Nothing to do now except get dressed and go home. It was Friday night, and as usual, I didn’t have any plans. I’d recently ended a short relationship with a young partner in another law firm when I’d discovered him in bed with another woman. I could hardly fault him. He was nice and sweet and handsome, but we didn’t really turn each other on. I’d started wondering whether I was becoming too married to my work, that it was making me frigid.

Today had gotten rid of that fear. I was far from frigid. Rock Wolfe had thawed whatever needed thawing in me.

I laughed out loud. It would serve him right if I just stayed here. This was his suite, and he’d be back eventually. Then he’d have to deal with me.

But that wasn’t my style. I wasn’t a chaser. I had no issue with letting a man know I was interested, but never would I push myself on anyone.

I was better than that.

I got dressed quickly and left the suite, keeping an eye out for Rock as I went. I even walked into the hotel bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but no dice.

He’d gone somewhere else.

Not that I cared.

Yeah, right.

I did care, even though I didn’t want to.

Rock Wolfe had gotten under my skin in a way no man ever had, but I had to accept reality. I was just a fuck to him.

And now it was over.

15

Rock

I’d grabbed some sweats and a T-shirt and headed for the gym.

I tried several machines, but this manufactured workout couldn’t compare to lifting lumber and pounding nails in the great outdoors.

Man, if there was one thing I hated, it was a manipulative woman. I’d met my share, but the true queen of manipulative women was Constance Larson Wolfe. My mother. I’d watched her manipulate my father, my brothers, even my baby sister. I winced at that one. Connie Wolfe had convinced six-year-old Riley that it was okay for her father to come to her bedroom. That it was just something daughters had to put up with. That it would be over soon. That it had happened to her, and she had turned out just fine.

Yeah, just fine. Thinking it was okay for a man to molest his six-year-old daughter was not “just fine.”

I’d overheard the exchange between my mother and my weeping baby sister. “It hurts, Mommy!”

God. Remembering it made acid creep up my throat.

Whatever my father was doing to Riley, it wouldn’t happen again. I was determined. So I watched. And I waited. And the next time my bastard father sneaked into my little sister’s room, I was ready, butcher knife in hand.

I’d kill the motherfucker.