Wolf Bait (Wolf Cove #1) (3 page)

Even though my eyes saw exactly the wrong he can do, firsthand.

“Okay.” She sighs. “Remember that your father and I love you, and...” There’s a long pause. “If this trip is what you need, then we support you.”

I can almost hear her teeth grinding as she forces those words out. But I don’t call her on it. I don’t tell her that I’m old enough to make my own decisions without her approval. If giving it helps her sleep at night, so be it.

“Just don’t forget who you are, and how you’ve been raised. And no alcohol. Look what happened when Jed got mixed up in that stuff.”

That’s one of their excuses for what happened. Alcohol. Parties.

A.k.a. the devil.

“It’s late. You best be goin’ to bed now. And text Jed. Let him know you’re safe. I’m sure he’d like to hear from you.”

I have no intention of texting him now, knowing that
she’s
there. “Right. Gotta go. Love you, Mama.” I hang up and sigh.

“People been doin’ that all day long,” a voice says beside me.

I look over. A guy with dark skin and a cropped haircut wipes the table behind me, the chain that dangles from his pocket slapping against the wood. “Doing what? Telling their parents that they love them?”

“Sighing with relief as soon as they hang up. Though the ‘I love you’ is sweet.”

I chuckle. “If their mamas are like my mama, then I believe it about the sighing.”

He works on a spot of ketchup, his tattoos prominently displayed on his forearm. “Name’s Miguel.”

I offer him a polite smile. “I’m Abbi.”

“Where you from, Abbi?”

“Pennsylvania, originally. Going to school in Chicago.”

He takes a break from wiping to stand up straight. His chocolate eyes wander over the area. “Another beautiful college girl.”

I blush at the compliment, though I don’t know how valid it is. While I don’t think I’m a complete troll, I’ve spent many years wishing away my dull ginger hair for blonde, my owlish hazel eyes for blue, and natural D-sized breasts for Bs, so it doesn’t hurt so much when I run.

They say every girl battles self-doubt, feeling ugly or fat or undesirable. I never really did, because I always knew I was desirable to Jed. He told me so regularly.

But everything has changed. I’m becoming more and more self-conscious, more unsatisfied with myself.

“Where do you live, Miguel?”

“San Jose.”

“Wow. That’s a long way to travel for a job.”

“And it’s damn cold up here, too.” He emphasizes the temperature change by shuddering, making me laugh.

“What made you come here to work then?”

“Me and my cousin are line cooks for the Wolf San Diego. This job came up and we were lookin’ for something new. An experience, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” I stack my dishes onto my tray.

“And you can’t beat the money. But,” he chuckles as he continues wiping, “not sure this Mexican can handle remote wilderness and lack of basic communication with the outside world. It’s a good thing they got me working the staff lodge where the Wi-Fi is. I may go loco otherwise.” He collects my dirty plates for me. “Listen, anything you want, my sweet Abbi, you call my name and I’ll hook you up.”

“Thanks, Miguel.”

He winks and then leaves with a slight swagger, the rag over his shoulder, humming to himself. He’s obviously flirting with me, but it’s the kind of casual flirting that I’ll bet he’s done with every female he’s come across so far today. I’ll bet there are plenty of sweet Saras and sweet Jennifers.

He’s a good-looking guy, though too wiry and short for my taste, and I don’t much care for tattoos. Still, it feels good, the attention, given where my confidence has sunk to over the past few months.

I like the classic tall, dark, and handsome. Jed fit that mold, in my eyes, anyway. And I had his eyes without fail, too. They were glued to me. To my face, to my chest, to my ass. Just because we were choosing the parent-approved route of saving ourselves for marriage didn’t mean we didn’t suffer from normal teenager hormones.

He’s palmed my breasts more times than I can count, playing with my erect nipples until they were sore. I wrapped my fist around his erection plenty, too. Only, it was always through his clothes. That was our rule—pants stayed on at all times. He came up with that rule. He said he wouldn’t be able to control himself otherwise, and honestly I wasn’t sure I would be able to either.

You can do a lot of things with clothes on. I loved teasing him, and I used to do so mercilessly, up until last summer when I teased him so much that he got mad and decided to teach me a lesson. That’s why, in the barn behind my house, he held me down by my wrists, pressed himself between my legs and ground against me until I was begging him to take my pants off and touch me.

The perfect time for my father and the farmhand to walk in.

That Sunday at church, Jed’s father gave a full-hour sermon on the sins of the flesh. Mama began prepping for a shotgun wedding, assuming I’d be delivering news of a future grandchild any day, even though I’ve been on birth control to help alleviate terrible menstrual cramps since I was seventeen. Boy, was getting her to agree to me on birth control a battle. My cries of pain were what finally softened her resolution.

Since last summer, we were both more considerate of each other, and maybe a little more careful, realizing exactly how wound up we could get. How easy it would be to ignore everything we’ve been taught to value and give in to human desires.

Jed ended up throwing it away anyway, only with someone else.

It’s not until a tear lands on the iPad screen that I realize I’m sitting here in the staff lodge in Alaska, still crying over Jed. I give my eyes an angry rub and then, collecting my backpack and tote bag, head for cabin seven.

Chapter Four

The staff accommodations remind me of summer camp, with small rectangular cabins lined up in rows and narrow pathways weaving among them. There are at least fifteen, from what I can see.

I make my way toward cabin seven, where a faint glow of light fills the windows. Laughter explodes the moment I open the door.

“Hey!” The closest woman comes forward with a grin. She reaches for my tote bag with her free hand. Her other one is gripping a silver flask. “Someone’s late to the party!”

I feel my face growing red, never one for overt attention. “My plane was delayed.”

She grins wide, showing me a beautiful set of white teeth. She’s extremely pretty, her pixie-cut hair framing her delicate features nicely. “No worries. I’m Autumn. You and I are bunkmates. Hope you don’t mind being on the bottom.”

“Not at all. I’m Abbi.”

“You’re going to get to know us all
really
well, and
really
fast.”

“I see that.” I do a quick scan of the cabin. Three sets of twin bunkbeds, one on each wall, and a tiny powder room opposite me. I’m not sure how six women are going to handle being in here together, but I guess we’ll manage.

Autumn waves a hand around the space. “Abbi, everyone. Everyone, Abbi.”

I nervously make the rounds as the others take turns introducing themselves to me. All of them look to be in their midtwenties. In the bunkbed kitty-corner to us are Rachel and Katie—two giggly bottle-blondes from Tampa. Across from us, a brunette named Lorraine from Oregon is lying on the top with a magazine in hand. A stunning redhead from Atlanta named Tillie sits on the bottom. Her hair is a vibrant, deep orangey red instead of my flat, boring shade; a color I’ve wished for since I was twelve. And her voice... I could listen to her accent all day long.

“We have to share a dresser. We each get two drawers and can split the middle one with our unmentionables. I took the top because I’m so tall. I hope you don’t mind,” Autumn says with a sheepish smile. She’s sweet. And she
is
tall. She must have at least five inches on me.

“I don’t mind at all.” I toss my backpack onto the floor, glad to have finally reached my bed. “What’s this?” I ask, reaching for the thick black material hanging against the wall.

“Privacy curtains.” Autumn yanks on it and the curtain flies across the track, around the bunkbed, closing us off from the others.

“Like a hospital.” I guess some privacy is better than none.

“Yeah. Sort of.” She giggles, tucking strands of cinnamon hair behind her ear. She throws the curtain back, until we’re a part of the group again. “The toilet’s there, and the showers are three buildings over, to the left. Thank God, because at five in the morning, it’s a cold walk.” She shudders. “At least they gave us robes.”

“Any guesses on what Autumn was hired for?” Lorraine asks.

“Wilderness guide?” I guess, and everyone laughs.

“Close. Concierge. Trust me, you don’t want me as a wilderness guide. Everyone would get eaten.”

“Well, I for one am not leaving the confines of this beautiful property, so no one’s gonna be eatin’ this southern girl,” Tillie purrs.

“Except maybe the big bad wolf,” Autumn mocks, and they all explode with laughter. It must be an inside joke. Great. A few hours late and I’m already an outsider.

Autumn reaches out to grab my arm. “Have you seen him yet?”

I frown, confused. “Who? The big bad wolf?”

She laughs. “Henry Wolf, the owner.”

Oh.
I chuckle and shake my head.

Her eyes widen knowingly. “Just you wait. There isn’t a warm-blooded female here who wouldn’t spread her legs for that man’s tongue.”

My cheeks flush. Not that I haven’t wondered what it would feel like to have a man—Jed—go down on me. I don’t understand how I’ll ever psych myself up to allowing it. I can’t even touch myself without knowing that I’ll feel sinful once my climax has come and gone. I clear my throat. “So the owner’s here?” I never bothered to read up on the Wolf family, more interested in Alaska and the hotel itself.

“I saw him step out of his helicopter yesterday morning.”

“You
think
you saw him,” Rachel corrects.

“Oh, believe me, there’s no mistaking that man.” Autumn takes a swig from her flask. “He spoke at my grad ceremony two years ago. I guarantee you every woman’s panties were soaked through by the end of it. Maybe a few men’s, too.”

Another round of laughter. I can feel my face turning red at the crassness of their conversation. Not that I don’t think these things, or feel these things. I’ve just been taught never to discuss them openly like this. And my circle of friends at school doesn’t talk like that either.

But if I’m going to be living and working with these ladies for the next few months, I probably should start getting used to this now.

I keep my hands busy and my eyes down as I unpack my backpack, filling the two bottom drawers with clothes for both warm and cold weather, while the girls discuss the owner.

“The exposé on him in Forbes says he made his first million when he was sixteen, on some stock investment.”

“That’s a crock. He was already born a millionaire. His grandparents owned an Alaskan gold mine.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t earn that. It was handed to him.”

“I heard this property was given to him.”

“And his brother.”

“No, apparently it was all willed to him! Can you imagine the family feud over that?”

“It’s not like his brother hasn’t gotten enough. Well, maybe not yet. Their dad is still alive so he still technically owns this hotel.”

“Do you know who he’s dating? That Victoria’s Secret model. What is her name? The one on the cover of the holiday edition.”

“No. They broke up. She caught him in bed with two of her friends.”

“So that means he’s fair game.”

“I heard he’s super rigid and law-abiding, like his father. Honorable to a fault.”

“No way. Word around the Wolf is that he’s an arrogant, controlling prick who fucks women and then ditches them.”

“A guy like that must go through women like underwear.”

“I’ll gladly be his underwear.”

I listen to the back-and-forth chatter as I line my few basic toiletries up on top of the dresser. I unwrap the picture I brought of Mama and Dad and set it on the dresser, too. It’s my favorite one of them, back when they were in high school, and she was trim enough that Dad could easily wrap his arms around her waist. They got married as soon as she finished high school, my mama graduating two years after my dad. I came along almost nine months to the day after their wedding.

I leave the picture of Jed and me in the bottom of my duffel bag. The one that I’ve thrown into the trash and then fished out at least a dozen times, the pathetic, emotional part of me unable to let go. We’re sitting back-to-back on a bale of hay during the parade at the festival last summer, both smiling wide at the camera, happy as can be.

The only things I have left to put away are my bras, panties, and socks. They’ll have to go in our shared drawer. I hope Autumn doesn’t mind.

I slide open the drawer and stifle a gasp.

“I used a piece of cardboard to separate the space. You know, so we don’t end up wearing each other’s panties,” Autumn says.

“Great. Thanks,” I force out, my face burning as I study the long green dildo tucked into the side. When is she planning on using that? I could never bring myself to buy one, let alone bring it into a cabin with five other women!

I quickly empty the rest of my things out and slide the drawer shut, in case she forgot to hide it.

“So, is everyone getting together in the staff lodge tonight?” Tillie asks, watching herself in the mirror as she drags a scarlet lipstick over her bottom lip. I tried red lipstick on once, while getting dressed for Halloween, only to scrub it off minutes later. I looked like a clown. Tilly doesn’t, though. She looks sultry.

“Yeah. May as well enjoy the fun now before they work us to the bone.” Lorraine slides off her bunk and exchanges her magazine for a flask from the top drawer. I guess I missed the flask memo.

“Oh, please. I heard the massage therapists work six-hour shifts, max,” Tillie scolds.

Lorraine wiggles her hands in the air. “My precious hands need rest.”

“Those precious hands of yours better be giving my body a deep tissue massage after a long day of answering rich people’s stupid questions,” Autumn says, topping up her flask from a bottle of vodka. How much has she had? Is she always this friendly, or is she drunk? “Hey, Abbi, where’ll you be working?”

“I’m supposed to be doing Outdoor, but they put me in Housekeeping.”

“Oh, that’s where I am! We can go to the training session tomorrow morning together. Us redheads need to stick together.” Tillie’s obviously happy about this. I hate to burst her bubble and tell her that I’m being transferred as soon as Belinda sorts things out, so I keep quiet and simply smile.

“That Outdoor crew is a bunch of male pervs, anyway. They all stood behind the yoga team this morning and watched them walk through their sessions,” Rachel warns, peeling her shirt off. Katie follows suit. “We’re gonna grab a quick shower. We’ll meet you there, okay?”

“Sure thing. Hey, Abbi. You’re coming, right?” Autumn zips up her vest.

I’m exhausted. I’ve barely slept in the last two weeks, thanks to finals and nervousness over this trip. Fear of the unknown. Normally, I’d curl up in bed with a good book and read until I drift off. I even loaded my e-reader with about fifty novels to get me through four months of summer nights and off-work hours.

They’re all drinking, obviously, and not bothering to hide it. Back at college, people would have get-togethers, but they were tame and kept undercover as compared to what I’ve heard happens on other campuses.

This is all new to me.

But I want to have fun. Plus, it’s the best way to keep my mind off Jed and
her
in Greenbank.

“Sure. Yes.” They’re the kind of girls I never hung out with in school, though sometimes I wondered what it’d be like, to be their friends; to be a part of the “in crowd.”

“Great! The alcohol in the lodge is the only thing not subsidized, and it’s super expensive, so you’ll want to bring your own,” Autumn warns, adding, “Unless you’re made of money.”

I bite my tongue before I admit to them that I don’t drink. That I’ve never been drunk before in my life.

“Here. We can share until you can get to Homer to stock up next week.” Tillie thrusts her flask in my hand.

What if I refuse? Will I be buying myself a ticket to loser town with them?

This feels like high school all over again.

“Hey, can you guys save us seats on that couch by the fire?” Rachel asks. She hooks her thumbs under her panties and pulls them until they drop to the ground. Both she and Katie stand front and center in the room, buck naked, seemingly without a care in the world.

On our campus, girls changed before heading to the shared bathrooms, and they covered themselves with towels.

Another thing I’m going to need to get used to.

I bring the flask to my mouth and take a big, wince-inducing gulp.

~ ~ ~ ~

“So, you’re an es... esthe...” I can’t get the name out, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the word or the alcohol that Tillie’s been pumping into me.

“Esthetician. Yes.” Katie giggles, flipping her silky mane of blonde hair over her shoulder. “I worked for the Hilton for a couple years, but I got laid off last December. Wolf hired me on contract for this job. We’ll see how things go. Maybe I can get transferred to a permanent location when the season’s over. They have hotels all over the world.”

“What exactly does an esthetician do, again?” The closest place I’ve been to a beauty salon is Sheila’s Clip ’N’ Color shop on Main Street, back home. Sheila, my mama’s childhood friend, has been trimming my hair for as long as I can remember.

“Anything related to beauty and grooming. That’s me. That’s what I love.” All it takes is a once-over of her to see that. Perfectly shaped and painted nails, glowing skin, shaped brows. “Facials, chemical peels, mani-pedis, waxing, makeup application.”

“I’ve never had
any
of those things done,” I admit.

“Really?” Her blue eyes slide over my face. I don’t think she’s all that surprised. “You should let me do your eyebrows. It takes, like, ten minutes. Tops.”

“Does it hurt?” I glance around, suddenly embarrassed that someone can hear this conversation. I don’t see that happening, though. The staff lodge has come alive with laughter and music as compared to an hour ago when I was cramming in dinner. A guy with a beanie sits by the fireplace, strumming an acoustic guitar. If there was a piano here, I’d try to match his notes. That’s one thing that I will miss about not being back home for the summer: access to the piano in our family room. I’ve been playing since I was six; mostly church hymns though. Sometimes, when Old Mollie Simmons isn’t feeling well, Reverend Enderbey asks me to play at Sunday service.