Pool party means adorning a bathing suit again. No, my nipples can’t be out around JP, they won’t behave. It’ll be a nipple apocalypse. I’ll barricade myself in my room instead, flick through some smut, and ride out this damn hormone surge.
Dwayne clears his throat and leans in, breath hitting my face.
I jerk back. “What?”
“Are you running a fever?” he asks, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Just a bout of raging libido, that’s all.
I shake my head, trying to play it cool. “No, no. I’m fine. Just a touch of an upset stomach.”
My racing pulse gives away the real culprit.
Oh fuck, and there he stands, in all his cocky arrogant glory.
The big, bad Wolfe who tasted my vulnerabilities in one powerful, stunning bite.
I hate the instant visceral reaction I have to him-a tug-of-war between dread and wanting to rip his clothes off.
He slouches lazily against the doorframe, his imposing six-three frame filling the space, and just like that, the room’s got this electric charge.
“Everyone settled in?” he drawls, his voice a low, resonant hum. “Got what you need?”
His eyes pin me as he says it, and I feel like I’m center stage under a blinding spotlight.
The room echoes with a chorus of “yep” as if anyone could dare to say otherwise.
“Excellent. That’s what I like to hear. Like I said, outside of work, take a dip in the pool, use the games room, spa, cinema room. Treat this place like it’s yours for the week.”
His eyes sparkle as he grins, a glint of amusement that sends my gaze diving to the carpet.
I find myself sinking even further into the couch, praying it could somehow swallow me up, and spit me out somewhere less embarrassing.
He saunters into the lounge like he owns the place, which to be fair, he does. He’s barefoot, but again, his territory, his rules.
“Now let’s talk business.” He switches gears effortlessly from casual seducer to the hard-edged tycoon bastard in an instant. He launches into a series of questions about our progress today. And just like that, he’s back in company owner mode, seemingly unaffected by our reckless bout of horniness in his hallway.
I wish I could recover as easily. It took me the best part of ten minutes to roll my tongue back into my mouth.
I have questions but I’m too flustered to ask. His demands are pretty high. He lures us into his world with paddleboarding and charm, only to land us with the weight of his grand ambitions. A cunning play, indeed.
“Understood,” Taylor concedes in answer to his demands, her eyes imploring us to follow her lead.
She smiles tightly, but I notice the subtle twitch in her throat. Perhaps under the bravado, Taylor is more anxious than she lets us believe.
No woman is an island and all that.
Is she worried JP might have her for lunch if we don’t deliver?
JP’s phone buzzes, and he steps out to answer.
For a stupid second, I wonder if it’s a woman on the other end, and an absurd wave of jealousy stings.
“Next he’ll want casinos on Mars,” Matty mutters under his breath, breaking the tense silence. “With robot dealers.”
The room fills with stifled laughter and hushed whispers.
Taylor lets out a huff and scribbles on her notepad. She looks really drained. How had I missed that before? Then again, I’ve been so wrapped up in my own little world since leaving the hospital.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow, Taylor?” I ask. “What time do you want us to start?”
She stops writing and blinks at me. “Oh, well… I guess if we’re to stand a chance of matching his expectations, we’d better be up and running by 7 a. m. I’m going to do yoga first.”
There’s an intake of breath.
“You kidding?” Brody groans.
“I’m serious,” she snaps.
“I’m with Taylor on this one,” I say, ignoring Matty as he elbows me. “The earlier we start, the earlier we finish. It’s just logic, guys. Matty, no partying tonight. Sorry, buddy.”
The room echoes with theatrical groans.
Taylor smiles at me, and it feels… real.
Since when did I join Team Taylor?
JP conveniently disappears for the rest of the night, leaving me with a head full of doubts.
I make a decision right then: Regardless of how mind-blowing it was, I have no intention of reenacting that hallway indiscretion. I can handle four more days in this pressure cooker. I just need to dive into work, not the ravenous jaws of the Big Bad Wolf.
Taking Taylor’s advice, we decide to hit the sack early. But sleep doesn’t come easy. It never does when my dreams choose to run wild.
I’m transported back to being a pint-sized version of myself in the garden of my childhood home, sprinting toward Buddy.
A menacing growl reverberates from Buddy’s throat, but I choose to ignore it. In my childish belief, I’m convinced I can melt his anger and darkness with my touch.
In a display of misplaced bravery, my arm snakes through the picket fence.
Buddy’s growl deepens, his once warm eyes are filled with something cold. As I reach out to touch him, Buddy snaps, his jaws closing around my little hand.
“No!” I scream.
It’s sharp, a searing pain that travels from my arm and spreads through my entire body. I try to scream, but all that comes out is a squeak.
The barking grows louder, morphing into a bizarre, grating noise.
Then, just like that, the dream fades away, transitioning into the soft glow of the early morning light. It takes me a minute to realize I’m in one of the luxurious suites at JP’s mansion, not caged in my nightmare.
I glance over to the source of the persistent noise.
Matty.
Sprawled across the bed like a starfish, his mouth hanging wide open as he snores loud enough to wake Tutankhamun.
He lets out a loud grunt and jolts in the bed as if invisible hands smacked him in his sleep.
I choke back laughter and check my phone. 4 a. m.
My God, what was that? I reach for the dream journal the clinic prescribed.
Ever since the accident, my dreams have taken a nightmarish detour, as if my subconscious refuses to let go of the stupid memory of an old dog from years ago.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I glance at my unscathed arm, still feeling the phantom pain of Buddy’s bite.