Page 5 of The Billionaire Alpha's Assistant

I engulf her dainty hand with my own, shocked by the softness of her skin. She smells like caramel and chocolate and ink, and the scent makes my wolf stir.

“You can call me Alex,” she stammers.

“Alex.”

Mine.

The word rumbles through me with a surge of possessiveness, and I have the sudden crazy impulse to pull Alex close and feel her soft curves pressed against me. She’s wearing a snug camel-colored turtleneck tucked into that skirt, and the fabric strains against her breasts.

My wolf likes what he sees, and my whole body is suddenly attuned to her — her scent, the warmth of her skin, the nervous timbre of her voice. I find myself wondering what she tastes like.

No.

Shut it down.

I can’t be having these thoughts.

This woman is my new assistant — and she’s human.

Mine.

I release Alex’s hand and take a step back, but my palm still tingles from where we were touching. I don’t know what’s gotten into my wolf, but the fucker needs to calm down.

I don’t date. I don’t do women. I certainly don’t do my assistants.

If I’ve learned anything in my time as CEO, it’s that running a company and a pack requires controlling for every variable.

I oversee every department in this company. I insist on twice as much testing as is standard on every update, and every major decision goes through me.

My wolves are biologically driven to obey me. I give the orders; the orders are followed.

Human women are a different story.

Relationships are messy — unpredictable. And as tempting and delicious as Alex Langley is, she’s a liability I can’t afford.

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