Wolf Bite (Wolf Cove #2) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Roshana Mafi’s curvy body sways as she climbs the front
stairs with purpose, the bellhop trailing along the ramp alongside her with her
flamboyant zebra-print suitcase. She’s even more exotic than the picture in
Belinda’s prepared file suggested. In that studio picture, she was posed, sitting
prim and proper in a cobalt-blue suit, her shiny raven hair combed smooth, the
white background only amplifying the rich bronzed tone of her skin.

Her hair is still shiny and smooth and her daring snow-white
suit is still prim now, but with the wilderness as a backdrop and her large near-black
eyes glossy with the crisp, fresh sea air, there’s a sexy wild quality to
counter the polish.

I fist my hands to keep from wringing them together. I
shouldn’t be nervous to meet her. I shouldn’t care at all. But, as far as Roshana
Mafi and
Luxury Travel
magazine are concerned, I represent a part of
Wolf Cove, and regardless of Henry and his brewing legal troubles, I don’t want
to reflect poorly on this place. It’s a beautiful hotel and destination, and
too many employees paid a lot of money to get themselves to Homer for a job. I’ve
only been here for a few short weeks and I don’t want to think about leaving
anytime soon.

But I’m guessing that once everyone finds out that I’ve been
sleeping with my boss, I’m going to be on a plane back to Greenbank,
Pennsylvania and my overbearing mama and that lying bastard, Jed.

I push that reality away for now and step forward, forcing a
wide smile. “Miss Mafi?”

Her eyes roll over me, assessing the fitted plum skirt and
white silk blouse that makes up my liaison uniform, before settling on my face.
“That’s right.”

“Welcome to Wolf Cove. My name is Abbi and I’ll be escorting
you to your—”

“Where is Henry?” Her voice carries one of those cool,
naturally condescending tones that instantly puts me on edge.

“He was called away on an urgent matter but he asked me to
tell you that he would connect with you as soon as he is able. He sends his
apologies.”

She sniffs with displeasure but says nothing.

Is she unhappy because the owner wasn’t here to roll out the
red carpet for her? Or is it because
Henry
wasn’t here to meet her? I
noticed her use of his first name, but I was under the impression that Henry
has never met her before. No doubt she’s done her research, as he has done his.
Has the handsome billionaire caught this magazine writer’s eye?

Maybe she showed up at Wolf Cove with plans to do more than
just write an article.

Did Henry write that private note with plans to do more than
just provide her with quotable lines?

Is that why she’s staying in the penthouse cabin directly
beside his?

“You can lead me to my suite any time now.”

“Right.” I push aside the conflicting burn of jealousy and
force a wide smile, adjusting the blazer that Belinda handed to me this
morning—a more professional look when receiving guests. “Please follow me.”

~ ~ ~

“Is this your first trip to Alaska?”

Roshana makes a sound that resembles a yes, though I can’t
be sure. She barely said a word as I led her down the covered path and into her
cabin. Truth be told, I’d rather listen to the wheels on the cart as the
bellhop trails us than strike up conversation with this woman.

“Well, I’m sure you’re going to love it. Wolf Cove is
magical.”

Her gaze flitters about the main room, taking in the vaulted
ceilings and designer detail with lightning speed, her expression hard. It’s
identical to Henry’s, decorated with a pleasing contract of creams, whites, and
metal against wood, and nothing that anyone in their right mind could complain
about.

“In the bedroom, please.” She waves indigo-blue-lacquered nails
toward the bellhop, though he was already moving in that direction.

I head for the main desk phone, the closest one. “The
Penthouse Cabin comes with your very own personal service staff. All you need
to do is hit the button marked liaison”—I press the prominent button on the
phone and not three seconds later, the servants’ door creaks open—“and Andy
will make himself available to you.”

“Hello, Miss Mafi. It’s a pleasure to be of your service for
your stay.” Andy, a tall and fit attractive blond guy with an Australian
accent, flashes his brilliant dimpled smile. I was standing in the lobby next
to him a half hour ago when Belinda told him to use that smile on his guest, no
matter what time of day or night—and day or night is exactly when he’ll be
holed up in those tiny servants’ quarters awaiting Roshana’s call, should she
require it.

Roshana’s icy exterior softens for just a moment, just like
Belinda quietly predicted it would at the sight of her personal servant.

“Michael will be arriving in about ten minutes to provide
you with a full-body massage, compliments of Mr. Wolf. He’s Mr. Wolf’s personal
masseuse.”

All I get is a slight nod in response.

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave Andy to give you a tour
of your suite and walk through the itinerary prepared for you. It’s full of all
the sightseeing and pampering that Wolf Cove has to offer.” Because I’d really
like to get back to the quiet confines of Cabin One, where I can pace around
the dining table and fret over our criminal boss in peace.

When Roshana says nothing, I take that as my cue to leave.

I’m halfway to the door when I hear her call out, “Tell your
employer that I’m disappointed I wasn’t more of a priority for him.” She
delivers that in an airy voice, but I know that it’s meant to be a warning.
It’s supposed to send me running to Henry in a panic, for fear of an
unflattering write-up in this magazine of hers.

But I for one know he had way bigger issues than a mediocre
review. “Certainly. Until then, please accept his welcome note and his
apologies.” I gesture to the arrangement of Siberian Phlox and Lupine
wildflowers sitting on the dining table, wishing I could have snuck in here
earlier to read the message he wrote to her.

I dart out the door before she can pass along any more threats,
and rush toward Cabin One, my swipe card clutched tightly in my fist. I enter
through the servants’ quarters as usual, because regardless of how freely I
move through the suite once I’m inside, I need to keep up appearances for
anyone outside.

“For fuck sakes! I will not let her destroy my life. Just do
what needs to be done, God dammit!”

Chapter Three

My hand flies out to stop the door from shutting
noisily, and then I tiptoe closer to the staff entrance into the main cabin, my
blood pounding in my ears. As usual, the door is ajar to allow me easy, welcome
access into Henry’s space. Only now I suspect that if Henry knew I was here, he
wouldn’t be speaking so openly.

What sends a shiver down my spine though is the part about
“doing what needs to be done.” What exactly “needs to be done” to the woman
accusing him of rape and about to ruin his life?

Suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a smart move to be
eavesdropping. Yet I can’t help myself, wrapping my arms around my chest in a
comforting hug as I listen to the man I was head over heels for only
twenty-four hours ago rant and rave to someone over the phone.

This is a different side of Henry. Even when he’s pissed
off, he has always maintained an air of cool arrogance and calm. Of control.
He’s no longer controlled here. I think he’s scared, and for good reason.

“I don’t give a fuck! You’re my lawyer and I’m in Alaska,
trying to run a new hotel that has cost me millions of my own money. I have a
media event this weekend, I can’t deal with this right now! I’m not asking
you
to do it. Hire your guy to do it.”

Oh my God. Do what? Hire his guy?
I cover my mouth to
keep from gasping out loud.

“Of course my father’s telling you to settle. He doesn’t
want this to go to court. Can you imagine the news?” There’s a long pause as
Henry listens to someone on the phone, and then he erupts. “God dammit!” I jump
at the sound of a loud crash against the hardwood. Something shattering. A
lamp, possibly? “They don’t need a DNA test to prove that’s my semen. I can
tell you right now that it is.... Fuck, I can’t remember? Three weeks ago?
Four? She must have kept them.... Why is she doing this to me? I mean, come on.
I gave her three months of paid leave, we set her up with a ludicrous severance
package. I wrote her a glowing letter of recommendation. She said she was going
to sign.
You
said she was set to sign. So tell me, what changed? No, this
is on her, not me. It didn’t have to go this way... No... No! Fuck, no! I don’t
care if your firm represents Wolf Corporate. You are my lawyer and you are going
to do what I ask.” Each word coming out of his mouth sounds more ominous, more
conspiring. I shouldn’t be hearing any of this.

“Listen to me very carefully, Dyson. I don’t care if I have
the money to pay her off. I will
not
be threatened and extorted on some
bullshit accusation. She’s just pissed because she wanted a white picket fence
and three kids, and that’s nothing I can give her.... Well, she
is
obviously
that
hurt, if she’s held on to month-old panties and accused me of
rape.... Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve
never
forced a woman, Dyson. She
wanted it as much as I did. She fucking
begged
me for it.”

So, he’s claiming that what Kiera says is a lie. Is that
true? Or should I expect denial to the bitter end from him?
She begged me
for it
. Isn’t that the classic rapists’ answer?

Or is it the truth? Henry’s a powerful man with lots of
money. A gorgeous, powerful man who, within days, already has me ensnared in an
intoxicating web where I’ll do anything he asks of me.

And women can be vindictive creatures. Back in Greenbank, Billie
Jo Clayburn caught her husband, Matt, in bed with another woman one night. The
next day, after he left for work, she drained their bank accounts, sold their
car, his golf clubs, his family heirlooms, his suits—basically, everything he
valued—to a Pittsburgh pawn shop and hopped on the first plane to Europe, all
before he clocked out for the day. For the rest of the summer, she posted
pictures on Facebook of herself in the laps of various men, thanking Matt for
working so hard to give her the trip of a lifetime, and wishing him and his
boss’s wife a happy life.

Needless to say, Matt was left jobless and penniless, and
couldn’t do much about it because he was the cheating bastard in the first
place.

Hearing Henry deny the awful allegations brings a tidal wave
of relief for me, because I so desperately want to believe he wouldn’t do such
a thing. But it’s quickly flattened by a bursting ache of reality and hurt.

He was screwing his last assistant, too.

And I just handed over my virginity to him. So freely.

My stomach roils with the stark reality that, while he may
have quickly invaded my every thought and wish, I’m nothing more than a
plaything for him. A convenient and quick sexual fix.

Something rattles and Henry curses under his breath—it
sounds like he kicked a chair leg or something. I sense him pacing. “Of course
the detective is going to investigate. She handed him my semen on her clothes
and some bullshit lie from her husband about bruising. I’m guessing they’ll be calling
for my DNA sample by the end of the weekend. I can be uncooperative but that’ll
make me look guilty, and they’ll eventually get it anyway. Either way, they’ll
match it and arrest me.
That can’t happen
, Dyson! Yes! Of course I’m
freaking out! If the media catches wind, it won’t matter that it’s all bullshit...
Who, Kiera? No, she has no clue...”

Kiera has no clue about what?

Henry heaves an exasperated sigh at whatever his lawyer
said. I wish this were over speakerphone. “I’m guessing that dickless husband
of hers is behind all this, anyway. Found out he can’t please his wife anymore
and he doesn’t like it.”

Clearly he doesn’t value marriage vows. Strike two, as if
potential female predator wasn’t a big enough strike one.

“Yeah, do it. I’ll have security let you in.”

I’m holding my breath, waiting as Henry listens to the
person speak on the other side, the cabin dead silent.

That’s when my personal phone starts ringing. The one
sitting inside my purse.

I stifle the urge to hiss with panic as I fumble for it, the
strap of my purse slipping off my shoulder in the process. It hits the floor
with a soft thud. I dive for it, cursing under my breath as I root through the
pocket with frantic hands, finding it and flipping the silence button on the
side. Hoping the noise will go unnoticed.

I’m still on my knees with my head bowed when the door
creaks open wider and Henry’s polished black shoes appear in front of me.

“I’ve gotta go. Call me when you’re in my office and I’ll
give you the code to the safe,” Henry demands, his voice unnaturally calm as
compared to a moment ago, though no less hostile.

I take my time collecting the few items that spilled from my
purse while I decide what to do. What should I say? Do I play dumb? Do I say I
just got here? Do I pretend I don’t know a thing, and smile and wait expectantly
for him to kiss me?

Tell me to strip?

Fuck me on his desk? In his bed?

Even as appalled as I am with him right now, I’d be lying if
I said the thought of having him touch me doesn’t spark heat between my thighs.
He’s turned me into some sort of sex deviant. But I can’t just sit here on my
knees as if I’m waiting for him to unzip his fly. I finally dare look up, in
time to see his hand stretch out in front of him, palm out.

It could be considered a gentlemanly offer, and yet from Henry
Wolf I hear the command.

Sliding my fingers over his calloused palm—he must have
earned those splitting wood—I ease to my feet. I take a deep, calming breath
before I let my gaze climb his firm, hard body, his charcoal designer suit as
perfect and out of place in the wilds of Alaska as on any other day, before meeting
his eyes. The cold, steely blue in them instantly creates knots in my stomach.

“You have a
bad,
bad habit of eavesdropping, Abigail,”
he whispers.

He knows I hate being called Abigail, but now’s not the time
to remind him of that. I clear my throat to avoid sounding weak and fearful. “I
didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Liar.” His lip twitches with amusement, but it falls off so
quickly. “What exactly did you hear?”

Here’s the moment of truth. Lie and smile, or confront him
with what I know. Which is it?

I’ve never been good at confrontation. In fact, I’m
downright terrible at it. I take after my father in that. It’s why my mama is
able to so effectively bully us both into living the Bernadette Mitchell way.
It’s why I didn’t punch Jed in his lying, cheating face when he told me to wait
for him while he sowed his wild oats. It’s why I’ve been so good at denying
reality since I met Henry.

I don’t want to deny reality again. Yet, I have to be smart,
because it’s clear Henry doesn’t take too well to anything that feels like a
threat.

Henry’s eyes dip down to my white blouse, and I know that
the button has slipped through the hole once again. As it is, the shirt doesn’t
do a good job of hiding my ample cleavage—apparently one of his favorite things
about me.

I let go of his hand and fold my arms over my chest in a
weak attempt to deny him any pleasure from my body as I fix the button. But
when his eyes meet mine and I see the heat in them, I know it will take more
than that.

“I heard something about a woman who was ‘begging you for it.’
And her husband.”

That seems to douse whatever lurid thoughts Henry may be
having. He sighs and turns, heading back into the main cabin. I trail without
thought, desperate to hear how he’s going to answer this. What he’s going to
say. I already know the truth, or at least part of it.

I frown when I see him head for the crystal decanter. “It’s
barely noon.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” he mutters, pouring himself a
glass of the amber liquid.

“You sure you want to be doing that, with all the media
coming in? And your father? What are they going to say?”

“The smell of scotch on my breath is the least of my problems
right now.” I watch his Adam’s apple bob with a gulp, my mouth parting
involuntarily at the memory of running my tongue along the sharp jut. It’s far
from the only part of him that I’ve enjoyed running my tongue over.

Silence hangs around us as Henry turns his back to me and
stares out the window for a long moment, taking in the priceless view of the
waters and tree-lined shores that make up Wolf Cove, a secluded inlet off
Kachemak Bay that Henry’s family has owned for
generations, the place where Henry decided to open his luxurious Wolf Cove
Hotel.

“My last assistant has just filed a civil suit against Wolf
Hotels for wrongful dismissal, along with a police report that I forced myself
on her. She has a pair of panties with my semen on it, and her husband is
claiming she came home after meeting with me with bruises on her arms from
where I restrained her when I assaulted her. They’ve opened a police
investigation and will likely arrest me. Kiera’s asking for ten million to
settle out of court for the civil suit, and my father will force me to pay it out
of my coffers to minimize Wolf Hotels’ involvement with my mess. If I’m charged
with anything that looks like sexual assault, then there is no way my father
can hand over controlling share of Wolf Hotels to me. In both cases, the board
of directors will demand my resignation as acting CEO immediately.”

It’s basically everything I just overheard, and yet somehow
it feels more real, hearing him tell me firsthand. I simply stand there with my
mouth hanging open in shock.

“And did you?”

“Did I what?” His head whips around and I feel the full
effect of that glare in the pit of my stomach. “Did I
force
myself on
her? No.
Of course
not.”

I swallow against the discomfort of that weight. “But you
slept with her.” My voice sounds so small and weak. Hurt.

Realization fills his face. “I tell you that I’m about to
lose everything I’ve been working for because someone is
falsely
accusing me of rape, and you’re upset that that I even fucked her in the first place?”
He shakes his head, bitter amusement twisting his features. “The answer is yes,
I fucked my last assistant. But it wasn’t forced; she was very willing. Does
hearing that make you feel better?”

No. Not at all
. “I just thought....” My voice trails
off as the ache in my chest swells. “I don’t know what I thought.”

He runs his hands through his mane of hair the color of
roasted chestnuts, sending it into sexy disarray. I can actually see the
tension cording the muscles in his neck and shoulders. He’s worried, and rightfully
so. At best, he’s going to lose Wolf Hotels and have his life dragged through
the mud. At worst, he could go to jail.

“I’m so sorry she’s doing this to you. If there was some way
to help you, I would. Please know that.”

He opens his mouth but pauses, his eyes trailing over my
body. His dress shoes click against the hardwood floor as he approaches slowly,
setting his drink on the side table on his way past, the glass hitting the
surface with a loud clunk. “You thought—” his voice has softened somewhat by
the time he stops right in front of me, his index finger sliding beneath my
chin to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, also softened “—that I’ve never
slept with an assistant before. That you were an exception.”

I want to deny it, but I falter.
Yes.
That’s exactly
what I thought. Why did I think that? Did he ever say anything to make me think
this was different for him? Or did I simply
want
to think that this whirlwind
thing between us was uncontrollable and kismet and special? That
I
was
special.

He levels me with that intense stare, waiting for me to
answer.

“I thought this wasn’t something you normally do,” I finally
admit.

“And what if I said
this
”
—
his free hand waves
back and forth between us—“
is
different? That, from the moment I met you
out on that dock, all belligerent and adorable, I knew you were different. Would
you believe me?”