Vice (Fireborn Wolves Book 1)

by Genevieve Jack

  She turned back to find his face red, a scowl directed at her. He pointed at the spot she was standing in when she’d kissed him. “I seem to remember asking you on a date… for the second time. And you kissing me. What makes you think this was about casual sex?”

  She was taken aback by his question. “You do have a reputation as a playboy.”

  His lip curled. “Ah, the tabloids. You read them, and you believe them?” He formed a gun with his finger and thumb and pointed it at her.

  “Er, no, actually. I usually don’t. I just… It is called Hunt Club,” she said. “The thrill of the chase. Isn’t casual sex what this place is all about?”

  All emotion drained from his face, and a polished air of invincibility came over him. “I see.” He adjusted his watch and pulled his phone from his back pocket. “As it so happens, I’m late for my afternoon orgy,” he said through his teeth, his words dripping with sarcasm.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Get started with Milo. You’ll find all of his things in the mudroom off the kitchen. I’ll check in with you later.” He gave her an entirely professional smile before leaving the room abruptly.

  She stared at the door in shock, arms at her sides. A warm, wet nudge to her fingers reminded her that her charge was waiting. Milo’s wrinkled face smiled up at her. “Don’t look at me like that. How could I have known he’d take offense? The place is called Hunt Club for crying out loud, and there are just short of a million incriminating pictures of the man on the Internet.”

  The dog perked his floppy ears and tilted his head.

  “Yeah, yeah. Come on. You need exercise and I need air.”

  Twelve

  Clearly, Kyle had tried his best to provide for Milo. Laina found a basket of toys, treats, and a variety of leashes in the mudroom off the kitchen. Milo stuck to her side and examined each item as she pulled it from the basket, sniffing and licking each one. The mastiff was interested and friendly, snorting derisively and stomping his feet when she returned a rope toy to the pile.

  She selected a training lead and positioned it on Milo’s neck. Adding a handful of small treats to her pocket, she led the dog to the back door. “Okay, Milo. We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”

  The dog panted up at her, ears perked. A glob of slobber dropped from the corner of his sagging lips onto the toe of her shoe.

  “I’m not going to hold that against you. I have a very good friend named Cameron who does the same thing sometimes.” She rubbed the dog’s tawny head. “Now, I’m going to open this door. You’re going to wait and let me go through first. Understand?”

  Pant, pant, pant.

  “Sit.” She pressed his butt to the floor and mumbled, “Here goes nothing.”

  Turning the knob slowly, she straightened, sending Milo every physical and metaphysical signal she could muster to indicate she was the alpha and he should stay behind her. But as soon as the door was cracked three inches, Milo bolted. Yanked by her leash-holding arm, Laina soared like a kite over the threshold, body flapping behind the massive canine. As he bounded across the pool deck, she leapt over pool chairs, limbs flailing until she could muster her inner wolf.

  “Milo, stop!” she growled, giving the dog a sharp and firm correction.

  Milo slowed to a stop at the edge of the yard. Panting, Laina took the mastiff’s slobbery face in her hands. “Why did you have to do it the hard way?” The dog’s tongue flicked out and up the side of her face.

  “Ms. Whitehall, is everything all right?” the housekeeper called from the door Laina had left hanging open.

  Laina waved. “Just fine.” She nudged Milo and adjusted the training lead. “Let’s try this again.”

  The backyard was ideal for a large dog like Milo. It was easily two acres, fenced, with plenty of shade trees. The swimming pool Milo had flown past might offer him an excellent form of exercise if the pool cleaner didn’t protest the inevitable dirt and hair in the filter.

  After a long afternoon of training, Laina concluded that Milo was further along than she’d expected. He could sit on command, as well as lay down, and he came when called. He did not know the command to leave an object alone, and a ball she tossed for his amusement was promptly destroyed rather than returned.

  But after several sessions around the yard, Milo followed her back to the house at an easy walk.

  “I can’t believe it.” The housekeeper grinned from the door, her graceful gray chignon reminding Laina of a character from a children’s book. “I never thought anyone but Herbert would bring that beast to heel.”

  “Herbert?”

  “Kyle’s father.” She grinned, rubbing Milo’s head. “Kyle was right about you. You are the best. I’m Gerty.” The elderly woman held out her hand.

  Kyle said I was the best? “Anna. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “I’ll call you Anna if you prefer. But ever since he brought Milo to see you at your clinic, he hasn’t stopped talking about you.” She winked. “I can’t recall a woman ever having the effect you did on him.”

  Laina narrowed her eyes on Gerty. So, the old woman knew her secret as well. “Come on. Did he put you up to this? Half-naked supermodels twenty-four hours a day. Hundreds of pictures on the Internet of his very busy lifestyle. I’m sure he has better things to talk about than a vet he met in New Hampshire.”

  Gerty pressed her lips together, her face growing serious. She seemed to want to say something but stopped herself. “Well, you would know better than I would.”

  Laina’s eyebrows knit together, but the old woman turned back toward the kitchen before she could say another word. Clearly, Gerty had known Kyle longer than Laina and the twist of the woman’s thin lips would indicate her comment was sarcasm. But why? Why not address the realities of what Kyle did head-on, one way or the other?

  “Oh, Gerty,” she called, “is there a place nearby where I can order dinner?”

  She clucked her tongue. “I should have told you that Chef serves dinner in the dining room of the west wing at six o’clock. I’m afraid you’ve missed tonight’s seating.”

  “Seating?” She laughed. “Does he cook for the staff every night?”

  She stopped dusting and looked at Laina as if she were dense. “Yes. For the others. You’re staying in Kyle’s private wing, but there are always around twenty employees living in the west wing on any given day. Models, waitstaff, writers.”

  “Writers?”

  “For the online magazine.”

  “Oh.”

  “I can make you a sandwich if you like,” she said.

  “Don’t bother, Gerty,” Kyle said as he entered the kitchen. His attire had gained a sport coat and he looked as polished as when he’d left. “We’ll fend for ourselves.”

  “Excellent.” Gerty gave a small smile. “I’ll be heading home then unless you have something else for me.”

  “Nope. Go put your feet up. How’s Arthur?”

  “Recovering. Knee’s still sore but the doc says that’s to be expected. He’s got his spunk back.”

  “Good. Send him my love.”

  “I will, Kyle. He can’t wait to get back.”

  “We can’t wait to have him.” He kissed her on the cheek and she left the room, along with Kyle’s cordiality. When his eyes settled on her, his face turned impassive, a poker player with cards tight to his vest. Silence settled between them.

  When she was sure the housekeeper was out of earshot, she said, “Kyle, about what I said earlier—”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how my afternoon orgy went?” He spread his hands. “You know, the thing about orgies, they’re only fun if you’re the last one to finish. Finish first and you become an accessory. Easy enough for the females involved but as a male…” He raised his eyebrows. “Plus, it’s crowded and remembering names is such a bother.”

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I obviously offended you. I made a rude and crass insinuation based on rumors and innuendo.” She held up a finger,
narrowing her eyes at him. “But in my defense, there are hundreds of incriminating photographs of you on the net. While you don’t need a complete stranger accusing you of being a manwhore in your own home, I do think the evidence is on my side with this one.”

  “Thank you. I accept your apology.”

  She balked at his soft response to her self-righteous pseudoapology.

  His brows knit together and one corner of his mouth bent into a wry grin. “Do you still consider me a complete stranger? This is our fifth conversation. And let’s not forget, I saved you from being manhandled by that guy in the club and kept you out of prison, plus I know your deepest, darkest secret, Dr. Laina Flynn. I think we can officially bridge the gap to friendship, don’t you?”

  Not my deepest or darkest secret, she thought, but considering she’d explored the deepest regions of his mouth with her tongue, perhaps it was time to move beyond strangers. “Agreed.”

  “Come on. I’m hungry. I’ll make you my famous omelet. And when I say famous, I mean loved and adored by the only three people I’ve ever made it for.” He leaned in close. “Just to warn you, they were all related to me and very hungry at the time.”

  “I’m up for an adventure,” she said shrugging. “But first, you need to feed Milo.”

  With a nod, Kyle crossed to the corner of the kitchen and scooped three cups of high-end kibble into a stainless steel bowl he retrieved from Milo’s raised bowl stand. Milo nudged his elbow, snorting and stomping his feet.”

  “Don’t you dare just give that to him,” Laina said.

  “Huh? You just told me to feed him.”

  “Look at his body language. In dog terms, he’s calling you his bitch right now.”

  Kyle looked down at Milo, the dog’s unblinking stare holding a hint of aggression. Milo woofed and nudged the bowl. “What do I do?”

  “Make him work for it. Tell him to sit.”

  “Sit, Milo.”

  Milo’s mouth closed and he pounced. His front feet punched into Kyle’s shoulders knocking him to the kitchen’s stone floor. Dog food sprayed across Kyle’s face and skimmed in every direction. Milo stepped over his owner and began slurping the kibble off the floor like a canine vacuum.

  Laina leaned over Kyle. “Are you okay?” She hoped he hadn’t hit his head.

  He raised the empty bowl, rotating it above his face. Kibble skimmed from the shoulders of his suit jacket. “I’m my dog’s bitch.” He frowned. “He didn’t even buy me dinner first. I bought him dinner.”

  “We can fix this.” She held out a hand and helped him from the floor, picking a piece of dog food out of his handkerchief pocket. She tossed it to Milo, who was almost finished cleaning up the rest.

  He rubbed the back of his head, his defeated grin close enough that he had to bend his neck to look at her. “Are you still up for that omelet?”

  In fact, with his face so close to hers, she was up for a hell of a lot more. Her wolf was quick to remind her that her vice was in the room, with a blast of heat that traveled straight to her core.

  She nodded and backed away before she did something she’d regret.

  He opened the refrigerator and retrieved a carton of eggs, before pausing to remove his jacket and roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Holy muscles of the gods. She slid onto one of the bar stools next to the kitchen island and watched with her chin in her hands.

  “Since we’re friends,” Laina began slowly, “and we’ve established you are not a manwhore, do you mind explaining your public reputation?” She had to ask. The man was a walking enigma. It was driving her crazy.

  “Only if you promise to stop using the term manwhore. What the hell does that even mean? A whore is someone paid for sex. Not even the tabloids say I’m paid for sex.” The quirky grin was back, and she crossed her legs against the resulting ache it elicited in her.

  “But you are in the tabloids, often with several different women.”

  Kyle pulled out a cutting board and began chopping a tomato. “It’s my brand.”

  “Your what?”

  “My brand. Hunt Club deals in fantasy. We create an environment exclusive to men. Men want to live vicariously through someone like me, someone with a new girlfriend, or two or three, every other week. Every aspect of the Hunt Club franchise is built around the desires of men. They can’t get what we offer in the real world. It doesn’t exist.”

  “Naked women don’t exist?”

  “No. We don’t sell nudity. Hell, the body paint provides more coverage than some of the restaurant uniforms out there. We sell pride. Men are the kings of the jungle here; hence the lion logo. They make the rules. They’re in control. They lead the hunt.”

  She snorted. “It’s the lionesses who do the hunting.”

  “Like I said, we deal in fantasy, not reality.” He drifted to a cabinet at the far side of the kitchen and rummaged inside.

  “Wine or Scotch?” he asked. He glanced over his shoulder. “Or are you a teetotaler?”

  “Scotch,” she said, her wolf growling slightly from within.

  He beamed at her over his shoulder. “I knew it. A woman who kisses like you had to drink Scotch.”

  Cheeks warming, Laina rounded the island and selected a knife from the block. She began slicing the onion on the counter while he poured the Scotch. “Your brand, as you call it, it’s not real?”

  He sipped the amber liquid, its color only a shade darker than his eyes, and gave her a condescending look. “I’m not a virgin if that’s what you’re asking.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had girlfriends. Some aspects of my public life are real. But, most of the women you see in the magazines or online are actresses or models.” He took a deep breath through his nose and stepped in close beside her, handing her the other Scotch. With his shoulder brushing hers, he said through a smile, “I am a one-woman-at-a-time kind of guy, and I prefer to be all the man my woman needs.”

  She paused with the knife halfway through the onion and swallowed hard.

  “Careful,” he said. “Your thumb.”

  Glancing down, she noticed her thumb dangerously close to the path of the knife and pulled her hand away, reaching for the Scotch. “Thanks,” she murmured.

  He grabbed the eggs and started cracking them into a glass bowl. “Although recently, I haven’t had time for anyone, to be honest.”

  “No? Been flying solo, have you?” She managed to make the words flying solo sound lascivious.

  He rolled his eyes like she was a precocious eighth grader. “You know, you’re sworn to secrecy about this. You could ruin me, spreading rumors I’m monogamous.”

  She grinned. “Your secret’s safe with me. A secret for a secret.”

  He ignited a burner on the Viking range and positioned a frying pan over the flames. “That should be enough.” He lifted the cutting board of chopped onions from the island and retrieved a bag of spinach and some feta from the fridge.

  “Gerty says you have employees living on-site.”

  “At every location we own.”

  “How many locations are there?”

  “Five others. Jackson Hole, Lake Christina, Pine Ridge, Dunes Island. Fern Gulch.”

  Kyle poured the egg into the pan and adjusted the heat.

  “And you have private residences at each of them? I mean, for yourself and for the employees.”

  “It’s easier that way. We choose remote areas to develop. Land is less expensive but the talent we need usually comes from New York or LA. Offering them an apartment while they’re here sweetens the deal.”

  “And you have a chef who cooks them dinner but not you?”

  He smiled at her as he sprinkled the filling ingredients into the egg. “Oh, Chef offered. I sent him home. I wanted you to myself.”

  When he turned back to the pan, she lifted her glass and tossed back the rest of her Scotch, then poured herself another.

  “I would like to take you out on that date you owe me, but this will have to do for now. Nate is expecting me b
ack at the club later tonight.” He plated one large omelet.

  “There’s only one.”

  “We’ll have to share.” He grinned. “Unless you insist on dirtying another plate.”

  She shook her head slowly. The smile he gave in response made her pulse bound. Her wolf bowed her head and raised her haunches, ready to play.

  Milo must have sensed the shift in her inner spirit; he leapt to his feet, barking and wagging his tail.

  “What’s gotten into him?” Kyle asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Come on. It’s a beautiful night.” He gestured toward the patio.

  She collected the glasses and Scotch and followed him outside to an umbrellaed table near the pool. She noticed he only brought one fork but she didn’t say anything.

  Milo followed, off leash. She wasn’t concerned, given the fenced yard, but he proved too tired to run anyway. The big dog curled up beside them.

  “Did you always want to be a vet?” he asked.

  She sipped her Scotch and sat down beside him. “Always. I’ve had a special connection to animals since the day I was born, more so than I do to people sometimes. Caring for them just seemed like a natural extension of that.”

  “If your work with Milo is any indication, you made the right choice. You’ve been here half a day and he’s already glued to your side.” Kyle offered her the first bite and she accepted. The omelet was good, although the egg was slightly overcooked. She presumed he didn’t cook often.

  “How about you? Did you always want to run a gentleman’s club?”

  “It’s not…” He rolled his eyes and seemed to accept that it was fruitless for him to try to explain Hunt Club once again. “Has it ever occurred to you that we hire a bunch of women at obscene salaries, women who want to be here, women whose time here pays for the next step in their careers?”

  “Women who don’t mind being objectified.”

  He straightened. “Are you the one to decide for them what is or isn’t appropriate employment for a free and independent woman in America?”