Accidental Lover (Wolven Moon Book 3)

by Dany Rae Miller

  “Oh, sweetness, you are even hotter when you’re mad.” Victor scans what I’m wearing. “Especially when you’re mad in a slinky robe. Are you wearing anything under that?” He reaches for me, almost dropping a file he’s carrying.

  I wriggle out of his grasp. “Not funny, Victor. I can’t believe you hired me just like that.” I pull the robe tighter around me. “You know as well as I do that rumors spread fast and far in this industry.”

  Taking his gaze from my chest to my eyes, he loses the grin and gets serious.

  “I know, Cherie. I’m sincerely sorry. My excuse is that I got carried away competing for you.” He swallows. “What kind of GM would let The Graces steal an experienced person like you out from under us?” At least he looks guilty.

  “Well.” I try snideness. “I could consider the silver lining. If every resort owner from here to Tokyo thinks I’ll sleep with them, my career will take off like a rocket.”

  Before he pushes off from the door, he throws the deadbolt to lock it.

  “Now, that is not funny, Cherie. And stop calling yourself a slut. You’re not.” He sits on the bed. “If any rumors do circulate, they’ll be about you taking advantage of being a family friend. No one but the two of us knows what happened last night. We’ll keep it that way.”

  “Promise?” I want to trust him.

  “Absolutely.”

  I fiddle with the robe sash, tying it tighter. His eyes seem sincere.

  “I so wanted to see if I could earn it on my own, first. I wouldn’t even allow Gabs to interfere.”

  “You did earn it on your own. Look. Right after breakfast, I went to Human Resources and pulled your application. HR was on the verge of calling you with an offer. The problem they had is where to place you. You’re over qualified for every intern slot we’ve got.”

  I want to believe him. “Are you being honest with me, Victor?”

  Doing the three finger salute, he says “Scouts honor.” He pats the bed next to him. “Sit, Ms. Cherie Rose Valentine.” He opens the folder.

  It has my application in it. Curious, I sit and lean in to see the rest of documents in my file.

  “You want proof? Look at the notation date,” he says.

  SELECTED is stamped across the top of my application. The stamp is dated a week ago. I smile.

  “Not sure if you know this, but Santana Resorts is expanding at a steady pace,” he says.

  “Yeah. You’re picking up a new property just about every year.” I nod. “I want to intern here at the flagship hotel, and hopefully move up in the company.”

  Wow. Peaches did her homework.

  “Excellent. Santana needs managers we can trust. To get the quality staff we want, Grandmother decided we should develop our own management program.”

  The cover sheet on a packet he hands me says Fast Track Program.

  “Since you’re an advanced senior, and we know you personally, we’d like to launch and test the program with you. We’d expect detailed feedback from you as you move through it so we can fine tune the program for future applicants.”

  I flip the cover page to an outline. In essence, it’s a total immersion program. For a year, I’d spend a few weeks in every department, from laundry to sales, and learn The Avalon processes first hand.

  Scanning the details quickly, I get to the last page. In exchange for the training, I’d have to sign a contract vowing to stay employed with Santana Resorts for four years after completing the program. However, there is no guarantee I’d get a management position at the end of the program.

  “This is more than an internship.”

  He nods his head. “We’d have to tweak it to meet CU’s credit requirements. Easy enough to do.”

  It’s an incredible opportunity. I narrow my eyes at him.

  “You’re not offering me this just because I slept with you?”

  “Grandmother suggested it. So no, not just because you slept with me. Though, you did demonstrate an incredible talent for making a man feel extremely welcomed at The Av.” He grins.

  “Victor. Don’t tease.” I search his eyes, looking for the truth. “If I take this, I want no special treatment. In fact, I want you to be harder on me than anyone else.”

  “Oh, I’ll be so hard on you, you won’t know how to handle me. I’m, literally, hard right now.” He kisses my neck. “Want to practice?”

  I laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Aw, that’s too bad.” He kisses up throat to my lips to take my mouth hard and deep. He tastes like mimosa. Enjoying the flavor, I lick the inside of his mouth.

  He growls and fondles one of my breasts through the hand-me-down silk summer rope.

  “Do you know that this robe is extremely thin? And the tighter you cinch it up, the more I can see?” He rasps to my mouth, squeezing the breast in his hand. “You’ve been driving me nuts, Cherie.”

  When his fingers gently pull and massage the nipple, I can’t stifle the moan. He opens the robe and leans down to lick the nipple. God, I love the sensation of his mouth there. I squirm. All muscles below my waist clench. As though he knows what it does to me, he puts his mouth over it, sucking it in and twirling it with his tongue.

  “Victor,” I groan and squirm on the bed.

  “So, is this the special treatment you mean? You don’t want me to do this, peaches?” He whispers, blowing on the wet nipple before paying attention to the other one.

  I gurgle a totally unrecognizable response, squirming more and more.

  Sliding off the bed, he kneels between my legs and pulls the robe completely open. “So beautiful.” He cups both my breasts and sucks on them more.

  One hand slides down to caress my thigh and then moves to the vee between my legs. “Hmmm. You are so soft right here.” With a reaction of their own, my hips rock to meet his hand.

  With a thumb, he presses and vibrates my clit. “What about kissing you here? Is that special treatment you don’t want, Cherie?”

  Lacing my fingers through his hair, I lean back wanting his mouth there so badly. “So not a fair negotiating tactic, Mr. Santana.”

  He laughs. “Oh, sweetness, just so we’re clear, I am not going to play fair when it comes to you.” He slips a finger inside me, fanning the throbbing fire. When he sucks the sensitive little bud, it’s the purest pleasure I could ever imagine. I rock my hips toward his mouth.

  “Oh. My. God.” I moan.

  I can feel him smile in my crotch. “Does that mean you officially accept the Fast Track Program, Cherie?”

  When I don’t answer right away, he removes his finger and his mouth.

  “I need an answer, mi ninfa.” He blows on the wetness he created. “Do you want to go to Santa Fe? Or stay here, with me?”

  He flicks my clit with his tongue, again. I whimper with want.

  “Cherie? Say ‘yes, Victor, you win.’ ”

  “Yes, Victor, you win.”

  “Good girl.” He latches on to my clit and sucks gently while his finger creates magic inside.

  “Oh god, don’t stop.”

  His big hands grip my behind, stilling me while his mouth alternates licking, sucking and firm lapping. My rise to climax is quick and steep. The explosion this time is a long and languid one, tingling and curling toes. On and on, he licks, a rainbow of colors flash behind my closed eyes.

  “Sweet, delicious Cherie,” Victor whispers. “I want you.”

  I hear his zipper go down just as the door knob twists and jiggles.

  “Ms. Valentine?” A woman with a French accent calls out and knocks on the door. The seamstress. “I need to fit your dress now,” the woman says.

  “Fuck,” Victor growls. “We’ll definitely continue this later,” he zips his pants and kisses me quickly.

  “Ms. Valentine? Right now, s’il vous plaît.” The woman sounds perturbed. “As you know, we’re on a very tight schedule.”

  “Just a minute,” I say.

  Victor stands, adjusts the bulge in his pants t
he best he can. I giggle because it looks painful. Teasing, he narrows his eyes at me and points at his crotch. “This is your fault, virgin,” he whispers.

  Winking, he goes to the door and opens it for the rude French woman.

  “Come in, Mademoiselle Beatrice,” he says.

  Mademoiselle Beatrice is a witch, an old crone. Great. She raises an eyebrow at Victor. “Bonjour, Mr. Santana. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  She pushes her way in to the bagged dress hanging on the closet door.

  “I was on my way out. I’ll leave you two to do what you need to do to make my cousin’s wedding spectacular,” Victor says.

  He turns to me. “Ms. Valentine, HR will need you to come by to sign a few documents. We’ll need copies of your social security card, driver’s license and CU will need to fax your transcripts over as well.”

  “Not a problem, Mr. Santana,” I say.

  When he’s gone, Beatrice slides the dust cover off the dress.

  “It’s magnificent.” I touch the expensive silk, the very expensive silk.

  Dropping the robe, I step into the dress and pull the lighter than air creation over my hips. Fitting my boobs into the perfectly sewn in cups, I slip the sparkly crystal pavé straps over my shoulders and arrange the billowy neckline. The entire dress fits like a glove. Beatrice flits around me tugging and smoothing.

  “Mademoiselle, it’s perfect, a work of art. Listen. Did you consider my request to make payments on the dress?”

  I turn around to see the back of the silver gown in the three-way mirror. Pavé continues from the straps to trim the bare back that plunges to just the top of my rear. The bodice hugs tight to the hips then flares slightly to land the hem exactly tea length above the ankle. Sexy, but not obscene — except the side boobage. I’ll have to tape it down.

  Beatrice notices the side spillage and quickly stitches under my arms. Poof. Fixed!

  “Really, it’d only be three or four months in installments,” I ask her again. Shouldn’t be difficult, since I have a summer job now.

  “Do I look like a savings and loan to you, young lady? I’ve already paid my staff and purchased the fabric.” She’s got a nasty nasally tone.

  Shavone was right. She’s a bitch, but a talented bitch. I stare in the full length mirror, amazed.

  “Maybe you should have thought about the expense before you said yes to being a Santana bridesmaid. You’ll be much happier knowing your station in life, missy.”

  Did she just call me trailer trash?

  She puts her needle and thread away. “If you can’t afford it, I’ll take it back with me and you can wear something else in the wedding.”

  The lady knows damn well I can’t do that. “It’s not a problem. I’ll write you a check,” I say.

  “I take credit cards.” She produces a swipe attachment for her phone.

  Would I lose the internship if I hex her or scratch her eyes out? Probably. She is The Avalon’s on-call seamstress, artfully saving celebrity guests from last minute clothing disasters.

  “I don’t have a credit card.” That’s why I registered under mom’s name.

  The bitch grunts. “Fine. A check, then. If it bounces, I’ll add on an additional 10% processing fee.”

  “Just give me a few days before you cash it. I’ll need to transfer funds from my savings account.” This wedding is the last hurrah for that account. College is almost done, though. With the Fast Track Program, I’ll make it, but just barely.

  She grunts, again.

  “Change now so you don’t ruin it. You can’t afford to have me come back to fix any damage.”

  Nose in the air, she helps me carefully take off the dress that costs ten times more than my entire wardrobe put together –– shoes and underwear included.

  I put the blue dress back on. The designer original was a bargain at a Boulder consignment store. Perhaps I can consign Beatrice’s dress after the wedding and recoup some of the cost.

  Digging through my tote, I find my checkbook and write the biggest check I’ve ever written in my life. It’s Gabs’ wedding. It’s worth it –– I think.

  I stuff the checkbook, the folder Victor gave me and my robe back into my tote before following Beatrice out of the bedroom. I’ll leave the pricey dress here until the wedding.

  “Hey.” Gabs’ gaze darts between my eyes. “Is everything okay?”

  Lounging in a chair, Victor steeples his fingers together, staring at me.

  The door was ajar during the fitting. I know the Santana cousins overheard my budget conversation with bitch Beatrice. God. How embarrassing.

  “Absolutely. It’s a perfect fit,” I say and hand Beatrice my check. “Mademoiselle. Thank you.”

  “I’ll pay for it, C,” Gabs’ says.

  “I got it, G.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” she says.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. Save your help for when I’m verging on homelessness and need rent money.” I smile. “What’s next, wifey-to-be?”

  “The florist.” She glances at her watch. “Now, actually. You have to help me improvise. Some of the varieties on my list aren’t available.” She grabs her wedding planning book and heads for the door with me at her heels.

  I smile at Victor. He winks at me.

  “Hold up, Gabby,” Victor says. “Are all the dresses for your wedding finished?”

  She nods. “Cherie’s was the last.”

  “Good. I’ll see you at lunch. I need to have a word with Mademoiselle Beatrice before she leaves.”

  chapter seven

  I’VE NEVER HIT a woman much less a witch, but I’m willing to make an exception today. As soon as the girls leave, I muster every ounce of control I have over my wolf. He wants to punch the old bag, slap the wrinkled mouth that spoke so rudely to Cherie.

  I stand. “Can I see the check Ms. Valentine gave you?” I don’t wait for her to hand it to me. I yank it from her hand, note the amount and then tear it into tiny pieces.

  “Here! Mr. Santana, what is the meaning of this?”

  “I’ll pay for the dress. Send me the bill.”

  “Really?” She raises a judgmental eyebrow.

  Beatrice doesn’t need any gossip ammo so I qualify the statement with a lie. “Ms. Valentine can pay me back in installments.”

  “If that’s what you’d like.” Nose in the air, she turns on her haughty heel to leave.

  “I’m not finished.” I block her path to the door. “Mademoiselle, that was the rudest conversation I’ve ever overheard in this hotel. If you were my employee, I’d fire you on the spot, have you escorted off the property and ban you for the rest of your goddamn life. Since you obviously can’t treat our guests with the respect they deserve, we will no longer refer Avalon clients to you. Not one more. Do you understand?”

  I move out of her way. “Now, you can get the hell out of my hotel.”

  She stalks off. At the door, she turns to look at me. “Make no mistake, Mr. Santana. I am the best at what I do. Your customers will demand a quality clothier and when they do, you’ll call me.” With a haughty grin, she goes and lets the door fall closed.

  Not going to happen, woman.

  Once the door clicks shut, I step into the bedroom to retrieve Cherie’s personnel file and my notes for the landscape meeting that I’m now five minutes late for, only to realize that my girl took the folder with her.

  I walk over to the house phone, dial my assistant’s extension. “Would you please reschedule the landscaping meeting to this afternoon.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I thank him and disconnect. Next, I dial the front desk. “This is Victor. What’s the status on 310?”

  “Vacant tonight, booked for four nights starting tomorrow, sir.”

  “Upgrade the incoming guest to a suite on six with my compliments. Then, move Ms. Valentine from 302 to 310 effective immediately with an indefinite departure date.”

  “Yes, sir. Would Ms. Valentine like a bellhop
to help her move her things?”

  “No. I’ll take care of it. Comp Ms. Valentine’s room and put the requisition on my desk to sign for HR. Ms. Valentine is a new employee.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Pleased with how everything worked out this morning, I head down the hall to the elevators –– still feeling like I’m walking on air.

  What have you done to me Ms. Cherie Rose Valentine? One night and you’re all I can think about. Aw, but what a night. Who’d ever guess that a virgin could be such a magnificent lover. Sweet. Soft. Demanding and responsive as hell. Maybe that’s it. The enthusiastic way she responded to my touch.

  Wow. She took my breath away on so many levels. A few seconds recalling how she met every thrust from me in bed, my mood improves considerably. So pleased she got the wrong room. So fucking pleased.

  My virgin. Mine.

  Need to get that file and my notes back. If I remember correctly, Gabby was meeting the florist in the ballroom. I punch the mezzanine button.

  I hear my girl’s soft, feminine voice as soon as the elevator opens. It’s such a smooth, almost goddess like sound. Soothing, that’s what it is.

  The flowers are set up near the side entrance. I lean on the wall in the back of the ballroom, watch mi pequeña play with the flowers. Her dress flutters around those sexy legs every time she moves. I wonder if she knows that she puts the roses she’s holding to shame.

  “Okay, so we can’t get enough of one type of flower to achieve the wow you want,” Cherie says. “So, let’s focus on color instead. What do you think of covering the ceremony and the reception in one color of every variety available? White, perhaps. Everything from white roses to white tulips to white calla lilies to white daisies.”

  “Oh! Em! Gee! Cherie, that’s brilliant!” Screeches the obviously gay florist. “So elegant yet so simple. Oh, and the color simply must be white. Oh! Em! Gee! Oh! Em! Gee! How romantic!”

  Such excitement over fucking flowers.

  “I love, love, love it.” Gabby hugs Cherie. “You are the smartest bestie and maid of honor ever, C.” My cousin nods at the florist. “Let’s do it. All white flowers of every type you can find.”