Henry Wolf is a deliciously wicked, sinfully handsome man who has done a very bad thing.
Potentially.

Worse, he owns me now—every inch of my body and a sizeable chunk of my stupid, naïve heart.
And he’s made it clear that if I want to keep my job and stay in Alaska, I’m stuck catering to his every whim and wish—both in the hotel and in his bedroom—while I wait for the potential fiery media circus ring that will no doubt drag my reputation into the gutter along with his, should his past discretions surface.

I will not surrender to his demands, not when I have dirt to hold over his head. IF I have the guts to blackmail him, that is. Something warns me that going through with it will have disastrous consequences for my heart.