“And here we are. I’d call that fate, or some fuckin’ good karma.” He placed his hand on the back of her head, leaned down and kissed her, gently at first, then more demanding.
A thousand sparks pricked her skin and her toes curled as she met his deep kisses, her arms snaking around his neck, fingers running through his silky hair.
“Fuck, I never thought I’d see you again. I want to fuck your pussy. I know how sweet it is.” He placed his leg between hers and gently pushed her backward, walking her to her desk.
Her thighs bumped into it, and Axe began to guide her back. But then reality set in and she shoved him away from her.
“Are you crazy? I’m at work. I can’t do this.”
“It’d be awesome, but if you’d rather fuck at your hotel, I get that. Let’s go.” He curled his arm around her waist and drew her close.
Baylee’s body relaxed against him, her mind calling it a traitor. I can’t do this. Uncurling herself from him, she rushed to the door, cracking it open. “We’re not going anywhere. I’m going to my hotel, and you’re going to wherever it is you go. We had a one-night stand. It was great, but it was for only one night. It’s too bad we have to be in each other’s lives for a short period of time, but we’re both adults. I’m sure we can deal with it.”
Axe narrowed his eyes. “Are you going to tell me that you never thought about me or what we did, not even once, since we fucked?”
“That’s hardly the point.”
“I thought so, and that’s exactly the point. We already know we enjoy pleasuring each other, so what the fuck’s the problem?”
“The problem is the night ended a week ago. I’m simply not interested.” Her stomach twisted and turned at the lie. “I really have to go. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodbye.”
Axe stood motionless before her, his bulging eyes indicating he was shocked that she wasn’t just going to let him take her on her desk. What would happen if Stan walked by and heard them? Axe was crazier than she’d thought.
She walked down the hall and out the lobby door. When she got off the elevator, she practically ran to her car, fearing he’d come after her and she’d weaken. It felt so good being in his arms again, having his mouth on hers, his tongue inside. And the filthy way he spoke to her made her mound quake. She had to make sure to never be alone with him again; she knew she wouldn’t be so strong next time.
In her hotel room, the red message button flashed on the phone on the nightstand. She picked it up and listened to the message. It was from Logan, asking if she wanted to meet for dinner. The last thing she wanted to do was go out with him and listen to him brag about how invaluable he was to the firm. She’d call him and tell him she was beat and was going to order room service, then go to bed. For a split second, she wished Axe was with her in her room, doing all the delicious things he’d done at the wedding.
You’re hopeless, Baylee. Just hopeless.
Chapter Eight
Baylee woke up, her yellow nightshirt drenched in sweat and her chest heaving as she desperately gulped air into her lungs. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her heart slammed over and over against her ribcage. It’s only a nightmare. You’re safe. Calm down and breathe.
After several minutes of trembling and gasping for air, her body unraveled nerve by nerve. She glanced at the blue numbers on the clock radio next to her bed. Three o’clock glowed eerily. Shaking her head, Baylee scooted out of bed and went to the bathroom to splash some water on her face. Her reflection revealed a white pallor with a sheen of tears and sweat. Her hair was tangled and unruly. After drying her face, she brushed out her hair then slipped on something dry.
The nightmare was especially brutal this time. Usually, she’d wake up panting when the menacing shadow began creeping toward her, but this time the dark shape had loomed over her, sunken eyes boring into her as hands wrapped around her neck while she cowered on the steps of her childhood home. It was always the same nightmare, a throwback to the night when her mother’s life ended in violence. In her dreams, Baylee was the scared child watching a hulking shadow snuff out her beloved mother. Her cries drew the killer’s attention, and he began walking toward her, but then she’d always wake up, panicked. He’d never come close to her, but this time, he’d put his hands on her neck.
She felt them. They were cold, like death.
As she sat on her bed, she shivered, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees. As the terror of her nightmare subsided, a flash of the man’s arms pierced her brain. Something was different; the shadow was clearer, and she’d seen a large scar running up his arm from above his wrist to his elbow. Did the killer have a scar, or was that just an image in her nightmare, in the world of dreams and illusions?