Break Me (The Wolf Hotel Book 2)

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?”

Would I? I already know I’d want to believe it. Wouldn’t any normal woman, when she meets a man who consumes her thoughts? Whether we want to admit it or not, don’t we all secretly pine over the hope that the man will fall head over heels for us, grow weak with lack of control, not be able to stop thinking about us?

Or is that just the naïve romantic fools like me?

I play back all the things Henry has said to me. What was it exactly he said this thing between us is? I’m getting over an idiot ex and fucking my boss for the next four months. Henry’s running a hotel and fucking his assistant for the next four months. That’s all it is. I can’t forget that part. He said that, too. He never committed to more.

And yet, despite his words, I have somehow convinced myself that there is a deeper connection between us.

I may be spineless sometimes, and naïve most of the time, but I won’t knowingly let myself be downright stupid. “No. I wouldn’t believe you if you told me that.”

“Right. And you shouldn’t.” He nods, more to himself than me. “So I’m not going to bother standing here and trying to convince you otherwise. But do you really believe I would force myself on a woman? Have I ever forced myself on you?”

My gaze searches his chiseled freshly shaved jaw as flashes pass through my mind—Henry, naked; Henry, undressing me; Henry, thrusting into my waiting body—and I can’t keep my breathing from growing ragged. “No. Never.” He’s been forward, and dominating, and he has taunted me, but he has never forced himself on me. I’ve always wanted it. Always.

But did Kiera? She was married. Did she say no to him, even once? “Could you have been mistaken by what she wanted? Maybe you misunderstood her?”

His jaw turns hard. “No, Abbi. I didn’t misunderstand anything. Not when she propositioned me time and time again, not when she told me she—” He cuts himself off, closing his eyes. “Not when we both decided it was best she find another job because I couldn’t give her what she wanted.” The mask he keeps firmly in place over his features slips, showing the vulnerability, the anger, the disgust—and a touch of fear—beneath. “I never touched her in any way she didn’t want. You need to believe me when I say that.”

Why? Why do I need to believe him?

Besides the fact that I already do.

He searches my eyes and must see that answer because his face softens and his shoulders sink with a heavy exhale. Reaching up to gently graze my cheek with the back of his knuckles, he whispers, “I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted to. I just found out last night, and I’ve been trying to get a handle on it all before I unnecessarily worry or scare you.”

“And should I? Be scared?”

His hands settle onto my hips with a tight grip. He leans forward and burrows his face in the crook of my neck, his warm breath tickling my skin in that delicious way. “I am,” he finally admits in a whisper. “I never expected her to do this to me.”

Even as jealousy pricks my heart for whatever intimacy he’s shared with his past assistant, that he’s here with me now, allowing me to see such a vulnerable side to him in the face of personal ruin, makes me want to shelter him. Protect him.

I revel in the feel of his sinewy muscles beneath my fingers as I slide my hands up his arms to his shoulders, to the back of his neck, cupping it in a comforting gesture. “They’ll investigate and find out that she’s lying, and everything will be okay.”

I’m not sure I believe that, but he needs to hear it right now.

I’m also not sure that I won’t get burned in this fire, if I’m somehow dragged into this mess. But, so what if everyone back home finds out I slept with my boss? There are far worse things that I could be doing. Plus, it’s a summer job that’ll be long over by then. I’ll be fine. I need to stop being so selfish. I may not deserve the fallout of Henry’s previous indiscretion, but Henry definitely doesn’t deserve what she’s doing to him.

There’s still the matter of a husband, though. “You knew she was married.”

“She told me they were separating.”

“But they weren’t actually separated.”

He sighs and pulls away from me, wandering over to pick up his glass and take another sip. “I’ve never claimed to be a saint, Abbi. You know that. We were working together for months before I laid a hand on her. Twelve-hour days, weekends. We started getting close. She said she was miserable in her marriage, and she was attracted to me. So, I finally gave her what she wanted.” He polishes off the glass. “Just like I gave you what you wanted, when you wanted to get over your ex. Remember? The idiot who asked you to wait for him while he fucks his new girlfriend?” Even from a good five feet away, I can feel his eyes touch me like fingertips drawn over my body, dipping first to my mouth, then to the top button of my blouse, no doubt a shift away from popping open again. “Or have you already forgotten? Maybe I did my job too well.”

“He broke up with me. And he wasn’t my husband.”

Henry reaches up to loosen his tie and then closes the space between us smoothly, his size dominating me. I take an instinctive step back, only to find my back hitting the wall. “Do you really care about who I fucked in the past, and whether they were married, Abbi? The past is the past. We’ve all made mistakes.” With one more step, his hands find purchase on the wall on either side of me, effectively caging me in.

God, how has it turned so hot in here, suddenly? How does he do that? I’m supposed to be disgusted by him right now—and part of me is—but all I can do is inhale that intoxicating cologne and absorb the heat radiating from that firm, powerful body, and remind myself about how good those hands and that mouth have made me feel, time and time again.

“Yes. I do care.” It’s my feeble attempt to take the moral high road, and I don’t believe myself. Henry’s arched brow tells me he doesn’t either.

Probably because I’m quite literally panting right now.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think about any of this,” I finally admit.

With a flick of his fingers, the button on my blazer pops open. With another flick, the top button of my blouse pops next, followed by the one below it, exposing the simple cotton bra I have beneath. Not exactly sexy, but I didn’t come to Alaska with anything that could be classified as “sexy,” and besides, there aren’t a ton of sexy options for my D-cup breasts that don’t cost a small fortune.

“You need to get out there. All those journalists and….” My words fade with a gasp as he pushes my blazer off my shoulders. His hands quickly work the rest of my shirt until the buttons are unfastened, my shirt is sliding from my shoulders, and my bra straps hang loose at the crooks of my elbows, exposing my swollen breasts to the cool air and Henry’s searing gaze.

I know exactly where this is heading. As controlled as Henry can be, he also likes to finish what he starts.

Sure enough, he hikes my skirt up and hooks his hands around the backs of my thighs. With little effort he has me hoisted and pinned to the wall with his body, his impressive erection pressing between my legs, his mouth dipping down to take my nipple in.

A moan escapes my lips as my head falls back against the wall. I enjoy the feel of his wet tongue against my flesh and the threat of his teeth as he teases lightly. I free my arms of my bra straps so I can weave my fingers through his hair, fisting his mane tight as I shamelessly writhe against the pressure between my legs.

With one last hard—almost painful—suck, he lets my breast fall from his mouth and comes up to meet my lips. Trapping me against the wall with his pelvis, he reaches up to cup my face with both hands, and then plants the softest kiss on my lips. “I had no interest in starting up anything after that mess with Kiera. I was going to focus on Wolf Cove and taking over Wolf Hotels officially, and then find myself someone appropriate. But I met you and that all went to shit. This all happened so fast, and I wasn’t expecting it at all.”

I stare into his beautiful blue eyes, unshielded by their usual mask, and I revel in his whispered words, in the promise they hold. Is it really possible? Could this powerful, overwhelming man feel something for me? I mean, I know he’s attracted to me. That in itself is still a shock to me, but the proof is pressed against me right now, and he’s proved it many times over.

But… what is he saying? That this could this actually be the start of something more?

A warm flood of emotion washes over me.

I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of his hot breath skating over my neck again.

“You should know by now that I love making a woman scream, but not from pain. And I love making a woman shake, but not from fear.” His teeth graze my earlobe. “And you know what gets me hard? A woman who’s dripping wet for me. Who can’t keep her legs together when I’m around. Who can’t hide the fact that she’s turned on and begging to be touched.” He drops one hand down to force it between us. I gasp as the pad of his thumb slides over me, gently brushing my swollen clit through my nylons and my soaked panties.

I dive forward to kiss him but he pulls back a touch, his lips hovering over mine, skating teasingly over them with each whisper spoken.

“I know I have no right to ask this, but please, stick with me through this. Don’t make me lose you—this—because of her.”

“Of course.” I can’t imagine going anywhere that means not having this man’s lips on mine.

“Do you remember what I said I need when I’m stressed?”

I nod, blood rushing to my groin in anticipation.

He pulls back just far enough to show me his eyes, to let me see the flurry of intense passion, anger, and wild desperation in them. “I’ve never been more stressed in my life. And I need you, right now. Please.”

I want to make him feel better. I want to give him exactly what he wants.