The air between us crackled, charged. His eyes darkened, dropped to my mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.
“Careful, Sunshine.”
“Of what?” I was close enough now to smell his soap even more and feel the heat radiating off his skin. “The truth?”
“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you.” But his voice had gone low, rough. Dangerous. “You’re too busy performing.”
“And you’re too busy judging me for it.” My heart was racing, and I couldn’t tell if it was anger or something else entirely.
He moved closer, and suddenly, the desk was at my back, the wall of his chest in front. “Every single post. Every caption. Every carefully curated moment. It’s all pretending, Dakota.”
“It’s my job.”
His hand came up to rest on the desk beside my hip, caging me in. “One day, you’re going to forget where the performance ends and you begin.”
My breath caught. The way he was looking at me, like he could see straight through every filter, every carefully constructed facade, made something in my chest ache.
“You don’t know me,” I whispered.
“I know you better than you think.” His other hand braced on my opposite side, trapping me completely. His face was inches from mine now, and the intensity in his eyes made my knees weak. “I know you switched mugs because the real one you wanted—the one you have lined up in the cabinet for tomorrow—probably wasn’t pretty enough. I know you set up your lighting to hide the bed you’ll be sleeping on.”
Each word hit like an arrow finding its mark.
“And I know”—his voice dropped even lower—“that right now, you’re looking at me like you want to do something that has nothing to do with strangling me.”
My mouth went dry. Heat pooled low in my belly as his gaze drifted to my lips and stayed there.
“You’re infuriating,” I managed, but it came out breathy.
“So are you.” His thumb traced along the desk, close enough to my hip that I felt the ghost of movement. “But you’re going toneed to hide that anger tonight. When I touch you. When I hold your hand. When I whisper in your ear.”
“I know the script.”
“Do you?” He leaned in, his mouth close enough that I felt his breath against my skin. “Because when I put my hand on the small of your back tonight, when I brush your hair behind your ear, when I look at you like you’re the only woman in the room, you can’t flinch away. You can’t look at me like I’m the enemy.”
“That’s going to require Oscar-worthy acting.”
“Is it?” His hand came up to trace the line of my jaw, featherlight but burning. “Because right now, Sunshine, you’re looking at me like you want something entirely different than an Oscar.”
Every nerve ending in my body was screaming. The tension was so thick, I could barely breathe, and for one wild moment, I thought he might actually kiss me.
Instead, I pressed my palm against his chest to push him away, to regain some space, some sanity, but the movement sent a sharp bolt of pain through my injured hand.
I couldn’t stop the small gasp, the involuntary wince.
Axel froze. And for a heartbeat, something that looked like hurt flashed across his face. He jerked back immediately, putting several feet between us.
Then his gaze dropped to where I was cradling my hand against my chest, and his entire demeanor shifted. The hurt vanished, replaced by something sharp and focused. In two strides, he closed the distance again, but this time, there was nothing seductive about it.
“Let me see.” It wasn’t a question.
“It’s fine.”
“Dakota.” My name came out like gravel. “Let. Me. See.”
The intensity in his voice made me hesitate, then slowly extend my hand. The beige bandage I’d wrapped this morning had a small spot of red seeping through.
His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he took my wrist, turning my hand over to examine it. The muscle in his jaw moved again, but this time, it wasn’t disgust. It was something else entirely.
