Axel (Carolina Reapers 1)

She adjusted her jacket, which she’d thrown across her shoulders like some kind of retro movie star, then moved her handbag to her elbow and walked my way, determination in every step of that long, graceful stride.

Still, maybe this was all a dream, or maybe that woman just looked a lot like—

She popped her oversized sunglasses on top of her head, right in front of that pile of ebony hair that made my damned palms sweat, and looked at me with big, brown eyes that would have brought me to my knees if I wasn’t using my car as a crutch.

“Langley Pierce,” I said slowly, sliding my own sunglasses down my nose so I could see her without the filter. There was nothing about this woman that needed one. She was simple, classic, refined perfection.

“Okay, so can you sign this fucking contract, or what?”

With the mouth of a sailor.

I grinned, and she quickly lowered her sunglasses, then folded her arms across her chest. “Nice to see you, too, Langley. Too bad I was expecting Lukas.”

Her pretty pink lips parted. “I’m sorry?”

“I. Was. Expecting. Lukas. I know my English isn’t perfect, but I thought that was pretty clear.” I tilted my head as I looked down at her. She was beautifully tall, but at six-six, I still towered over her.

“He didn’t tell you I was coming?” She spoke every word with the slow, careful deliberation of a publicist. Because that’s exactly what she was. The woman held in her reactions for a living, and as of a couple of months ago, she now worked for the newest team in the NHL, the Carolina Reapers.

“Nope.” I shook my head.

I watched her mentally compose herself in the tiny adjustments of her hands, the gentle shift of her weight.

“Ms. Pierce?” A staff member brought her single suitcase forward.

“Thank you so very much, Michael. It was a lovely flight.” She smiled at the guy, and my brows drew together.

Where the hell was my smile?

“It’s always a pleasure, Ms. Pierce. You just let us know when you’re ready to head back, and we’ll be here. Well, in a hotel, but you get the picture.”

She thanked him and then stared up at me as he walked away.

“You have no clue why I’m here, do you?” she asked with a sigh.

“My guess would be it has something to do with a contract for fucking.” I walked past her to grab her suitcase.

“I did not say that!” she snapped.

“I did miss that temper of yours,” I told her with a smile as I walked her suitcase to the back of my Rover and popped the hatch on the trunk. A moment later I had her suitcase secured and the trunk closed.

“You really don’t know, do you?” she asked again, this time softly.

Everything in Langley’s world was orderly, controlled, proper, and measured. Something like the little stunt Lukas had just played on us both was going to send her type A personality into type AAA.

“I don’t,” I answered equally as soft. “Why don’t you get in?”

“You don’t even know where I’m going. You don’t even know why I’m here.” She opened the back door of the Rover and threw her jacket in, leaving her sculpted shoulders bare in a sleeveless silk blouse over tailored trousers.

“Leave it to you to fly halfway around the world and still look like a million bucks.”

Her face jerked toward mine, but the glasses obscured her reaction.

“I have no clue where you’re going, but I’ll take you there,” I continued.

“Lukas said I could stay at his place.” She licked her lips nervously.

“Did he?” I asked with a grin.

“Why?”

“Because I’m at Lukas’ house while my floors are being refinished,” I told her with a laugh. This was going to get interesting real fast.

She sucked in one deep breath, then another, before throwing her head back. “Damn you, Lukas Vestergaard!” she yelled.

God, I loved it when she lost control.

Forty-five minutes later, I scooped a helping of raspberries onto my plate and one onto Langley’s. Then I took both plates into the dining room where I already had drinks waiting, and sat.

“Sorry!” Langley called as she rushed into the room, strands of her hair slipping free of her knot, softening the style. “I was busy screaming at Lukas.”

“I heard,” I said, motioning to the chair cornered to mine. “Sit and eat.”

She stilled, a manila envelope in her hand. “You cooked? For me?” She eyed the pancakes with wide eyes.

“I did,” I admitted. “Now sit and eat. Then we can discuss what put you on a plane.” I pushed my thermal’s sleeves up past my elbows as she sat, her back ramrod straight.

“Thank you,” she said, sliding the envelope in front of her plate and picking up her fork.

“You’re welcome.” Huh. Guess we could be civil, even if it was awkward as hell.