I sit up abruptly. “No.”
If he thinks he gets to flirt with me and carry me like some sexy savior, then act like I’m a kid sister he has to tuck safely into bed, he has lost his damn mind.
Fueled by tequila and wounded pride, I shove off the mattress.
Still barefoot and wearing only a T-shirt, I march to the back door. The cold night air slaps me again as I storm across the deck toward the neighboring cabin.
I stomp over and pound my fist on his door.
“Axle!”
A moment passes.
I start beating on it again.
“Axle!”
Finally, the door swings open.
And holy hell.
He’s standing there in nothing but his boxer briefs.
I forget every single thought in my head as I drink him in. That chest. The defined abs. A strip of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his briefs. Down to the outline of his massive cock.
Geezus, the man doesn’t look real.
Axle braces one forearm against the doorframe and stares down at me in frustration.
“Doc,” he says slowly, “why the fuck are you on my deck?”
I open my mouth, and nothing comes out. Because apparently, my brain short-circuited at the sight of his body.
His nostrils flare. “I told you to go to bed.”
I stare at his chest for another second too long. Then force my eyes up to his. “Why did you leave like that?”
His jaw shifts slightly, the frustration turning into something more dangerous. Like barely restrained anger. “You want an honest answer?”
“Yes.”
“You doing that little striptease and then standing there, looking at me expectantly, half naked, wasn’t helping my self-control much.”
Oh.
Every coherent thought leaves my brain.
Axle exhales slowly and rubs a hand over the back of his neck.
“And you’ve been drinking,” he says. “Which means I was trying to do the decent thing and leave before I forgot how to be decent.”
The butterflies in my stomach turn into a tornado.
Before I can second-guess myself, I rise onto my toes and press my lips to his.
Axle
Her lips taste like tequila. Warm, sweet, and intoxicating.
