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 with 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.