actor, he was still an athlete, a boxer. Hollywood had never been in Wolf’s sights. Being half Irish, he was as steeped in the great Irish literary tradition as the next snot-nosed kid, knew the Irish playwrights and poets and had seen his share of theater by the time he turned sixteen. But be in a play? Put on makeup, learn lines, be fitted by a costume designer? Never.
It wasn’t until an independent film company from America came calling, looking to cast an Irish boxer in a small role in an even smaller film, that Wolf got noticed.
The casting director loved him, but the film couldn’t find proper funding and never opened in theaters, going straight instead to America’s booming cable business. But it turned out Wolf didn’t need a box-office hit to turn his fifteen minutes of fame into a huge career.
Anyone who had seen the film had come away with two impressions—the script was a convoluted mess and the tall, dark, brooding boxer, Wolf Kerrick, was unforgettable.
A year and one finished major motion picture later, critics were falling over themselves, gushing praise.
Fast forward ten-plus years and he was even more of a Hollywood heavyweight than anyone imagined he’d ever be.
He’d certainly surpassed anything he’d ever dreamed he’d be. But then, he’d never dreamed. He’d wanted little. Preferred even less.
Growing up, his parents had fought bitterly, and their divorce when he was twelve had been something of a relief. At least the long, drawn out screaming matches had ended. There’d been no more broken dishes or doors. At first Wolf’s dad had disappeared. But then, when Wolf’s mom hadn’t been able to take care of Wolf or even keep a job, his dad had abruptly returned and moved Wolf back to Ireland with him.
Wolf knew his dad wasn’t a bad man, but his dad wasn’t a talker, and the changes, coupled with silence, made a confused kid angry. But Wolf soon discovered he liked being angry. Anger gave him power, anger made him strong, anger gave him a reason to go to bed at night and then wake up the next morning.
Being angry had filled his days, fueled his runs, helped him train.
Being angry had allowed him to take hits and, even more importantly, dish it out. Angry, he could pound his opponents, mash them. Punish them.
Which is what he’d do to Jason as soon as he knew Alexandra would be fine.
Hours later, Alexandra slowly opened her eyes, stared up at the lavender-tinted ceiling above her. It was lavender, wasn’t it? But why lavender?
She narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out where she was and why the ceiling would be this color. She didn’t know anyplace with a ceiling like this or walls papered in soft swirlies of lavender, cream, gold and gray.
What ugly paper.
Looking the other way, she saw the table next to her bed with the plastic water pitcher and plastic cup and straw jostling for prominence among vases of flowers and sprays of white orchids.
Hospital.
She was in the hospital.
Alex tried to swallow but stopped when it hurt like hell.
Her throat was unbelievably sore and her stomach felt just as bad. There was an IV taped to the back of her left hand, and a black paper had been taped over the window in her door.
Why was she here? What was going on?
Alex stirred, turning onto her side to find the call button, but before she could push it the door to her room opened. Wolf entered, carrying a cup of coffee.
He looked at her, one eyebrow lifting ever so slightly. “You live.”
“Barely,” she croaked, watching him close the door and then approach her side.
He said nothing, and for a long moment neither did she, lying there against the stiff hospital pillow feeling fragile and strangely broken. She hurt, her insides hurt, and not knowing what had happened and not having anyone here but Wolf made her feel even more defenseless.
“Look at me. I don’t know what happened,” Alex whispered, vocal cords bruised. “Jason gave me a ride home to change so I could return to the party. While I was changing, he made us a drink and then—” She broke off, bit her cracked lower lip. “He … he … got weird.”
“You were screaming when I arrived,” Wolf finished roughly.
“I was scared.” She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath. “Thank you for coming to look for me.” Opening her eyes, she reached out, caught Wolf’s pinkie finger between two of hers. “You saved me.”
He said nothing, his head averted, his narrowed gaze fixed on the wall.
She tugged on his hand, trying to persuade him to look at her. “Thank you, Wolf.”
Slowly his head turned and he gazed down at her, a deep furrow between his thick brows, his dark eyes more black than brown. “What if I hadn’t come? What if I hadn’t left the party when I did?”
She stared up into his eyes. The black depths burned. But it wasn’t just anger blazing in his eyes. It was fear.
“But you did,” she whispered.
“If I’d been five minutes later—”
“But you weren’t.” She squeezed his hand. “Please, let’s forget about it.”
Wolf abruptly pulled away. He walked from the bed, went to the window, where he looked out. “Forget?”
“Yes, forget. Move on. There’s so much more that’s important—”
“Not to me.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “God, you’re so innocent! So naive. You were drugged. Attacked. You had an allergic reaction to the pharmaceutical cocktail he put in your drink. Alexandra.” His voice deepened, fell, vibrating with fury and outrage. “You could have died from the drugs alone.”
Her heart thumped. She felt dizzy all over again. “I only had a drink with him, Wolf. I wouldn’t take anything. I know it’s dangerous.”
“As we discovered.”
“Please believe me.”
He took a breath, his broad shoulders tensing, and then he exhaled in a slow, hard stream. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
He nodded slowly, rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Jason likes to mix pills with his liquor—cocaine and temazepam are favorites of his.” He fell silent a moment as he considered her. “Do you have family we should call? Someone I should contact?”
Her eyes widened. She shook her head. “There’s no one,” she whispered.
“You’ve no family?”
She stared up at him, terrified he’d discover the truth. No family? Alexandra had the most protective, overbearing family in the universe. “No.”
“Do you want me to get you legal counsel then?”
