Rake: Wolfes of Manhattan Four Read online

  Rake

  Wolfes of Manhattan Four

  Helen Hardt

  Contents

  Rake

  Dedication

  Untitled

  Praise For Helen Hardt

  Prologue

  1. Zee

  2. Reid

  3. Zee

  4. Reid

  5. Zee

  6. Reid

  7. Zee

  8. Reid

  9. Zee

  10. Reid

  11. Zee

  12. Reid

  13. Zee

  14. Reid

  15. Zee

  16. Reid

  17. Zee

  18. Reid

  19. Zee

  20. Reid

  21. Zee

  22. Reid

  23. Zee

  24. Reid

  25. Zee

  26. Reid

  27. Zee

  28. Reid

  29. Zee

  30. Reid

  31. Zee

  32. Reid

  33. Zee

  34. Reid

  35. Zee

  36. Reid

  37. Zee

  38. Reid

  39. Zee

  40. Reid

  41. Zee

  42. Reid

  43. Zee

  44. Reid

  45. Zee

  46. Reid

  47. Zee

  48. Reid

  49. Zee

  50. Reid

  51. Zee

  Untitled

  52. Reunited

  A Note From Helen

  Acknowledgments

  Also By Helen Hardt

  About the Author

  Rake

  Wolfes of Manhattan Four

  Helen Hardt

  This book is an original publication of Helen Hardt

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2021 Helen Hardt, LLC dba Hardt & Sons

  Cover Design: Marci Clark, Nerdy Kat Designs

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-952841-03-3

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  Created with Vellum

  For those who beat the odds

  Reid Wolfe is a master of seducing women.

  This time, his life may depend on it.

  He’s known as the Wolfe of Manhattan. Reid Wolfe sees women as playthings, and most are happy to be arm candy and bed warmers for the handsome billionaire rake. He knows the art of seduction like no other, so surely he can get a Las Vegas showgirl into his bed in record time. He must, because she has information he and his family need to prove their innocence in their father's murder. And Reid is at his most persuasive between the sheets.

  Zinnia Rehnquist, now known as Zara Jones or simply Zee, lives her life under the radar. Chorus line girls are supposed to be invisible. The audience sees the big picture, not a single dancer, and that suits Zee just fine…until Reid Wolfe shows up and turns her life upside down. He needs her to talk—to tell the story of what his father did to her—but she’s finally put that part of her life to bed.

  Reid is ready to pull out all the stops to get Zee under the covers and talking, but when new evidence comes to light, the game changes for everyone…and Reid finds he may feel more for the beautiful Zee than he ever meant to.

  Praise For Helen Hardt

  STEEL BROTHERS SAGA

  “Craving is the jaw-dropping book you need to read!”

  ~New York Times bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones

  "Completely raw and addictive."

  ~#1 New York Times bestselling author Meredith Wild

  “Talon has hit my top five list…up there next to Jamie Fraser and Gideon Cross.”

  ~USA Today bestselling author Angel Payne

  “Talon and Jade’s instant chemistry heats up the pages...”

  ~RT Book Reviews

  “Sorry Christian and Gideon, there’s a new heartthrob for you to contend with. Meet Talon. Talon Steel.”

  ~Booktopia

  “Such a beautiful torment—the waiting, the anticipation, the relief that only comes briefly before more questions arise, and the wait begins again… Check. Mate. Ms. Hardt…”

  ~Bare Naked Words

  “Made my heart stop in my chest. Helen has given us such a heartbreakingly beautiful series.”

  ~Tina, Bookalicious Babes

  WOLFES OF MANHATTAN

  “It's hot, it's intense, and the plot starts off thick and had me completely spellbound from page one.”

  ~The Sassy Nerd Blog

  “Helen Hardt…is a master at her craft.”

  ~K. Ogburn, Amazon

  “Move over Steel brothers… Rock is everything!”

  ~Barbara Conklin-Jaros, Amazon

  “Helen has done it again. She winds you up and weaves a web of intrigue.”

  ~Vicki Smith, Amazon

  FOLLOW ME SERIES

  “Hardt spins erotic gold...”

  ~Publishers Weekly

  “22 Best Erotic Novels to Read”

  ~Marie Claire Magazine

  “Intensely erotic and wildly emotional...”

  ~New York Times bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones

  “With an edgy, enigmatic hero and loads of sexual tension, Helen Hardt's fast-paced Follow Me Darkly had me turning pages late into the night!”

  ~New York Times bestselling author J. Kenner

  “Christian, Gideon, and now...Braden Black.”

  ~Books, Wine, and Besties

  “A tour de force where the reader will be pulled in as if they're being seduced by Braden Black, taken for a wild ride, and left wanting more.”

  ~USA Today Bestselling Author Julie Morgan

  “Hot. Sexy. Intriguing. Page-Turner. Helen Hardt checks all the boxes with Follow Me Darkly!”

  ~International Bestselling Author Victoria Blue

  BLOOD BOND SAGA

  “An enthralling and rousing vampire tale that will leave readers waiting for the sequel.”

  ~Kirkus Reviews

  "Dangerous and sexy. A new favorite!"

  ~New York Times bestselling author Alyssa Day

  “A dark, intoxicating tale.”

  ~Library Journal

  “Helen dives into the paranormal world of vampires and makes it her own.”

  ~Tina, Bookalicious Babes

  “Throw out everything you know about vampires—except for that blood thirst we all love and lust after in these stunning heroes—and expect to be swept up in a sensual story that twists and turns in so many wonderfully jaw-dropping ways.”

  ~Angel Payne, USA Today bestselling author

  Prologue

  Reid

  The Lone Wolfe.

  Ha! Great pun, huh?

  Within less than a month, my three siblings had all met their life mates and gotten married.

  Not in the cards for me. I was the Wolfe of Manhattan, always with a new lady on my arm. Now, though, since all my siblings were off the market, I was indeed the Lone Wolfe.

  The phone call I got after the wedding was from the NYPD detective on our case, Hank Morgan. Consequently, Rock and the rest of them heade
d back this morning on the jet.

  Again, not in the cards for me.

  Someone had to stay here in Las Vegas and deal with our damned luxury hotel and casino. Money is money. Words of wisdom from the bastard who’d fathered me.

  Sure, all of us were being investigated for the fucker’s murder, but someone had to take care of business.

  That someone was me.

  Always me.

  I wasn’t CEO of the company, but only I could deal with the contract mess here in Las Vegas. Story of my life. Under-appreciated to the max.

  The rest of them were called back to New York for more questioning.

  I wasn’t going down for his murder, and neither was anyone else in my family. Not on my watch.

  Zinnia—or Zee—seemed to be the key.

  I just had to get her to talk.

  The Wolfe of Manhattan.

  I’d never met a woman I couldn’t seduce.

  So I’d seduce her.

  And oh, she’d talk.

  1

  Zee

  My mother was the typical Long Island “stage mom.” She’d decided as soon as I crawled out of her womb that I was going to be in show business. I spent my formative years being dragged to audition after audition. What little time left was devoted to ballet, tap, and acting classes.

  I was good at the dance part. I always got top roles in all the recitals. The acting part? Not so much. I got a commercial here and there, probably based solely on the fact that I was a really cute kid. The big break my mother hoped for never came.

  Then puberty hit. I grew to five feet ten inches seemingly overnight, which ended any dance aspirations as well. My mother’s answer?

  Modeling, of course. I was thin, well-built, a natural blonde, and free of an awkward stage, so she enrolled me in classes. Yeah, we really did walk with books on our heads. I also learned how to create the perfect smoky eye.

  You know, things you need in life.

  Despite my mother’s persistence, no agent ever signed me, and by the time I turned eighteen, my modeling career—if it ever truly existed—was effectively over.

  My mother was more disappointed than I was.

  I wasn’t disappointed at all. I was free! Free to pursue what I wanted. I’d been homeschooled by a tutor because of my grueling schedule, so when I was a high school graduate—or the equivalent thereof—I accepted admission to Smith College in Massachusetts. I drove my car—the one luxury my mother allowed me—to college via a stop in the city to do all the touristy things my mom never took the time to show me—sights I’d been promised by my mother after I made it in modeling. Which of course never happened.

  I made it to New York.

  But I never made it to Smith.

  I was taken. I was hunted.

  Then saved by a man whose name I never knew.

  Reid Wolfe was an attentive date. He didn’t know me from Eve, but he never left my side as we celebrated the weddings of his brother and sister. I’d seen my share of Las Vegas chapel weddings, but very few included a toast with Dom Perignon.

  I wasn’t a champagne connoisseur by any means, but Dom Perignon was in a class by itself.

  It tickled my tongue and tasted like crisp apples and—believe it or not—toasted bread. Sounded terrible, I knew, but it worked. It glided down my throat effortlessly, so when Reid brought me another flute, I took it.

  I didn’t drink, normally. I never did anything that might take away my faculties. I was on high alert at all times.

  All times.

  This would be my last glass of bubbles. Riley and her brothers all wanted me to tell my story. To go public. Although I understood why they needed me to, I couldn’t. Which was why this would be my last glass of champagne. I couldn’t risk getting too talkative.

  Not that getting talkative was really a risk with me. I didn’t talk. To anyone. Especially not about my past. I could fly under the radar in Las Vegas. No one in the dressing room questioned me about my scars, because most of them had their own. Beatrice always had new bruises on her thighs and back from her abusive boyfriend. Marie had special pancake makeup for her nearly omnipresent black eyes. And Frannie? She had the worst of all. She danced almost every night in constant pain from the five pins holding her right tibia together. Her ex shattered it five years ago, and though you’d never know watching her dance with that toothy smile pasted on her face, she was in agony.

  But bills had to be paid, so you do what you must. Frannie danced. Beatrice and Marie danced.

  And I danced.

  I was the only one with scars like mine. Two perfectly straight cuts above each breast. Over the years they’d faded, but still they stood out like bright red lines to me.

  I didn’t let myself think about them much anymore.

  Until recently, when two private investigators accosted me in the dressing area after one of last week’s shows.

  “Hanging in there?”

  I jerked out of my thoughts. Reid Wolfe stood next to me.

  He was crazy handsome. Tall and muscular and gorgeous with dark brown—nearly black—hair. But even so…

  He looked too much like him.

  Like his father. Derek Wolfe. Reid’s eyes were different, though. They were a blue so bright and sparkling it almost seemed too beautiful to be real.

  All the Wolfes were gorgeous, and the three significant others weren’t anything to sneeze at either. I felt so out of place. Sure, I had the body of a Vegas dancer, but the rest of me was a huge mess.

  “Why do you color your hair?” Reid asked.

  I wrinkled my forehead. “What?”

  “I’m just wondering.”

  “I like it.” I took a sip of champagne.

  The answer wasn’t a lie. When I arrived in Las Vegas six years ago, I needed to reinvent myself. Zinnia “Zee” Rehnquist was a blonde. Zara Jones? She had dark hair. Not just dark hair. Jet black. The kind of jet black that said, don’t fuck with me or I’ll kill you with a butcher knife.

  It worked fine with my own blue eyes—slightly lighter than Reid’s, and the black hair made them seem even lighter—and my dark brown eyebrows and lashes, colored black with makeup. I was a dark blonde, not platinum by any means.

  “You’re beautiful no matter what,” Reid said. “I’d just love to see what you look like with your natural color.”

  My stomach clenched. I never let men get close to me. The few times I’d tried had ended in disaster.

  “Black hair is who I am now.” I handed him my empty champagne flute. “I should be going.”

  “Sure. I’ll take you home.”

  “I’m fine. I’ll just hail a cab.”

  “Zee,” he said, “I have three limos on call. Already paid for. There’s no reason for you to take a cab.”

  Three limos. Already paid for.

  Wolfe money.

  The Wolfes had so much money that their patriarch could afford to build his own human hunting ground. Unreal.

  “He’s dead,” Reid said.

  Had I spoken aloud? I hadn’t drunk that much champagne. “What?”

  “You had a look on your face.”

  “What kind of look?”

  He sighed. “It’s the same look I’ve seen on my sister’s face forever. I just didn’t know what it meant until now. You were thinking about my father. About what he put you through. I know the look.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about his money. About how you can have three limos on standby for no reason at all.”

  “There’s a reason. My family is here in town. We need to go places, so we have cars available.”

  “No, you have limos available.”

  He smiled. God, he was truly gorgeous.

  “Semantics,” he said in a teasing tone.

  I shook my head. “Don’t play that card. The Wolfe money was enough to put me through hell. Hell that you people want me to revisit.”

  Reid’s smile faded. “I’m not my father. Neither are my brothers or my sister.”

/>   “I know that.”

  Now I felt like crap. But wait. Why should I feel like crap? I went through what I went through, and I shouldn’t have to apologize for it. I won’t apologize for it. Someone should be apologizing to me.

  Of course, that wasn’t fair. They’d all apologized profusely, even though none of them was at fault.

  Reid took a sip of champagne. “My brother saved you that day.”

  “I’ve never forgotten that,” I said. So true.

  “Then don’t equate the rest of us with our father. We’re not anything like him.”