“You have a few knots,” he says, not answering my question. He begins gently kneading my muscles. I close my eyes and relish the feel of his strong hands over me because this feels oh so good. So much more skilled, so much stronger than Jed. “Is this just stress? Or were you doing something physically straining?”

“I was stacking wood the other day. And I swung an ax, too,” I mumble, letting my head fall forward as his skilled fingers apply a touch of pressure along my neck.

He starts laughing. “An ax? Interesting assistant job you have. Are you right-handed?”

“Yes.”

His hands move to my right arm, one gripping me at the elbow while the other slides beneath the collar of my shirt and along the ball of my shoulder. “You have some pipes on you for such a tiny thing.”

The feel of his strong, warm hands against my bare skin sends shivers down through my chest and my nipples tighten. I hope the padding in my bra is thick enough to hide it because the shirt sure isn’t.

“Relax.” That one word comes out in a soothing voice, his deep voice crackling.

I can’t deny that as flustering as it is to have this handsome stranger touching me, this feels incredible. And he’s a professional, so this is okay. He’s just doing his job. What would an hour of this feel like? “So, how much trouble would we get into if I took Mr. Wolf’s appointment right now, because this feels amazing,” I joke through a groan and a giggle.

Michael chuckles. “Well, I’m off work at ten tonight. I don’t normally offer this, but if you want, I can come over to your cabin and—”

The front door slams shut, the sudden noise making me jump. I look over to find Henry standing in the doorway, his eyes boring into me.

Unamused.

“Hey, Mr. Wolf, good to see you again. You must be overworking your assistant. She’s full of knots. You should send her to the spa for a rubdown.” Michael is oblivious to the palpable tension in the air.

“I’ll be ready in five. Abbi, a word.” His tone is clipped, his jaw tight as he strolls toward his bedroom, yanking at his tie. He waves with two fingers for me to follow him.

I know I’m in trouble and I’m not entirely sure why.

“Shut the door behind you.”

I slide the barn door to the edge, but remain where I am, watching him quietly as he tosses his tie and suit jacket to the bed and begins pacing. He pushes a hand through his hair, sending it in wild disarray.

“Do you want that dry cleaned?” I finally dare ask, hoping that might dispel whatever has made him so angry.

“No. I do not want that dry cleaned. What I want is to come home and not find my massage therapist trying to fuck my assistant.”

What? My mouth drops open. “I... He noticed me rubbing my sore arm and he was just trying to help me. That’s all that was.” How did that possibly look like sex?

He shakes his head, muttering something to himself. When he meets my eyes again, there’s only wonderment there. And something else I can’t describe. Something dark. “You honestly believe that, don’t you?”

“Yes?” I frown, panic flying through me as I replay my conversation with Michael from the beginning. Nothing—nothing!—about it was sexual. Henry is acting worse than my mama right now. I hear myself mumble an, “I’m sorry,” though I don’t entirely know what I’m sorry for.

“Michael, out there? He doesn’t want to rid you of your sore muscles. He’ll gladly fuck you. Any guy here will.”

“No... he was just...” I stumble over my words, shocked by his. “We’re from the same hometown. He’s being nice.”

Henry’s chuckle is menacing as his feet close the distance, slow and measured, until he’s within my personal space. “Don’t be so naïve, Abbi. Trust me. He can smell that virgin pussy from a mile away and he wants it.”

I inhale sharply, his words building a throb between my legs, despite my unease. Did he just say that to me? And is he right? Michael is attracted to me? “So what if he does want that?”

“Is he what you want?” There’s a challenge there, sitting on a razor sharp edge that I’m afraid to near. Several painfully long seconds pass, the tension in the air thick and heady and then a wicked smirk captures his lips. “Did you enjoy yesterday’s show?”

It takes me only a split second to know what he’s referring to with the whiplash-fast change in topic.

My mouth hangs open, incapable of speech. How do I answer that? With the obvious truth? Yes, I loved seeing Henry naked. Yes, I loved seeing him—the powerful and controlled Mr. Wolf—vulnerable. Yes, the sight of him stirred desires that have haunted me ever since.

But I can’t admit to any of that. He hired me because he isn’t attracted to me. He hired me because he wanted an assistant who would understand boundaries, like the ones I’ve already crossed.

“I shouldn’t have... I mean, I didn’t mean to...” I stumble over my words.

“Are you sure you didn’t mean to?” He inches closer. He’s too intense, this is too much. I avert my gaze, but his finger finds my chin, prodding until my head tips back to meet his penetrating eyes. Those cold blue eyes aren’t cold anymore. They’re raging. “Not even two days.”

“What?” My voice cracks.

“I knew I shouldn’t have hired you,” he whispers absently, as if speaking more to himself.

“Does that mean you’re firing me?” I fight against the tears that begin to well.

Henry merely shakes his head. The relief with that simple gesture is nearly paralyzing.

His finger slips from my chin. He begins working at the buttons of his dress shirt until he’s peeling it away from his body and tossing it on the bed. His t-shirt comes off next.

His gaze, it never leaves me, even when mine can’t help but drop.

Dear God, that chest. It’s tanned and hard and I want to slide my hands all over it, feel the ridges of his collarbone, the soft skin of his nipples. The burn of his naked skin under my fingertips.

“There should be an e-mail from Belinda in my inbox,” he says, switching smoothly back to work.

I avert my eyes to the view beyond the window, still bright and so “off” for the mood in this room. “Why do you make me come in here while you’re undressing?” I whisper. It’s so inappropriate for him to do this. Not only because he’s my boss.

He knows I’m attracted to him.

In my periphery, I catch his brow lift in surprise. “I told you that your job would involve being in close proximity to me. I like using my time efficiently.” A pause. “Do you want to leave?”

No. I like being near him, even when my stomach is doing complete flips.

“Why do you think I ask you in here while I’m undressing?”

There’s only one reason I can come up with. “Because you like to see me squirm.”

“Look at me.”

My eyes snap back with his command and I find that sexy dimple waiting with his smirk. He can read my attraction to him plain as day. “You’re right, I do. And maybe I like testing you.”

“Why?”

His gaze drops to my mouth, and my lips instantly turn dry. “Because every time I’m sure I have a handle on you, you surprise me.”

A “handle” on me? Abigail Mitchell from Greenbank, Pennsylvania? I’m pretty uncomplicated. And, by the way he talked about me to Belinda, it sounded like he’s already figured that out.

I guess maybe he never expected me to watch him in the shower. To be fair, I never expected to have the nerve to do that. Before coming here, I wouldn’t. And he’s not firing me for it, even though I crossed the line—again—and, this time, sober.

But is he angry with me about it? “How do I surprise you? In a bad way?”

“Some would think so,” he answers cryptically. He reaches up to slide the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip.

For someone who finds me unattractive, he’s giving off some seriously conflicting signals. Or maybe that’s just me, being clueless and stupid and wishful again. Either way... “I’m confused,” I whisper.