Page 12 of Axle
Ignoring the tightness in my jeans, I carefully laid her on the bed, then crouched beside her so we were at eye level.
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “You shouldn’t be involved. It’s not safe.”
I leaned in, one hand braced beside her head. My voice dropped, rough and deadly quiet. “Too late, angel. You crashed into my world. Now I’m in it.”
The air crackled between us. Her eyes locked on mine, a thousand words she wouldn’t say burning behind those stormy-gray irises.
She looked away, and I stood, gently brushing her hair off her forehead, then reached for the comforter. “Rest.”
She caught my wrist. “What are you doing?”
“Tucking you in,” I said, because that’s what it was, even if the words sounded wrong in my mouth.
The corner of her lips flickered, a surprised quirk that made the injuries on her face look less angry. “That’s…new.”
“What is?”
“A man who looks like you using the phrase ‘tucking you in.’”
I raised a brow. “A man who looks like me?”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “You know what I mean. Hot, tattoos, leather. All scary badass biker.”
It was obvious the second she realized she’d called me hot because her cheeks turned bright red.Fucking adorable.But Ilet her off the hook, knowing she needed to rest. Plus, teasing her about it might make it even more difficult not to kiss her.
“Can’t say I’ve used it before,” I replied, instead. Then I shrugged one shoulder. “Can use a different phrase if it makes you feel better.”
“It…um…doesn’t make me feel worse,” she whispered, letting go of my wrist.
I smoothed the covers over her, careful around her ribs where Cage had said she’d be tender, and then I took a step back before I could do something impulsive like press my mouth to the spot where her pulse beat in her throat.
“Where’s my bag?” she asked again, less demanding this time.
“In a safe.” I dragged my hand over the back of my neck, feeling the grit of the track lingering. “What’s your name?”
She hesitated.
“Your real one,” I added, so she couldn’t twist my meaning. “The one you answer to when you’re not running.”
Her gaze dropped to my cut, where my road name was stitched in white. “So, Axle, huh?”
I didn’t like the way that name sounded on her tongue any more than I had before. “Mason,” I told her again. I’d shocked the hell outta myself when I’d corrected her earlier. We didn’t let anyone but family—or our old lady—call us by our given names. But for some reason, I’d wanted to hear her say it. “Mason Novak. My brothers call me Axle. As I said before, to you, I’m Mason.”
Conflict showed on her face, and for a moment, I thought my honesty might have earned me hers. Then she shook her head. “I can’t tell you mine.”
“You can,” I growled. “You won’t.”
“You don’t understand the danger I’m bringing to your door,” she whispered.
“We’ve had worse at the door.”
“Not like this. You have to let me go.”
I leaned in, braced my palm on the headboard above her shoulder, and caged her in without touching her like I wanted to. Her breath caught, but she didn’t flinch. “Not fucking happening.” My voice was quiet and lethal. “You crashed into my life. Now I’m in it.”
Something flickered through her eyes—fear, yes, but not of me. Relief, maybe, the fragile kind that she couldn’t trust yet. She fought it down, that stubborn mouth of hers flattening. “Mason.”
How she said it—soft, unfamiliar on her tongue—warmed my chest in a way that felt brand new.
