11. Connor O’Doyle

Chapter 11

Connor O’Doyle

A bit of a hairy tale .

I can’t believe I have to sneak into Whitley’s room. I’ve already done it once before to check for any malicious devices, and attempting it again is just asking for trouble. I’m not a big fan of violating someone’s privacy, considering I’d rage if someone did it to me.

Also, the idea of being in her scent-saturated room again and resisting the urge to go beast mode and grind against her sheets like an uncontrolled dog makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Her smell also clung to me for the rest of the day last time, inescapable and driving me insane. I had to take three showers, and it still wasn’t enough.

My sneakers eat up the smooth cobblestone path that winds around the castle as I contemplate what to do. Or rather, how I do it without getting caught or going feral for her.

My eyes flutter closed, annoyance shredding at my thinly won control. When I couldn’t sleep, I stayed out through the night, letting my wilder side free and running through the forest. The large basketball shorts that are snug in my other form droop along my hipbones as sweat rolls down my chest and back, but my body is at last exhausted.

Since her arrival, I have been wound tighter than usual, and now that she sleeps down the hall from me, she is a constant thorn in my side.

But, if it is wolfsbane, that would explain why my cock stirs every time the wench gets near and why I get so agitated around her. The way every word that leaves her mouth makes my instinct want to rear it’s ugly head and no concoction can seem to calm me when she is near. And the fact that I can’t seem to stop being a dick to her, when she’s really done nothing wrong but exist.

The sun kisses the night sky, and I can just make out the pinks and peaches through the trees to the east. I pull my phone from my running armband and press the side button to make the home screen light up.

Six am. I wonder if the harpy is awake yet. I’ll just wait until breakfast when I know she will be in the kitchen.

An hour later, I’m dressed in a gray suit, my designer shoes clipping down the marble hallway as I make my way to her work area to double check she’s there. The light tinkle of laughter hits my ears a few feet from the door.

I’ve never heard her laugh. Taking a peek in the door window, I can just make out Whitley, her back to me, before my eyes widen with horror when I see fucking Frank. His massive frame moves, blocking my sight, and I hold back a curse.

What the hell is he doing here, of all places?!

“I think it looks just like one,” Frank says.

Whitley snorts. “Really?”

“Doyle will love it,” he continues, moving away from the counter, and away from her, to reveal sweet atrocities sitting on a plate.

“Grumpy bear cupcakes?” She laughs again, and the sound twists something in the vicinity of my chest. “Doyle hates cupcakes.”

“I know,” Frank says, bending his overly large frame to see over her shoulder. His hand brushes her waist as he moves and my nostrils flare. “I think they look more like a wolf to me.”

How fucking dare he.

“Oh.” She cocks her head to the other side. “They kind of do look like a wolf, huh? Wolf cakes it is.”

Just as my temper overflows at the idea of Frank fraternizing with any of my staff members—especially Whitley—I place my hand on the door to intervene, but Frank moves away from her.

“Excellent.” He peeks over his shoulder and looks at me through the door’s window, smelling me there, and a stupid grin curls his lips. “I’ll let you get back to work, Miss Whitt.”

Fucking bastard. He’s up to something for sure.

She turns and beams him a smile, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright. Shit . The fact she’s never granted me a smile but will give them to this toolbag, who would snap her neck just for funsies, enrages me further.

“Okay,” she says, watching him leave through the other door to the kitchen.

I’d have to chase him through the castle to catch up to him, and he knows it. He and I will be having a talk later, but I came here for a reason and that was to make sure Whitley wasn’t in her room.

I curse under my breath and turn around to head the way I came.

Frank is going out of his way to skulk around the castle and get close to my employees, and it has me on edge. He’s not even trying to hide it, which means he’s flaunting it on purpose.

My teeth grind together as I reach her room, select the castle’s skeleton key from my key ring, and slide it into her lock. As I open the door, the air from her bedroom touches my face, and I barely remember to hold my breath.

This is going to be difficult.

One deep breath in and regret is instant. My balls tighten in my sack and my cock hardens immediately. The head of my dick swells lightning fast, as if it has been shot full of Viagra, and I groan when it starts to pulsate, weeping from the tip. What I wouldn’t give to still be wearing my much roomier sports shorts.

Sneaking inside, I eye the bedroom I decorated not so long ago with colors of gray and blue. I just didn’t realize anyone would be staying in these rooms for at least a few more years.

I pass the unmade bed and head toward the bathroom. Surely women keep their perfume in the bathroom. When that doesn’t prove fruitful, I begin checking all the tables, drawers, and anywhere else she may have hidden it.

A few minutes later, my search reveals little, and it’s as if she barely has belongings.

Two sets of uniforms sit in the closet, but there is nothing else that even remotely says a woman lives here. A frown tightens between my brows.

“Does the woman not own clothes?” I growl at the scent of her choking me out, then whimper when my muscles flex and bunch. “Dammit, where is it?”

Raising my nose in the air, I try to track the perfume bottle’s location. The sooner I have the bottle, the sooner I can get out of here. I sniff the air, my nose wrinkling at the heavy, ball-clutching aroma.

I stop at the side of the bed and bend, sniffing at her sheets like a crazy person.

I moan, my cock like an iron rod in my slacks. I sniff again and my eyes roll to the back of my head. How does she smell that good?

My eyes turn to yellow, and I look down as my hands sprout claws. I’m running out of time. Fuck! But if I can find the perfume, I can make it stop. I won’t have this reaction to her and there will be no danger.

After I force myself to quit sniffing her bed like a creep, embarrassment prickling the back of my neck, the half-open drawer next to her bed catches my eye. I don’t think I ever checked it, not even when I came in here last time to look for hacking devices.

I inhale at the naughty, spicy aroma coming from it and open the nightstand drawer. My jaw drops. Toys in all shapes and sizes.

“Well alright then, Miss Whitley,” I mutter, and a gravelly laugh escapes me.

What she lacks in clothing, she more than makes up for in female pleasure devices—five of them. One of them is a gaudy, glittering pink, while another looks like some kind of clit sucker.

I groan when my cock pulses painfully at the thought of her thick, luscious thighs spreading as I tease her with one of these. I inhale again and shudder, my vision still a bright yellow. Are those beads around one of them? I pick up the device before I can think better of it.

“Thank you so much for doing this.”

I freeze, hearing her voice traveling down the hallway toward her bedroom. Shit. Isn’t she supposed to be in the kitchen for another hour? I look down at my watch and realize breakfast has ended.

How long have I been in this room? I look around, wondering if I’ve somehow lost track of time due to my head swimming with lust.

“It’s no trouble at all.”

The sound of that voice jolts me into action, and I escape to the bathroom to hide as they get closer, wondering what the fuck Frank is doing here.

“No, really,” she continues. “You didn’t have to walk me all the way to my room just because I made you a meal.” Then she laughs as she says, “You know, you don’t seem anything like what they say on TV.”

“Oh, the rumors are all true. I rarely do anything out of kindness,” Frank replies, and my nose wrinkles at the truth of that statement.

She snorts, and I know she’s getting ready to argue. “I don’t think that’s true at all. You’ve made my day already with the wolf cake idea.”

“I actually wanted to catch you alone and while you weren’t working. I wondered if you wouldn’t mind having dinner with me one evening?”

A fucking dinner?! This guy doesn’t eat, but he wants to, what? Lay out a picnic blanket and woo her like some kind of sap? That is not the Frank I know.

“Sure, that would be nice.” Her higher-pitched tone says she’s excited.

That would be nice? Does she like him ?

“A date it is, then.” His tone is muffled, as if he’s wearing one of his sly smirks across his cleanly shaved face. “I have to make a call, so I will leave you to freshen up.”

Ugh, this unusual charm from him is making my stomach roil in disgust, and Whitley is too damn blind to see it’s all just some kind of ruse. I want to punch the fucker in the face. She will not be going out with him.

I will her to leave so I can get back to my search without being caught, and then beat the shit out of Frank. What is he doing asking Whitley on a date? More importantly, why is she accepting with a cute giggle in her voice?

And worst of all, why do I feel a shitty emotion taking root in my chest?

I’m now less mad about them talking, and more upset about them going out together, like a damn couple sipping wine and flirting over food.

The infuriating temptress won’t even talk to me without biting my damn head off.