4. Axel
4
AXEL
It’s possible I’ve lost my fucking mind. Why else would I have volunteered to help Kelsey with research for a goddamn romance novel? Leeann would laugh herself stupid if she caught wind of this.
I should be keeping my head down and focusing on ways to bring more clients into Get Inked . But my notebook is sitting on my kitchen counter, mocking me, no new ideas since this morning scrawled across its pages.
Kelsey turned me down.
So why the hell do I keep staring at my phone, willing her name to show up on the screen? Every time I tap the screen, I swear I see the minutes ticking by too quickly. Each one a minute closer to her boarding that plane to Hawaii and never looking back. I shouldn’t be this hung up on a woman I barely know.
Yet, something tugs hard at me. Warning me that it’s imperative I convince her to stay.
I pace the house, hating how sterile it feels. Something that never bothered me before meeting the vibrant Kelsey Mathers. Other than the few pieces of my artwork I’ve framed, the walls are bare. The gray color pallet seemed soothing when I first picked it out. But I can hear Leeann’s voice in my head, insisting I need some pops of color. For once, I wish I’d listened to my cousin.
Not that it fucking matters. Kesley will never see the inside of my house, no matter how badly I’d love to see her tangled in my sheets. She made it clear she doesn’t sleep with her research subjects.
My dick twitches at the thought. I’m her research subject.
Pounding at my door stops me mid-pace.
I expect it to be Leeann, possibly with a bottle of Fireball if dropping Keigh off with his dad went south. Or a bottle of Moscato if she’s in a particularly creative mood. Maybe we can brainstorm some ways to generate more business and get my mind the fuck off the romance author.
But it’s not Leeann.
It’s the curvy beauty in the flesh: Kelsey Mathers.
I prop a shoulder against my door frame, a smug smile forming. I’d hoped she’d come to me—that’s why I’d given her my number and my address—but I didn’t think it’d be this soon. If ever. “Did you reconsider my offer?”
“What?”
Shit, maybe I misread this. I straighten, clearing my throat. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
My gaze sweeps over her curves. She’s wearing the same blush pink tank and leggings from earlier today. My eyes are tempted to the low v-cut of her blouse, which is why I don’t notice the giant rainbow stain of color on the bottom right until she points to it.
“ This happened. Your tattoo ink stained my favorite shirt!”
It’s as though a bucket of ice water has been dropped right over my head. “You took the plastic wrap off, didn’t you?” I grumble, aggravation instantly growing that she didn’t follow my instructions. Instructions she’d fucking written down as research notes.
“I wanted to show Hope?—”
“You were supposed to leave that on until morning.”
“Oh. Oops.”
“All those damn notes and that’s the one you didn’t write down?” I shake my head, frustration welling up inside me. Maybe it’s better she’s moving. Because all I want to do is clean up her tattoo, then push her up against the wall to bury my cock inside her and teach her a lesson. A fucking lesson neither one of us will ever forget as I claim her for my own. God, I’m a feral animal. “Did you ruin your shirt on purpose?”
She stares at me like I’m an idiot. “You think I’d ruin my favorite shirt on purpose?”
“For book inspiration? Yeah, seems like you might.”
“I didn’t,” she insists, her amber eyes narrowing into daggers. That image of me pushing her up against the wall resurfaces. God she’s hot when she’s fired up.
I force my rampant thoughts down, but I can’t seem to help myself. I’m suddenly addicted to riling her up. “Really? I don’t know what lengths you writers will go for your books. This doesn’t seem farfetched to me. But what matters is that you could get your fucking tattoo infected by neglecting it like this.”
Her defensive expression morphs into one of pure mischief. “You’re kind of cute when you’re grumpy, you know that?”
The shift catches me off guard, and fuck if my dick doesn’t twitch at that twinkle in her gaze. I scrub a hand through my hair, knowing I might be doomed when it comes to this woman. But I can’t let her leave like this. I need to see to her tattoo. And somehow, I need to convince her not to get on that plane. I’m losing my goddamn mind. “You might as well come inside.”
“This isn’t me taking you up on your offer,” she insists.
I feign indifference, pretending that the words don’t affect me. They shouldn’t fucking affect me. Yet, my inner determination to change her mind is growing in leaps and bounds. “I didn’t say it was.”
“Then why would I come inside?”
“So I can clean and rewrap your tattoo.”
“Oh.” Her expression rearranges, as though she weren’t expecting that answer. Disappointment? No, I must be imagining that. Lack of sleep, clients, and common fucking sense are scrambling my brain. “I can probably do it,” she says, unconvincingly.
“Look, you’re the one who showed up at my door ready to pick a fight. I can rewrap it, or you can promise not to sue me and take your cute ass home to clean it up yourself. Either way, I’m not buying you a new fucking shirt.”
“Didn’t ask you to,” she fires back, completely undeterred by my grumpy ass. As though she’s ready and willing to go toe-to-toe with me if needed. Our gazes lock, and there’s no mistaking the heat dancing between us. I won’t do anything she doesn’t want me to, but if I have it my way, she’ll be begging me to help her with romance novel research before she leaves.
“Come inside, Kelsey.”
She slips past me, her shoulder brushing my chest, and I suck in a breath. Her sweet, slightly fruit scent—jasmine?—invades my senses. My ability to think straight has left the fucking building.
What if having her here is a really bad idea? It doesn’t matter that I barely know her. That this should be nothing more than some no-strings-attached adult fun. Because I know in my soul that if she leaves in two weeks, it might very well destroy me.
It makes no fucking sense.
“Bathroom’s that way,” I point, trying to straighten out my sweatpants and the many winding thoughts in my brain.
Kelsey looks over her shoulder, those amber eyes twinkling mischievously, and says, “You really think my ass is cute?”
Fuck, I’m screwed.