Page 34 of Howl You Doin?
Her breath catches and she turns around, her hand trembling. “You may be my boss, Connor, but you don’t own me,” she says, her gaze leveling on me with heat and anger. “And nothing in my contract says I’m to be barred from enjoying allareas of the hotel during my employment. If you’re trying to punish me for insubordination, do it in a way that fits into our contract.”
She lifts her chin as she storms down the hall. I watch her hips swing as she tries to suppress her anger... or desire—I’m not sure which. The woman is a firecracker. Her hands ball into fists as she lets out a strangled scream in frustration and turns a corner out of sight.
My mind lingers on the end of our conversation, and I groan when I realize my dick is hard from our arguing. It happens almost every damn time, and it’s frustrating to no end.
“‘You don’t own me,’ she says.” I drag my hands down my face.
And of course I imagine just that—owning her curves, her substantial arse beneath my hands, my face buried against her skin. Her lips open on a scream as I fuck her senseless while my fingers are around her throat, making sure she shuts her fucking mouth while I do it.
My cock leaps up to attention, straining against the zipper of my slacks.Damn.
I have too much to worry about: Frank, the guests, the other staff, and Whitley—not to mention the way she arouses me. Fuck, I should have told her not to speak of the owner of Talbot being here; the last thing I need is paparazzi on top of all my shit to deal with.
If Frank still thinks I’m the one who hacked Talbot, and he attempts to play Whitley or any other female staff to get to me, it’s a threat he won’t get the chance to come through on. I couldn’t care less who hacked his company, and I have no designs on Whitley.
He deserves a woman who will have him wrapped around her little finger. As for Whitley, she can do much better than the likes of me.
However, once she sees what an asshole he is, she will chew him up and spit him out herself.
I lean back in my chair, trying to ignore how agitating it is to be around Frank.
I breathe in deeply and a snarl rips out of me. How does her scent fill the air of the study even now? She stormed off, but her perfect ass sat on that chair fuming with her cupcake-and-spice heady aroma plastered to it from her baking and her anger.
I leap to my feet to leave, needing to do something, anything, before I have the urge to sniff at her chair like a crack addict. My hand begins to shake as my cock swells to the point of pain in my tailored pants.
As I adjust myself with a wince and make to leave, I pause as a potential answer registers with me. “Oh shit,” I mutter. “What if she’s wearing wolfsbane?”
Why hadn’t I thought of that earlier?Damn.
I grab my phone from my pocket and fire off a text.
Me:
When can you start a new trial?
Jekyll:
Not working?
Me:
I think we have been going at it all wrong. It’s not my nose. It’s the perfume she’s wearing. It has to be Wolfsbane. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
Jekyll:
I hadn’t thought of that. Surprisingly.
“No shit.” Neither of us had, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. The herb, so rarely put into perfume these days, is potent even in small increments—especially to me.
Me:
What can you do?
I glance down at the tent in my slacks which is finally lowering—thank fuck—for the first time since she entered the study an hour ago. I’ve been blind. Fucking Odette and her witch magic. Gods, this is a disaster.
Jekyll:
You’re going to have to get her perfume to test it.
