“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.
“So, what’ll it be today, Mr. Wolf?”
“Full body, please.”
I swallow and keep my eyes on my iPad screen as, from the corner of my eye, Henry removes the towel and tosses it to land on the wing chair opposite me. I could steal a quick, unobstructed view if I adjust my eyes by an inch. Maybe he’s still testing me, wondering if I’ll take the chance.
I keep my eyes down.
I’ve seen my boss’s cock plenty already.
Henry climbs onto the table, stomach down, and Michael pulls the covers over his lower half. His hands begin their assessment of the expansive slab of muscle and flesh beneath him. “Man, you’re tight today. Stressed at all?”
Henry answers him with a low chuckle.
“Abbi.”
I swallow against the blip of excitement that stirs with Henry calling my name. “Yes?”
Long seconds of silence force me to glance up, to find him staring at me, the look on his face almost regretful. It appears that both his anger and whatever game he was playing earlier are out of his system. “Yes, Mr. Wolf?” I repeat, as pleasantly as I can.
Another few long moments hang before he quietly asks, “Brief me on the media attending. Please.”
“Okay.” I exhale shakily, preparing to read from the screen. “Well, first we have Roshana Mafi from Luxury Travel Magazine.”
“What does she look like?” he asks, without missing a beat.
I scan the picture in the electronic dossier. “Middle Eastern, long black hair. Beautiful,” I admit with more than a hint of jealousy. “Exotic-looking. It says she’s thirty-two and lives in New York City.”
“Single?”
“Yes.” Why Belinda felt the need to include that, I can’t say.
“Make sure there are flowers in her room for her arrival. I’ll write the card myself.”
Almost Henry’s age, lives in his city, stunning. Single. I feel like I’m setting the two of them up. That idea makes my stomach clench.
But I scribble down the note on my pad of paper because that’s my job.
“Next?”
“Gerard Starsky from Glamour Hotel. Short, salt-and-pepper hair. Forty-five years old. Lives in San Francisco. Married to Rena. One daughter named Bella, aged seven.” It’s almost disturbing how much personal information is on here. “It says he interviewed you two years ago at the opening in Istanbul.” Mention of Istanbul reminds me of Henry sleeping with Belinda. I wonder who initiated that. I’ll bet he takes on his sexual conquests as aggressively as he does his business ones.
Anger creeps into my otherwise rattled psyche at the thought of him tormenting me like he did in the bedroom moments ago, seemingly for his own personal entertainment.
“I remember him. Write a note to him that says ‘Good to see you again. I hope you enjoy Wolf Cove even more than you did Istanbul’. Try not to make the writing too girly.”
So Henry writes personal notes to single women but has me write the rest. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s playing up his physical gifts. “And do you want me to send him flowers, too?” I ask as innocently as possible. I can’t resist glancing over.
Henry’s sharp gaze is on me as Michael works over the deep curves of the middle of his back, the sheet draped dangerously low on his hips. I feel the urge to stick my tongue out at him, but I bite my lip instead. His eyes drop to my mouth and he blinks once… twice… Otherwise, he reveals nothing. “Next.”
And so we go through the list, me giving Henry a rundown of every member of the media who will be arriving here to provide either accolades or criticism of a location that Henry himself holds dear, and him instructing me on what to include in the welcome notes to the males. Not the females though. He’ll write all of those himself, to include with the flowers I send them in his name. I don’t have to ask why.
A personal note from the busy Henry Wolf, himself? Few women would be unaffected by that. Look how I reacted to the one he included with my replacement vest. I internally gushed over it.
What a manipulative ass.
I cover up a yawn as we wrap up the review forty minutes later. Henry looks sleepy too, his eyelids drooping. Michael has moved to Henry’s quad muscles, the sheet lifted to uncover his leg. “You can go now. Come back at seven tomorrow.” He pauses. “Actually, make it six.”
6:00 a.m. I stifle my groan. “Don’t forget your dinner tonight.”
“Fuck,” he moans. “Right.”
Michael throws me a wink on my way past. “I’ll be at the staff lodge tonight, if you want to meet up.”
I glance toward Henry’s resting head, replaying his words, his request that I stay away from Michael. That Michael wants my “virgin pussy.”
Do I dare fantasize that perhaps Henry wants it for himself?
Because I’d save it for him, if that were the case. “Maybe another night.” I collect my things and head for the door.
What a weird day.
