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“I’m sorry, but we’re almost to town, and it’s such a long drive out there. Why don’t you spend the night—”
“Spend the night?” I jump to my feet. “This is a job. You work certain hours and then you go home.”
“If you still hate it in a few days, we’ll come out then. Okay?”
A few days? Is she cracked in the head? “No. That’s not okay. You need—”
“You’ll be fine. Just do as they say and we’ll, I mean, you will get paid handsomely.”
“Mom—”
“Take care.”
Click.
I can’t believe this. I toss the phone to the side. Fear gets shoved aside as anger rises up. Of course my self-absorbed parents aren’t going to turn their car around and drive here to pick me up. That’s expected from them. The breakfast, the fancy car, the ride out here—that’s the unusual bit.
Fine. If they aren’t going to help me, then I’ll help myself. I take in my surroundings. Besides the dog paintings—no, I think they’re actually wolves—and the big leather sofa, there’s a massive desk at one end. I run to it and start pulling on the drawers.
None of them open. I’m about to turn away when my eyes catch sight of long, deep gouges on the polished wood of the desk. They look strange, like someone used a sharp stick or rod and ran them down the grain. Curious, I run a tentative finger down one of the gouges and yelp when a splinter catches the tip. Definitely not something you’d expect to find on such an expensive desk.
The fear is back. It’s climbing up my throat, raising the hairs on my neck. I rub my hands briskly along my arms and weigh my options. I can’t get the door open. There appear to be no other exits. However…I pivot away from the paneled walls to stare out the bank of windows. The entire back of this office is one plate glass window after the other.
I cross the room and realize that the windows are actually doors. Outside, there’s a small terrace that appears to run the entire length of the building. I try the latches, but they’re like the door handle—immovable.
An idea occurs to me. I race back to the desk and grab the empty trashcan. I heave it toward the window. I raise my arms to prevent shards of glass striking my face. Only nothing happens. I look up and see the trashcan lying on my feet, and the window? That’s in perfect shape.
“It’s bulletproof,” says a deep voice behind me.
I jump about three feet in the air and scream so loud that the glass, if it wasn’t bulletproof, should’ve shattered. “Where the hell did you come from?” I screech, a hand over my chest to make sure my heart doesn’t leap out of my body and flop onto the floor. The man standing in front of me is massive. Tall as a tree with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. A waist he emphasizes when he plants his hands on his hips.
“The bathroom.”
“There’s a bathroom here?” I try to peer around him, but his frame is so big that I have to lean over to see anything. A light spills out from a break in the paneling. The entrance to the bathroom is cleverly disguised as another panel inside a frame made out of molding.
“It’s over there.” The man jerks his chin toward the wall behind him. It’s a fine chin. Strong, square, and a perfect match for the chiseled cheekbones. And currently stubbled in the most attractive way.
I feel an inappropriate stirring in my belly. Pretty Boy outside is better looking, but this man has it. That indefinable essence that makes you want to snap your heels together and salute. Or, in some cases, fall on your back and spread your legs.
I’m not doing either. I want to get out of here, stirrings be damned.
“Yes. Why are you here?” he asks. His tone is suspicious, as if I crawled in here uninvited and was rooting around in his desk looking for company secrets.
My jaw drops. “Are you mad that I’m in your office? I was dragged in here and left with someone’s phone! I’m happy to leave.” I march over to the door and tug. It goes nowhere. I glare pointedly at the doorknob. “Just open the door and I’m gone.”
His eyes narrow. Then he does something strange. He sniffs. He visibly and audibly inhales. A change falls over him, like a curtain falling or shutters being drawn.
“Ellen!” he roars.
Two seconds later the door I can’t move pops open and the secretary appears. Ellen is her name, I guess.
“Yes, Mr. Garrett?”
“What’s she doing here?” He points an outraged finger in my direction.
“Dude, if anyone has the right to be mad, it’s me!” I yell back. And then it hits me. The door’s open. I make a mad dash for it, but before I can reach my freedom, Ellen has moved completely inside and has placed herself in front of the door.
I slide to the right, but she blocks me. I try going left, but she’s there again. “Ellen, your boss doesn’t want me here.”
She looks past me. “Mr. Garrett, this is Bellamy Beaumont. Cairns found her last night and approached her guardians. We arranged for them to be compensated and here she is. It’s to address your…situation.”
“I’m right here.” I wave my hand. “I can not only hear everything you say, but I’m recording it, too.” That last bit’s a lie, but they don’t know that.
“She…I told you not to do this anymore.” He sounds agitated.
“You’ve done this before?” Oh. My. God. Am I in the presence of some kind of serial killer? Is that why there are collars and cuffs? To keep his victims imprisoned? I feel close to hyperventilating. At this point I’ll weep for joy if this is just a porn film set.
“It’s not going to work,” he continues, as if I didn’t say anything. As if he didn’t just admit to kidnapping and holding other women hostage.
“It will. Cairns is confident—”
“Cairns would stuff a blow-up doll in here if he thought it would fool me.” The man stalks over and grabs my arm, spinning me around. I lean away, but he sticks his nose in my neck and sniffs again. “Christ, where did Cairns get this scent you’re wearing?”
“I’m not wearing perfume,” I spit out. I’m secretly impressed that my voice only trembles just a bit. “I don’t like the stuff.”
I jerk away, and to my surprise, he lets me go. I stumble back, nearly falling
, but the man catches me and hauls me upright.
“Stop lying,” he growls.
The rumble resonates in my blood, making my knees weak and my head light. I don’t like this. I don’t like any of this.
“Let me go.” I plead. “I’ll take me and my smelly self away. Just let me go.”
His hand, the one he used to keep me from falling, tightens around my biceps. “I don’t think I can.”
Chapter Three
Him
There’s some trickery afoot. This human smells too good. As if she were made for me. Cairns has gone too far this time. It’s one thing to invite outside pack women to throw themselves at me but an entirely different issue when it’s a human.
She feels fragile and breakable under my grip. One flick of my wrist and her head would snap off. The girl was too weak to even open the door. I force my fingers to release her. The wolf howls in protest.
She stumbles back, a hand at her delicate throat. Involuntarily, my fingers lift to my nose. Her scent is all over my hand.
I strain against the urge to grab her back in my arms and run my tongue up the column of her neck to get a taste of her. She smells like wild honey and crushed berries—juicy and succulent. My mouth waters just imagining the taste. I don’t even know if this is the wolf’s response or mine.
“I’d like to leave, if you don’t mind,” she says.
The wolf snarls, but I’m in control now. Cairns shoved a needle full of diluted tranquilizer into my foot. It dulled the beast enough to allow five of my pack to slip a silver collar around my neck and shove me into the lead and silver cage in the floor of my bathroom.
Once I’d calmed down and shifted back, it was easy enough to remove all the restraints. They weren’t designed to imprison a person—only a beast until the man could take over again.
“Sit.” I point to the sofa.
“I think I’ll stand.”
I move as far away from her as possible. If I could stand in the bathroom and still address her, I would. I need distance.
