It was the Mr T Mohawk, though, that gave him away. This was the same driver who’d picked up Wolfe at the prison. The man took his place at the car’s passenger-side door and glared at them.
Excitement rose. Simultaneously, heads turned to the posh building’s front door. The doorman became twitchy. He stared over their heads, ignoring them, but tugged at the collar of his uniform as if it were too tight.
A reporter up front stood on tiptoe and saw movement inside. ‘He’s coming.’
The message passed swiftly through the crowd. Alex Wolfe was about to make an appearance. The group compacted, bodies bumping and arms tangling as they thrust their microphones forward. Their time would be short. The distance from the door to the car was only about ten feet. They had to make this count.
‘Mr Wolfe,’ more than one person called as the door finally opened.
Instead of the good-looking tycoon, a mean-looking bodyguard stepped out. He was pumped and amped. His sunglass-covered gaze swung around from left to right, and more than one skinny cameraman took a step back. If anyone got out of line, this guy was ready to squash them like a bug.
The hungry group of reporters waited.
Their caution was thrown to the wind when two more bodyguards bulldozed through the door. The Ax was at the security team’s centre.
Questions started shooting through the air like darts.
‘Mr Wolfe! How does it feel to be back?’
‘What was it like on the inside?’
‘What do you plan to say to your investors?’
That one finally stuck. Their interview subject’s chin swung towards them, and it was set in stone. ‘They’re not my investors. I wasn’t a part of Wolfe Financial.’
‘Yet you’re going to their board meeting, right?’
The security team kept their client moving, and the group shuffled along after them. Hips bumped and elbows dug.
‘I’ll be speaking during the open public comment period,’ the man said flatly. ‘At the board’s behest.’
Another reporter jumped forward and the front bodyguard blocked him with a straight arm. The reporter kept coming, though, trying to crawl over the sentinel as he threw out his question. ‘Do you plan to apologise? Will you tell them where the money went?’
Wolfe slowed. As big as his men were, the crowd was impeding their progress.
‘I had no involvement in that unspeakable crime.’
‘How can you say that?’ the reporter pressed. ‘You just spent the last year in prison.’
That got a response. The Ax turned, his body clenched. ‘Get your facts right. I was convicted of insider trading, even though I had written orders instructing my traders to sell Wolfe Financial stock if it fell below one-twenty.’
‘Are you saying you were a scapegoat?’
Putting down his shoulder, the front bodyguard moved Jimmy Olsen about five feet back from where he’d started, but it was too late. The rest of the reporters picked up his line of questioning.
‘What about your grandfather?’ someone in the back yelled. ‘Have you heard from him? Is he in Belize?’
‘No comment,’ Wolfe snapped.
The driver wedged open the limo’s door and planted his massive form in front of it. The bodyguards became more aggressive and marched forward. The crowd had no option but to part and get out of their way.
One last reporter tried from his position, squashed up next to the kerb. ‘Are you back in New York to stay?’
The question was met with silence as Wolfe entered the vehicle and the door was closed behind him. The all-black limousine offered no more answers and no more shots. The opaque windows blocked their view of the elusive, enigmatic man. Still, the news crews took what video they could as the driver pulled out from the kerb and drove away.
The moment the car blended into traffic, the cameras powered down and the crews rushed to their vans. Considering the dearth of communication they’d had with Alex Wolfe since his release, they’d just scored big.
* * *
More reporters awaited in FiDi, the financial district in the southernmost section of Manhattan. They’d been put on alert by their colleagues up on Park Avenue, and they were on the hunt when the limousine pulled up. Microphones were ready, earpieces were in place and cameras were rolling as the black limousine cruised to a stop in front of the building on Wall Street.
The driver eyed the crowd suspiciously as he rounded the car to open the back door. Moving with the synchronicity of a pit crew, bodyguards spilled out and took their positions. A tall, good-looking man rose in their midst, smoothly buttoning his suit jacket.
The press swarmed, hungrier now that they’d gotten a taste.
They jockeyed for position, trying to get the best shots. The Ax had always gleamed under the spotlight. His handsome features and playboy ways had made him a media darling. With one snap of a camera, the reporters could sense the change. This version of the man was different. Harder, leaner and more dangerous. His sunglasses hid his reactions to their presence, but the line of his lips was flat and his steps were clipped.
Put him in a black suit and tie, and he would have blended in with the security detail perfectly.
‘Mr Wolfe, what were you doing at Wolfe Manor over the past month? Why the long retreat?’ A balding newspaperman stepped forward, his pen and notebook at the ready. ‘Were you contemplating your actions?’
Wolfe didn’t even blink.
An entertainment reporter held her microphone suggestively, stroking her thumb up and down its side. With her big hair and fake breasts, it was clear she was trying another tactic. ‘Barbara Tyson is in town filming a movie. Have you seen you seen her since your release, Ax?’
The bleached blonde was disappointed when the question bounced right off, but the crowd wasn’t ready to be deterred.
Another female reporter stepped right into the path of the lead bodyguard. She was just as beautiful, but with her short pixie cut and black-rimmed glasses she had ‘intrepid’ written all over her. ‘How about Elena Bardot?’
That got a response.
Alex Wolfe made an abrupt halt. Around him, his security detail closed ranks.
The sharp brunette’s eyes sparked. ‘Caroline Woodward, WABC News.’
She held up a crisp 8X10 black-and-white photograph of the billionaire entrepreneur leaving a helicopter with a dark-haired woman at his side. ‘We took this shot of you yesterday when you arrived in the city. Sources have identified your companion as Elena Bardot, daughter of Randolph Bardot, former CFO of Wolfe Financial.’
Wolfe snatched the photograph out of her hand and stared at it through his sunglasses. Other than maybe a slight tightening of his fingers, he gave no visible reaction. Yet the chill in the air dropped a good ten degrees.
‘What is your relationship with Ms Bardot?’ the reporter pressed. Like a hound on the scent, she bore forward. ‘Are you romantically involved or is this a continuation of the Wolfe–Bardot business relationship?’
A muscle in Wolfe’s jaw clenched. His head slowly tilted and he looked the reporter over from head to toe. Hungry as she was for a scoop, everyone saw the woman inhale in surprise. Her chest lifted and her hips gave a slight swivel. Something sharp and sexy hung in the air. It snapped and tumbled when, letting go finger by finger, he dropped the photograph like a piece of trash.
‘No comment.’
The picture seesawed through the air as it fell to the ground. A beat reporter bent down to pick it up, braving getting stepped on as the security team kicked back into gear.
Gritting her teeth, the reporter followed, her heels clicking against the sidewalk as she tried to keep up. ‘Was she involved in this all along? Did she know what her father was into?’
Her cameraman got too close and one of the security men pushed his hand into the lens. ‘Step back.’
‘Are you saying that’s not her?’ another reporter called.
The WABC reporter wasn’t about to be denied her scoop. Her pai
nted lips thinned and red splotches coloured her cheekbones. Rushing ahead, she walked backwards and sent out rapid-fire questions. ‘Have you made restitution to Ms Bardot and her mother? Yvonne Bardot was reportedly an investor who lost her life savings in your Ponzi scheme.’
Wolfe kept on walking, but his neck stiffened.
‘Mr Wolfe. Would you like to make a statement?’
They were at the private building’s door, the final barrier that the press couldn’t cross. The Ax stopped on the threshold. Pulling down his sunglasses, he pinned the not-so-sweet Caroline with a slate-grey stare. ‘No. Comment.’
Chapter Twelve
Elena was worried. The board meeting had run long and, when Alex had returned, he hadn’t wanted to talk. It was as if they’d gone back in time to their first days together at the manor, where he’d pass her silently in the woods. The tension between them was there, but it was harder and sharper. It was more than the sexual friction that was ever-present. He’d retreated inside himself. All the anger, pain and pride were bottled up tight.
She feared what might happen if the cork blew off.
He was working out in the gym. Standing outside the door, she heard weights clanging and pulleys whirring. She’d found the room in her explorations as she’d waited for the board meeting to start. It was smaller than the workout facility at the manor, but it had the same topflight equipment. Alex grunted in exertion and the sound grew into a soul-wrenching shout.
Her fingers bit into the tab of her zipper when a loud clang rang throughout the hallway.
It was time. She couldn’t let this go on any longer.
Turning into the room, she saw a barbell loaded with heavy weights still bouncing in the bar catches where he’d let it fall. She blew out a breath, relieved that he hadn’t dropped it on himself. ‘Don’t you think you’re pushing yourself a little hard?’
He stared up at the ceiling from the weight bench where he lay. His chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath. ‘I’m just working off steam.’
She leaned against the wall and toyed with the string of the hoodie. ‘Want to take a break?’
He shook his head. ‘I have two more sets to go.’
‘Are you sure?’
He finally rolled his head towards her. When he caught a look at what she was wearing, his arms dropped in slow motion to his sides. ‘Damn.’
She ran the toes of her right foot up the line of her left shin. She’d hoped she could get his attention. Looping the tie of the hoodie around her finger, she watched him, smoky-eyed.
He sagged on the bench, some of that enormous cloud of anger over him dissipating. ‘Elena.’
She walked towards him, feeling his gaze stroke down her legs. She’d never felt like she had long legs before, but his stare dragged on for ever. It made her feel slinky and sexy.
Even if all she was wearing was a plain grey hoodie.
He sat up as she came near, but she caught his shoulders and stopped him standing up. Swinging her leg over the bench, she straddled him. Watching his expression, she lowered herself onto his lap.
His hands settled naturally upon her waist. Curious, she pressed her palms against his chest. His skin was warm and sweaty, but underneath his muscles were fiery hot. No wonder they looked as if they’d been chiselled from steel. He pushed himself to the extreme.
‘Was the meeting that bad?’ she asked.
‘I’ve been to better.’
‘I watched the streaming video of the shareholder portion online. Bankruptcy?’
‘It’s the only way. Better to bury this thing and move on.’
The muscles under her fingertips quivered almost imperceptibly. The tiny fibres had been broken down so they could repair and grow back stronger. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
He scowled. ‘Why?’
‘That company was your family’s legacy. It’s been around for generations.’
‘Until my grandfather killed it.’
And her father. Guilt settled in her chest. ‘Are you sure it can’t be saved?’
‘Only at the expense of the shareholders, and I won’t do that. They’ve already been through enough.’ He wiped the sweat from his brow. As confident as he sounded in his recommendation, it still had him worked up. ‘Besides, I’ve already started another company. If there’s going to be any family legacy … Well, that remains to be seen.’
Her caress slowed, and the rest of that thought remained unsaid. For a legacy to be passed on, he’d need to have a family first. Something shifted inside her chest.
But that was a subject for another day. In the distant future.
Right now, they had other issues to address, primarily his bad mood.
She was sitting on his lap, wearing nothing but his favourite fleece jacket. He was bare-chested in nylon shorts and cross-trainers.
And leather gloves.
A few ideas came to mind.
She trembled as his hands stroked her thighs. The weight-lifting gloves covered his palms and the base of his fingers. They protected his hands from blisters, and the wraps around his wrists lowered the chance of injury. The combination of leather and bare flesh felt foreign. Erotic.
He squeezed lightly. ‘Speaking of shareholders, why didn’t you tell me about your mother?’
Her gaze jumped up to his. ‘What about her?’
‘She’s an investor,’ he growled. ‘One who got burned.’
Elena looked away. ‘It’s old news.’
‘It’s new to me. I should have known.’ He cupped her chin and made her face him. ‘Why would she invest her money with your father? Why put it in her ex’s care?’
Elena shrugged. ‘That was the one thing he always seemed good at, managing money. He spent all his time at work.’
At least, as far as she remembered. She supposed that some of that time he’d actually been with the girlfriend who’d ended up as his second wife.
‘And now Yvonne manages a bakery?’
‘She likes her job.’
‘But she has no savings in the bank, nothing built up for retirement.’
Elena pulled her chin out of his grip. That was a sore point, one that still hadn’t scabbed over. After the scandal had come to light, her mother’s finances had been analysed backwards, forwards, inside and out. ‘Don’t worry about my mother. She can take care of herself.’
His thumb ran along her jawline before dropping. ‘You both can.’
He took a breath deep enough to jostle her. She clenched her thighs around him to keep from falling off. His eyes sparked, but he wrapped his arms around her protectively. Sighing, he dropped his head. ‘They know about us, Elena. There was a photographer with a long-range lens at the heliport.’
‘I know. I saw the news report that played before you got home.’
He went still. ‘And you’re OK with that?’
She threaded her fingers into his hair and massaged the tight muscles of his scalp. ‘I don’t know about OK. I don’t like the idea of my personal life being under a microscope.’
‘Personal life?’
Trust him to pick up on that part. Since coming here to New York and seeing him face the pressure of the afternoon all on his own, she’d finally accepted one thing. Their lives had become intertwined. Where one had been, there were now two. They were a couple. ‘Very personal,’ she whispered into his ear.
His head came up and his slate-coloured gaze bore into hers. ‘You didn’t want anyone to know about us.’
And trust him to remember that. Brooding and quiet meant observant. She fought not to squirm. ‘That wasn’t fair to you.’
She pointed her toes towards the floor, trying to find her balance, but they didn’t reach. She was dependent on him. ‘I’ve been selfish,’ she confessed. ‘I wanted you, but I wasn’t brave enough to face all the questions and accusations.’
‘I wanted to protect you from all that.’
‘You have. But watching you take all the heat … It’s hurting you, and that hurt
s me.’
That tell-tale muscle in his jaw clenched. ‘I thought you’d be gone when I got home.’
‘I’m right here.’ She wiggled closer and their chests brushed. ‘And if you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing your favourite item of clothing.’
‘I noticed.’ His hands fisted in the excess material. The hoodie was big on her, but it still crept up high on her thighs when he did that. ‘I didn’t know that you brought it with you.’
‘It was in my overnight bag, the one and only thing you allowed me to carry onto the helicopter.’
‘Good choice.’ He slid his hands up her legs and under the soft fleece. They bit into her bottom when he discovered she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
Elena shifted, settling more comfortably into his hold. ‘I’ve become pretty proprietary about this thing. It brings back good memories.’
‘Memories of what?’
She ran her thumb over his nipple and he jerked. Her smile was soft as she let her fingers play some more. ‘Do you know what I did that first time you loaned it to me down by the lake?’
He cleared his throat. ‘What?’
‘I went home and crawled into bed.’ She kissed his collarbone. ‘And did this.’
She tugged the zipper down. Sliding her hand inside, she cupped her breast. The air began to vibrate when her other hand disappeared between her legs.
‘Mmm,’ she hummed, her eyelids drifting closed.
‘God. Damn. Elena.’ His voice sounded like sandpaper.
She’d never done this in front of anyone before, but she heard the desire in his voice and felt the strain in his hands. Watching her gave him pleasure, so she let herself go. This was for him. She needed to get him out of his head, and she knew the best way to do that. Moving her fingers over herself, she felt the heat and softness of her most private place. His hands bit into her bottom, and dampness coated her fingertips.
‘Ahhh,’ she gasped.
‘Let me see,’ he growled. He caught the bottom of the hoodie and pulled it up so she was exposed.
Elena felt wanton touching herself with her legs spread so wide. The room had such a hard-edged industrial feel to it, and she was splayed out across his lap. All femininity and softness. Mirrors reflected everything she was doing. There was no place to hide, no soft pillows or blankets with which she could cover herself.
Solace in Scandal Page 18
