Page 48 of Axel

His intense stare glides up my legs, lingering over where he touched me this morning, before his icy gaze heats every cell in my body. “Don’t you dare change, Ruby Jones.”

Oh, no.

This hot dickhead went from making me murderous to making me melt.

We drive to the restaurant in a dusky silence, his Russian music growing on me as a valet rushes to take his Jaguar. We enter, and Axel gently presses his hand to the small of my back.

Just as he did to Alena Allen.

I don’t know why I think of it now or how I feel about it.

But holy hell, do Ifeel.

It’s nameless and potent as we weave our way to a corner in the back of a blooming courtyard. The restaurant is a Victorian home turned famous spot for Charleston’s elite. It takes months to get a reservation, but the hostess beams at Axel, silently escorting us to this table like it’s his.

“Don’t you worry, you’ll be spotted?” I whisper when he pulls the chair out for me. Like he has manners. Like he’s a prince, a Bratva prince.

Nope, I can’t get past that part.

If I thought Axel was wealthy and powerful as a rogue South Carolina lawyer while running vigilante crimes as a side hustle, I was right.

But now I know he’s also the missing heir to the second-largest crime organization in the world.

He makes me and my little spying on him feel like Dora The Explorer, not the Black Widow.

“Iwantto be spotted as Michael Cummings, the lawyer.” He sits beside me. “I want the illusion of a normal life with nothing to hide, including very public dinner dates.”

Jealousy stabs my heart.

Insecurity, too.

I’m not his special date; I’m a token cover story.

I hate that I care. I hate feeling this vulnerable, so I look away.

Women in fashion I can’t afford cut their eyes at me. I can’t face Axel and won’t confront their judging glares, either, so I look down, twisting the linen napkin in my lap.

“Ruby,” Axel’s voice is low and pressing, “what did I say this time?”

“Nothing.” I won’t look at him.

“No, I saideverythingagain, but I don’t know what. Talk to me. What did I say that hurt you?”

Answering him would only hurt me more, so I don’t.

I need him to read my mind. I need him to see my memories so I don’t have to relive them. I need him to see the girl who lost control of her bladder during a seizure at school. I need him to know what it felt like to be bullied about it for years. I need him to understand what it feels like to be powerless, mocked, and shamed.

Axel could inherit even the darkest world, and I still wouldn’t belong in it. He wouldn’t understand and…

His hand reaches for mine. Hidden by the tablecloth, no one sees him gently hold it. No one but me hears him say, “I haven’t been on a date since the day I met you.” No one feels his warmth, but I do. “Is that what upset you?”

Oh, god, this isn’t a game.

This is real.

“Why me?” I lift my trembling chin. “Why do you say you want everything from me when you come from the height of power, even the criminal kind, and I come from nothing? I have nothing but my…” I pause, remembering what he calls me, “mywildfireto give.”

“Honestly?” He doesn’t let go of my hand, and Ilikehishold on me. “Because you remind me of my mom, and I don’t mean it in a weird Freudian way; I mean it as the highest compliment. She survived horrible violence and escaped with six sons. A strong woman raised me, and I know when I meet one. When I metyou.”

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