Wolf Bait (Wolf Cove #1) (14 page)

But here, now... I know I’m reacting to all that is Henry. To his solid, golden form, drenched in water and soap; to the sharp V of his abdomen, leading to a patch of dark hair and the first fully grown man’s penis I’ve ever seen in person; to the highly vulnerable position I’ve caught him in.

Muscles in his forearm cord as his hand picks up speed, sliding down to the base and all the way up, over and over again. He’s huge, so much bigger than what I know of Jed, with my limited experience through his pants. How that would even fit inside a woman, I can’t imagine.

But the dampness in my panties and the deep throb between my legs tells me that I’d like to find out.

Did he mean to leave both these doors open? He knew I was still here, phoning to change reservations. I wasn’t on the phone that long, was I?

My lips part as his hips begin to sway with each stroke, until he’s more thrusting his body than his hand actually doing any work, his balls beneath swinging with the jerky motion. They look heavy and full. That’s what Jed said happens when he’s about to come. He admitted to me that he rubbed himself off in his room sometimes, especially after we’d been kissing or touching. Then he asked me if I did, and I lied to him. I told him that I couldn’t, that I was afraid it would be wrong.

And yet, look at me now.

Above the sound of the showerhead running I can hear Henry’s deep groans, and I find myself licking my suddenly dry lips and panting along with him, wishing those hands were on me, wishing it was my fist wrapped around him, pumping him like that. I don’t even know if my hands are big enough.

I’m now practically leaning against the door, squeezed within the narrow space so I can see him, praying that the glass remains clear enough to watch. He looks almost savage, the way he tugs violently at himself with one hand, while his free hand presses flat against the glass. My legs shake with anticipation as I watch, feeling my breasts grow heavy and my nipples tighten with the anticipation. What will Henry orgasming look like?

Thirty seconds later, I find out as Henry’s lips part and he lets out a series of guttural moans followed by a cry. His powerful naked body stills as white cream shoots out the tip of his cock in streams, hitting the glass wall. His hand slows as he milks himself, his chest heaving in and out with his deep breaths.

This is definitely when I should leave. Heck, I should have never peeked through that narrow space in his room in the first place. I should have grabbed the suit from the chair and kept going.

So when Henry abruptly looks up, as if sensing someone watching him, and our gazes lock, my stomach drops to the floor like a rock.

For three long, heart-stopping seconds, I stare into Henry’s piercing blue eyes. And then I bolt out of Penthouse Cabin One, clutching his suit to my chest.

Chapter Thirteen

How long before Henry fires me? Will it be tonight? Or tomorrow morning? Will he do it himself, or have Belinda give me a shove off? Something in my gut tells me she might not mind that.

He trusted me and I let him down.

The water in the stall next to me shuts off.

“What is that delicious smell?” Katie calls out.

I smile despite my anxiety, lathering my sore, stressed body. I always take pride in someone fawning over a product of mine. “Mint soap. Homemade.” After a nerve-wracking day, there’s nothing more soothing than creamy coconut-oil-based herbal soaps and a hot shower.

“Homemade as in
you
made it?”

“Yup.”

“You know how to make that kind of stuff?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty easy.” If I were in Greenbank, I’m sure I’d be occupying my time and broken heart by making truckloads right now. I kind of miss the process, but I couldn’t bring my supplies here. No way Alaska Airlines would have let me fly with a vat of lye. Plus, I figured I wouldn’t have the facilities or time to make anything.

My shower curtain suddenly glides open and I gasp, one arm flying to do a poor job of covering my breasts, my free hand fanning between my legs.

Katie adjusts the white towel that’s wrapped around her body. “Relax. I see naked women all day long, Abbi.” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Can I see the soap for a minute?”

I uncover my breasts reluctantly and hold out the hand with the bar. I can’t say the last time anyone besides my doctor has seen me naked.
People are meant to change behind closed doors, alone.
More sage advice from Beverly Mitchell.

Katie takes it from me and holds it up to her nose. She inhales deeply, then runs her thumb over it. “Heavenly. And it doesn’t look gross, like other homemade soaps.”

“I guess not.” I pause, the hot water streaming down my back as the front of me gets chilled with the draft. “You know you could have waited until I was done.”

She slaps the bar back into my hands. “I wanted to see how it lathers. If you have any extra, I’d love a bar. I forgot my organic soaps at home and I couldn’t find anything in Homer.” Her crystal-blue eyes drop to my naked body, dancing over my arms and neck, lingering on my breasts for a moment, before lifting to my face again. “You should be more confident in your own skin. You have no reason to hide that body.”

“Um... Thanks?” That’s the second person who’s made reference to my confidence today. Do I really wear my insecurity so openly?

“And seriously, let me help you with that jungle.” Her eyes dip to where my hand hides my pubic hair. “I have all my waxing stuff in the cabin. It’ll take me fifteen minutes and you’ll have an extra neat and tidy little Brazilian when I’m done with you.”

“Great.” I reach for the curtain, hoping that gives her the signal.

Katie just laughs and strolls away, leaving me feeling equal parts flattered by the compliments of a woman who obviously appreciates the female body, and outright violated.

Then I remind myself that I stood there and watched my boss jerk off in his own shower not more than two hours ago. I have no right to complain. Sure, he could have closed the door. But he said that he trusted me to do my job well and with full discretion.

What I did was the opposite of discreet.

And now I find myself staring down at my pubic hair that Katie called a jungle. That’s a bit harsh. Maybe more “burning bush,” the color matching my hair color, unfortunately. Sure, I haven’t shaved my bikini line. I only do that in the summer, to avoid embarrassing hairs from sticking out of my bathing suit. Am I supposed to do it during other times of the year?

Even in the privacy of my shower, my cheeks heat. How am I so utterly clueless about these things?

~ ~ ~ ~

“How was your first day in Penthouse One?” Autumn asks. The frame above me jostles as she settles in. Only Lorraine and Rachel are still out, working later shifts.

“Fine.”

“Just fine? What are the guests like? Did you have much to do?”

I sigh, dreading where I know this conversation is going to go. “Actually, Mr. Wolf is staying in Penthouse One.”

Autumn’s body comes rolling off the top of the bunkbed at the same time that Tillie turns to stare at me. “What?” they both exclaim in unison.

“You’re
Mr. Wolf’s
private housekeeper?” Tillie’s pretty face twists with shock and, I’m guessing, envy.

Am I even supposed to talk about this? “He hired me to be his personal assistant.”

“
Personal
assistant?” They both echo, their shock only multiplying.

“You guys sound like parrots,” Katie chuckles. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed in her robe, brushing freshly blow-dried hair, seemingly unfazed.

“Yeah. Stunned me, too.”

“What are you doing for him?” Tillie asks.

“I manage his calendar and his e-mail, I clean his cabin, book excursions for him and whoever he’s entertaining that day. Honestly, I’m not sure yet.” I can’t help but glance at the phone he gave me, dread filling me as I wait for my punishment. Will it be a text dismissal or, better yet, a request to see him right away so he can look me in the eye as he fires me?

I shouldn’t have spied on him like that for so many reasons, including the visual now firmly emblazoned in my mind of his powerful, savage thrusts and his perfect body. How will I ever face him again?

“You are a fucking bitch,” Tillie mutters. When my mouth drops open, she waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t mind me. I’m cranky and PMSing and completely jealous.”

“Anything juicy to share about our handsome boss?” Katie asks, sliding her robe off her body to reveal a lacy white bra and panties. She reaches for her jeans. I guess she’s heading out to the staff lounge.

Meeting people and making small talk is the absolute last thing I want to do right now. I roll onto my back and shut my eyes. “Nothing.” Besides Henry’s huge cock coming all over the shower glass. I’m going to have to clean that glass tomorrow, and the idea isn’t even grossing me out.

What have I turned into up here? This is exactly what Mama was afraid of.

“He made you sign a gag order, didn’t he?” Autumn crawls back into her bed, the shock of my new job finally settling.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Figures. I heard he’s a bit paranoid. He hasn’t let anyone step foot in his room since he got here. Not the maids, not room service. He’ll leave dishes outside the door.”

“Can’t say I blame him after what happened in L.A.,” Tillie mutters, giving her eyes a rub. If anyone’s had a hard day today, it’s the housekeeping staff.

“What happened in L.A.?” I ask warily.

“He came home from a meeting to find a maid naked and handcuffed to his bed. When he called security to escort her out, she claimed he restrained her and forced himself on her.” Tillie reaches beneath her uniform and begins peeling her nylons off her body. I guess there is no room for shame when six women share a cabin together. “The accusation was shut down
real
fast, what with her on camera and using her room key to get in, and him being in a meeting all day. Wasn’t too bright, that one. I guess she thought she’d be playing out a fantasy for him and when she realized he wasn’t interested, she panicked to try and save her job. Gorgeous girl, too, from what I’ve heard. A Miss Venezuela runner-up, or something like that.”

“That’s not true. How do you know all this?” Autumn demands.

Tillie’s smug smile tells me she enjoys being the hub of dark and dirty secrets. Once again, I’m relieved that I never divulged details to her about that first night. “Also, he had an assistant in the New York office until a few months ago. He fired her for hitting on him.”

Is that the headache he was talking about with Belinda? The headache he wants to avoid? He did say that he hired me because he knows I won’t try anything. When I’m sober.

“Okay, seriously. I’ve been with Wolf for two years and I’ve never heard any of this!” Autumn exclaims, oblivious of my internal torment, her doubt evident. “Who is your source?”

“My cousin works for the Wolf head office. She has a way of hearing things.”

Will she hear about me spying on Henry in the shower today? Will I be the subject of conversation in a few weeks: the personal assistant who was fired on her first day for being a pervert?

And after he just went to such great lengths to find an innocent little farm girl who he thought he could trust?

“Well, I’ve heard that he’s pretty secretive to begin with, which makes me think he’s hiding something,” Katie offers, waggling her brows. “Maybe some serious kink.”

Of course Katie would be the one to suggest that.

Katie and Tillie turn to stare at me expectantly. “I saw nothing... kinky in his room,” I offer, my cheeks burning. I’m stepping dangerously close to the “don’t talk about me” line that Henry drew. I reach over to turn off the little wall lamp by my bed. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to get some sleep. Good night, everyone.”

After a moment, Tillie pulls herself off her mattress and reaches for her shower caddy and robe. “Well, he won’t ever have to worry about you doing something inappropriate, like handcuffing yourself to his bed. You may be the only one of the females at this place who can say that honestly.”

I’m not sure if she’s trying to make me feel better, but I’m not feeling better.

Now, I’m feeling much,
much
worse.

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.