5. Kelsey
5
KELSEY
“Sit there.” Axel nods at the quartz counter next to a sink that’s making me three shades of jealous green. My dinky apartment, with its pedestal sink, doesn’t even have bathroom counter space. I know. It’s the price of entertaining temporary living accommodations for the past couple of years. I’ve had to get creative in more than one studio apartment to make it work. It does make for good book fodder, but I’d kill for what Axel has going on.
“I like this,” I say, running my hand over the clean surface before hopping up and crossing my legs at the ankles. I’m feeling suddenly shy, and I’m not sure what to make of it. I don’t get shy. Ever.
“Me too,” Axel says, retrieving a washcloth from a drawer. “That’s why I picked it out.”
I cast my gaze around the bathroom, taking in all the fancy tile and a shower big enough for two. I gulp a swallow. “You did all this?”
“You should’ve seen what it looked like before I gutted it.”
“You’re handy.” I bite my bottom lip, a scene for my book coming to life in an instant. One involving a grumpy tattoo artist in the middle of home renovations and the feisty romance novel heroine interrupting him for research purposes . After one too many questions, he yanks the notebook from her hand and lifts her onto the bathroom counter?—
“What kind of heroes do you write exactly?” Axel asks, his lips tipped up into the faintest smile.
“There’s a big difference between fiction and reality,” I say, pushing the scene away before I do something reckless. Like take Axel up on his offer to be my research assistant and try out the scene in real life. “It’s so clean in here.”
“Surprised, Princess?”
I peer into the sink, shocked that there’s not a single beard hair. Though his beard is long enough that my fingers yearn to comb through it, he definitely trimmed it today. “A little, yes.”
Turning on the water, he glances at me. “Your tattoo artist hero a slob or something?”
“Definitely not.”
“Hold up your shirt.”
“What?”
Axel presents a damp washcloth at the ready. “Your tattoo.”
“Oh right.” I reach for the hem, but before I lift up the fabric, I toy with the idea of letting myself be a little daring. With crossing a line I’d firmly told myself I wouldn’t cross. But here in this tight space, the electric current between us undeniable, all rational thoughts have fled. The pounding in my ears has drowned out any warning bells. Is that my heartbeat or a jackhammer next door?
Why not? The devil on my shoulder whispers. You leave in a few days. No one will get hurt. I swallow hard, waiting for a rebuttal from the other corner of my mind, but there’s only silence. I guess, by some miracle, we’re all on the same page. In a flirty tone, I say, “Or I could just take it off.”
Our eyes meet and time freezes. Every unspoken thought lives in this gaze. “It’s your story, Princess.”
Shit. No. Abort. Abort. “That’s not what I meant,” I lie.
One corner of Axel’s mouth lifts in a dangerous half smile that causes all sorts of sensations to erupt in my core. God I want this man. I want him so fucking bad it should scare me. It does scare me and I know in my core, it’s neither angel nor devil trying to pull back. It’s the coward. The one that pretends to live in her research but is actually living vicariously through her words.
His gaze dips to my shirt, the swell of my breasts close enough to mark every shaky exhale, and then looks back to my eyes. “I think it’s exactly what you meant.”
“I don’t want my favorite shirt to get any more ruined than it already is.” It’s a pathetic coverup for the lie I’m clinging to. A last-ditch effort to hold the ground I promised myself I would when I decided to show up on his doorstep. That lie is the only thing keeping me from doing something incredibly reckless. Like fisting my hands in his shirt and yanking his mouth to mine.
Instead, I do the next less reckless thing and grab the hem of my shirt to pull it off.
“Here,” Axel says, shoving a bottle of hand sanitizer at me.
“What’s this for?” I ask, trying to mask my disappointment. I didn’t strip out of my shirt to seduce the man. Keep the lies coming, Kelsey.
“For your shirt. If you use something alcohol based early enough, it can break down the ink and prevent it from setting. You might still be able to save your precious shirt.”
“Oh.”
“Lean back,” he instructs, turning on the faucet and waiting for the cold water to run warm as he pumps soap into his palm. I quietly whimper at the mere thought of his rough hand against my sensitive skin.
I nearly spontaneously combust when his fingers make contact.
Gently, he rubs the fresh tattoo, taking his time. I can’t stop staring at his lips. Or the way his shoulders stretch the sleeves of his shirt within an inch of its life. I bet he’s covered in tattoos. I’d like to discover each and every one. First with my fingertips. Then with my lips.
He wraps my tattoo with saran wrap once again. “Leave this on overnight, okay Princess?”
I nod. Barely.
“Axel?” I don’t realize I’m breathing so heavily until his name comes out in a pant. His gaze fixates on my lace bra, the desire in my core winding up at alarming speeds. I shouldn’t do this. I should just go. But dammit, I want him.
He suddenly steps back, his gaze landing everywhere but on me. “You should wash your shirt before the ink sets any longer.”
“Right.” Are you going to do this or not?
“I’ll grab you a shirt you can wear.”
Not . Definitely not.
And now I’m having full-on conversations with myself. Great.
I slip off the counter and focus on washing the stain in the sink. I stare at the colors mixing in the porcelain bowl because every other thought trying to take up real estate in my brain is dangerous. I would’ve kissed Axel if he’d let me. Hell, I’d have yanked down his zipper and reached my hand inside?—
“You can borrow this,” Axel says, reappearing in the bathroom doorway. “As long as you can follow directions.”
I playfully roll my eyes at him. “No promises.”
His gaze slowly drags down my body, as though he wants me to know. My nipples pebble so damn hard they nearly poke through the thick lace of my bra.
“Fuck it.”
I abandon the wet tank in the sink and spin toward Axel. I reach up to his neck, arching my body into his, and drag his mouth down for the kiss I’ve wanted since the first time I laid eyes on him. After a moment of what I can only assume is shock, his still lips move against mine. His warm palms slide across my back and anchor me against him.
The kiss is everything.
It’s explosive. Sensual but passionate. Hungry yet gentle. Urgent and somehow patient.
Our tongues slide together, a tango and a slow dance all in one.
I feel my soul erupt in euphoria, as though there has never been a more perfect moment than this. Kissing Axel feels like…home.
Shit .
It takes every ounce of willpower I have and then a few more to pull back. And even then, I only last long enough to catch my breath before I sink right back into him. I feel my bra slacken, though I don’t remember him undoing it. He slides a hand up the front of the loose lace and cups one of my boobs.
“Fuck me,” he growls.
The word gladly is on my lips when a shrill sound fills the air. The high-pitched ring hurts my ears. “What the?—”
“Shit, fire call.” He untangles himself from me and tosses his earlier offered shirt over his shoulder as almost an after-thought. “I’m on call. I have to go.”
If ever I needed a sign that this whole thing was a very bad idea, this is it.