Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Instead, I take my time straightening Adele’s collar and buttoning her coat for her. Her scent is at peak deliciousness, heated by her anger. It must be torture, taking orders from me.
It’s torture to stand in front of her and not be able to touch her soft skin. Her lashes are long and dark, fanning over her flushed cheeks. A brown curl has escaped her fancy updo. I brush it back, and she steps out of reach.
My wolf stirs, ready for the chase. Down boy.
“Thank you,” she bites out. Damn, she’s stunning when she’s mad.
“You’re welcome,” I say, as if I didn’t just force another display of my dominance over her. With a hand hovering at her back, I guide her through the restaurant. One of our bartender’s eyes snag on Adele’s passing form, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from leaping over the tables and bar to take him out. I settle for an alpha glare. The bartender catches my gaze and gulps, jerking his head down. Humans recognize a dominant predator, if only subconsciously.
I take a few quick strides to reach the door ahead of Adele and hold it open for her.
“What about you? You don’t have a coat,” she says as she steps past me.
“I like the cold.” Maybe the chill will give my dick the message.
I slow my steps and think of baseball but can only watch Adele dash down the steps in her brown boots, as if in a hurry to get away from me. Her irritation hovers around her in a steamy cloud of peppery scent. My dick is ready to punch out of my fatigues.
What have I done? I just hired Adele as a private chef. That means she’s going to be in my life, in my lodge, right in the heart of my territory. Her hands, preparing my food. Her scent getting fucking everywhere, driving me mad. And there’s nothing I can do because not only is she human—now she’s my employee.
Oh hell.
4
The Stranger
He wandered his vast fortress, admiring his endless treasures on display. A Vermeer painting. A priceless vase from the Ming Dynasty. An original copy of the Keats poem “Ode to a Grecian Urn”, nestled among a score of Grecian urns.
The castle was much grander than his former home, but he found himself missing his dwelling of old, where he’d stowed his treasure in haphazard piles and slept among the mountains of burnished gold. Like Ali Baba in the Cave of Wonders, only he was no thief among thieves. He was a king and honored as one.
He's always been solitary. Content in his ways, as long as he had treasures and an army at his beck and call. But now he found himself longing for something more. Not more gold or jewels. Something more priceless. Something more rare.
One thing he’d learned in his long, long life: wealth and power meant nothing without one to share it with. Without the one who would give his life meaning. A female. His female.
She was out there, somewhere. He had an array of sleuths searching for her. What did they call these modern age hunters? Computer Hackers? They all were searching for the female who woke the sleeping beast and made his heart beat again.
When he found her, the courtship rituals would begin. He would woo her in the manner of his people–with displays of wealth, power, and awesome majesty befitting one such as himself.
He would find her.
But until he did, he must find something to pass the time. A diversion.
A file waited on his desk, marked Rafe Lightfoot. The former Army Sergeant who’d been sniffing around his precious business dealings. In a world where he had no equal, Lightfoot was the closest thing to a challenge he could find. An enemy who had secrets to match his own.
It would be amusing to infiltrate Lightfoot’s world. Toy with his pack. Destroy his peace, for no other reason than Lightfoot was a worthy adversary.
It was not necessary, but it would do for a brief diversion. What do the kids say in this modern age? It would be …fun.
He paged through the file until he found a picture of Lightfoot with his pack. As he read the report, he idly scratched an X over the good Sargeant’s face. Congratulations, Alpha Wolf, you have my attention.
Let the hunt begin.
Rafe
Five hours into Adele’s work day at the lodge, and it’s worse than I imagined.
First came her scent, stealing into my office, snaking around my desk, filling my space. Sweet and subtle, with a bite. There are no windows in my small work space—my office could double as a safe room—and nowhere for the scent to escape to. I can only breathe it in, breath after decadent breath.
Next, the murmuring waves of her voice and laugh. The sound is low and a little bit smoky. And with it comes the final invasion: the image of Adele’s heart-shaped face, crowding out all other thoughts. It’s so easy to imagine her swaying into my office, pushing into my space. She’d be dressed with her usual casual elegance—in a skirt or a dress, something easy to push up and out of the way. Her soft, dark curls down around her face. Her silvery brown skin and long lashes around her incredible eyes. Her face is perfect—how does she look so perfect all the time? She works so hard.