Mr. Wolfe, Llewellyn, J. [have you read this book .txt] 📗

through as Wolfie and the crew worked hard and fast to start the archival process.

Trevor took photographs of each piece that was ready for packaging. He made two catalogues. One on Wolfie's laptop, the other via video library.

Miguel placed plastic covered catalogue cards in each garment bag that he stored in the containers they would load onto the shelves later. On each card he'd written when and where Miss Finley had worn the garment.

Meanwhile, Wolfie seemed to be having a hard time making Zara see reason, mind you he was talking to her through Virginia, whose job it was, like all Hollywood assistants, to make it impossible to speak directly with their vaunted employers.

Ambrosio listened to his husband's side of the conversation and wondered if Zara or perhaps even Virginia had pixie blood flowing through their veins.

"You found the maple syrup? Good! Thank you." Wolfie sounded relieved at last. "Yes, have it sent here. As for the clothing from Sotheby's, I'm glad you see it my way finally. Would you like me to supervise the delivery to the Sunset studio?" A pause, then, "What do you mean there's another storage unit filled with Bobby Beckett's stuff?"

Oh, my God. How the hell will we get through all this? Ambrosio poised his hammer above the last nail to go in the large cedar drawers lining the east wall and tried not to panic.

We always worry, then we always make it.

He banged the nail, wishing it were Zara Finley's head.

"Where is it? Atlanta, Georgia?" Wolfie's voice rose. "Are you shitting me, Virginia?"

Ambrosio heard his husband getting angry again. "Of course you'll ship it to California. How do you expect it to get here? Do you think the trunks will grow legs and walk?"

Miguel and Zev laughed.

Wolfie let out a loud groan. "No you will not use FedEx. Are you crazy? You'll call Rock-It Cargo." Then, "What do you mean you've never heard of it? It's all we ever use!"

"Miguel," Ambrosio kept his voice low, pointing his hammer toward Wolfie. "Please go help Mr. Wolfe. You could arrange all the shipping stuff so easily for him."

"Sure boss, no problem."

"Oh, and, Miguel, please make sure we get that maple syrup today, yeah?"

Miguel gave him a thumbs-up and dashed toward Mr. Wolfe.

He was the only crewmember who'd ever asked about the copious amounts of maple syrup Mr. Wolfe requested on their assignments.

"Mr. Wolfe likes pancakes," had been Ambrosio's response.

Miguel hadn't questioned it.

Ambrosio tried not to think of the enjoyment on his husband's face earlier that morning as he'd sat on Wolfie's lap, watching him demolish his pancakes. His whole body trembled, remembering the possessive way Wolfie had then focused on Ambrosio's ass. He'd devoured him.

Wolfie wrestled relentless pleasure out of Ambrosio's body and mind with such dedication, Ambrosio grew hard just thinking about it. They rarely got much sleep, yet both men were seldom tired. Only two things could hamper their zest for life and one another; a lack of blood for Ambrosio and the full moon for Wolfie.

Ambrosio checked the completed drawers, pleased with his own work. He began lining them with acid-free tissue paper when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

How do your nipples feel?

The shock almost made him drop the phone. Wolfie never sent him sexy messages at work. He checked that it was in fact Wolfie texting him. He'd been receiving wholly inappropriate messages from Vez lately. Ambrosio gazed across the expanse of warehouse space at the Croatian carpenter who was finishing up the shelves on the other side.

Ambrosio was loyal to his husband and would never cheat on him. On the other hand, he didn't want to hurt Wolfie by telling him how heavily Vez had been coming onto him. Ambrosio could handle it.

My nipples ache for you, he texted. There, Wolfie would love that.

He grinned as he watched the digital envelope on his cell phone vanish and the word sent appeared on the screen.

Ambrosio gazed at his husband and caught his lusty eye. He almost came in his pants.

Wolfie strode to him, sexy as hell in his work pants and boots. Ambrosio could never decide which he preferred, his husband naked, or bent over the most handy object available, his pants shoved down, his black leather boots gleaming as Ambrosio stood between his parted legs and took him from behind.

"Can you go to the Sotheby's warehouse and supervise the shipment of clothing over to the Sunset warehouse?" Wolfie asked.

"No problem, boss." Ambrosio's gaze bored into his boss's. He was already trying to think up ways to be the boss in the bedroom as soon as they got home that night.

"Who do you want to take with you? Vez?"

Ambrosio couldn't hide his reluctance.

Wolfie frowned. "Is everything okay?" His voice was barely a whisper..

Ambrosio nodded. "Nothing I can't handle."

"If he's a problem, let me know."

"Sure will." Ambrosio slipped on his dark glasses. In the warehouse he was fine all day. He never usually stepped out in full midday sun, but since he'd met Wolfie, somehow he was able to withstand it better than he had in the past.

Maybe love does conquer all.

More than anything, Ambrosio wanted to be an asset to his husband, not a whiny nuisance.

"Would you ever consider dropping him for Mireille?" Ambrosio asked. The question slipped out before he could stop himself from asking. He missed his sister and knew that her work was impeccable. She would be a wonderful addition to the sewing team. Miguel could be groomed into the heavier work undertaken by Vez.

Wolfie's inner were flickered in his eyes. His keen sense of Ambrosio's discomfort seemed to kick into gear. It was as if he could sense that Ambrosio couldn't tolerate any more of Vez's impertinent questions or unappreciated overtures.

"I thought you'd never ask," Wolfie said. "When this assignment is over, consider it done." He frowned. "On second thoughts, ask her to come as soon as possible. We'll get her trained up before we ship out."

"You're sure?"

Mr. Wolfe smiled at him. Not his pleased boss