Текст книги "Wolf Bait"
Автор книги: Nina West
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Chapter Fourteen
I take a deep, nervous breath as I step through the servants’ entrance into Henry’s place, my stomach in knots after barely sleeping all night. There were no texts or e-mails this morning when I dared check my work phone, cringing. Nothing from Belinda.
Will he address it? Or will he pretend it didn’t happen?
Do I apologize?
I’m afraid that I’ll burst into tears the moment he looks at me.
But Henry’s not there.
Evidence of him is there. His half-finished coffee, his breakfast dishes, emptied and stacked. And a note, with elegant scrawl that reads:
Reschedule today’s 7-8am meetings.
Book dinner for seven. Eight people.
H.W.
That’s it.
But where is he? His trip to Kodiak Island isn’t until eight thirty.
I sigh, disappointment and relief taking over where only pure dread resided moments ago. Maybe he’s too angry to face me right now. Or maybe he’s embarrassed by what I saw him do. Would a man be embarrassed by that? I know I’d want to die if he—or anyone—caught me touching myself like I did the other night.
Maybe I’m making a bigger deal of this than it is, though. Maybe he doesn’t care.
I sigh and pour myself a cup of coffee. For as long as it took me to organize his calendar yesterday, it’s going to take me all morning to reorganize it.
~.~.~.~
The canary-yellow Otter coasts in to the plane docks, the Wolf Cove brand proudly displayed on the wing. I watch from my chilly perch—the porch off the front of Cabin One—as the small door creaks open and one after another, bodies jump out. Seven men later, Henry’s large frame emerges, crouching to escape.
My heart begins racing. A nervous giddiness brews deep within the pit of my chest at the mere sight of him, even from this far away. He’s dressed casually—in jeans, his plaid jacket, and a charcoal vest peeking out from beneath, his chestnut-brown hair covered in a beanie. So incredibly sexy, but not exactly proper attire for the upscale Lux restaurant.
Which means he’ll have to come here to change.
The nervous dread that dulled hits me like a tidal wave now.
They’re all talking and laughing, slapping each other on the shoulders. I guess they enjoyed the tour.
Henry trails behind them, chatting with the pilot. Philip, I gather. He hands him something, to which Philip seems appreciative, bobbing his head and shaking his hand before he heads back to the plane.
I hug my body tightly, my breezy white blouse not nearly warm enough with highs of fifty, and watch until Henry disappears from view, all the while holding my breath against the hope that he’ll glance up here.
But he doesn’t so much as bat an eye.
Ducking back inside, I rush for the desk, scrambling to make sure any last minute e-mails are opened and dealt with before he arrives, squeezing my thighs together as my bladder threatens to spill.
But Henry never appears.
Two hours later, with no sign of Henry and my nerves sufficiently frazzled, my work phone texts with a message.
Come to the Summit at 2.
I groan. This is it. This is where Henry and Belinda sit across from me at a table and explain in painstaking detail how what I did was not only wrong but disgusting.
I glance at the clock. I have ten minutes to find this room. Not enough time to grab lunch, but I doubt I could stomach anything anyway. Collecting the iPad and my work phone, I scramble out the door.
I’m going to miss Alaska.
~ ~ ~ ~
I’m panting by the time I find the Summit boardroom, one minute past two. My heart leaps into my throat as I take a quick scan of its inhabitants—a stony-faced Henry, Belinda, Paige, and four unfamiliar faces sitting around a ten-person table.
They all turn to regard me as I knock meekly against the door.
“Take a seat.” Henry gestures to the chair next to him. I scramble toward it on wobbly legs, my hands shaking with nerves. Do all these people need to be here in order to fire me?
I feel Belinda’s calculating eyes scour over me, the disdain on her face barely concealed.
I’m so unnerved, I barely notice that Henry has changed into the suit I dropped off for dry cleaning yesterday. The ends of his hair are damp, suggesting he had a shower. But where, and when?
“Paige, status update, please,” Henry demands, leaning far back in his chair, his one leg crossed over the other at the knee, his fingers lightly tapping a polished black shoe. He must have done that himself. I know I didn’t. Am I supposed to polish his shoes, too? “Abbi, take notes.”
I simply stare at the tiny Texan woman as she begins talking about housekeeping and hospitality issues over the past twenty-four hours, highlighting minor guest complaints and some process changes she has already put in place.
It’s not until Henry reaches over and softly taps my thigh with his knuckle that it registers. I haven’t been called to the Summit Room to be fired.
I’m here to scribe.
My body sinks into my chair with relief. I quickly tap out bulleted notes, focusing intently as one by one, each manager gives Henry an update on their area. Sally, a kind-looking blonde in charge of guest amenities, including the spa; Jean, the tiny Asian lady sitting across from me who coordinates all guest tours and programs; Pierre, the kitchen manager; and a thirty-something year old man named Ryan who runs all facilities and maintenance. He would have been my boss, had I ever worked a day with the Outdoor team. He has a big job, ensuring everything from the tulips in the garden to the float planes by the docks are in perfect working order. He also looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
Belinda interrupts every so often with a question of her own, or an instruction on how to handle. I’m not at all fond of her and I already know she doesn’t like me, but I’ll admit she sounds smart and sophisticated. I can see why Henry put her in that role.
And probably why he slept with her, seeing as he’s not attracted to silly little girls.
But I’m here to scribe notes, I remind myself with a small smile. That, I can handle.
“Any major complaints about facilities?” Henry asks Ryan.
“A few guests on the top floors have complained that their showers take too long to heat up.”
“Where is their hot water coming from?”
“Third floor.”
Henry’s jaw tenses. “I’m no engineer, but that sounds like a design flaw.”
Ryan clears his throat. “Yes, sir. I already have the plumbers working on installing additional hot water heaters specifically for that floor and rerouting the pipes. There is space in the fifth floor maintenance area.”
“Minimal disturbance to our guests, I hope?”
Belinda steps in smoothly. “I’ve already sent Cristal to their rooms. For those who complained, I’ve comped their first nights’ room stay.”
That’s thousands of dollars, just like that. Does it matter to a guy like Henry? To a hotel like this? I can’t comprehend the magnitude. To me, it sounds crippling.
Ryan’s expression is tentative as Henry regards him silently for a moment, cool and calm. “Do the same for the fourth floor.” He then turns to me. “Abbi, schedule a call with George Duncan for later today. He’s west coast.”
I mark it in my notes, pretending I know who that is. Hopefully I can find something in Henry’s inbox that tells me who George is. By his tone, I’m guessing the conversation isn’t going to be pleasant.
Henry moves on, dominating the meeting in a no-nonsense fashion, the tension radiating from him almost tangible. He is under a lot of pressure. Rightfully so, I guess. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to open a luxury hotel.
Each person around that table keeps their eyes glued to him, like they don’t want to miss a prompt. He intimidates them. That would make sense, seeing as he intimidates the hell out of me. He’s an entirely different guy from the patient one who taught me how to swing an ax, and the sheepish one who smiled as he held up the wrong tie and admitted to being color-blind.
And the vulnerable one I watched come apart by his own fist.
His hand sits on his brawny thigh, his fingers strumming a slow, rhythmic beat. The hand that was gripping his cock so tightly yesterday, pumping it from root to tip until he came.
I give my head a shake, scolding my filthy thoughts for veering that way so easily.
His hand suddenly stills. I feel that cool and yet iron-hot gaze on my profile, and my cheeks flush in response. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking. “Bookings?”
I force my mind back to the meeting.
“We are nearly booked solid through to August,” Belinda announces proudly, as if she single-handedly had something to do with that. “We have guests calling and asking about cancellation wait lists.”
Henry’s lips twitch. The only indication that he’s pleased. “The grand opening. Give me an update.”
Belinda punches something into her iPad. “All media outlets have RSVP’d and rooms have been assigned to ensure we have them prepped adequately.” She goes on to list names of people I don’t know but who must be critical attendees for the event, which sounds like a lavish ball.
Henry scribbles something on his notepad while she talks, and sets it on my lap, his knuckles brushing against my thigh.
Make sure my tux is in my closet. I don’t remember packing it.
I make a note to check when I get back to the cabin. It’s such a simple but personal request, and I find myself reveling in the fact I get to root through his closet for him.
Belinda is still talking. “You and I can go over the dossiers on everyone—”
He cuts her off with, “Send Abbi the rundown of each member attending. She’ll brief me directly.”
The corners of her mouth twitch. “Fine.” It’s curt and not at all pleasant.
“Any staff issues?”
“None so far.” Her eyes flicker toward me and I promptly avert my gaze. Would he have told her about yesterday? She seems to be in on everything else so far.
“Okay. Thanks, everyone. Abbi will send out a meeting request for tomorrow’s update.”
Just like when the bell rings in class, everyone scrambles to gather their things, ready to run.
Everyone except Belinda, who remains in her chair with one leg crossed over the other, the side slit in her skirt so high that it reveals the end of her garter. “Can I have a word with you?”
Henry gives her a fleeting gaze. “About?”
“Your father.”
He heaves a sigh and, resting his elbows on the table, he hooks his hands behind the back of his neck and bows his head. “Abbi, summarize and send out those notes to the group. Also, there are a few presentations I’ve printed out and made notes of in the margins sitting on my desk. Please summarize and send those off to the names listed on them for follow-up by tomorrow. And see if you can get me an hour-long in-room massage with Michael for this evening before dinner.”
“In-room?” He said he didn’t want anyone in his space.
“Yes. Text me with the time.” He sighs. “Okay, Belinda. What is it?”
I take that as my cue to leave, unscathed and still employed, and I take it without another word.
Chapter Fifteen
“Michael?” A towering man dressed all in black, his t-shirt stretched across a fit, lean body, stands outside the cabin, folded table at his side. He must be at least six-foot-four.
“That’s me.” He holds up his employee badge to prove it, the deep dimples in the picture matching the ones he flashes at me now. He has a disarming smile.
“Come in.” I step back, ducking my head to hide my inevitable blush, the one that burns any time an attractive man’s eyes are on me.
His arms strain as he lifts the table over the threshold before setting it back and running a hand through his sandy-blond cropped hair. “I’m guessing Mr. Wolf wants this set up over there?” He nods toward the windows overlooking the water, then looks to me, waiting for an answer. I catch his eyes dipping down to my chest but they shift back to my face quickly.
“Honestly, I have no idea,” I admit, trailing him to the far side.
“I’ll move it if he wants. Damn, this is a nice place.” His eyes graze over the space, landing on the massive stone fireplace. “You want a tip to impress your boss? Get that thing going.”
“Now?” It’s only five and not nearly cold enough.
“Maybe not right now, but on a cold night, definitely. Trust me. Whenever he’s visiting the Aspen location and he brings me in, he always has a fire going. He said it reminds him of being at his grandparents’ place up here.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Maybe I’ll surprise him with one tonight. It’s the least I can do after what I did yesterday.
“No problem.” Michael has the table unfolded and set up in seconds. He’s obviously been doing this for a while.
“So you work at the Wolf in Aspen?”
“Yup. Here, help me with this sheet?”
I hide my grimace and grab an end. We stretch the elastics around the ends, covering the mattress board. “Are you from Colorado, originally?”
“Nah. Just outside Pittsburgh. Small town called Stipling.”
My face breaks into a wide smile. “No way! Seriously?” There’s comfort in finding another person from a small town in Pennsylvania, especially given I’m so far away from everything I know. “I’m from Greenbank. Have you heard of it?” Most times people haven’t but by Michael’s matching grin, I already know what his answer is going to be.
“Hell yeah! I played baseball up there every year.”
“Seriously?” Now I’m giddy. “I may have watched your games. My fiancé played, too. I was at the diamond all summer. Wait, how old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
I laugh. “Okay, maybe not.”
“Still, small world.” He shakes his head, smiling down at me. I grin back, snatching the end of the loose sheet to help him lay it over the table, a new sense of ease slipping into my body.
“So, does your fiancé still play?”
“No. And... ex.” I waggle my naked hand, ignoring the sudden thickness in my throat at that admission. It’s not as bad as in the past, at least.
“Oh, sorry.” He shrugs. “I have one of those, myself. Glad we pulled the plug on that one. It would have been a mistake.”
I sigh wistfully while I help him stretch a cream-colored wool blanket over the top of the sheet. Will I ever be able to say that about Jed and me so casually? Will I see his betrayal as my way of dodging a bullet?
“So how did you end up here, being personally requested for massages by billionaire hotel owners?”
He chuckles. “I specialized in sport massage therapy in college, but was having a hard time getting a job so I applied for an opening at the Wolf in Aspen. Figured a lot of skiers meant work. Mr. Wolf was there one winter and he injured his leg on the slopes, so they sent me up to his room. I helped him through it and now he always asks for me when he’s in town. He personally offered me a job here, which is great seeing as Aspen’s dead in the summer.” Michael stretches his long arms over his head, bending them at the elbows, as if warming up.
“Lucky you, getting hand-picked by the big boss,” I tease, though I suppose I was handpicked, too.
“You wouldn’t believe how many of my female coworkers have begged me to play sick so they can take my place.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Dude’s got it goin’ on.”
I think I can. Given permission to rub your hands all over Henry Wolf’s body? I can’t even imagine it, but I’m suddenly jealous of Michael.
And Henry, I accept, as I reach up to knead my own sore bicep absently. Jed used to give me back rubs. I miss them.
Michael picks up on it immediately. “Sore?”
“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”
“It’s got to be stressful, trying to keep up with his schedule. Come here.” He reaches for me, his long arm span closing the distance with two steps. Grabbing me by the waist, he hoists me onto the table as if I weigh nothing at all.
“Is this okay?” I tense as one of his large, strong hands runs along the top of my back, from shoulder to shoulder, his fingers splayed slightly.
“You have a few knots,” he says, not answering my question. He begins gently kneading my muscles. I close my eyes and relish the feel of his strong hands over me because this feels oh so good. So much more skilled, so much stronger than Jed. “Is this just stress? Or were you doing something physically straining?”
“I was stacking wood the other day. And I swung an ax, too,” I mumble, letting my head fall forward as his skilled fingers apply a touch of pressure along my neck.
He starts laughing. “An ax? Interesting assistant job you have. Are you right-handed?”
“Yes.”
His hands move to my right arm, one gripping me at the elbow while the other slides beneath the collar of my shirt and along the ball of my shoulder. “You have some pipes on you for such a tiny thing.”
The feel of his strong, warm hands against my bare skin sends shivers down through my chest and my nipples tighten. I hope the padding in my bra is thick enough to hide it because the shirt sure isn’t.
“Relax.” That one word comes out in a soothing voice, his deep voice crackling.
I can’t deny that as flustering as it is to have this handsome stranger touching me, this feels incredible. And he’s a professional, so this is okay. He’s just doing his job. What would an hour of this feel like? “So, how much trouble would we get into if I took Mr. Wolf’s appointment right now, because this feels amazing,” I joke through a groan and a giggle.
Michael chuckles. “Well, I’m off work at ten tonight. I don’t normally offer this, but if you want, I can come over to your cabin and—”
The front door slams shut, the sudden noise making me jump. I look over to find Henry standing in the doorway, his eyes boring into me.
Unamused.
“Hey, Mr. Wolf, good to see you again. You must be overworking your assistant. She’s full of knots. You should send her to the spa for a rubdown.” Michael is oblivious to the palpable tension in the air.
“I’ll be ready in five. Abbi, a word.” His tone is clipped, his jaw tight as he strolls toward his bedroom, yanking at his tie. He waves with two fingers for me to follow him.
I know I’m in trouble and I’m not entirely sure why.
“Shut the door behind you.”
I slide the barn door to the edge, but remain where I am, watching him quietly as he tosses his tie and suit jacket to the bed and begins pacing. He pushes a hand through his hair, sending it in wild disarray.
“Do you want that dry cleaned?” I finally dare ask, hoping that might dispel whatever has made him so angry.
“No. I do not want that dry cleaned. What I want is to come home and not find my massage therapist trying to fuck my assistant.”
What? My mouth drops open. “I... He noticed me rubbing my sore arm and he was just trying to help me. That’s all that was.” How did that possibly look like sex?
He shakes his head, muttering something to himself. When he meets my eyes again, there’s only wonderment there. And something else I can’t describe. Something dark. “You honestly believe that, don’t you?”
“Yes?” I frown, panic flying through me as I replay my conversation with Michael from the beginning. Nothing—nothing!—about it was sexual. Henry is acting worse than my mama right now. I hear myself mumble an, “I’m sorry,” though I don’t entirely know what I’m sorry for.
“Michael, out there? He doesn’t want to rid you of your sore muscles. He’ll gladly fuck you. Any guy here will.”
“No... he was just...” I stumble over my words, shocked by his. “We’re from the same hometown. He’s being nice.”
Henry’s chuckle is menacing as his feet close the distance, slow and measured, until he’s within my personal space. “Don’t be so naïve, Abbi. Trust me. He can smell that virgin pussy from a mile away and he wants it.”
I inhale sharply, his words building a throb between my legs, despite my unease. Did he just say that to me? And is he right? Michael is attracted to me? “So what if he does want that?”
“Is he what you want?” There’s a challenge there, sitting on a razor sharp edge that I’m afraid to near. Several painfully long seconds pass, the tension in the air thick and heady and then a wicked smirk captures his lips. “Did you enjoy yesterday’s show?”
It takes me only a split second to know what he’s referring to with the whiplash-fast change in topic.
My mouth hangs open, incapable of speech. How do I answer that? With the obvious truth? Yes, I loved seeing Henry naked. Yes, I loved seeing him—the powerful and controlled Mr. Wolf—vulnerable. Yes, the sight of him stirred desires that have haunted me ever since.
But I can’t admit to any of that. He hired me because he isn’t attracted to me. He hired me because he wanted an assistant who would understand boundaries, like the ones I’ve already crossed.
“I shouldn’t have... I mean, I didn’t mean to...” I stumble over my words.
“Are you sure you didn’t mean to?” He inches closer. He’s too intense, this is too much. I avert my gaze, but his finger finds my chin, prodding until my head tips back to meet his penetrating eyes. Those cold blue eyes aren’t cold anymore. They’re raging. “Not even two days.”
“What?” My voice cracks.
“I knew I shouldn’t have hired you,” he whispers absently, as if speaking more to himself.
“Does that mean you’re firing me?” I fight against the tears that begin to well.
Henry merely shakes his head. The relief with that simple gesture is nearly paralyzing.
His finger slips from my chin. He begins working at the buttons of his dress shirt until he’s peeling it away from his body and tossing it on the bed. His t-shirt comes off next.
His gaze, it never leaves me, even when mine can’t help but drop.
Dear God, that chest. It’s tanned and hard and I want to slide my hands all over it, feel the ridges of his collarbone, the soft skin of his nipples. The burn of his naked skin under my fingertips.
“There should be an e-mail from Belinda in my inbox,” he says, switching smoothly back to work.
I avert my eyes to the view beyond the window, still bright and so “off” for the mood in this room. “Why do you make me come in here while you’re undressing?” I whisper. It’s so inappropriate for him to do this. Not only because he’s my boss.
He knows I’m attracted to him.
In my periphery, I catch his brow lift in surprise. “I told you that your job would involve being in close proximity to me. I like using my time efficiently.” A pause. “Do you want to leave?”
No. I like being near him, even when my stomach is doing complete flips.
“Why do you think I ask you in here while I’m undressing?”
There’s only one reason I can come up with. “Because you like to see me squirm.”
“Look at me.”
My eyes snap back with his command and I find that sexy dimple waiting with his smirk. He can read my attraction to him plain as day. “You’re right, I do. And maybe I like testing you.”
“Why?”
His gaze drops to my mouth, and my lips instantly turn dry. “Because every time I’m sure I have a handle on you, you surprise me.”
A “handle” on me? Abigail Mitchell from Greenbank, Pennsylvania? I’m pretty uncomplicated. And, by the way he talked about me to Belinda, it sounded like he’s already figured that out.
I guess maybe he never expected me to watch him in the shower. To be fair, I never expected to have the nerve to do that. Before coming here, I wouldn’t. And he’s not firing me for it, even though I crossed the line—again—and, this time, sober.
But is he angry with me about it? “How do I surprise you? In a bad way?”
“Some would think so,” he answers cryptically. He reaches up to slide the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip.
For someone who finds me unattractive, he’s giving off some seriously conflicting signals. Or maybe that’s just me, being clueless and stupid and wishful again. Either way... “I’m confused,” I whisper.
He meets my eyes again. “I know you are. That’s part of your charm, isn’t it?”
We simply stare at each other as the seconds pass, my heart pounding, my knees shaking as he hovers, his bare chest begging to be touched.
Finally, his hand drops to his side. “I don’t want Michael touching you like that again. Or anyone here, for that matter.”
Is he even allowed to demand that? “Why not?”
“Because, you’re—” He presses his lips together, cutting himself off. “Because they’re not good enough for you.”
Michael seems like a genuinely nice guy. If he’s not good enough for me, and no one else here is good enough, then how am I supposed to get over Jed? Didn’t Henry say that I should spend the next four months fucking someone in every position imaginable?
I can’t keep my eyes from his plump, pink lips. Nearly feminine, they’re so shapely. I ran my tongue across those wet, soft lips only days ago, when I was drunk and clueless.
What about the Mr. Wolf, the man who strolls through the halls in his designer suits, capturing women’s lustful gazes and drawing men’s envy?
But he told Belinda he didn’t want me.
Fire sparks in Henry’s eyes. He reaches back to wrap his fist around my braid. He tugs on it gently, forcing my head back. His whisper is oddly tender in comparison. “You’re my assistant, Abbi.”
I have to ask it. Instinctively, I know it’s the wrong question to ask, but I can’t help myself. “And if I wasn’t?”
I shiver as his fingertip drags along my collarbone, down along the neckline of my blouse to dip into my cleavage, the simple touch tightening my nipples and making my breasts heavy, begging to be undressed, exposed, touched.
So suddenly, he robs me of his touch and I shudder with the loss.
“I want you to open that e-mail from Belinda and be ready to brief me on its contents.” And he’s back to work already.
It takes me a few seconds and a few tattered breaths to collect myself. Henry has intentionally changed the topic, shuttering his eyes to hide all emotion, even taken a step back.
He has controlled himself.
I struggle to clear my throat. “What time do you want me here in the morning?”
A slight frown touches his beautiful face. “No. Not tomorrow. We need to do it now, while Michael’s working on me.”
While he’s lying naked on the table?
He smirks, unfastening his belt. “What’s wrong? Now the sweet, virtuous Abbi is too shy to watch? After what you’ve seen, this should be nothing.”
My cheeks burn, but I meet his eyes and see the challenge in them. Did it bother him at all that I watched him in the shower? I’m beginning to think not, which means he’s been toying with me all this time, putting me through hell for his own amusement. That’s not nice.
With a defiant set of my jaw, I stand my ground on wobbly knees, waiting for him to dismiss me. His hands slow for a moment over his zipper. When I don’t move, understanding sparks in his eyes. He cocks his head, amusement taking over.
And then he lets his pants drop to the carpet with a soft swooshing sound.
I keep my eyes locked on his, fighting the compelling urge to look down. I sense rather than see his thumbs running along the elastic of his briefs.
And still I don’t move. Where is this nerve coming from?
Stretching the elastic away from his body, he peels his briefs off and lets them drop to the floor, too.
I pretend that having Henry standing naked in front of me has no impact, but I know I’m doing a lousy job of it. My breathing alone—quick, shallow pants through parted lips—is likely enough to tip him off. My heart hammers inside my chest as I stand there, waiting.
I don’t dare look down to see the effect this has on him, but I can sense it jutting out in all its swollen glory. It would be so easy for me to reach out and rub my thumb over the tip, to wrap my fist around his length. My palm itches at the idea.
Maybe this is what he’s waiting for.
For “sweet, virtuous Abbi” to break.
“Is there anything else you need, while I’m here?” I ask as calmly as I can manage. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I know what I need at this moment. Him.
Henry takes a step closer to me, heat from his body radiating, his erection now pressing against my stomach, his words stirring my confusion. “Don’t tempt me,” he growls.
Oh my God. I’m in so far over my head. I fight every urge I have to shrink back, to run away. That’s what the farm girl would do. But I don’t want to be her.
I harden myself. “For someone who’s not attracted to insecure, stupid little girls, that sure is a very hard cock you have there.”
I can’t believe I said that. Nor can I believe that I delivered it in such a calm voice.
I don’t think he can either, because first surprise, then alarm flashes in his eyes. Yes, I basically just admitted to listening in on his conversation with Belinda. His mouth opens, then closes several times as he hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes I’m forced to say things I don’t mean.”
Flutters explode in my stomach. Does that mean it was a lie? “So you don’t think I’m an insecure, stupid little girl?”
His lips twist. “Oh, you are that. Until you prove otherwise, anyway.” He exhales heavily, his warm breath caressing my cheek. Some internal conflict twists his features into an almost painful grimace. “Wait for me in the living room,” he demands in a hoarse whisper, turning away and heading toward the bathroom with slow, leisurely steps, that glorious backside straining and shifting with each step, his back carved into muscle, the deep line down the center making my knees weak.
I duck out quickly and make my way over to where Michael waits, praying that my face isn’t so red that the young masseur figures out what just happened. “He’ll be out in a minute,” I say, clearing my throat as I grab my iPad and curl up in a nearby wing chair while I search for Belinda’s e-mail. Only now do I realize that my hand is shaking. And that my panties are soaked.
“You okay?” Michael asks, his bright green eyes sparkling as they watch me. They look genuine, not lecherous at all. Why does Henry think he’s into me? And why would he care if Michael was in to me? I’m not dating anyone, and Henry isn’t attracted to me.
Or did he just admit that he is?
I’m still too flustered to wrap my head around what happened and all that was said. “Yes. Thanks,” I mutter, offering Michael a smile.
He begins stretching his fingers one by one, warming them up for an hour of labor. “Hey. So what’s it like, working this closely with Wolf?”
A strangled laugh escapes my lips before I can keep it in. “Never a dull moment.”
Henry appears through the doorway then, a white towel wrapped and tucked around his lower half. It does little to hide what waits beneath and he doesn’t seem to care, one way or another.
