Chapter 2
The inside of Klaus Wolff’s home office matched its owner—rustic, imposing, and radiating warmth.
A fire crackled in a stone hearth the size of my entire bathroom back home, and the walls were lined with dark wood bookshelves.
The desk was a slab of tree trunk that looked like it weighed half a ton.
I stood awkwardly in the center of the room, still recovering from watching Klaus pull a henley over his torso in the mudroom. The fabric had clung to every muscle, and I’d almost whimpered.
“Coffee?” he asked, gesturing to a french press on a side table.
“Please,” I nodded, then added, “Black,” because I felt like I needed to assert some kind of masculinity after practically drooling over him.
I set my briefcase on the desk and tried to look professional. “So, Mr. Wolff—”
“Klaus,” he corrected, handing me a mug that was practically a bowl.
“Klaus,” I repeated, trying not to notice how his fingers brushed mine. “As I mentioned on the phone, this is a standard review. We’ve been contracted by the state to examine businesses that have shown certain… patterns in their tax filings.”
He dropped into a leather chair that creaked under his weight. “You think I’m cheating on my taxes.” His expression was unreadable behind that magnificent beard.
“I think nothing yet,” I said diplomatically, opening my briefcase. “I’m here to gather information.”
“Hmm.” He leaned back, one eyebrow raised. “And how long will you be… gathering?”
The way he said it made it sound indecent. I cleared my throat. “Three days, maybe four. I’ve booked a room at the Pine Peaks Inn.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Martha Wilson’s place. She’ll talk your ear off.”
“I’m not here to socialize,” I assured him, pulling out my laptop.
Klaus made a sound that might have been a laugh. “No, you’re here to find out if I’m a criminal.”
I sighed and met his gaze directly. “Mr. Wolff—Klaus. I’m just doing my job. If everything’s in order, I’ll be out of your hair quickly.”
He leaned forward suddenly, and the air in the room seemed to thicken. “What if I don’t want you out of my hair quickly?”
My mouth went dry. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
I was saved by the sound of the front door banging open and voices calling out. Klaus’s expression shifted to mild annoyance.
“Family,” he explained, standing. “They don’t knock.”
Before I could process this, three men who were clearly related to Klaus burst into the office. All tall, all built like they bench-pressed trees for fun, all with the same golden-amber eyes. They stopped short when they saw me, and I swear to god they all inhaled simultaneously.
“Boys,” Klaus said with a warning note in his voice. “This is Jordan Chase. The auditor.”
The tallest one—slightly younger than Klaus but just as broad—grinned. “The city boy! Finally made it, huh?” He extended a hand. “I’m Theo. That’s Liam and Raff.”
I shook his hand, noting it was just as unnaturally warm as Klaus’s. “Nice to meet you.”
“You’re staying for dinner,” announced the one named Liam. Not a question.
“Oh, I couldn’t impose—” I started.
“Not an imposition,” Klaus cut in. “Family dinner. Seven o’clock.”
I looked between the four men, all staring at me with identical intensity. What was with this family and personal boundaries?
“I should get settled at the inn first,” I said.
Klaus nodded. “Raff will take your bags over. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”
And just like that, it was decided. I watched in bemused silence as Raff—who hadn’t spoken a word—picked up my suitcase with one hand like it was empty and headed out.
“Wait!” I called, following him. “That has my personal belongings—”
Klaus’s hand landed on my shoulder, stopping me with gentle pressure. “He’ll put it in your room. Martha knows you’re coming.” His hand slid down to my lower back. “Now, those tax documents?”
I spent the next three hours combing through the Wolff Family Tree Farm’s financial records while fighting two battles: one professional, one personal.
Professionally, I was annoyed because everything seemed impeccably in order. Sales records, expense accounts, payroll—all meticulously documented. The “irregularities” that had flagged their file were starting to look like nothing more than the seasonal nature of a Christmas tree business.
Personally, I was losing my mind because Klaus Wolff apparently had no concept of professional distance.
He stood behind my chair, breath warm on my neck as I scrolled through spreadsheets.
When I shivered (from the proximity, not cold—the room was like a sauna), he casually draped a heavy knit blanket over my shoulders.
When I reached for a file, his fingers would brush mine.
At one point, he noticed me rubbing my hands together and simply enclosed them in his, massaging warmth back into my fingers.
“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?