Page 11 of Howl You Doin?
“Don’t call me that, you misogynistic asshat.”
I chuckle, feeling her irate gaze burning into my back. “Oooh, better. I like it.”
“Fuck you.” Her voice is harsh and bitter, but it’s the challenge in her tone that has me stopping in my tracks.
It trails up my spine, echoing at the base of my skull.
Decision made, I stride back to her, enjoying how her eyes widen the closer I get, the determined look on her face falling to uncertainty. My nostrils flare again, and I can practically smell the dislike on her. Her god-awful scent is full of spice and sweet.
I push into her space, enjoying the way she tries to stare me down.
“Fuck you back,” I sneer.
I want to take the words back when her eyes dilate, and that same telltale scent between her legs increases and fills the air.
Her expression turns uncertain as I give up trying to stop my body’s response to her. The fact that Whitley, the only woman I have ever disliked on sight, is now making my dick hard means someone somewhere is taking the piss. It’s the only explanation.
“I . . .” she starts, her eyelashes blinking rapidly.
My cock aches as I glare, wondering what madness has claimed me that I would react this way to her. How is she doing this to me?
I curse my dreams from the night before. Jekyll’s concoction can’t arrive soon enough.
I drop all pretenses and step back. “What are you doing in my wing, Whitley?”
“Your wing?” she scoffs, looking pointedly back in the direction she came from. Her eyes brighten when they land back on me, and a sense of warning niggles in the back of my mind when her lips lift into a slow smile. “I live here.”
“Are you daft?” I ask her.
“Oh yeah, buddy.” She cocks her hip, and a look of pure hatred twists her face. “I would suggest,O’Doyle Rules, that you have a talk with your favorite hotel manager. He can fill you in on current events and what happened while you were away.”
“Do not call me that.”
I bristle at the way she thinks she can tell me what to do. Just who the hell does she think she is? From the very start ofher tenure here she has tried to boss me around and I have had enough.
It’s also ridiculous that Allan would let her stay in this area. He was directed that no one is allowed in the north or the east wings, mine and Vlad’s apartments. But it is odd that she’s been moved here—tomywing of all places. She probably suggested it just to get under my skin because she was born to irritate me.
“If it’s important I’m sure he will take it upon himself to tell me what happened. Do you not have anything better to do than cause gossip, Miss Whitt?”
Red blooms in her cheeks and satisfaction rolls over me for a brief second until her expression changes. A strange fake smile that says she’s trying too hard.
“I’msosorry. I’m only trying to help.” She flutters her eyelashes at me, acting all coy. “I am on my way to the kitchen. Can I get you anything?”
The woman is a terror. She smiles so sweetly, but I can sense the rage and feel the hate coming off her.
“I only want to provide the best service I can while I’m here,” she continues.
Her tongue peeks out, slashing at her pouty red lips as she pushes a stray hair behind her delicate ear. Damn her, it makes my pulse quicken.
My brow furrows because the words are sincere and send lust tripping down my spine. Bloody hell. I may need to find a willing woman soon if this is the effect she is having on me because there is no way she meant those words how they sounded—at least not how they sounded to my dick.
“Fine. That’s good,” I grate out. “Do you know where the maids are this morning?”
I might as well use her for information since she’s wasting my time.
Snorting, she puts her phone in her back pocket and folds her uniform over her arm, a determined glint in her eye. Her hair pulled back makes her look severe and professional, unlike the night before with her dark tresses cascading around her, and her cocoa-soaked shirt clinging to her skin.
“Maria, the head maid, will be wherever Anton is—most likely in a broom closet somewhere,” she murmurs, before sighing and turning away. “Good luck, Mr. O’Doyle. You’re going to need it.”
