Alpha's Temptation: A Billionaire Werewolf Romance (Bad Boy Alphas Book 1) Read online

  The Alpha’s Temptation

  A Billionaire Werewolf Romance

  (Alpha Bad Boys Book 1)

  by Renee Rose and Lee Savino

  Copyright © July 2017 Alpha’s Temptation by Renee Rose and Lee Savino

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Published in the United States of America

  Renee Rose Romance and Silverwood Press

  Editor:

  Kate Richards, Wizards in Publishing

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book contains descriptions of many BDSM and sexual practices, but this is a work of fiction and, as such, should not be used in any way as a guide. The author and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained within. In other words, don’t try this at home, folks!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Alpha’s Danger - Prologue

  Chapter One

  The Alpha’s Promise

  Excerpt- Chapter One

  Or Check out Renee’s Zandian Masters Series!

  Acknowledgements

  Other Titles by Renee Rose

  About Lee Savino

  Excerpt: Sold to the Berserkers

  CG: Catgirl was here.

  King1: I see you.

  CG: Nice code.

  King1: You’re going down. No pity for the kitty.

  CG: Oooh, talk tough to me, baby.

  —Conversation between hacker and Jackson King, CEO and founder of SeCure, 2009

  Chapter One

  Kylie

  Holy irony, Batman.

  As a teen, I hacked into a company and waved a virtual victory flag in the founder and CEO’s face. Nine years later, I’m interviewing for a job there. And not just any job—one in infosec. Information systems security, that is. If I get the job, I’ll be defending the company against hackers. Like Catgirl—my old DefCon identity.

  So here I sit, in the opulent lobby of SeCure’s international headquarters, wondering if they’ll somehow recognize me and send me out in handcuffs.

  A group of employees stroll past me, laughing and talking. They look relaxed and happy, like they’re headed into a resort, not their nine-to-five grind.

  Damn, I want this job.

  I changed my outfit approximately ninety-seven times this morning—and I usually don’t care what I wear. But this is the interview of a lifetime, and I’ve obsessed over getting every detail right. In the end, I chose a sleek black suit, the kind with a fitted jacket and short, tight skirt. I opted for no hose, going bare-legged, but stuffed my feet in a pair of sexy heels. Underneath the suit jacket went my favorite Batgirl shirt. It fits tight around my breasts, and the hot pink glittery bat nestles perfectly between the lapels of my jacket.

  The outfit screams “young and hip” IT genius, while the suit flips a nod to the conservative corporate thing. I debated over heels or Chucks, but, in the end, the heels won out. Which is too bad, because when Stu, my contact, comes down for me, I’ll have to stand up in them. And walk.

  If my teenage hacker self saw me now, she would laugh in my face and call me a sellout. But even she shared my obsession with SeCure’s billionaire founder/owner, Jackson King. An obsession that’s morphed into admiration with a heavy dose of sexual attraction.

  Okay, it’s a crush. But Jackson is totally crush worthy. Billionaire philanthropist, he’s endlessly impressive. Not to mention smoking hot. Especially for a geek.

  And the one moment we shared—the moment when I made it past all his security measures and found myself face-to-face with him—well, cursor to cursor—is branded in my memory as the hottest encounter of my youth. I didn’t steal anything from him. I simply wanted to see if I could get in—crack the genius code. I backed out after he found me, and never risked going back.

  Now, I might have another shot at cyber sparring with King, and the thought thrills me.

  Especially since, this time, my actions wouldn’t be illegal.

  “Ms. McDaniel?”

  I shoot to my feet, hand already extended, ready to shake. I only wobble a little on the heels. “Hi.” Damn, I sound breathless. I force my shoulders down and smile as I grip the offered palm.

  “Hi, I’m Stu Daniel, infosec manager here at SeCure.” He looks like a proper nerd, glasses, collared shirt, slacks. Thirty or so. His eyes flick to the pink bat in the middle of my boobs and then away. Maybe the T-shirt was a mistake.

  I keep pumping his hand, probably for too long. I read five business books to prep for today, but can’t remember what Interviewing For Dummies said about the proper length of time to shake a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Fortunately, Stu is just as awkward as I am. His eyes keep detouring downward. Not like he’s trying to perv, but like he’s too shy to maintain eye contact. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll head to the sixth floor for the interview.”

  In addition to unbreakable cyber security, SeCure’s physical fortress is also well-protected. When I walked in across the gleaming marble floors and checked in at main reception desk, they told me to wait in the lobby for an “escort” to my interview.

  I trail after my escort. “Beautiful building you have here.”

  Okay, that was lame. I suck at small talk. Like, really suck. Maybe I shouldn’t have spent the last eight years hiding from all social interaction. IT geeks shouldn’t have to interview like normal people. They should just have to take a test or hack something. But, presumably, SeCure already knows about my code-cracking abilities, or so the headhunter said. I nearly choked on my coffee when she called me up out of the blue. I thought it was a prank by one of my old online compatriots—the Clean Clan. But, no, it was legit.

  Besides, the chances of anyone from my old life finding me now are nil. At least, I hope so.

  Stu leads me to the elevator bank and hits the up arrow. The doors of one elevator swing open to reveal a man in an elegant suit, his head bent over his phone. Tall and broad-shouldered, he takes up more than his fair share of the elevator. Without looking up, he moves to the side to make room for us.

  Stu lets me step on first, and I push down panic. It’s a small elevator, but not too small. I can handle it. If I get the job, I’ll find out where the stairwells are.

  I focus on the bright buttons and hope it’s a fast ride.

  Before my escort can board, someone calls his name.

  “One sec,” Stu says as a young woman bustles over, followed by two other people. “Stu, the Galileo server shut down this morning…”

  Great. Just what I need—extra time in an elevator. I swallow, ignoring the prickling on my skin. A panic
attack will not make a good impression.

  Stu takes his foot out of the door as the young woman opens her laptop to show him something.

  The door snicks closed, and the elevator ascends. Just like that, I’ve lost my escort. So much for tight security.

  I punch the number six button. I know where I’m going. The sooner I’m off this tiny box of death, the better.

  We’re halfway up when the lights flicker. Once, twice, then off.

  “What the…” I trail off to focus on breathing. I have about a ten second window before full on freak out.

  The suit next to me mutters something. The light from his phone casts an eerie blue light on the walls.

  The elevator car grinds to a stop.

  Oh no. Here it comes. My heart slams in my chest; my lungs grab for breath.

  Stop, I tell my panic. It’s nothing. The elevator will start up again in a second. You’re not stuck here.

  My body doesn’t believe me. My stomach clutches, skin grows clammy. Everything goes dark. Either my vision has dimmed or the guy has just put his phone to his ear. I sway on my feet.

  The big guy curses. “No reception in here.”

  My heel twists under me, and I grab the rail, breath coming in quick gasps.

  “Hey.” The guy has a voice to match his giant size, deep and resonant. I’d find it sexy under different circumstances. “Are you freaking out?” Slight disdain in his tone.

  Not my fault, buddy. “Yeah.” I barely get the word out on a pant. My death grip on the handrail tightens.

  Stay on your feet. Don’t faint—not now. Not here.

  “I don’t like small spaces.” Understatement of the year.

  Did the elevator just move? Or is my body reeling out of control? Old panic grips me. I’ll die in here. I’m never going to get out.

  Two large hands push me back against the elevator wall, pinning me with pressure on my sternum. “Wh-what are you doing?” I gasp.

  “Triggering your calm reflex.” He sounds calm, as if he shoves hyperventilating girls up against a wall on a daily basis. “Is it working?”

  “Yeah. Having a strange guy grope me always calms me down.” I swore I’d hide my sarcasm until I landed the job, but here it comes, spewing out. Being seconds away from passing out will do that to a girl.

  “I’m not groping you,” he says.

  “That’s what all the guys say,” I mumble.

  His short chuckle cuts off as soon as it starts. Almost like he didn’t mean to let it out.

  Who is this guy?

  My heart rate slows, but my head still spins. I’ve never had a man stand so close to me before. Not to mention touch me. A few inches over, and he’d be cupping my breasts.

  Now, there’s a thought. Sensations I haven’t felt before outside the privacy of my bedroom thrill through me.

  “Not that I mind you groping me,” I babble. “I just think you should buy me dinner first—”

  His hands leave my sternum so fast, I lurch forward. Before I can fall, he catches my shoulders and flips me around. He locks his arms around me from behind, applying pressure to my breastbone again.

  “How’s this?” He sounds amused. “Better? I don’t want my good deed to get me written up on charges of sexual harassment.”

  God, his voice. His lips are right next to my ear. He’s not trying to seduce me, but, man oh man, just the words “sexual harassment” light my body up.

  “Sorry.” My voice strangles a bit. “I didn’t mean to accuse you. What I meant was...thank you.”

  For a moment, he doesn’t move, and I breathe into his firm hands, surrounding me, protecting me, keeping me safe. And all I can think is…damn. I thought a panic attack would be bad. Now I’m stuck in an elevator, wrapped in a total stranger’s arms. So. Very. Turned. On. It’s like my pussy is disconnected from my body. The rest of me is running around wringing my hands with worry, but my hooha thinks being manhandled by a stranger in a dark elevator is a good reason to get all excited.

  “You should sit down.”

  Apparently, I have no choice, because he lowers me to the ground with steady, inexorable pressure. Once there, he eases me against the wall, his firm, yet gentle hands maneuvering me like a doll. Sharp words dance on the tip of my tongue—I’m a grown ass woman, not Barbie—but sitting feels good. Despite his blunt caveman act, he’s taking care of me. I almost miss his hands on my sternum.

  “Where’d you learn that?” I ask to distract myself from the fact I’m trapped in a tight rectangle of space with a guy who has no qualms about running his hands all over me. I am totally qualm-less about it, too, though I wish I could remember what he looks like. All I have is a vague impression of a rugged jaw and air of impatience. I was too focused on psyching myself up to ride the elevator to check him out.

  “Years and years of terrifying women in dark places.”

  Ah. A kindred spirit in dry wit. I like him even more. “Thanks,” I say after a moment.

  He sits down next to me, his suit jacket brushing mine. “You’re still freaking out.”

  “Yeah, but it’s better. Talking would help. Can we talk?”

  “Okay.” He adopts a German accent to sound like Freud, “Ven did you first notice zee problem?”

  ~.~

  Jackson

  The beautiful human female’s laugh comes so hard, she almost chokes on it. She continues to giggle for a moment—somewhat hysterically. Little bubbles of laughter keep rising to the surface every time she tries to speak. Finally, she chokes out, “I meant talk to distract me—about something else.”

  I never joke—especially at work—but the leggy brunette in a short, tight skirt puts my body on alert in an all-too pleasurable way. It’s better now that I’m not touching her. When I did, the electricity between us set my skin on fire. The itch and burn of the change came upon me as fast as it does a pubescent teen just learning how to shift. I nearly shoved her legs apart, pulled that miniscule skirt up around her waist, and claimed her right there.

  Actually, my wolf senses went haywire the moment she stepped onto the elevator. It was all I could do to keep quiet and study her. Her scent intoxicates me—like some exotic flower begging to be plucked, except decidedly human. None of it makes sense. There’s no reason I should be attracted to her, apart from the fact she’s gorgeous. I’ve never been attracted to a human before—hell, I’ve hardly ever been attracted to a she-wolf, even at the full moon.

  To make it worse, she became aroused when I touched her—the scent of her nectar fills the confined space. For the first time in my life, my fangs sharpened, slick with serum, ready to sink into her flesh and forever mark her as mine.

  But that is insane. I can’t mark a human—she wouldn’t survive it. This human—beautiful though she may be—can’t be my mate.

  I look her over, at a distinct advantage because I can see in the dark and she can’t. She’s stunning in every way—long, shapely legs, an ass that fills her short skirt, and Batgirl tits. That is, she has a hot pink bat on the front of her shirt, right over a pair of perky tits. And something about that bat just throws me over the edge. Spunky little superhero, begging to be bested.

  Guess that makes me the villain.

  “What’s your name?” she asks.

  I hesitate. “J.T.”

  “I’m Kylie. I’m here for an interview, so I was nerved up to begin with.”

  I don’t do friendly. I discourage my employees from engaging with me except to give me information in its most distilled format. But, for some reason, I don’t mind her feeble attempt at conversation. Which doesn’t mean I’ll bother answering.

  I’m too busy convincing my wolf not to jump her.

  She tries again. “What department are you in?”

  I’m not going to admit I’m the CEO. “Marketing.” I infuse the word with the disgust marketing inspires in me. It’s true that the majority of my time is now spent on marketing or management, when I’d much prefer programming and never intera
cting face-to-face with another soul.

  She laughs, a husky, sweet sound. Despite the fact she can’t see me, she peers up in my direction with a look of fascination on her face. Her hair, a thick shiny chestnut, hangs in loose waves over her shoulders. It’s too dark to tell the color of her eyes, but her full lips are glossed, and the way they part now makes me want to claim that lush mouth.

  “One of those guys, huh? That is sad.”

  I smile—a rare occurrence for me. She’s already made me laugh, something I haven’t done in twenty years.

  “What position are you interviewing for?”

  “infosec.”

  Hot and nerdy. Interesting. She must have mad skills to rate an interview. My company is the best in the world for information security. “You have much experience in the field?”

  “Some.” She sounds noncommittal in that way that makes me think she actually knows her stuff.

  The power has been out for a long time—at least ten minutes. I fish my phone from my pocket and try to dial my secretary again but still can’t get a signal.

  “How long do you think we’ll be stuck in here?” Her voice wavers on the word stuck.

  Fates, I’ve never had the urge to pick up a woman’s hand before. My shirt collar’s too tight. I wish to hell I hadn’t worn a suit and tie. Of course, I wish that every day, but rarely have a choice, even though it’s my damn company. Once we reached a certain level, I had to conform to the dress code of corporate America when I had outside meetings—even in Tucson, which is notoriously relaxed in its dress code.

  My little programmer, however, nailed the outfit—just the right mix of hipster with the bat tits and bare legs, and corporate with the suit and heels. I don’t know when I started thinking of her as my little anything, but I have. The second she walked on the elevator and I inhaled her scent, my wolf screamed mine.

  “I mean, do you think it will be hours? It won’t be hours, right?” She’s losing her breath again. It’s all I can do not to pull her onto my lap and hold her until all that trembling stops.