Surrender To Me (The Wolf Hotel Book 4)

Henry’s already showered, dressed in a charcoal suit, and picking from a plate of fruit and crisp bacon delivered by the hotel when I emerge from the bedroom, a plush white robe wrapped around my naked, tired body.

“Margo’s in New York. She wants to meet up with you. I gave her your number,” he announces through a sip of coffee.

I stop dead. “Meet up? For what?” Paranoia creeps in instantly.

He smiles. “Relax. She tried those demos you left for her and she loved them. She wants to talk more about your plans.”

“Oh.” My pride swells. The supermodel Margo Lauren, who could probably afford to clean herself in gold-laced soap on a daily basis, loves my simple soaps, made in the back room of my parents’ hundred-year-old barn? “So, what? Are we all going to do dinner or something?” Henry and me, Margo, and her perverted photographer boyfriend, who makes a living taking close-ups of women mid-orgasm and then hanging them in prestigious art galleries around the world.

“Sounds like she’s thinking just the two of you, but I’ll let you sort that out. I’ll be tied up all day with work, and the lawyers in the afternoon, over my dad’s will.”

“Right. That’s happening today.” They don’t waste any time. I pause. “So, how do you think that’s going to go?”

He shrugs. “I’ve already got the hotel. Scott will get Wolf Gold and they’ll liquidate and split the rest, likely. At this point I just want this done and over with, so we can all move on.”

Move on with his billions of dollars.

I give my head a shake. How is this even real? How did I, a farm girl from Pennsylvania, end up with a man like this?

“I’ve gotta run.” He leans in to plant a kiss on my lips, leaving the taste of coffee behind.

“Wait. When are you leaving for Barcelona?”

“I don’t know yet. Likely in the next few days.” His blue eyes search my face. “Why?”

Because I don’t want you to go?

Because I want to go with you?

“I’m just figuring out when I’m heading back to Greenbank,” I say instead. I’ve been gone for almost two weeks—a week longer than expected—and while everyone has been understanding, I do have responsibilities that I can’t shirk forever.

“I’ll sit down with Miles and figure out my schedule today.”

“Okay. And I’ll let you know what Margo wants to do after I talk to her.”

He leans in to kiss me again, this time lingering long enough to occupy his hands with my robe tie, unraveling it. “Just don’t let her seduce you again.”

My eyes widen at the thought, earning his chuckle. He steps back and holds open my robe. The slow heated gaze he treats me to as his eyes roll over my breasts and farther down makes me think I might be able to keep him for another hour.

With a groan and one last, chaste kiss, he grabs his keys and phone and heads for the door, hollering over his shoulder, “Call you later.”

I smile as he disappears, thinking back to those early days of Henry Wolf in my life, and to how far we’ve come.

~ ~ ~

“Abigail,” Margo purrs, my full name that I hate sounding like chords of classical music on her French tongue. She stands from her seat at the upscale Manhattan café and reaches out to clasp my slightly trembling hands. I’m nervous to see her, I realize.

I know what comes next, and yet having her lean in to air kiss both my cheeks has my blood racing in a strange way, given our sordid history.

But I also catch a hint of my mint-and-lavender soap on her skin, which makes me beam.

“What are you doing in New York so soon?” We only just saw her last week.

She tucks her shiny raven hair back behind an ear as she settles into her seat once again. “I have a photo shoot for an ad,” she says, waving it off as it’s no big deal. Meanwhile, I passed a billboard of her in Times Square only ten minutes ago. “I took the liberty of ordering a Beaujolais for us. It’s light. Good for earlier in the day.” As if her words made him appear, the waiter—a rather handsome guy in his early twenties, I’m guessing—is suddenly by our side, holding the bottle of wine out for her approval.

“Perfect.” I sigh. It’s barely past noon and I haven’t proven myself to be the best at handling my liquor.

This should be interesting.

~ ~ ~

“You must make me more of this soap!” she demands, ignoring Daniel as he empties the bottle into our glasses and his gaze drifts over her lengthy legs, bared by the deep part in her navy wrap dress. She’s dripping with sexuality, even when she’s not trying. “I want to send samples to my friend Jaden at Nordstrom. She’s the buyer for the soaps category. And to Devon. She’s the Beauty Care VP at Macy’s. Oh! And….” She rambles on, naming all these influential people at these huge stores, leaving my mind swirling.

“So?” She leans in to study me intently through her piercing green eyes. “When can you bring me something?”

Suddenly I’m hit with a flash of those same eyes peering up at me another time, in the grotto of her chateau, when her face was between my legs.

My cheeks flush. It’s the first time I’ve felt even a hint of awkwardness since seeing her. Our conversation has remained friendly and genuine, and completely casual. It’s as if what happened between her and Henry and me was natural. For her, it probably was. In any case, I feel oddly closer to her, as if I’ve known her for years.

“I’d have to go back to Pennsylvania to make some more.” And I’ll have to call my account manager at Nailed It Branding, the company Henry hired behind my back to turn my hokey hobby into a real product line, to let her know the packaging is perfect and I need more. “A few weeks?”

“Non! Sooner, you must, Abigail.” She reaches over to grasp my hand in hers, her long fingers sliding between mine for a long moment before releasing me. “I am here for a week before I go back to France. I must hand-deliver those packages. It will be more personal and urgent that way, oui?”

Uh… oui? “Well… I’m going home as soon as Henry leaves for Barcelona.” Which could be any day, I accept with a heavy heart. “I can let you know by tomorrow?”

“Bon!” She claps her hands together. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“I don’t know.” I check my phone to see that it’s almost three. No texts from Henry yet, but that’s not unusual when he gets wrapped up in work. Plus, he has that meeting with the estate lawyer sometime this afternoon.

“Then let us go. Daniel?” She guzzles back her wine and holds her credit card in the air. Daniel arrives almost instantly to collect it.

“Where were you thinking?”

“My photo shoot.” She stands gracefully and collects her purse. “I was supposed to be there an hour ago.” She sees the panic on my face and laughs, then shrugs. “You Americans love your schedules. The French? It’s more a guideline.”

I doubt whoever is paying for the shoot would feel as laissez-faire about it, but I guess when you’re Margo Lauren, you can get away with a lot.

I grab my purse and trail her out, enjoying the midday wine buzz coursing through my limbs.

~ ~ ~

Cat’s out of the bag about you and Wolf. Just a heads-up.

I smile at the text on my phone, even as a wave of nervousness crashes into me. I haven’t heard from Ronan in weeks.

What are people saying? Have they figured it out?

Do they know that Henry broke his own rules? That we were together while I was his assistant?

No. Doesn’t sound like it. Expect to hear from Autumn and Katie soon.

I let out a sigh of relief. Not that it matters anymore, but I hate lying to everyone and I’ll have to if they ask.

They’re jealous AF is all. No big deal.

Everything to Ronan and Connor is “no big deal.”

Three dots pop up with another incoming text.

I made Connor stay quiet. I’ll make sure he stays that way.

About us. About the things we’ve done together. I can just imagine adding those rumors to the mix.

Thank you. How are you?

Same old.

He caps that text off with a winky face and I roll my eyes. “Same old” for Ronan means something entirely different than it does for most people.

And you? What are you up to?

I chuckle.

I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you

Maybe you can hitch a ride the next time he comes to Alaska. We miss you around here.

I miss you guys, too.

I smile at the thought of going back to Alaska.

“Have you ever been to one of these before?” Margo’s voice pulls me away from my text conversation with Ronan.

I look up. “Uh… no,” I stammer, averting my gaze as the red silk dress drops to the floor, leaving Margo standing naked before me. I’ve seen this woman naked way too many times. She of course is not bothered at all by it, waiting for her stylists to bring her another dress. “Not like this, anyway.” Henry had one done while we were in Alaska, but it was just a guy with a camera. Nothing like this, with lights and umbrellas and a team of professionals.

It’s easy to see why Margo is in such high demand. She strolled in front of that white backdrop like she owned the place and began posing with the expertise of a woman who was born to do this.

“Erique!” she calls out as she steps into another dress, this one sheer white.

The director, whose name is actually Eric—but Margo turns everyone’s names into French version—trots over, getting an eyeful of her perky breasts before she’s fully covered. “I want the photographer to take a few pictures of Abigail.”

“What?” I blurt, at the same time as Eric opens his mouth, no doubt to tell her that she can’t just demand those kinds of things.

She glides over to him to smooth her palms over his t-shirt clad chest. He’s in his midthirties, balding, and, I would think, has no hope of ever appealing to Margo, who tends to sleep with highly attractive people. “She is an entrepreneur with a promising product line and she is Henry Wolf’s woman. You are going to be seeing and hearing a lot about her in coming months. You want to be taking these photos.”

His eyebrows rise as he takes a second look at me. After a moment, he says, “I could probably get another half hour out of the studio before they force us out.”

She smiles triumphantly at him. “Bonnie? Morgan?”

Her two assistants—the twentysomething-year-old girls who came to Henry’s penthouse to dress me, that first day I met Margo—come to either side of me, awaiting orders.

Margo’s assessing gaze drifts over my frame, currently clad in a figure-hugging navy-and-white maxi dress. A sly smile curves her red-painted lips. “Let’s go with sexy but sweet.”

I tuck my phone into my purse, all thoughts of Ronan and Wolf Cove forgotten.

~ ~ ~

“Left. More… more… hold! Now reach up with your right hand and toy with the end of your hair. Perfect.” Click after click sounds as the photographer snaps a multitude of pictures and I keep my eyes locked on a vacant corner in the distance, trying not to feel the fool.

And appreciating Hachiro much more for taking that picture of me when I wasn’t paying attention. Candid photos are definitely my thing.

This?

I hate this.

Yet here I am, in a short cobalt blue silk dress that Margo insists complements my hair color, posing in front of a highly skilled team who normally works with supermodels.

“She needs more lipstick,” someone calls out. Morgan immediately runs over to dab my lips with the rose color they painted on.

“I look like I’m about to spill out of this thing,” I mutter, peering down. The strapless dress hugs my torso like a corset and poufs out at the waist in the shape of a bell.

“That’s the whole point,” she whispers with a wink. She and Bonnie spent a good fifteen minutes with their hands on my breasts today, taping and adjusting them just right. I’m well past the point of modesty with them.

“Okay, turn to face us,” Eric calls out. “Give us something more sexy… more provocative….”

I stare blankly, first at him, then at Margo.

“A moment.” Margo saunters toward me, her movements naturally sleek and enticing. In my five-inch heels and her in bare feet, I meet her at eye level for once.

“I don’t know how the hell to do provocative!” I push through gritted teeth, trying to keep my smile, now oozing with nervousness.

“Come now, Abigail. You can do this without even trying,” she murmurs, grasping my hair to bring some of it forward, her fingers sliding down the length of the strands, skimming my collarbone, and farther down, to the tops of my breasts. “Just think of Henry. Think of him as he walks into a room, of how your heart begins to flutter at the sight of him, how your blood begins to race. How you can’t wait for his hands to roam your body. His hands… and his mouth.” She reaches down to place her hands on my inner thighs. “Stand like this,” she murmurs, pushing my legs apart. I adjust my stance. She leans in to whisper in my ear, her fingers grazing higher up my thigh playfully. “And if it’s too hard to imagine without him here, then imagine my mouth.” She pulls back to look at me knowingly, somehow drawing me back to that very private moment the three of us shared.

My body flushes with heat. What is it about her that’s so enchanting?

Margo steps away to take her place behind the camera, a satisfied smile curling his lips. “She is ready.”

Eric lets out a deep exhale, muttering something that sounds like, “So am I.”

“Okay?” the photographer asks.

I let out a shaky breath and close my eyes. And think of Henry. “Yup.”