Page 3 of Auditing the Alpha

“Better?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that I felt in my chest.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. His hands were rough with calluses but so gentle it made my chest ache.

“You’re always cold,” he observed, still holding my hands.

“Chicago’s cold too,” I managed. “Just a different kind.”

“Hmm.” He finally released me. “Colder because you’re alone there?”

The question caught me off guard. “I’m not—I have friends. Colleagues.”

Klaus made that almost-laugh sound again. “Not the same as family. Pack.”

“Pack?” I raised an eyebrow.

Something shuttered in his expression. “Figure of speech.”

By late afternoon, I’d compiled enough initial findings to feel like I wasn’t completely wasting my time. I closed my laptop and stretched, my back cracking from hunching over.

“Initial assessment?” Klaus asked, lounging against his desk with his arms crossed, which did fascinating things to his biceps.

I tried not to stare. “Your records are surprisingly thorough.”

“Surprised a bunch of lumberjacks can count?” His mouth quirked up at one corner.

“Surprised anyone keeps such meticulous books without an accountant,” I corrected.

He shrugged those massive shoulders. “I have a head for numbers.”

“And trees,” I added, thinking of the acres of carefully tended pines I’d driven past.

“And beautiful things that don’t belong in the snow,” he said quietly, golden eyes fixed on me.

My heart slammed against my ribs.Is he flirting with me? Or just being weird and intense?

I stood up, gathering my things. “I should head to the inn before dinner.”

Klaus nodded and reached for my coat, holding it open for me. As I slipped my arms into the sleeves, his hands settled on my shoulders, turning me to face him. Before I could react, he was straightening my collar, his knuckles brushing against my throat.

“Six-thirty,” he reminded me, and I swear he leaned closer and inhaled near my neck. “Don’t wear cologne. The family doesn’t like it.”

With that bizarre request, he walked me to my car, his hand on my lower back the entire time.

As I drove away, I caught his reflection in my rearview mirror, standing in the snow watching me leave, looking for all the world like a predator who had just let prey walk away—temporarily.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Chapter 3

The Pine Peaks Inn was exactly what I’d expected: quaint to the point of parody, with pine cone decorations, plaid everything, and a lobby that smelled like cinnamon and wood smoke. Martha Wilson, the proprietor, was a tiny woman in her sixties with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue.

“You’re the tax man,” she said when I approached the check-in desk. Not a question.

“Auditor,” I corrected.

“Mmhmm.” She slid an actual metal key across the counter. “Room 4, upstairs on the right. Bathroom’s shared with Room 6, but it’s empty this week.”

“Thank you.” I reached for the key, but she didn’t release it.