His She-wolf

by Amy Redwood

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll tell you if you tell me why you were running? No? Thought so.”

  He leaned back deeper into the mattress, enjoying the show while it lasted. Even watching her get dressed was a turn-on. When she was done, she looked like a prim and proper bank clerk, wearing a sensible skirt and blouse combo, and he had to focus hard on her mouth to see the woman who’d had his cock between her lovely lips.

  She threw stuff into a shoulder bag and then turned to face him.

  “I guess I can make it back sooner than two hours.”

  Her eyes had a haunted glaze he didn’t like—as if something tormented her—and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her tight.

  “Candace, whatever happens, I want to see you again, wanted to see you again for the last three weeks.” He held her gaze, willing her to trust him. “But there are some things I have to deal with first and in order to protect you—”

  “I don’t need to be protected.” She shouldered her bag and the door swung shut.

  He waited another five minutes to be on the safe side then flexed his muscles and jerked on the ropes. The wooden headboard gave way as did the footboard. Wood splinters littered the bed and floor as he untied himself. His skin was chafed raw, but nothing a few hours wouldn’t heal. He had at least an hour until she came back, enough time to take a quick shower and find out more about sweet Candy.

  After he climbed out of the shower, taking a sniff at her shampoo, he dressed and made a turn around the small bedroom, opening her dresser, looking in her wardrobe. He stopped in front of her desk, switched on the light and picked up the facedown picture frame. A fresh-faced blue-eyed guy grinned at him, and next to him, Candy. So, wildcat had a boyfriend?

  A rush of anger flooded him and he let the frame drop to the desk. What did he care if she was a cheat. The printer was still flashing red and he tugged at the stuck paper, heard it tear. It was an invitation addressed to her, but the name that stood out made his blood freeze.

  With two large steps, he was at his clothes, picked up his jacket.

  The notebook was gone.

  He kicked the wooden bedpost and sharp pain shot through his bare foot. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  She had taken the book and, if he wasn’t mistaken, she was returning it to its owner right this minute. He should have killed that bastard when he’d had the chance. He grabbed the gun and holstered it.

  She had screwed him in every way possible.

  Why, he didn’t know, but, hell, he’d find out.

  Chapter Five

  I stepped onto the bus, clutching my bag. The bus driver gave me a toothy grin as if he knew me; he probably did. In an effort to save, I’d sold my car three months ago and regularly used public transport. The money from the sale had covered my last two months’ rent.

  After giving the bus driver the exact fare, I sank into my seat. While I could run faster than the bus drove, I couldn’t turn up to the interview all flushed and windblown. On top of it, a sprinkle of rain had set in, threatening to turn my hair frizzy.

  When I’d checked the time after I got up from the bed, my entire body in heavenly lightness, I had been shocked to see that I’d spent more time in bed with Seth than I’d planned. The image of him lying naked on my bed had burned itself into my mind.

  Across the bus aisle, a gangly teenage boy slumped in his seat, eating a burger. I heard how his teeth sank into the juicy meat, saw his jugular moving as he swallowed, heard his heartbeat. I’d given up eating meat years ago in the hope it would cure my bestial instincts. I smelled the fat and juice, the lingering sweat and body odor of the people who had taken the bus today. Stomach revolting, I fought the instinct to knock the burger from his hands.

  I lifted my hand, observed my steady fingers and listened to my slow heartbeat. The calmness was deceitful; it wouldn’t last.

  But for now, my muscles were relaxed, and I brushed my fingertips over my forehead, finding it smooth. As I’d hoped, my orgasm had calmed me enough to get through a meeting without shaking fingers and the urge to bite through someone’s throat.

  I opened my bag and took out the book I’d found in Seth’s jacket. After I’d gone through his stuff, I’d packed it into my bag. I just wanted to give it another look. He would never know. I’d return it when I came back to him. Flipping the book open, I found again the sharp handwriting and tried to decipher the apparently Spanish words, interrupted by small but beautiful doodles of flowers. Seth had a knack at drawing, but the sketches had such a girlish slant to it that it made me uncomfortable. I stored the book away in my bag, mindful not to bend any pages.

  Stop after stop, I drew closer. The teen, pulling out another burger from a brown paper bag, exited the bus with me at the same stop. When he accidentally brushed up against me, I emitted a low growl and snatched the half-eaten burger from his hands.

  “Hey,” he said, staring at me out of wide eyes, “what—”

  “Get lost,” I said quietly, threw the two limp buns and pickle away and stuffed the beef patty into my mouth. I stalked across the street, ignoring that traffic was in full flow. A sane voice in my head shouted for attention, pointed out the screeching tires and angry car horns, but I simply didn’t care. I chewed the meat, swallowed and licked my lips.

  The five-star hotel rose in front of me like a shining beacon against the dark sky. With any luck, my homemade chocolate and fudge would soon rest beautifully wrapped on top of Egyptian cotton sheet pillows. With any luck, I’d snatch the contract to be one of the suppliers to deliver goods to Mr. Fuentes’ hotels all over the world. If not, well, I’d rather not think about it.

  I licked my fingers and searched my bag for tissues to wipe my fingers and mouth clean. Smelling like fast food wasn’t an option, so I crammed a stick of spearmint gum between my teeth and chewed.

  Perfumed air enveloped me as I walked into the huge lobby, my heels sinking deeply into an oriental carpet. Before I could ask for directions, I spotted the event signage. The entrepreneur meeting was set to start at seven sharp inside conference rooms next to the hotel bar, where I, as the invitation had spelled out, could enjoy a complimentary glass of champagne. More than half an hour late, I quickly followed the signage leading away from the main entrance, heels now efficiently clicking over hardwood floors.

  According to the schedule, I’d missed the introduction. But the important part was my eight o’clock appointment. The membership for Entrepreneur Today was hefty, but tonight would make it all worth it. I’d spent three weeks preparing my business model. When I’d been selected as one of the few to speak with Mr. Fuentes, after paying a fortune for the opportunity, I spent an entire week basking in hope and plans. If only I could snatch the contract, if only… My bank would extend my credit and I could stay and invest more in my endeavor to slowly take over the world with my chocolates. First, one hotel at a time, and then, maybe, selected department stores…and then the rest of the world.

  “Candace Walker,” I said, stopping in front of the reception, crossing my fingers no one would ask me for the actual printed-out invitation.

  “Glad you could make it, Ms. Walker,” replied the woman behind the desk, wearing oversized earrings that seemed out of place next to her sensible pantsuit, and handed me a nametag. “You’re next on my list for the chat with Mr. Fuentes. But I guess you have enough time to have a drink or a bite to eat if you like.”

  “Is that him?” I asked, indicating the man in the meeting room behind glass walls.

  “Yes,” the woman said. “He’s really great to talk to, so no need to be nervous,” she said with a glance at my shaking hands.

  “I’m not nervous.” I clasped my hands together, the room making a spin in front of my eyes. Damn. I had about an hour before I’d start growling and howling at the hotel guests.

  I sauntered through the room, ignoring the steaming food at the buffet, and kept my gaze locked on the meeting room. Inside, a small-sh
ouldered man dressed in an immaculate pinstriped suit held court, and even though he wasn’t a large man, his narrow face and his gray eyes behind rimmed glasses showed sharp intelligence and a certain strength. He was shaking the hand of another entrepreneur who had his hopes in his hands, and then, finally, it was my time.

  When I walked into the room, he rose to shake my hand.

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Ms. Walker,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Candace, please,” I replied, shaking his hand.

  “Angelo,” he said, and I took a seat in front of his desk and produced my wrapped samples. “I’m aware you’ve read my business plan, but I thought you might want to taste what I am all about.”

  Carefully, I placed the handmade box filled with chocolate and fudge on his desk.

  “Thank you,” he said, his gaze on the samples and, strangely, an expression of disgust rippled over his face, his lips pursed. “I do not have a sweet tooth, but, luckily for you, my guests have.”

  I nodded, straightened my slumped shoulders and tried not to feel hurt by his offhand manner.

  “I understand,” he said, “that your business is in dire straits?”

  I was lost for words. I’d been careful to make my business sound frugal and successful, with no word had I mentioned my current financial situation. “How—”

  “My time is valuable,” he said, holding up a hand, “so I make it a habit to find out as much information about my possible suppliers in advance.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call my situation dire—”

  “There is no shame in having trouble finding financiers. Traditional banks can be unreasonable at times.”

  Damn right they could. Thinking about my last bank appointment and the still unopened letters on my desk, I didn’t even want to know what they were threatening me with. My legs started moving on their own accord, knees going up and down, up and down. I clamped my palms over my thighs, forcing myself to stop fidgeting.

  “Why don’t we make a turn about the hotel, Candace? I have trouble sitting still as well. Besides, I want to show you what I am all about.”

  He rose from his seat, shuffling papers in front of him, and tucked a document folder under his arm.

  “Will you need my assistance, sir?”

  My heart stopped short as someone stepped out of seemingly nowhere. The hairs on my neck bristled as I stared at the man who towered a head over Mr. Fuentes. Where the hell had he come from?

  “Why would I need your assistance?” he answered. “Because you’ve been so useful today?”

  The guy let his head hang like a scolded dog. “It was an unfortunate incident and I’m sure we’ll get—”

  “Go and report to Drake. He needs as many resources he can get.”

  “But you’ll be without—”

  “One should think that I’m safe inside my own hotel,” he replied, a hard edge in his voice.

  “I won’t disappoint you again and—”

  “You’d better not.”

  I glanced over my shoulder while walking out of the room, caught the guy’s cold stare and shivered, suddenly happy the guard stayed behind. Angelo led me through the foyer and into an elevator, unlocked it with a keycard. “I’m sorry, Candace. There was a minor disturbance today and my men are still trying to fix that.”

  I nodded, an uneasy feeling rising in my stomach, and I doubted it came from the fast-rising elevator.

  At the top floor, we stepped into a narrow hallway with only two doors at each end.

  “My guests expect to be treated royally,” he said, heading toward the door to his left.

  When he opened the door, I sucked in my breath. The room was cavernous. I ran my hand over the dark wooden furniture and admired the high ceilings. “I happen to think your chocolates might be a great addition to the usual champagne and fruit basket. I want an extra treat, as so many of my guests expect.”

  I cocked my head, listening to his near silent laugh as if he’d made a joke only he understood.

  “I’ll allow you to use your own branding,” he said. “So your name will soon be associated with the finer things in life. And you know how women are,” he said slyly, “they can never get enough chocolate. You will see a sharp increase in online orders.”

  Maybe, I thought, if only I had a webstore. His tone rubbed me the wrong way, but I smiled anyway. I wasn’t as stupid as to argue with my potential savior.

  “There is a major flaw in your business plan though,” he said, making my heart stop cold. “You have to think bigger.”

  I let go of the breath I’d been holding. “I’d like to think larger, but a small business must take baby steps—”

  “If you want success, you’ll have to make big plans.” He sat down at a round table in the middle of the room, opening his folder. “Let me show you the contract.”

  He had the contract already drawn up? “Ahem, I am not sure I can move this fast—”

  “Opportunities open and close fast, Candace. Only the brave succeed.”

  I held my bag in my hand as if it were a lifesaver and approached the table.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “You’ll be an independent supplier of all my twenty-two hotels in the States. You’ll get a low rate loan to expand. You’ll be in total control over your business, I’ll have no hand in it. Please understand that this isn’t a big deal for me, but I like to take care of the small stuff as well. And helping promising startup entrepreneurs is one of my passions.”

  “What about the—”

  “Money?” he said, smiling. “That’s the easy part. I have accepted the terms you outlined in your business plan.” He leaned back in his chair and placed a pen next to the contract. “Take a few minutes to read through it, but I’d like to hear your answer tonight.” He checked his wristwatch.

  I settled down at the table, taking the contract with shaking fingers. It was only two pages, the language simple, no lawyer speak, no fine print. I’d be supplying my goods and get paid accordingly. As hard as I looked for it, I couldn’t spot a caveat.

  “I’m a bit overwhelmed by the chance you offer me,” I said, the pen poised over the contract. “And it might sound over melodramatic, but I’d like to thank you for the trust you’re placing in me and my business.”

  He held out his hand and I shook it. “To a successful partnership.”

  Hands embarrassingly sweaty, I shook his, wondering why I still felt like a mouse caught in a trap.

  “My associates will be in contact with you regarding the finer details of our newly forged relationship.”

  Heart racing, I lowered the pen to the paper to sign my name on the dotted line when I caught a familiar scent. How odd. For a moment, I thought I’d caught Seth’s peculiar male aroma. A violent shiver shook my body. I glanced up to see if Angelo caught my distress. He hadn’t because he was scribbling something on the front cover of his paper folder.

  I leaned closer, breath caught in my throat. Elegant flowers wound their way up on the side of the white folder. Angelo’s face was relaxed as if he’d forgotten that I was present. I cleared my throat.

  “You have quite a knack at drawing.”

  Immediately, he let the pen drop. “There’s something relaxing in such a mindless activity such as drawing, don’t you think?”

  My throat was too tight to answer. There was no way in hell this was a coincidence. If I was wrong, no harm done. If I was right, I’d know in a few seconds. I opened my bag, deciding to put it to the test. As soon as I pulled out the black book, I almost felt how the static changed in the room. When I glanced up, Angelo’s dark gaze was glued to the notebook. I gave a sigh. “I think I have something that—”

  “How did you get that?”

  “I found it lying on the street while I headed toward our meeting.”

  “Is that so?” he said quietly, retrieved a slim cell phone from his jacket and punched numbers. “Drake, I want you to abort. Return immediately.”<
br />
  When he hung up, he held out his hand. “Thank you for your help, Candace. If I may have my book back.”

  “Of course,” I said, but curled my hand around the book’s spine, fighting the feeling that I made a mistake. I hadn’t ratted Seth out and wasn’t planning to. But surely it was the right thing to return something to its rightful owner.

  * * * * *

  Seth approached the hotel in long strides, still clutching the part of the letter of invitation he’d wrestled from the laser printer. At least he knew where to find her; how he was going to retrieve the book without causing too much fuss was the problem. He snapped open his cell phone and hit speed dial.

  “What now, man?” Drake bellowed into the phone.

  “How well-stocked is the hotel?”

  “Badly,” Drake answered quietly. “Everyone is looking on the streets for you. So don’t hang about tonight and stay clear of the airport, rail and bus stations. And don’t fucking call me.”

  He hung up.

  Seth stored the cell phone away, crossed the street to the hotel’s lit entrance, and kept his head down. He ducked away when one of Angelo’s guys all but stormed outside. Great. He briefly touched the gun hidden in its ankle holster and entered the hotel.

  He scanned the lobby as he entered. Business as usual apart from the buzz around the hotel bar. About to advance, he took another step back, hiding behind an oversized flower arrangement. Candace walked next to the Scribe, apparently deep in conversation, and vanished behind elevator doors with him.

  He gritted his teeth, followed on their footsteps, watched how the elevator stopped at the top floor. Greeting a couple waiting next to him, he called the elevator down again and stepped inside, hoping against hope the couple would travel up to the top floor. They did not. When the couple exited, he pressed the twenty-eighth-floor button and was prompted for an access code.

  Pondering his options, he took out his cell phone.

  “Drake,” he said as the other man picked up, “elevator code.”