Page 9 of Bruised MC Bear

“That was a slip of the tongue.”

“I got that.”

“Do you have to be so smug and cocky right now?” Angel asked. “Look, I’m sorry if I come off as rude, but I’m waiting for a friend, all right? That means I have to be here.” Her eyes roamed around to the bar entrance, wishing Dean would make his appearance so she could get the hell out of here and snap out of whatever had her under Axe’s mesmerizing control.

“I like your honesty. I just think that all that spunk needs a better outlet. Something with less talking and more touching.”

“Are you really going there?” she barked, hoping he’d get the hint, although the hairs at the base of her neck stood on end. Angel pressed her thighs together to stop the throbbing in her core that Mr. Pussy Whisperer over there kept triggering with his voice and his intoxicating presence.

“I get the impression you like the idea a lot more than you care to admit. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You’re full of yourself, even if you’re right,” Angel said then immediately bit down on her lip for fueling him on. She desperately wished she was stronger than this. Maybe she just needed to keep her mouth shut. Dean would be here soon. Yes, silence was the best course of action. He couldn’t tempt silence.

Axe licked his lips. “What exactly are you afraid of?”

That question made her swallow hard. “I’m not afraid of anything,” she squeaked.

“Angel.” The sound of her name on someone else’s commanding voice made her straighten up in her bar chair and whip her head around to look at the source.

“Dean. Hi. I was wondering when you’d get here,” she said to him, but his eyes were locked with Axe’s as they seemed to size each other up. The grievous looks in their eyes were too intense to just be about her. These men had a history.

“Is this guy bothering you?” Dean asked, gesturing over at Axe.

“I’ve got a name, Roman,” Axe informed him.

“Right. Since we’re going with last names, I’ll stick to Voltaire. Angel, is Voltaire harassing you?”

For a second, Angel was sure these walking, talking poster boys for testosterone could start fighting any minute now.

“Simmer down, boys. Dean, I have a message for you.” She inched off her bar chair and took a few steps away from the bar. “Unless the two of you want to trash this place, in which case, please wait until I’m safely in my car before you kick off the festivities.”

Axe was the first to break from their trance-like stare. “I was just leaving.” He eased out of his seat, straightening up. “See you around, Angel.”

“I really don’t think you will,” she muttered. Most of that comment was in response to that little voice that warned her not to give Axe an inch because without a doubt, he’d get under her skin until she was dangerously addicted to him. The only thing they had in common was he wanted to get in her pants, and she was searching for someone to take them off every so often.

Axe shrugged one shoulder and left the saloon with a swagger in his step that she could not ignore.

“What did Sonya want?” Dean’s question brought Angel back to her senses.

“Right.” Angel relayed the message from her best friend. “She tried to phone you, but couldn’t get through.”

Dean nodded. “And you’re sure she said up to two months?”

“Yes, why?”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

“So that’s it?” she asked.

“It is,” Dean reassured her. “Sonya was just checking in. She just doesn’t want anyone here to worry. Trust me, she knows we’d be on a flight to search all of Europe if we don’t hear from her. Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dean.”

“How do you know Axe Voltaire?” he asked as they walked out the front entrance.

“I don’t, really. I just met him this morning.”

“I’d be careful if I were you,” he warned her, but she was certain it was more than the typical brotherly advice Dean had given her on occasion when she and Sonya were teenagers. “Are you okay to drive?”