by Joss Wood
“Do you like hamburgers?” Coe demanded.
“Sure, who doesn’t?” Axl replied, sounding remarkably normal.
“We’re having burgers for lunch. I’m being a boy right now so that I can eat a burger but then”—Coe darted a warning look at Reagan—“I’m going back to being a fish again.”
“Cool,” Axl replied, and Reagan noticed that his shirt was now soaked from Coe’s wet trunks.
“Coe, you’re making Axl wet.”
Both man and boy looked equally dismissive. “Axl doesn’t mind,” Coe said. “Do you like soccer?”
“Sure.”
“Cars?”
“Of course.”
“Horses?”
“I don’t ride but I guess they are okay,” Axl said, jamming his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, looking like having four-year-old clinging to him was the most natural thing in the world.
“Mmm. I’m not sure about them.” Coe pursed his lips. “They are big and they have really big teeth.”
“Stay out of the way of their teeth,” Axl prosaically suggested.
Coe nodded, as if Axl had shared a great secret with him. “I think I like you,” he stated.
Reagan noticed the genuine amusement in Axl’s eyes. “When will you know for sure?”
“Dunno. It depends on whether you like worms and girls.”
“Worms are only good for fishing and, sorry, I like girls.”
Coe looked crestfallen and he quickly dropped to his feet. “Why?” he wailed. “Why does everyone like girls?”
Axl seemed oblivious to the fact that his white, wet shirt was sticking to his ridged stomach. Reagan forced her eyes off those muscles and back to the man-boy interaction.
“Reagan’s a girl and you seem to like her,” Axl pointed out.
Coe tossed him a look that was pure disdain. “She’s not a girl, she’s a bodyguard. And she pulled me out of a fire and Dad calls her Wonder Woman.”
Reagan sucked in her cheeks to stop herself from laughing. Her eyes met Axl’s and laughter flowed between them. Wonder Woman. Yeah, definitely one of the best compliments of her life. God. How sad was it that her best compliment in the last couple of years was from a four-year-old fish-boy? Seriously, she really had to get a life!
“Then Reagan went back into the fire and rescued Mr. Brown, and she saved him,” Coe rattled on.
Oh, crap. “Who is Mr. Brown?” Axl demanded.
Coe waved to the lounger next to hers to where the caramel-colored bear sat. Reagan winced as Coe dramatically slapped his hands on his chest and closed his eyes in rapturous appreciation. “Mr. Brown is my best friend!”
Axl’s expression flipped from mirth to anger in the space of a heartbeat and he locked his eyes on hers. “What the hell is he talking about, Reagan?”
Shitshitshitcrapdamn. Reagan bit her bottom lip. Coe, I love you but you have a very big mouth. She’d had no intention of telling anybody from Cas, ever, that she’d run back into the house to save Mr. Brown. Without a solid and detailed explanation, no one would understand why she’d risked her life for a teddy bear.
Reagan looked at the pool as she scrambled for something to say, a conversational out.
“Go and get your burger, dude,” Axl told Coe. Coe immediately responded to the authority in his voice. He scooped up Mr. Brown and ran to the door leading back to the entertainment room and then on to the kitchen.
“An explanation would be nice,” Axl said, his tone super soft and super scary.
Reagan lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “It was an impulsive decision. The kid loves his bear, can’t sleep without him. He wanted him back.”
Axl, smart man that he was, wasn’t buying her excuse. “The trailer was on fire and you’re telling me that you ran back into it to rescue a friggin’ toy? You risked yourself for that?”
Reagan, forgetting that she was dressed in next to nothing, jumped to her feet as his roar bounced off the walls of the indoor space. She stomped over to Axl and slapped a hand on his chest. “Stop shouting! There’s a kid in the house! He’s been scared enough!”
Axl looked down at her hand on his chest and brought his eyes back to her face. Reagan slapped his chest again. “I’m fine, Coe is fine, the damn bear is fine. Will you please let it go?”
Axl’s hand, long-fingered and broad, held her hand against his chest. She could feel the heat of his skin on her palm and she felt a like she was struggling for oxygen.
And why did she suddenly want to tell him about Mr. Brown, about how important it was that Coe’s last gift from his mom didn’t get incinerated? It was a link to his mom and those links meant something, even if he was four and didn’t really understand. She also wanted to tell him what was inside the damn bear. She wanted to ask his advice on what to do.
Axl narrowed his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me, Reagan?”
How did he do that? How was he able to look into her eyes, her face, and see what nobody else could? She loved that he could, as much as she hated he had that ability.
Reagan tried to pull her hand out from under his but Axl just lifted his other hand and placed in on the bare skin just above her hip, his thumb swirling on her skin. He tugged her closer and her right breast pushed into the back of her hand, her nipple poking his skin. God, he had to know how turned on she was, how much she wanted to lift her face and have him cover his mouth with hers.
Sex wasn’t something she did, something she was experienced in. Oh, she’d had sex . . . once, maybe twice back in college, but that was so long ago she could barely remember where and when and with whom. It definitely hadn’t been memorable, and thanks to her busy life and busy schedule and her general disinterest in playing the dating game, it had been a long, long time.
“That bikini, you in that bikini. How am I supposed to keep my hands off you?”
Axl looked down at her, his face inscrutable but his eyes flashing with need. For her. It was a powerful feeling to have so tough a man needful of her touch, anxious of her response. Reagan watched as he lowered his head to hers, and she went up on her tiptoes to help him close the distance between them, sighing when his mouth slanted over hers. He’d kissed her the other night but it seemed that he was more, better, than she remembered, darker, spicier, hotter. When her mouth opened he plummeted inside . . . and her world exploded.
Power clashed with control, need with want. Tongues curled and teeth scraped and the world spun in a dizzy pirouette as his arms banded around her. They feasted on each other, each taking turns to create hot, fat kisses they fed to each other.
One of Axl’s hands pushed her lower back to meld her against his groin as his mouth re-explored hers. She’d groaned as his tongue pulled out to lick the corners of her mouth, one and then the other, to scrape his teeth against her bottom lip. Reagan felt that delicious heaviness invade her limbs, and when he dragged the pad of his thumb across her nipple, she sank against him, falling into the moment and surrendering to his touch.
She’d never felt this before, never experienced how wonderful it felt to feel so completely at ease—physically—in a man’s arms. He seemed to know exactly how to touch her and what she liked, and needed, when it came to making love.
Axl pushed one side of her high-neck bikini up and ducked his head to pull her nipple into his mouth, taking the nub between his teeth before pulling it against the roof of his mouth. Reagan felt like there was a super sparkly, fast highway from her nipple to that long-neglected space between her legs, a fast track to a mind-blowing orgasm. God, she hoped that he’d do the same to the other breast, that he’d slide his big hand down the front of her pants and stoke the fire building there.
The strident tone of Axl’s phone yanked her back to where they were—how could she have forgotten?—and when Axl lifted his head and stepped back, dropping f-bombs into the space he vacated, Re
agan pulled her bikini top down and whirled away to pull a pair of track pants off the lounger behind her.
Like a magnet, her eyes were pulled back to his long, sexy, ripped body. Axl didn’t take his eyes off her as he leisurely took his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, and Reagan couldn’t help but notice how very turned on he was. His reaction tented the fabric of his jeans, and Reagan watched, fascinated, as Axl, without embarrassment, put his hand on his dick to adjust the fit. He closed his eyes, left his hand on his dick for a moment before lifting his phone to his ear. “What?” he barked into the phone.
Reagan, her eyes still on his pants, wondered what it would be like to see his hand on his naked dick, or better yet, her hand on his naked dick. She felt heat rush into that space between her legs and thought that she’d like to see that. And more. She’d like to see his mouth tugging on her nipple, watch him slide into her . . .
God, she could just imagine it. Axl, tanned and fit, his muscles rippling, above her, his erection between her legs . . .
“Dammit, Mom, why didn’t anyone think about shutting off the main water valve?”
And, just like that, his erection died and his jeans settled down. Reagan pulled a sweatshirt over her head, and when she looked at Axl again, she noticed that he was gripping the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and that a muscle was jumping under the scruff on his jaw. He now looked pissed and frustrated.
“Yes, Mom, there is a main water valve. How can you, and Dad, not know that?” Axl waited for a response from his mother and spoke again. “So the whole downstairs is flooded. Good thing that the place is tiled. Get out the mops and squeegees and start pushing the water out.”
Axl stopped speaking and looked out of the wooden and glass doors that, in summer, opened up to the huge courtyard and entertainment area beyond. “Yes, I will get a plumber there. Yes, I will contract a cleaning company and contact the insurance company. No, I can’t come home. You guys are just going to have to deal with this on your own.”
Axl disconnected the call and tapped his phone onto his forehead, keeping his eyes closed and muttering under his breath. Reagan folded her arms and tried to remember what Mike had said about his family. Not much, Reagan recalled. Mike wasn’t the gossipy type. She remembered him saying that they were fairly useless and that Axl was the glue that held them all together.
Why did she think that his parents were antiestablishment, hippie types? The type that attended protest marches and got themselves arrested for swimming naked in park ponds? Mike had been convinced that Axl wasn’t their real child, that he’d been swapped with some other newborn in that crazy commune where he’d been born.
Mike once said that Axl was the white sheep in a family of psychedelic sheep wearing straitjackets.
Reagan pushed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and tipped her head. “Problem?”
Axl dropped his phone to look at her. “My mother ran a bath. She opened the taps as much as she could and somehow managed to strip the fitting so that the cold tap wouldn’t close. It flooded the bathroom, went down the stairs, and has flooded the kitchen, dining, and part of the living room. Neither she nor my father thought to turn off the main water valve.”
Reagan widened her eyes. “There’s a main water valve?” she asked breathlessly.
Axl managed a small smile. “I know that you know there’s a main water valve and I know that you would remember to turn it off to stop additional flooding. My parents . . . not that thinking.” Axl raked his hands through his hair. “I have to call the plumber and the cleaning crew.”
Reagan lifted her eyebrows. “They can’t use a mop either?”
“It’s easier if I just get the someone else to do it—” His phone rang again and Axl looked down at the display and muttered another curse before answering the call.
“Yes, Skye, I know that the house is flooded. Want to sort it out for me and send me the bill?” Another beat of silence and Reagan noticed hurt-tinged irritation flash across his face at the reply he got. “Skye, I’m not there. You know the town, you know who to call . . . just make the calls and send me the bills.”
Judging by the disappointment on Axl’s face, she knew that wasn’t going to happen.
“Useless moron,” he muttered after a snappy good-bye.
“Who is Skye?” she asked, intrigued.
“Half brother, six years younger. He still lives at home with my folks. His job is to hang around, smoke weed, and be useless,” Axl replied, his fingers flying across the screen of his phone.
“Half brother? Did your parents get divorced?” Reagan asked.
Axl sent her a get-real look. “My parents had, probably still have, an open marriage. Skye is the child of some dude my mother had a relationship with, someone, for all I know, they both had a relationship with.” Axl’s voiced was tinged with bitterness. “My parents swing both ways, all ways.”
Whoa, okay then. And wow. How weird must it be to know that your parents are sexually adventurous? Forget weird, bizarre was a better word.
“Mom fell pregnant with Skye and Dad raised him, in the loosest sense possible, with the rest of us. When Dad got someone pregnant, twice, those kids ended up with us too.”
“So you have . . .” Reagan prompted, fascinated.
“One half brother, two half sisters. And an adopted brother, who is about the most normal of the lot.” Axl jammed his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. “My family is very messed up,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact.
“But you love them,” Reagan suggested.
Axl’s eyes darkened with an emotion she couldn’t identify. He lifted his shoulders and she could, literally, see the weight resting on them. “I’m responsible for them.”
Actually, he wasn’t, but it wasn’t her place to tell him that. She hated people butting into her business, so she was going to extend him the courtesy of letting the subject go. Though, hell, she really wanted to know more about his crazy family. They made her strict, emotionally unavailable and uninterested dad seem almost normal.
Almost, but not quite.
“And how is your dad? I haven’t spoken to him for a couple of months,” Axl asked, his gray eyes steady on her face as he did his mind-reader trick.
She hadn’t spoken to Gunnery Sergeant Micah Joseph Hudson, Retired, for around a year so. They’d never been close, and Mike was the link between them. When he passed away, they’d drifted even further apart and conversations between them were excruciatingly difficult with neither of them able to open up. It was easier not to have any contact.
“You haven’t spoken to him, have you?” Axl asked, and Reagan knew that there was no point in lying to him. He’d know if she was.
“No.”
Sympathy flashed in his eyes. “Situation normal, then?”
“Yep,” Reagan said and closed her eyes at the bitterness in that one word. Mike had been their dad’s be-all and end-all. She’d never featured much. It shouldn’t still hurt but it did.
Reagan slipped her feet into flip-flops and pushed her fingers through her still-wet hair. Uncomfortable with the conversation, she pushed aside the twinges of sadness, regret, and insecurity and lifted her chin. Way time to move on. “Why are you here?”
Axl smiled and her stomach rolled over. “I was wondering how far I’d get before you changed the subject. Not very far at all, we’ll have to work on that.”
Reagan rolled her eyes. “Axl! Why. Are. You. Here?”
“You need to do an evaluation.”
Reagan knew this. Mac had emailed her to come down to Cas HQ and to go through the drill. They were due to do it ten tomorrow morning. “So I was told, and don’t think it hasn’t escaped my notice that it’s a couple of months early. I’m not going to argue about that though.”
“I’m deeply grateful,” Axl murmured.
Reagan ignor
ed his sarcastic response. “But I’ll do it—”
“So gracious.”
Reagan narrowed her eyes. “I’ll be there, tomorrow at ten. You didn’t need to come down and remind me.”
“But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of . . .” Axl’s eyes dropped to her chest, and her traitorous nipples puckered up again. He noticed—of course he did!—and his mouth curved into a wicked grin. “God, you’re responsive.”
Her mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara. “I thought that we were going to try to be friends.”
“We can be friends and be attracted to each other,” Axl replied, his eyes fixed on her mouth.
“Spoken like a horny man. It’s not a good idea, Axl.” When Axl lifted his eyes to hers, she swallowed and forced the words out. “You know it’s not.”
When Axl didn’t say anything she rushed into the silence. “We work together, I want to join MKR, and I know that you’d never let me join if we started sleeping together. We’d distract each other on a mission and lives might be affected.”
“All true. Not that I’m ever going to let you on to my elite response team.”
Aaargh! How could she go from wanting to sleep with him to wanting to strangle him in two minutes? Because he’s a jerk, that’s why. “Is it because I’m a girl?”
“No, it’s because you are you. You don’t get it, do you? Even if we didn’t sleep together, you’d still distract me on a mission. I’d spend half my energy worrying about you, making sure that you were protected, and that wouldn’t be good for the hostage, for the rest of my team. I need to be absolutely certain that they can do their jobs.”
“Maybe I’m good enough, how do you know? You won’t even let me try!”
Axl’s face reflected his frustration. It was in his hard, granite-colored eyes, in his beard-shaded jaw, his tense shoulders. “Why do you want to do this so badly?”
