My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(66)

“We did,” Axel says quickly, but his voice is strained.

Does this conversation touch a sore spot? Maybe because of the attraction he felt then—an attraction he still feels.

One I feel, too, growing stronger and bigger every day. Every hour.

So much I don’t want to stay in this car another minute.



We make it to the sleeper compartments thirty minutes later, next to each other.

“Don’t take long,” he rumbles, and it’s an order.

No, it’s a command, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

I turn the handle for my compartment—appearances and all, but as I unlock it, these appearances seem pointless. It’s one more night. I’m not sure I care if someone sees us.

I turn around, catch his gaze, hold it for a long, heady beat. My stomach flips. What is happening to me?

From several feet away, doors open and shut, voices carry, but I ignore them as I close the distance between us and follow him to his sleeper car.

The second the door shuts, we kiss. It’s chaotic and consuming, a hot, wet kiss that’s somehow both poignant and sexy.

When he breaks it, he’s breathing out hard, holding my face. “Uma was right.” He swallows roughly, like it hurts to say that.

I smile, a little shocked, and curious too. “You had a…?” I can’t quite finish the question—had a crush on me—it’s too unexpectedly wonderful to say out loud.

“I did,” he admits plainly.

“You never let on,” I whisper. This moment feels fragile, like in it we could break whatever this is between us.

He gives a rueful shrug. So unlike the cocky, sarcastic smart-aleck man I’ve known. But I’ve been learning new things about Axel on this trip. He’s been revealing his other side. His hurts, his heartaches, maybe even the things he doesn’t like about himself, the parts he’s trying to change.

We all have those parts. But it takes a real man, or woman, to see them, more so to admit them, then to change them.

He’s that guy, flawed and so damn real it makes my chest ache. I shake my head, a little amazed. “You’re a good secret keeper,” I say.

“It was easier,” he says quietly, then he lowers his face, wincing. But he lifts it again quickly, his gaze resolute. “I wanted you to meet Max because I knew you’d like him. I knew he was your type. But it made it easier too. For me.”

I nearly reel from the admission. His crush was so consuming he engineered another romance for me. That’s so huge I don’t know what to say or to think.

“I thought it would help me get over my crush on you,” he adds, apologetically. “I didn’t want to ruin our partnership by telling you about this stupid fucking crush.” He’s so frustrated with himself, but then he sighs, a worried sound. “Now you hate me for real, don’t you? But I had to tell you.”

My heart squeezes even harder. It’s beating so fast. “I don’t hate you,” I whisper, emotion already knotting my throat, and like that, I do know what to say. “I really, really don’t hate you.”

Then, before I tell him how I truly feel, how much I don’t hate him at all, I cover his lips with mine.

I kiss him again.

It’s messy and needy as we tug at clothes and jerk at zippers, then fall into bed together.

I ache, and I can’t wait a second longer. When he takes off his glasses, I grab his face. “I need you,” I say.

“Need” is only the start of how I feel. But I don’t want to say more and ruin this fragile new us.

Axel grabs a condom, rolls it on, then pushes the back of my thigh, bending my knee toward my shoulder. He settles between my legs and sinks into me with one deep, delicious thrust that has me moaning.

In no time, I’m panting and gasping.

He’s groaning and grunting.

Neither one of us talks. We don’t demand dirty deeds, or ask for it harder, rougher, deeper.

I’m too afraid to talk.

Too worried I’ll say the wrong words or say the right words at the wrong time.

Like I’m falling for you.

I have so much more than a crush on you.

Instead, for two incessant talkers we’re remarkably, disturbingly quiet.

But we’re loud in the only way we can be now. Speaking with our bodies, our sounds, our touches.

And with the way we come together in a desperate tangle this last night on a luxury train speeding across Europe toward its final destination.





34





THE FINESSER


Axel

This is dangerous. I’m too damn close to slipping. As she sleeps next to me, an arm flung across my chest, her red hair spilling onto my shoulder, I vow to do better tomorrow.

There’s only one more day to survive, really. Once we leave Europe, the spell will be broken. We’ll return to New York. I’ll refill my salty supplies, slap on my armor, and do my goddamn job.

Come morning, all I have to do is make it through twenty-four more hours without telling her I fell in love with her once.

And, over the last few days, I’ve fallen in love with her again.



The sunrise brings a bright idea.

To survive the next day with her, I need to go back to the way we were. To arrows and barbs.