“Stop jumping, Antoinette,” Axel says gruffly. His eyes darken as they travel up and down my body. And suddenly I can’t breathe very well again.
“Okay.” Thor nods at me and turns to the tall, buff guy. “It looks like Axel’s in good hands, Ryder. Let’s go find Blade.” He walks past us and waits at the door for, I guess, Ryder.
“Get me some ice, assholes,” Axel shouts after them as the door slams.
Stunned, I stare at the office door, willing someone to knock and save me. But since that’s not happening, I slowly turn to face him. The room is silent save for the monitors, which have the volume on low.
“Can I get you some ice?” I clear my voice because it’s gone all raspy again.
His eyes narrow on me, forcing me to acknowledge that my fantasy of this man was simply that: a fantasy.
Mitchell doesn’t exist. Thinking the owner was a super hot, slightly dangerous rock star who rode a Harley and wore a vest saying Disciples MC was pathetic. I bite my bottom lip waiting for Axel to speak since apparently he kills people, or at least that’s the rumor floating around.
The silence is unbearable. “You know what? I think I will get you that ice,” I say. “It’s the least I can do…” He raises a dark brow, silencing me. I can’t move. It’s like his eyes have some strange power over me. Realistically, I should run, and yet all I want is to move closer to him. Talk to him. Gaze at his full lips, which kind of smile and slightly snarl.
I want him to look at me the way he did before. It makes me feel alive and secure in a way only dancing can compare. Yet maybe that isn’t even real.
“How old are you?” He launches himself out of the chair and walks to the corner where he grabs a bottle of Jack Daniels.
“I’m legal if that’s what you’re worried about.” It comes out snippy, making him stop reaching into a cabinet to look at me.
Wow. This guy is seriously cut, and I’ve spent my entire life around dancers. His shirt has ridden up so I can see his muscled abs… Oh God, he has a V. He must work out all day long, or maybe he has superior genes…
He cocks his head. And I have to force my eyes to meet his.
“Why do you always answer a question with a question?” He examines my face, which is now on fire, then looks away and opens a black cabinet, taking out two glasses.
“Mitch… Axel, are you okay?”
“Define okay,” he fires right back.
God, he’s a dick. It bugs me, all these feelings I’m having for this man. He’s so freaking beautiful that he lulls you into this false sense of security, making you think he might be good and have a heart. Instead, he acts like a sarcastic shit.
Trying not to lose my temper, I breathe deeply. “Look, this is all your fault. I was doing my job. You know, trying to make some mon—”
“I asked you for your age. You skirt around all personal questions. It’s boring.” He turns toward me.
Jesus.
The look in his eyes makes me falter, but I can’t. If he thinks he’s gotten the best of me, then I’ll be out the door.
“Wait a minute. You dragged me off the stage. I demand that you compensate me. I could have made… a thousand dollars tonight.”
I kind of faltered on the last part, but the first part sounded strong. Axel is in the wrong, not me. I shouldn’t even feel bad about stabbing his shin with my heel. Who does what he did? He’s not a caveman. He can’t drag me offstage like that.
“It’s my place. I can do whatever I want.”
My eyes jerk to his, and for one horrifying moment I wonder if I said my thoughts out loud. I didn’t, right?
Jeez, in a way maybe it would be better if I had rather than Axel being able to read my mind. I’m playing with fire and that damn smirk of his might be my downfall. He looks down at the glasses and over at me. He motions for me to follow.
“Sit,” he demands, placing the glasses on the desk and cracking the seal on the bottle.
He looks at me and shakes his head. “Fine, we can stand.” Before I can say no, there’s a glass with brown liquor in it in my hand.
“I don’t drink, and—”
“Shh.” His voice is so gravelly and rather addictive that I gaze up at him. He’s tall, so
tall and hot, but it’s more than that with him. This guy makes me feel. He’s so close that our fingers almost touch.
“I need… to…” Staring at his mouth, I wonder what his lips would feel like.
“Drink, baby.” He raises his glass and like a lunatic, all I can do is stare. His hands are large and tan, covered with tattoos. Slowly he brings the glass to his lips and shoots it all.