf behind you.”

* * * *

“Shit,”
Philo pheromoned to Mikael.
“You’d better get in here, buddy. I can’t handle this on my own.”

“How the hell did we let Billy leave with that snow dome?”