by Shayla Black
Lantern in hand, she searched the rest of the hotel. The office that had obviously been shuttered a while ago had an old phone, but it didn’t work. The rest of the hotel held a parlor with an aging piano, a storage room empty of everything except a few rusted antiques, and not much more. By Beverly Hills standards, she was totally roughing it. But if she stacked it up against last night’s accommodations, this was the freaking Ritz.
Mystery returned to the kitchen as the sun edged behind the mountains. Outside, the sky turned dark fast. Inside, too. Axel busted through the back door, carrying a bucket of water in each hand. “I found a well. I’ve got more where this came from. Does that stove work?”
She hadn’t thought to check and shrugged.
“Matches?” he barked.
Mystery grabbed the rest of the book and handed them over. Axel set the buckets down and took them, gesturing to her. “Bring the lantern over here.”
She followed him across the kitchen, then watched as he lit the match and turned the knob to release the gas from the stove. It hissed and sputtered, then the burner flared to life.
“That antique works?”
“It’s a replica. I found the old wooden stove in a storage shed, along with a couple of propane tanks. I guessed this one was rigged up to heat like a barbeque since the gas company probably didn’t run lines out this far. Grab some of those pans. Let’s heat up this chow. The rest of the town is empty, by the way.”
She’d suspected as much.
Together, they grabbed pans from the ceiling and wiped them out with clean dish towels while Mystery filled him in on everything she’d found upstairs. He looked pleased.
Within minutes, they were shoveling in beans and soup, then washing it down with the bottled water. As they did, Axel heated the well water from his buckets in two big pots. He ate more than a few cans, shoveling food in at a rate that amazed her. Where did he put all the calories? After a can of stew and half a can of green beans, Mystery was stuffed.
As the water in the pots began boiling, he carried one across the room. “Can you lug that other bucket of water upstairs?”
Mystery retrieved it from its resting spot near the back door. It seemed to weigh a hundred pounds, and she grabbed it with both hands. “Probably. What are we doing with this?”
“Getting you clean.”
“Like . . . in the bathtub?”
“Originally, I was going to suggest sponge baths in the kitchen, but since you found an actual bathtub, lead the way.” He gestured to her with a nod of his head.
For that, she’d carry this bucket up a mountain. The muscles of her shoulders strained, and the brittle plastic of the handle threatened to break, but she kept on, leading him in the shadowy dark to the bedroom, then the small bathroom beyond.
He set the bucket on the floor behind her. “Stay here. I’ll bring one of the lanterns.”
Mystery groped her way to the old tub and shivered in the dark. It wasn’t cold but the air around her felt a bit creepy. She supposed this was known as a ghost town for a reason. History lingered, and she almost felt as if she could close her eyes and picture the people who had once stayed here, when this mining town had been in its heyday.
Axel returned a moment later, shedding soft, golden light on the situation. He set one of the lanterns in the little pedestal sink and gripped the other as he edged past her to shove the old rubber stopper in the drain. After, he dumped the bucket of hot water inside the tub. Steam rose in a billowing cloud, fogging up the old mirror hanging in its wooden frame above the sink. Mystery looked at herself and nearly shrieked. She didn’t look anything like the cool, sophisticated girl who’d gone out for a night on the town a few days ago. Now she looked bedraggled and filthy . . . and haunted, as if she’d seen more of the seedy underbelly of life than she’d been ready for.
She managed to bite her tongue, then catalog what she needed to do to get clean. At least the dirt on her cheeks and her rat’s-nest hairdo would be gone soon. As for the emotional turmoil from her ordeal, she couldn’t do anything about that now so she locked it away in a mental box for later.
“Put your hand in the tub,” Axel instructed. “Too hot for you?”
Mystery dipped her fingers in. Together, they worked to add some of the cool water from the bucket she’d brought upstairs until the temperature felt just right. The tub didn’t even fill halfway, but she could work with it.
“You’ll rinse with the rest of this water.” He pointed to the bucket. “Let me see if I can find one more thing . . .” He left the little room and after opening and closing some doors and drawers, he returned with a blessedly clean and big towel. “Here you go. When you’re out, I’ll do my thing. Until then, I’ll keep guard in the hall, just in case unexpected company comes.”
Then he closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with the glow of the lantern. Mystery stripped and stepped into the tub. Just like heaven . . . She shampooed her hair twice, then soaped down and shaved, rinsing with the final bucket of icy water. She was shivering as she stepped out, but she was blissfully clean.
She dried off, tossed on some of the clothes she’d seen in the dresser, braided her hair over one shoulder, brushed her teeth—and felt incredibly human again. When she emerged from the bedroom, Axel stood in the hall with a pan of steaming water and another bucket from the well.
“You done?”
“Yeah. I found soap, shampoo, clean toothbrushes, a comb . . . It’s all in there. Do you need anything else?”
“Good job.” He slid past her with the pan of hot water.
She dragged in the cold after him. “We make a good team.”
Mystery cringed the second the words left her mouth. Ugh, that sounded stupid. Axel knew how to survive. She’d just done her best to keep up and follow his directions.
“Sure,” he tossed back.
But he didn’t mean it.
“Here’s your cold water,” she blurted, bucket in hand.
With a nod, he stopped up the tub, then turned to her like he was waiting for her to shut the door so he could get started. And there she stood, gaping at him like an idiot. Awesome.
In the hallway, she heard water sloshing, imagined him taking off his shirt, his boots, his pants . . . Did he go commando? Was he big all over?
Mystery’s breath caught, and she pushed away from the wall, heading downstairs. Mooning over him was totally embarrassing, yet she couldn’t seem to stop. Everything about him appealed to her. Yes, he was handsome, but that didn’t impress her. He was smart and funny, of course, but she’d met guys like that before, too. What made Axel so special was that, on top of his other qualities, he protected. He cared. He’d made sure she ate, drank, covered her feet, kept her face from burning. Hell, he’d even given her a place to pillow her head on his chest. Okay, so that might be part of his job, but he could have been an ass about it. He could have treated her like a thorn in his side or like a kid. Instead, he’d encouraged her, talked to her, actually listened.
He was special. With civilization and the bad guys so close, Mystery wasn’t under any illusion; they’d either be rescued or dead by tomorrow. Tonight was it.
Downstairs, she rifled around behind the bar and found an unopened bottle of tequila and a shaker of salt. Not her first drink of choice, but better than nothing. She set them out, then selected a glass from the tray and waited.
Axel emerged a few minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist. He carried his clean, dripping clothes in one hand, a lantern in the other. Mystery nearly swallowed her tongue.
Muscles covered his enormous chest in slabs. His wide shoulders bulged. The ridges of his abs led toward narrow hips with the beginnings of a treasure trail visible just above the towel. Then he turned for the kitchen, and she drank in the view from the back. More muscles everywhere. Shoulders, triceps, upper back, lining his spine. Beneath the towel, Axel clearly had a really fine ass. Holy crap . . .
He emerged from the kitchen a moment later wi
th his lantern and sidled up to the bar beside her, smelling of soap and toothpaste and something so manly it nearly dropped her to her knees. “I hung my clean clothes from the hooks above the kitchen sink, where the pots were. Hopefully, they’ll dry soon. I didn’t see anything of yours worth washing except the bra and panties. They’re drying, too.”
Mystery’s eyes flew wide. He’d washed her undergarments, the expensive French variety she’d worn to the club that night in case she got lucky? The lacy, silky gray sheer panties and matching wisp of a bra? Heat rushed up her face.
“Thanks,” she managed to bluster out. “They’ll be good in a few hours, I guess.”
He nodded, then directed his attention to the bottle. “You found tequila, huh? Legally, you’re too young to drink.”
“Do you think I’ve never been drunk?” She slanted him a stare that begged him to get real.
“Oh, I know you have. Mystery Grace Mullins, age nineteen. Attended Beverly Hills High, class rank one hundred three out of six forty two. Accepted to USC with an undeclared major, but you dropped out after a semester. The apple of your Oscar-winning father’s eye and his only child with his late wife, Julia, whose homicide remains unsolved over a decade and a half later. Listed as one of the most beautiful celebrity kids, you’ve got a reputation as a wild child, but I think that’s overrated. Because you no longer have your mother and your father is busy, you’d rather have attention than a party. That explains why you let yourself be arrested at fifteen for joyriding with your then-boyfriend, and why you keep sneaking into bars. You have a lot of friends, none terribly close. You spend most of your time with your books and computer. You’re not sure what you want to do with your life, and the last few days have been more ‘adventure’ than you bargained for.”
God, with every word, he stripped her bare, reducing her life to a few lines that, even to her, sounded pathetic. How had he realized so quickly that she’d been trying for years to get her father’s attention? She loved him more than anyone . . . but sometimes she resented how much Hollywood demanded of him and how little he had left for her.
“Well, you have me all figured out,” she quipped and poured a shot of tequila. “Congrats.”
She licked her hand, shook the salt, and sucked it off, then downed the booze. It burned her throat, and she missed the lime to cut through that. Her eyes watered, but she refused to choke and look like an amateur. This wasn’t her first rodeo, after all.
He took the bottle and salt, then followed her lead, downing the shot in one quick toss. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Just pointing out that I’m not a total stranger, even if it feels that way sometimes.”
Blue eyes could seem so cold sometimes, but never his. They held a warmth, a humor, an understanding that drew her. Yes, she was stupidly crushing on him and had been since shortly after he’d rescued her. Was anything so wrong with something happening between them? They were both adults.
Mystery poured another shot, her stare meeting his as she licked the back of her hand slowly. He drew in a sharp breath, his gaze fixed on her. Those blue eyes darkened. Good, she had his attention. Her body sizzled hot. As she poured the salt, the thought made her tingle all over.
She tongued off the tart sprinkles, then knocked back the tequila. His stare clung to her mouth as she swallowed and licked her lips. He didn’t even blink as she set the shot glass on the bar. His gaze followed her hand, then landed on the slope of her breasts under the overlarge shirt.
The tingle inside her became full-fledged arousal.
The warmth of the booze spread through her, making her mellow and a bit hazy. She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the bar and wondered if he could see down the front of the large, slightly gaping tee enough to get a peek at her cleavage.
“So Troy-who-goes-by-Axel from Tennessee, where do you live when you’re between missions or whatever?”
“Dallas.” He grabbed the bottle again. This time, he drank straight from it, then reached for the cap and began screwing it on.
“Give it back! I wasn’t done with that.”
“Yeah, you are. I can’t drink any more if I’m going to stay alert, and we have to cut out of here in a few hours, so you don’t need the dehydration or the hangover. We’ve still got about eight miles to walk.”
“I’ll be fine. I can hold a little more liquor than that before I feel it.”
His face lost all hint of friendly. “I said you’re done.”
She sent him an annoyed tsk. “You’re not my father, you know.”
“I’m fully aware of that.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not my boyfriend, either.”
“I am not. If I were, I’d be taking you over my knee about now.”
Mystery gaped at him. “Y-you’d spank me?”
“Yep,” he answered without pause or apology. “Do you understand what I’m saying, little girl?”
She only had the murkiest idea what he meant, but no way would she admit that. She’d heard of men who liked to tie women down and sensually torture them. In fact, her father had been given a script for a thriller about a sexual Dominant accused of murdering his sub with a huge twist at the end, but he’d declined the film. The whole BDSM scene had sounded shadowy and kinky to her . . . but admittedly intriguing. What would it be like to turn herself entirely over to a man like Axel? He’d already earned her trust, so she knew he wouldn’t do anything to truly risk or hurt her. The idea of being his singular focus really turned her on, in fact.
“I know what you’re saying.” Her voice shook as the image of her tied to his bed while he loomed over her, strumming her naked body with his big fingers, played in her head.
“Then you understand that I’d curb and punish self-destructive behavior. But being your Dom isn’t my role. Being your rescuer is. I intend to get you home to your father in one piece—without you being wasted.”
“It was just a drink,” she objected.
“A potent one. With so little food in your belly and so much exposure to the sun, your system will be more susceptible to the alcohol.” He grabbed her chin and brought her face close. “Your eyes are a bit unfocused and dilated. You’re already half drunk.”
So what if she was? “For the first time since we left that run-down shack, I’m not terrified out of my mind. Thanks for being a buzzkill.”
He crossed his arms over his huge chest and gave her a disapproving glare. It crawled up her back and ignited her temper. But another part of her realized that it also lit the fuse on her arousal. If I grab the bottle and drink from it again, what will he do? The question whispered through her head as if the devil sitting on her shoulder prodded her.
“Booze isn’t the way to escape your fear,” he pointed out, his voice deep and firm.
Mystery shivered at his tone. God, she wanted to hear more of that—a whole lot more as he pumped his big cock inside her and made her scream.
The devil on her shoulder poked her again. She grabbed the bottle and stepped out of his reach, staring at him defiantly as she unscrewed the cap and poured a big gulp into her mouth.
She swallowed and smacked her lips. “Now what are you going to do, big man?”
For a long moment, he did nothing but stare at her as if she’d made some grievous error she would come to deeply regret. Slowly, he uncrossed his arms, then sighed, sizing her up like an animal considering its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
Her heart pounded. Her nipples beaded. Her whole body lit up. Not once had any of the admittedly stupid string of boyfriends she’d had made her feel this much like a woman. Her breathing speeded up. She swayed a bit closer. Would he touch her? Would he lay his lips over hers and claim her mouth before he delved into her body?
She exhaled a ragged little sigh. “Axel . . .”
Her whispered entreaty put him in motion. His eyes went dark as he skirted the bar, sidled closer—and kept coming at her.
A dizzying wave of desire swept through her as he r
eached for her. His fingers brushed her waist. She swayed. Her back hit the wall. She gasped. He pinned her with his big body, his hands braced on either side of her head. Heat seeped into her. His erection pressed hard and massive into her belly. She closed her eyes, her head falling back as she offered him her vulnerable throat.
“Princess . . .” he murmured low and soft in her ear.
Her entire body trembled. “Yes.”
When he didn’t say anything right away, she opened her eyes to find him staring at her. He hovered right over her, his face so close. Lust ripped across his expression, darkening his eyes, firming his lips. She couldn’t wait to feel him . . .
“Yes.” Mystery positioned her lips just under his.
But he didn’t kiss her.
Instead, he swallowed hard, body taut. His nostrils flared. He clenched his jaw. “Wait here.”
He turned on his heel and left the bar, marched through the kitchen, and out the back door.
Wait? If he was a Dom, maybe he needed rope or some way to restrain her. Or maybe he looked for some other instrument with
