I struggle to keep quiet as my heart rate begins to race. I close my eyes and imagine it’s not my hand doing this. It’s Henry Wolf’s hand. His big, strong, manicured hands would probably know how to do it well.

Or his tongue.

The slow build that’s been growing in my pelvis now rushes, pushing my legs farther apart, until my covers have fallen away and the cool air touches my bare skin, and I don’t even care that I’m exposed within my little cubbyhole.

I close my eyes and imagine myself like Rachel was, bent over Mr. Wolf’s face while his tongue and his fingers plunge into me. A rush hits me and I have to press my lips together to keep from crying out as my muscles pulse beneath my fingertips.

Not until it’s over do I fully comprehend what just happened.

I brought myself to orgasm thinking of my boss.

Chapter Eight

I check my watch for the third time. He said 7:00 a.m.

So where is everyone?

I rushed past that guy, Connor, and the rest of the Outdoor crew in the staff lounge, a croissant hanging out of my mouth and a steaming cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup. They didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get here on time, their forest-green all-weather jackets hanging off chairs. I don’t have a suitable jacket besides my winter coat, so I wore several layers plus my vest and hiking boots. I wonder if that’ll be good enough. If not, someone’s going to have to equip me.

If someone shows up. Is this the right gate? It looks like the main gate, with iron rungs and a security booth made of stone and timber on the right. Kind of silly, given I heard there’s nowhere to go. The only way into Wolf Cove is by plane or boat. We’re surrounded by a mountain range and water, and ahead of us is the Kenai Fjords National Park.

I’m about to ask the guard when a low rumble cuts in to the remote peace. It’s coming from a black pickup truck slowly making its way along the service road, a pathway hidden from the lodge’s view by a thick cedar hedge.

I step aside to allow the truck past. It stops next to me instead.

“Get in.”

His deep, commanding voice—so early in the morning, so unexpected—makes me jump.

I can’t seem to form words. I simply stand and stare at Henry Wolf himself. He’s traded the tailored suit and styled hair for the red-and-black checked wool jacket and a less-tame head of waves that I remember from the other night, when I called him a lumberjack. The sleeves are rolled up to show off impressive forearms, thick and sinewy with muscle. His eyes hide behind a pair of aviator sunglasses, though it’s not nearly sunny enough to need them yet.

“You said you wanted some outdoor work, right?”

I finally find my tongue. “Right.”

“Well then, get in the truck.”

“With you?” I look around me, waiting for someone to jump out from behind a tree and yell, “Psych!”

“Not if you don’t hurry up.” There’s no mistaking the hint of a warning tone in his voice now.

I scurry over to the passenger side and climb in, slamming the heavy door behind me. A mixture of soap and bug spray hits me and I inhale deeply. I never thought bug spray could be so appealing.

He throws the truck into gear, and it lurches as it begins to move, jostling me around. “Sorry. It takes me a few days to get used to this engine again. My cars back home drive a lot more smoothly.”

Cars, plural. Of course. “That’s okay. I’m used to old farm trucks and bumpy roads.” I try not to stare at his profile, but I fail miserably. He’s honestly in a class all his own. His square, chiseled jaw is covered in a shadow of dark stubble, as if he forgot to shave. I’ve always thought a thin layer of stubble was sexy. Jed couldn’t grow it; it’d come in patchy. “Where’s home?” Do I address him as Henry or Mr. Wolf?

The security gate eases open and the guard throws a wave our way.

His large hands curl around the steering wheel as he pulls through. “Manhattan, mainly. Though I have a few places I like to spend time in.”

I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course a guy like this has homes, plural, to go along with his cars, plural.

Henry turns right at the end of the driveway, and onto a single-lane dirt road.

“So,” I decide on the more formal to be safe, “Mr. Wolf, where—”

“Call me Henry.” He turns to regard me with a smirk, his cheek marked by a deep dimple. “I think we’ve passed the formal greeting stage, haven’t we?”

I heave a shaky sigh. “Okay, Henry...” I like the feel of his name on my tongue. “Where are we going?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, I guess not.” I eye the twelve-gauge shotgun mounted over the rear windows.

He chuckles and the sound vibrates deep inside my chest. “Don’t worry. The safety’s on.”

“I’m not worried. I just wasn’t expecting to see one here.” I come from a family of hunters, so I’m comfortable enough around guns. “Why do we need it?”

“Have you ever seen a grizzly bear up close?”

When I shake my head, he shrugs. “I have. And that’s why we need a gun.”

“I thought they won’t usually attack.” That’s what the orientation video said.

“You’re right. They won’t, if we’re not stupid.” Henry’s eyes scan the brush by the side of the road as we drive, one hand resting on his thick, powerful thigh. The hand I was picturing on me last night, as I was coming. Just the thought makes me squeeze my thighs tightly together now. “But nothing is 100 percent. I like to be prepared for all possibilities.”

“So you’re a boy scout.”

That earns me another tiny, sexy smirk that makes my heart skip a beat. “Something like that.”

We ride in silence over the steep hills in the road. I do my best not to stare at him, but I can’t help glance intermittently, to catch a glimpse of his blue eyes, the color of the morning sky above us. He keeps seeing me do it, too, forcing me to veer my gaze to the road.

Only to wander back moments later.

Finally, he clears his throat, and I’m sure I’ve made him uncomfortable.

“So you decided to shave your beard?” I ask in a rush.

“I have some important people coming tomorrow. I figured it was time. And one of my employees mistook me for a lumberjack.”

I grin sheepishly. “I’m sorry about that. To be fair though, I was really drunk.”

“Yes, you were.”

“And you didn’t introduce yourself to me as my boss.”

“No, I didn’t.”

I wait for an explanation. When it doesn’t come, I go on. “I wish you had. Maybe I wouldn’t have made such a complete ass of myself.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have been yourself then.”

“That was not me. That was me drunk for the first time in my life.” I wince, recalling how utterly wretched I felt yesterday. “And the last.”

“Probably a good thing, considering you nearly went swimming. Aside from that, you were entertaining.”

“Entertaining?” I turn to face the window so he doesn’t see my red cheeks, recalling some of the things I said and did. “It didn’t sound like you were amused, given the whole employee-code-of-conduct speech yesterday morning.” I read through it last night. Section five states no romantic relationships between management and their subordinates. It doesn’t specify anything about a drunken subordinate hitting on the hotel owner, but I’ll bet they’re adding that in as we speak.

“I didn’t have a choice. I can’t have my employees stumbling around drunk.”

Or trying to kiss you. “You could have told me who you were, at least.”

He sighs. “Sometimes I need a break from all the Mr. Wolf and the nervousness and people walking on eggshells around me.”

“I crushed every eggshell there was.”

His chuckle fills the truck and my heart swells. I like making him laugh.

It would be easy for me to get lost in the nature around us, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, the forest thick and lush even in early spring, the snowy ridge in the distance. If not for the man accompanying me, I would. But I still can’t seem to keep my eyes off him for long.