Don't touch me!

Tatum ran down the top-floor corridor, arguing with his own common sense every step of the way.

So what if Andrew Pearce was a billionaire who didn't know him from Adam? A traumatized kidnap and rape victim who must still be struggling with the aftermath of his ordeal even after all these years. He was a human being—who was clearly in a great deal of distress. Tatum had a way with animals that were wounded and to his mind, a traumatised Alpha was just another wounded animal to care for.

A door stood open to a dark suite of rooms. He stepped inside, refusing to second-guess himself. Again.

He stopped breathlessly in the doorway to a large bedroom. Heavy curtains cut out most of the morning light, leaving only a slither of sunshine on a dark shape writhing on the king-size bed.

"Don't, don't, don't touch me!" He could hear the shouts more clearly now. The scent of leather and earth and musty male filled the air Andrew Pearce's pheromones were so strong it knocked the breath from Tatum's lungs for a second. The shouts turned to sobs, and whimpers, no longer demanding but begging.

Tatum's pulse slowed his heart contracting. The trauma Andrew Pearce had suffered was so real and vivid that he could feel it emanating from him.

You have to wake him up. You can't leave him to suffer.

"Mr Pearce," he whispered, as the sounds became like those of a wounded animal again—one that was scared, alone, in pain. "Mr Pearce, it's me, Tatum Adams, your new housekeeper. Are you okay?" he added, then felt a bit dumb.

How could he be okay, making those dreadful noises?

And how could he still be asleep? The violent shaking and the pitiful sounds detonated in Tatum's chest. How could anyone remain asleep through such agony?

Maybe because being awake had once been far worse?

Tatum climbed onto the bed, scared to touch him, scared not to touch him.

Mr Pearce was curled into a foetal position; he had the sheet wrapped around him as if he were trying to protect himself. Only his head was visible. The waves of dark hair glinted with gold in the thin strip of light. Shudders ran through his body.

"Mr Pearce, you need to wake up," he said as forcefully as she could.

He shifted, and moaned, the raw husky sound echoing in his abdomen, but then his body unfurled and the sheet dropped to his waist.

Tatum pressed trembling fingers to his lips to cover the shocked gasp.

A crisscross of scars covered his broad shoulders just barely visible under the beautiful tattoos that were likely there to obscure the scars. He could make out his ribs, his torso too lean, but the toned muscles held a leashed power… His tanned skin was smooth but for the white scars, so many scars.

He mumbled something Tatum didn't understand, his head shaking. A sheen of sweat made his skin glow, the tousled mane of hair. Tatum couldn't see his face, but he could hear the words again. Still vicious, bitter, angry, not pleading now—deep and raw and somehow seductive.

Seductive? What the..? Are you mad?

He blinked, as a burst of Mr Pearce's pheromones filled the air so strong yet not overwhelming like other Alphas, Tatum felt his body relax slightly and reached a hand towards Andrew to try and calm him with his touch.

As Tatum's cold fingertips made contact with Mr Pearce's skin he reacted by nuzzling against them as if the cold somehow comforted him, Tatum involuntarily released some omega pheromones but because he was a recessive omega his pheromones weren't that strong, so many alphas couldn't even pick them up only the most dominant of alphas were able to sense he was not a beta but an omega.

Andrew Pearce seemed to calm down seconds after Tatum had touched him and accidentally released his pheromones, he nuzzled into Tatum's cold trembling palm almost purring like some wild cat. Tatum sat there kneeling in the middle of the king-sized bed gaping at the man who moments before had been shaking in the throes of a horrendous nightmare.

For goodness sake, stop staring at him now. And leave the poor man in peace.

He inched back off the bed on his knees—as the hot wave of something seriously inappropriate washed through his abdomen.

The worst of the nightmare was over. And he had no business whatsoever being in his boss's bedroom. If he caught him, he could have him fired. Or worse, arrested.

What had he been thinking, charging in here?

But as he climbed off the bed, he heard a loud grunt from behind him… And a furious growl split the silence. "W-who are you?"

Tatum swung round to see a heavily muscled body looming over his slender figure more suited to a petite woman than a man, his heart raced and his eyes became saucers this man was huge. The stream of light glinted off sculpted cheekbones, slanted across dark brows and caught the gold rays in the hair touching his shoulders. Tatum scrambled back a step, the stream of swear words—in graphic English this time—making his cheeks ignite and settling in that forbidden spot between his thighs. Then a disturbingly lucid voice demanded.

"And what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?"