Tempt Me (The Wolf Hotel Book 1)

The main doorbell rings.

I pause mid e-mail. Is Henry expecting someone? I know he doesn’t want anyone in here.

A bellhop stands outside with a large rectangular box in his hand. “Delivery for Abbi Mitchell.”

“Me?” I frown, taking it from him. He trots off down the path, leaving me staring at the box with the Patagonia logo on top. It’s so light, it feels empty. I open it at the dining table to find something wrapped in tissue and a handwritten note sitting on top. My heart flutters as I recognize Henry’s writing from earlier today.

Deepest apologies for allowing a grizzly bear to eat your clothing.

And your turkey jerky.

P.S. They didn’t have pink, but I thought this would look nice on you.

I can’t keep the stupid grin from my face as I unwrap and pull the lightweight silver down vest out and hold it up in the sunlight. It’s soft and luxurious and the feel of it beneath my fingers tells me it’s probably three times more expensive than my Target special. Beneath it is a North Gate College black zip-up sweatshirt to replace the one dragged through the mud by the bear.

Warmth spreads through my chest. The ever-busy billionaire, who has a hotel opening today, took the time to order this and have it brought here. I can’t even say his assistant did it for him, because he didn’t have one until today. How did he find the time to take care of this? And so fast!

Something weighs the right-hand pocket down. When I reach and pull out a package of turkey jerky, I start to laugh, and it helps break the dark cloud that’s been hovering over me all morning.

~ ~ ~ ~

A flutter of nerves erupts when Henry strolls through the door at five, and my pulse instantly kicks into high gear.

The moment his eyes touch me, I begin apologizing. “I’m sorry. I’ve spent all day with your e-mail and calendar. I haven’t done much around here.”

His fingers fumble with his tie as he heads for his bedroom. “What does this week’s schedule look like for me?” The friendly tone from this morning is gone. He’s all business now.

I grab my iPad and quickly punch in the code to open up his calendar, something that took me hours to sort out. “I’m waiting for confirmations from a few people, but you will be booked solid from 5:00 to 8:00 a.m. every day.” He has, on average, seven meetings each morning, some of them for only fifteen minutes. I wouldn’t want to start my days like that, but I guess that’s why he’s so successful.

“Let me see the schedule?”

I step past the door as he’s reaching over the back of his head to pull off his t-shirt.

My breath catches at the sight of his smooth upper body, so perfectly honed with muscle. If this were a magazine picture, I’d assume it had been embellished, but he’s right here, in the flesh, his biceps and triceps bulging, his abdominal muscles a washboard of ripples, the grooves around his neck and collarbone begging for my fingers to touch them.

Henry makes Jed look like a scrawny boy by comparison.

And then there’s that trail of dark hair that runs downward, disappearing beneath his belt…

“Abbi?”

My eyes snap up to his face with the sound of my name. “Yes?” My voice is a croaky whisper.

He tosses his t-shirt into the hamper—which reminds me that I need to do his laundry—and then extends a large, manicured hand my way. “The schedule? Can I see it?”

Giving my head a shake, I rush forward, stumbling over the white fur rug but regaining my footing. “I color-coordinated the meetings based on area: green is the EU, blue is North America, yellow is Asia, pink is England.”

“Pink? Why pink for England?”

I shrug, blushing. “I like pink, and I’ve always wanted to go to England.”

A small frown zags over his brow. “Why England?”

“To see the royal family,” I admit, sheepishly. Ever since I was little, I’ve been fascinated by the idea of a real-life king and queen in a palace.

“Of course,” Henry mutters, and I instantly feel stupid.

Of course the silly little girl would want to go to England to see the queen, who’s not even our queen.

He studies the screen quietly, each moment passing twisting my stomach into tighter knots. I worked hard today. “This is…”

I hold my breath.

“Good. Very good. I had a feeling you’d hit the ground running.”

My chest warms with pride. I didn’t screw that up, at least. “I went through all of your e-mails, too, marking the time-sensitive ones and the progress reports. There were a few that I don’t know what to do with. I’ve dumped those into a folder marked ‘Needs Henry’s attention’.”

He hands the iPad back to me, our fingers grazing in the process. “You’ve picked up even faster than I expected.”

Honestly, I had no idea what I was doing, but I just poured myself a coffee, sat down, and began clicking. I’m glad it worked out. “I’ve ordered coffee delivery for 4:50 a.m. sharp and your poached eggs and fruit for six thirty.” Because, after tracking down the room service supervisor, I was able to confirm that that’s what he’s ordered the last few mornings, and I made an executive decision that that is what he’d have tomorrow. “If you want something else, please let me know. Cedric is on standby for 8:00 p.m. tonight and Phil will have the plane ready by 8:30 a.m. sharp.” Thank you, Autumn, for confirming that Cedric is the head sommelier and Phil is the pilot for the bear touring flights.

“Great. I need you to bump the dinner reservations up to six. The guys want an earlier dinner, given the time difference.”

Shit. “Lux might be full.” It is full, according to Rich, the reservation guy I spoke to. With the online dinner reservation service, today’s first guests have been booking for the past two weeks and the early spots filled up first.

“You’ll figure it out,” he says simply.

I sigh. I don’t know how.

A playful smirk touches his lips as his gaze takes in the freshly made bed. That, at least, I managed to get done. “Was it as bad as you expected?”

I smile shyly. “No.” Thanks to yesterday’s room prep marathon, I’m now an expert at making beds whether I want to be or not. Paige did spot checks in each of our rooms, to ensure we weren’t being lazy. She said my corners were on point.

And, oddly enough, I found I didn’t mind hiking up my curve-hugging skirt and crawling over Henry’s mattress to fight with the fitted sheet that wouldn’t stay in place, because I knew he’d be the one sliding into it tonight.

Maybe naked.

Hopefully alone.

How often does Henry have sex? He said he doesn’t have a girlfriend. There obviously isn’t one here. A summer without sex never seemed impossible to me because I have no idea what I’m missing. He said he’s staying up here for the summer. Will he not have sex all summer? Or will he find someone? Belinda, I guess.

Or maybe he’ll have friends fly in and “visit.”

I’m thinking far too much about my boss having sex while I’m in his bedroom and he’s shirtless. And uninterested in me.

I promised myself that I wouldn’t allow this anymore.

I clear my throat once again, afraid of what my voice may sound like. “Thank you for the vest and sweater. They were a nice surprise.”

He slides his watch off and tosses it on the dresser. “It’s the least I could do, and you need them up here.” His hand begins unfastening his belt.

My eyes widen. I guess that’s my cue to leave. “I’ll go make that reservations call now.” I spin on my heels and march for the door.

“Abbi.”

I stop, but don’t turn around. “Yes?” Why must my voice sound so reedy?

“I need to jump into the shower so I’ll give you my suit. I spilled some Coke on it earlier. Please take it to the cleaners and then you can call it a day.”

I listen to the jangle of his belt and slide of material, and know that he has taken his pants off. I am 99 percent sure this is considered inappropriate behavior for a boss with his personal assistant, but I’m 100 percent sure that I don’t mind.

I keep my eyes away though, letting my gaze wander over to the en suite bathroom. It’s a fishbowl, with a hall down the center dividing the area in two: the toilet on the right, behind a glass-and-tile wall, and a massive walk-in glass stall to the left that houses the jacuzzi tub and a shower area that could easily fit five people. A pocket door separates the bathroom from the rest of the room.

I hazard a sideways glance to see him strolling toward me in a pair of black boxer briefs, suit in hand, powerful legs tensing with each step. I hold my shaky arm out and he drapes the suit over it gently. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, my voice suddenly husky, and then I duck out. I hang the suit over a chair and head for the desk phone to change dinner plans, acutely aware that Henry has left the door ajar as I punch the reservations desk button.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wolf. How may I help you?” Rich says in his deep, melodic voice. He could be a phone sex operator. I can’t wait to meet him in person.

“It’s Abbi again. We need to move Hen—” I catch myself, “Mr. Wolf’s dinner reservations.”

He groans. “This is the longest day of my life already, and dinner hour hasn’t started.”

I cringe. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Please. You’ve been hiding out in your little palace over there, reading Cosmo.”

I snort in response. “I heard the commotion.” Wolf Cove has two ferries to transport guests; the small one that John brought me in on, and then a much larger, fancier one that reminds me of a small cruise ship, with an indoor section, set with cafe tables and chairs, and a waiter to serve drinks. It made several trips back and forth, arriving loaded with guests each time. A few planes also landed in the bay and propelled to the docks to deliver wealthy, elite guests. Helicopters made use of the pad as well.

Apparently, the hotel is nearly at capacity for its opening week, with off-season special rates enticing faithful Wolf chain patrons. The big grand opening ceremony with media is next week. Enough time, hopefully, to iron out any kinks.

“I don’t know how to make this work. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Of course I do. That’s why I’m doing this job.” I hear him clicking away at keys. “Not a lot of time to work with, though. Okay, here we go. Rooms 43 and 44, table of four at 6:00 p.m.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to swap their reservations for 8:00 p.m. and go up to their rooms to kiss their asses with a bottle of reserve wine and a charcuterie board to tide them over another two hours. Oh, how I love kissing ass.” The sarcasm drips from his tone.

“Thanks, Rich.”

“Anything for Mr. Wolf.”

I hang up with a sigh of relief. There. That problem is fixed. Now I can take his suit to the cleaners and go home. To sleep, after a mentally and physically long but exciting day.

I move for the suit still draped over the chair. As I get closer, I catch the sound of the shower in Henry’s room running.

“He’s your boss, he’s your boss, he’s your boss…” I chant as I fold his clothing over my arm, inhaling the smell of his cologne that clings to the material. He smells divine. What I’d do to burrow my nose in his neck again.

Turning to leave, my eyes can’t help but veer to the narrow space where the bedroom door doesn’t quite meet the wall. It’s a perfect sightline to the bathroom. I expect the pocket door to be pulled closed.

It’s not.

And the shower room is so large that the steam doesn’t do a good enough job of fogging up the glass.

Henry’s back is to me, his hands working shampoo through his hair, the soap running down in rivulets over hard round ass cheeks and down sinewy thighs. I don’t know when he works out but he must—religiously—to have a sculpted body like that.

My mouth drops open.

I can’t be watching this. He shouldn’t have left both doors open, but maybe he did that because he trusts me not to spy through the five-inch opening. I reach for the door handle to give him his privacy, but before I can will myself to pull it shut, I let my greedy eyes find Henry again.

An “Oh my God,” escapes my lips as I watch him turn to face me, the water streaming over his bowed head. He adjusts his stance, spreading his legs farther apart. I can see all of him now, including the cock that juts out in front of him, the swollen end of it stretching toward his navel, almost reaching it.

I’m frozen, half in panic, half in awe as I watch him reach down and fist the base of it and then begin sliding up and down it, slowly, from root all the way to the purplish, round tip.

I gasp. I’m watching my boss jerk off.

And I can’t stop.

First Katie and Rachel, now Henry? I’ve turned into a complete pervert.

And yet I can’t pull my eyes away. This is different from watching Katie and Rachel. Their bodies didn’t turn me on, as attractive as each of them are. It was what they were doing, and the pleasure they were deriving from it, that had my blood flowing.

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.

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.