“Tell them to fuck off,” Henry orders between bites of bacon, his scowl aimed at the iPad screen perched before him. “If they want to interview me, I’ll happily talk their ear off about the future of Wolf Hotels. But me nearly dying because I was stupid enough to go down into that mine will not be a topic of discussion.”
“Yes, sir.” Miles’s voice chirps over the speakerphone.
Henry notices me approaching. “Gotta go.”
“Will you still be flying back tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Have the plane ready to go by nine.”
“Yes, sir.”
He ends the call as I climb onto his lap, straddling him. “Reporters?”
He grunts. “There was one here yesterday. See?” He taps the screen. Open on it is a news article about Henry’s rescue. And a picture at the Wolf Cove helicopter pad, where a dirty Henry has his arms wrapped around me, and our lips are locked in a deep kiss.
“I didn’t even see a camera anywhere. Though I was a little bit preoccupied.” In the background is a blurred silhouette of Ronan, looking on.
Our hero.
“It’s a good picture.”
Henry sighs. “It is.”
“Aren’t you cold?” I rub my arms up and down his biceps. He was so hungry when he woke this morning—we both were, after not having eaten anything since Friday morning—that he didn’t bother putting on a robe after his shower, wandering out to the food-laden table that I requested in nothing but a towel.
“I am, actually.” His fingers snag my robe tie. He unfastens it and tugs at the two ends until they’re open enough that he can throw them around. Slipping his hands around my waist, he pulls my bare flesh tight against his.
“You may be cold but your skin is hot.” I giggle as my nipples pebble—from the cool air or Henry’s touch, I can’t tell.
“Hmm… so is yours.” He dips in to kiss my neck, his mouth a salve for all the anguish of the past two days. “What do you want to do today? It’s our last day here.”
“You,” I answer bluntly.
Beneath the towel, I feel him hardening and instinctively grind my hips into him.
He frees one hand to tug at the tucked end of his towel, releasing it enough to expose himself to me. My hand goes for his cock immediately, gripping his smooth flesh, pressing a thumb down against the tip in a way I’m learning he likes.
My plans for his birthday were foiled two days ago. There is still a cake sitting in the fridge at his grandfather’s cabin, a fire ready to be lit, and bedsheets waiting to be mussed. “Just you and me, all day, okay? No interruptions, no phone calls, no—”
A click sounds and then, “Bonjour!” Margo’s melodious voice calls out from the open front door. She grins as she strolls into our penthouse, looking as glamorous as ever in tight jeans and a fitted white sweater that she must have sent for.
A wide-eyed Autumn stands in the doorway, looking like she’s preparing herself to be flayed.
“I’m gone for a day and this place becomes a free-for-all,” Henry mutters, pulling my robe shut and readjusting his towel to cover his erection, though it far from hides it. I climb off him, trying not to flash Margo and Autumn in the process, though I’m sure the former would not mind.
“I promised Autumn that I was the exception, and that she would not get in trouble for allowing me in. Oui?” The backs of her fingers trail over Henry’s cheek.
“Oui,” he mutters.
“You have slept, Abigail. Good.” She kisses my cheek and then reaches for a strawberry.
With a wave and a mouthed “I’m sorry,”—and one last look at the back of a half-naked Henry sitting in the dining room chair—Autumn ducks out, closing the door behind her.
“So, Henry?” Margo lifts the crystal lid of the Scotch decanter and bends down to sniff it. Her nose crinkles in distaste. “You have succeeded in dragging me out to Alaska with your antics and yet now you hide in your cabin and sleep the day away. How shall you two entertain me?”
“Do I even want to know what you had in mind?” Henry asks dryly.
“An excursion.” Her eyes dance with excitement. “I’d like to see these ferocious American bears. And then dinner here tonight. I have already spoken to the chef and she is preparing a special meal for us.”
“You went right down into the kitchen, didn’t you?”
“I did. They are lovely down there. And so welcoming.”
“I’m sure they were.” Henry sighs and reaches for me. I see the question in his eyes. I just finished telling him I wanted to have him all to myself. But Margo abandoned her life to fly up here and comfort me while we waited out news of Henry. We can’t just ditch her now.
“That all sounds great to me, Margo. I just need Henry for an hour or two and then we can go.”
“Bon! The lovely Isabella said she could have a plane ready for us at two. Does that give you enough time to do what you need to do?” She looks expectantly at me, and then at Henry, her sharp almond-shaped eyes drifting down to the noticeable bulge.
“Yes. I think so.”
~ ~ ~
“What have you been up to?” Henry’s curious eyes drift over the old cabin as I grab his hand and lead him to the front door and then inside.
The scent of fire still lingers, a residue from the woodstove that burned two days ago. “Isabella sent some of the staff over to clean it up and stage it, kind of like they did during the grand opening. Connor and Ronan set up the fireplace and brought in all the wood. I figured we’d have dinner here.” The dishes are still sitting on the counter, unused. “I was going to cook. And then we’d spend the night. I thought that would have been a nice thing to do for your birthday.” I’m rambling.
Henry studies me for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. “I would have loved that.”
I bite my lip to hide the stupid grin that’s threatening. “And there’s one more surprise. It’s small, but… close your eyes.”
He frowns but then complies, his long lashes fluttering as his lids shut.
“Don’t look!” I warn, reaching into the fridge to pull out the birthday cake. As quietly as possible, I set it down on the table in front of him and peel off the plastic wrap I protected it with.
“Okay. Open them.”
He does, and they settle on the pan in front of him.
“I know it’s not anything elaborate, and it might taste horrible. I’ve never made anything in a woodstove.”
His eyebrows rise in surprise. “You made that here?”
“Yeah. In there.” I laugh as I point to the polished antique stove. “It was not easy. Ronan helped me start the fire and then we watched it like hawks, and argued the entire time about whether it was done.” My laughter dies. “Meanwhile you were trapped in a mine and I had no idea….” I sigh. “Anyway, I remembered you saying that your grandmother baked for you, so I thought it’d be nice to make a birthday cake here.”
When I look back up, Henry’s staring at me so intently and for so long that I begin to squirm.
“How do you get me like no one else gets me?” he asks softly. “How do you know what I need like no one else does, like even I don’t? I can read you inside out and yet you surprise me constantly. How do you do that?” He looks genuinely baffled.
I swallow the emotion threatening to spill over. “I don’t know, but I promise I’ll keep trying to do it every single day that you let me.”
He nods, more to himself, his gaze drifting over the interior of the old cabin—the fireplace, the kitchen, the table at the head of the chair. “We’re making new memories here, aren’t we?” he murmurs softly, echoing something I said to him months ago, the first time he brought me here. Collecting the cake pan, he reaches for me. “Come on. We’ve got to get back.”
~ ~ ~
Margo’s silky black hair flutters in the light breeze as she stands on the dock near the readying float plane.
Posing for a photographer.
“What do you think? Would they be good for the Wolf Hotel publicity?” she asks, adjusting her stance.
Henry smirks, his eyes rolling over her ensemble—hiking boots, jeans, a pink-and-beige checked jacket, and thick down vest, the sheepskin collar settled neatly under her bob. She must have had clothes delivered. “In exchange for…?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She twists her lips in mock thought. “How about a little boutique castle hotel with a Wolf stamp on it, sooner rather than later?” She grins mischievously at Henry before turning her attention back to the photographer to rattle off a string of French words. He responds with words of his own, along with a wave.
“Abbi! With all this chaos, I almost forgot to tell you. My friend at Nordstrom called me. She is very interested in your Farm Girl soaps for their stores.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Yes. You have a meeting with the buyer next Thursday to discuss, but they are very eager.”
“But….” I stare dumbfounded at her, wondering if I heard it wrong. She’s acting like it’s nothing, like Nordstrom even knowing about my product, let alone wanting to put it on their shelves, isn’t an impossible feat. “Henry?”
“I had nothing to do with that.” He smirks in a told-you-so manner. “We should get going.”
Margo holds up a dainty hand. “We are just waiting on two more.”
“Two more?”
“Yes. Connor and Ronan.”
“You invited Connor and Ronan?” Henry asks in an overly calm voice. “And why exactly did you do that?”
She frowns at him. “Because they saved your life, of course. Stop being ridiculous, Henry.”
“So it has nothing to do with any stories Abbi might have told you?” He stares expectantly at her.
“Absolutely not. Why? Does that bother you?”
“Doesn’t bother me.” He looks down at me. “Does it bother you, Abbi? If Margo is planning on fucking both of your friends tonight?”
As surprised as I am by this, I smile up at him, smoothing my hand over his abdomen affectionately and, I hope, to calm him. We haven’t stopped touching each other since we woke up—his arm curled around my waist, my fingers woven through his, my lips pressed against any part of his body I can reach. “I’d rather she do it tonight and not while on this excursion. Might frighten the bears.”
“There they are!” Margo stands with her hands clasped at her chest, admiring Connor and Ronan as they step onto the dock and head our way. Ronan’s no longer limping, at least. “Well done, Abigail,” she purrs. “That would have been something to see.”
Henry sighs with exasperation.
She spouts off something in French. He retorts sharply, his hand squeezing mine, a scowl forming on his brow. He’s annoyed with her.
“What’s wrong?” I ask through a sip of water.
“Nothing,” he mutters.
Margo’s eyes narrow in a wickedly mischievous manner. “I was just telling him that he should invite Ronan into your bed. I am certain that he would be an attentive lover for the both of you.”
Water sprays from my mouth.
“Good day, gentlemen!” Margo greets them with warm smiles and two-cheek kisses. “Come, we must hurry.” She gestures toward the plane and then hooks her hand around Connor’s arm. He trails her with a star-filled gaze. I can only imagine what’s going on inside his head right now.
Ronan hangs back a touch, looking warily at the plane.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“I hate small planes,” he admits.
“You also hate tight spaces.”
He smirks. “I do.”
Henry comes up behind us, reaching out to slap a hand over his shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be worth every second of fear.”
Henry and me in bed. With Ronan.
Margo’s words linger. She’s right, Ronan is an attentive lover. So is Henry. Ronan and Henry?
Their hands, their mouths… their cocks.
All over me.
Inside me.
It’s a fantasy I shouldn’t even allow—I love Henry! And yet heat begins to pool in between my legs the second the thought enters my mind.
“Abbi?” Henry’s staring intently at me. “Are you coming?”
I give my head a shake. “Yup.”
