Page 8 of Axel

“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. Theyshouldn’tfucking 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 atmydoor 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.

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. Itdoesmake 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 artistin the middle of home renovations and the feisty romance novel heroine interrupting him forresearch 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?”

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