Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

“What does ‘handle it’ mean, exactly?”

“It means I don’t keep employees who are selling stories to the press about me.” His hand snakes around my waist to splay across my stomach, his gaze dragging downward over the reflection in the mirror. “This dress is perfect on you.”

“Thank you. I was thinking I would wear it to the party—”

“Merrick has your costume.” He steps back. “New shoes?”

“Yes.” I clench my teeth with irritation. I’ve been needling Henry all week, trying to get him to slip up and give me a clue—about the theme of this party, my character, anything—but his lips are as tight as a Federal Reserve vault.

A low grunt of approval escapes him.

“Will I be allowed to wear them tonight or will Merrick be choosing my shoes too?” I can’t help the annoyance in my tone.

“These, I think I’ll let you keep.” He pauses. “Any word from your mother?”

“No.” The mention of her sours my mood. She hasn’t responded to any of my texts, except for one innocuous message about the weather. “Daddy said he thinks she’s starting to come around. He caught her looking up flights to Alaska the other day.”

“She will. Don’t give it another thought tonight.” Henry pulls me flush against him, allowing me to feel him hard against my back.

“People will be here in less than an hour,” I warn him, even as my blood rushes.

“Since when do I care about other people’s schedules?”

I’ve barely seen him all week. In typical Henry fashion, he distracted himself with work to avoid dealing with the shock of learning about Violet, taking a sudden two-day trip to Dallas and then spending the rest of his time in the office, arriving home late and leaving early. While I’ve missed him terribly, between catching up on my two correspondence courses and all the prep for the launch of my soap line, I’ve had more than enough to keep myself busy.

But now I need to feel a closeness with him again, even if it’s just physical. I need to know that what we have is real and deep and can weather anything that comes our way.

So I don’t argue when he hikes my dress up to my waist and tugs on my panties until they fall to the tile floor. I don’t wait for him to demand that I take them off, gingerly stepping out of them.

“Bend over,” he coaxes, his hand pressing against my back. “Elbows on the counter.”

Heat explodes in my lower belly as I follow his directions. The vanity mirror reflects the sordid scene as Henry takes several steps back to lean against the wall and admire the lewd display, his arms folded across his chest.

Cool air caresses my bare skin as I wait for him to unzip his pants, but he’s torturing me with anticipation.

Two can play at this game.

“While you’re deciding what you want …” I adjust my stance and arch my back, and then pick up my mascara wand.

Henry watches as I paint my lashes with long, languid strokes, pretending that my pulse isn’t racing through my veins, before his gaze drops to the view farther down.

I spread my legs apart to tease him.

“Fuck, Abbi.” The sound of his zipper unfastening fills the room.

I stifle my smile, even as my sex clenches with anticipation, and keep my attention on my task as he sheds his clothes, right down to his socks.

Suddenly, he’s hovering behind me, his hard length gripped in his hand. “You know how to tease me.”

Heat pools between my legs. “I’ve learned from the best.” I gasp as he rubs the smooth, round head of his cock through my slit once, twice … pressing against my entrance in a gentle intrusion.

I close my mascara and set it down, preparing for the hard thrust into me that is coming. Aching for it.

His dark, blazing eyes lift to meet mine. “You’re right, you have.”

I yelp as he slaps my bare cheek with his palm. “They’ll be here soon. Hurry up.” He pulls away and strolls into the shower, turning on the water.

I gape as I watch after him, my cheeks flushed with frustration. “That’s it?” He’s going to leave me like this?

He’s under the stream of hot water when he peers over his shoulder to flash a wicked grin.





“You domesticated motherfucker!”

I observe from the corner of the kitchen as a man with fair skin and a lush mane of black hair pulls Henry into a hug. Given the British accent, this must be Preston.

Henry returns the gesture, roping his arms around his friend.

So, this is the guy with the swollen ego who runs the two-billion-dollar hedge fund firm. No wonder … Not only is he rich and successful, he is beautiful. Tall and fit and stylish, with masculine features and a broad, uninhibited smile that shows off straight, white teeth. The guy surely turns heads in every room he walks into.

How I missed spotting Preston at the funeral is beyond me, but I guess that confirms how many people there were and how solely focused I was on Henry.

When the two men peel away, Preston is shaking his head with disbelief. “Never thought I’d see the day Henry Wolf would be getting married and hosting dinners.” Finally, he notices me standing off to the side. Warm hazel eyes skitter over my frame, all the way to my shoes, before rising again. “And now I understand.”

It wasn’t a leering look, and yet my face erupts with heat.

“Preston, this is Abbi,” Henry introduces.

Preston hurries forward, thrusting out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet the woman who thawed Wolf’s cold, black heart.” His large hand surrounds mine.

“Same.” That didn’t make any sense. I clear my throat. “I mean, I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

“Oh, I never miss this weekend.” His smile is mischievous. “And I’m sure Wolf has told you everything there is to know about me?”

“Uh …” I dare a questioning glance at Henry.

Preston barks with laughter. “He’s told you absolutely nothing, right?”

“That’s not true. I told her you’re an arrogant fuck,” Henry retorts smoothly.

“Don’t worry.” Preston releases my hand to squeeze Henry’s shoulder. “He may play the prickly asshole, but we know he loves us.”

Henry rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “All right, enough of that bullshit. How was your flight over?”

“Short. Kept myself busy.” He winks and then stretches an arm out toward the leggy blond who just emerged from the powder room. “Speaking of … Kendra, this is my dear friend Henry Wolf and his fiancée, Abbi.”

Kendra saunters toward us, covertly tugging at the hem of her fitted black dress before it rides up past her ass.

“Kendra works in accounting at my firm.”

“You work together.” It’s just the slightest inflection in Henry’s tone, but I catch it.

So must Preston because he smirks, seemingly unfazed by his disapproval. “Not directly.”

Henry’s eyebrow twitches, but he doesn’t say anything else as a server in a crisp black button-down and black dress pants swoops in to deliver a tray of cocktails dressed in blackberries.

Honestly, what could Henry say, considering his own indiscretions?