And I know.I follow the familiar wolf scent to the last door on the right.A lock and a keypad greet me.Easy enough.I try the keys until I find a match and unlock the deadbolt.Then I push in the numbers the security guard gave me.
The door clicks open.
And I enter.
18
Ilook around, my jaw nearly on the floor.
This place is amazing.What’s more amazing is how little I recall of my time here.I was so into Victor Rogan that I took nothing else in.
And boy, is there a lot to take in.
The carpeting is plush and blood red, but all I see is my tattered T-shirt, my bra cut in two, and my thong in pieces.
In my mind, I mean.
Because that’s what happened the last time I was in this penthouse.I don’t remember the blood red carpeting.I don’t remember the black lacquer baby grand in one corner.I don’t remember the black and white leather furniture and the coffee table of pure glass.I don’t remember the dark wood bar and the top shelf liquor on the marble shelving behind it.
Man, I could totally live here.
Out of curiosity, I head to the kitchen.Black and white marble countertops and stainless steel appliances.An island with bar stools.The refrigerator reaches to the ceiling, and without thinking, I open it.
I gasp.
Among Rogan’s gourmet delights is a container.
A container markedHannah.
Already I know what’s inside.It’s blood.
My God.He knew I’d come here.
I open the container and inhale.It’s not Rogan’s blood.Or maybe it is.Would it smell different if it’s not fresh?
No, it can’t be his.No way would an alpha were drain his own damned blood for me.Besides, it doesn’t even hint at a wolf scent.It’s human, though.He probably got it at a blood bank.I take a few quick gulps to stave off any blood lust that’s bound to creep up as I search this place.As anyone would suspect, his scent is thick here.
Reallythick.
I take another gulp of the red liquid and then replace the container in the fridge.
“Find what you’re looking for?”
I jerk backward, looking over my shoulder.Rogan.He’s wearing nothing but a pair of old jeans.His dark hair is in a mass of tangled waves flowing over his beefy shoulders.
And his eyes.Those irises are still swirling.
I keep my cool, thanks to the few swallows of blood.“You were expecting me.”
“I was.”
“And the bomb threat?”
“Manufactured, as you’ve obviously guessed.”
“Maybe I just like to live on the wild side.”
“I’m sure you do, princess, but I’m also pretty sure you’re not all that eager to have that gorgeous ass of yours blown to bits.”