Page 24

"You're just..." he trails off, shaking his head slightly. "I can't believe you're real sometimes."

I laugh, reaching for the shampoo bottle. "I'm very real. Complete with bedhead and morning breath."

"Both of which I'm looking forward to experiencing," he says, taking the shampoo from my hands. "Let me."

He pours a generous amount into his palm and begins working it through my curls. His fingers massage my scalp with surprising gentleness, and I can't help the small moan that escapes me.

"That feels amazing."

"I'm a man of many talents," he murmurs, continuing his ministrations.

"So, I've noticed."

Once my hair is thoroughly lathered, he guides me under the spray to rinse. I turn to face him as the suds wash away, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Let me wash yours," I say, reaching for the shampoo.

He has to bend down slightly for me to reach his hair properly. I rub the shampoo through his hair, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. There's something profoundly vulnerable about washing someone's hair, a tenderness that feels almost more intimate than the sex we just had.

"You know," he says as I rinse his hair, "this is the first time I've had a woman in this shower who wasn't just a groupie or a one-night stand."

"Is that supposed to make me feel special?" I tease, though I'm secretly pleased.

"You are special," he says, suddenly serious. "From the moment I saw you in that crowd, I knew you were different."

I reach for the body wash, partly to hide how his words affect me. "Different good or different bad?"

"Definitely good." He takes the body wash from me. "Though you're going to be the death of my ego."

"Your ego could use the challenge," I reply, gasping as his soapy hands slide over my breasts.

"Probably true."

We take our time washing each other, exploring our slick skin, and stealing kisses under the warm spray. What starts as playful quickly turns heated again, his hands finding their way between my thighs.

"Again?" I ask, breathless as his fingers circle my still-sensitive clit.

"I told you.” He murmurs against my neck, "I'm insatiable when it comes to you."

Twenty minutes later, we finally come out from the shower, my legs shaky from another intense orgasm. Axl wraps me in a fluffy towel and presses a kiss to my forehead.

"I could get used to this," he says softly.

I don't respond, not trusting myself to say something I might regret. Instead, I focus on drying off and wringing the excess water from my curls.

"I should probably get dressed," I say, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. It's nearly midnight.

"I might have something you can wear," Axl offers, disappearing into his massive closet.

He returns with a soft black t-shirt emblazoned with his band's logo and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring waist.

"These will be huge on you, but it's better than putting that dress back on," he says, handing them to me.

I slip the shirt over my head, and it falls almost to my knees, and I have to roll the waistband of the sweatpants several times until they somewhat stay up. The effect is comical, and Axl bursts out laughing when he sees me.

"You look like a kid playing dress-up," he teases, pulling on a pair of jeans.

I stick my tongue out at him. "Not all of us are built like rock gods."

"Rock gods?" He raises an eyebrow as a smug smile plays on his lips. "I like the sound of that."

"Don't let it go to your head," I warn, attempting to tame my damp curls into some semblance of order.

"Too late." He pulls me against his still-bare chest to kiss me deeply.

When we break apart, I'm breathless again. "If you keep that up, we'll never leave."

"Would that be so terrible?" he asks, his hands sliding down to cup my ass through the baggy sweatpants.

"Mm, tempting," I admit, and press a quick kiss to his lips before stepping back. "But I promised I'd be back, and I don't want the guys to send out a search party."

Axl sighs dramatically and releases me. "Fine. I suppose I should return you before your other suitors break down my door."

I throw a towel at him, which he catches easily. "Don't be an ass."

"I can't help it. It's part of my charm." He pulls on a fresh T-shirt and grabs his leather jacket. "Come on, let's get you home before your fairy godmother turns me into a pumpkin."

The drive back is peaceful; the city lights blur past as we cruise through the late-night streets. Axl keeps one hand on my thigh, the other on the wheel, occasionally stealing glances at me.

"Thank you for tonight," I say, placing my hand over his. "It was exactly what I needed."

"Anytime," he replies, lifting my hand to press a kiss to my knuckles. "Seriously. Call me anytime you need rescuing from that fortress of testosterone."

I laugh, leaning my head against his shoulder. "It's not so bad. They mean well."

"They want you for themselves," he points out.

"And you don't?"

He glances at me; his expression turns serious. "Of course I do. But I also want you to be happy. Even if that means sharing."

His words warm something inside me. "That's surprisingly mature of you."

"I have my moments." He winks, turning onto a quieter street that will take us toward the safe house.

As we round a corner, Axl suddenly tenses, his hand tightening on mine.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up straighter.

"That van," he mutters, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "It's been following us for the last few blocks."

I turn to look, spotting a black van several car lengths behind us. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure." His jaw tightens. "Hold on."

He makes a sudden turn down a side street, accelerating slightly. The van follows.

"Shit," he swears, reaching for his phone. "I'm calling your detective friend."

Before he can dial, another van appears at the end of the street, blocking our path. Axl slams on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt.

"Fuck!" He throws the car into reverse, but the first van has already pulled up behind us, boxing us in.

My heart pounds against my ribs as men in tactical gear pour out of both vehicles, weapons drawn.

"Axl," I whisper, fear closing my throat.

"Stay in the car," he orders, his voice deadly serious. "Lock the doors when I get out."

"What? No!" I grab his arm. "You can't go out there!"

"I need to buy you time to call for help." He cups my face, pressing a hard, desperate kiss on my lips. "I'll be fine. These guys don't know who they're dealing with."

Before I can protest further, he's out of the car and slams the door behind him. I fumble for the lock button, pressing it just as the first man reaches him.

Axl moves with surprising speed and grace, his fist connecting with the man's jaw before he can react. Another attacker approaches, and Axl drops into a fighting stance I didn't know he possessed.

I grab my phone with shaking hands, trying to dial Leo's number. The screen blurs through my tears as I watch Axl fighting.

He takes down two more men before someone hits him from behind with what looks like a stun baton. He drops to one knee but immediately surges back up, throwing himself at his attacker.

The call connects just as the driver's side window shatters. I scream as a gloved hand reaches in, unlocking the door and yanking it open.

"Leo! We're being attacked!" I shout into the phone, scrambling away from the door. "We're on…"

A sharp sting hits me on the side of the neck, followed by spreading numbness. I look down to see a needle protruding from my skin…