Kiss me like you mean it.

And he heard them.

I knew he did when his arm sliced around me and my hand on his chest was forced up into his spiky hair because my body was plastered to his.

And his mouth was on mine.

He kissed me.

Axl kissed me.

And he did it like he meant it.

His other arm swept around me, and I came up on my toes, his head angling, mine tipping the other way. He held tight and I pressed deep and I tasted, and I took, and I gave, and I drank, and he plundered, and he sucked, and his tongue danced with mine and yes …

Yes.

He kissed me like he meant it.

And I kissed him back the same way.

“Okay, the very last thing I wanna be doin’ right now is interrupting this.”

Axl tore his mouth from mine and looked over my shoulder at who I knew was Brett.

And those steely-blue eyes grew stone cold.

But his arms got so tight, I was having difficulty breathing.

Please tell me this was not happening!

I looked over my shoulder and there was Brett, bare-chested and in pajama bottoms.

And there I was, in my jammies in Axl’s arms.

For the first time, in Axl Pantera’s arms.

After he kissed me.

This was happening.

CRAP!

“Before you lose it, I sleep on the couch,” Brett declared. “And we don’t got time for you to lose it anyway, because, Hattie,” Brett looked to me, “you need to see this shit.”

He then waved something he was holding in his hand that I hadn’t noticed, what with my freak-out that he’d interrupted Axl and my first kiss.

But it looked like pictures.

And a large manila envelope that vaguely, in my hazy mind, I remembered came in the mail yesterday. It had no return address. My address was handwritten. I didn’t know what it was. I figured it was marketing material, but regardless, I didn’t open my mail because I was busy getting ready to go to work.

“Why’s he sleeping on your couch, Hattie?”

At Axl’s question, slowly, I turned my head back to him.

His eyes were still cold.

“Well—” I began.

But now Brett was interrupting me.

“It’s good you’re here,” he stated, and I could tell by his voice he was getting closer—even if, on that little deck, it was hard to be too far away—but still, he was coming closer. “And it’s good you’re not fucking around with working shit out, finally. But what seemed like a low-key sitch is now officially a serious fucking sitch.”

At that, I looked to my side and down at what Brett was holding.

Pictures.

Black and white. Eight by ten.

Porn.

Hard-core, BDSM porn.

And it did not look like the woman tied up in a very unsexy way (to my inclinations) was enjoying it.

My skin chilled.

“The fuck?” Axl whispered dangerously.

His skin didn’t chill.

It seemed to heat.

And his arms got tighter.

“There’s three pics,” Brett explained. “This one’s the least fucked-up. And it came with a note that said, ‘This is you.’ ”

Suddenly, Axl let me go and took a step back.

That chill on my skin turned to ice.

“The fuck?” he repeated.

I looked up into his eyes.

But Brett answered for me.

“She got a call two days ago. Man said her name, threatened to tie her down and whip her. Odds were, he was just a crackpot fan. Now, think he isn’t just fucking around.”

“That’s why he’s picking you up from Smithie’s,” Axl said to me.

Okay, well, as I suspected, Boone and Ryn saw me get in Cisco’s car.

And Boone told Axl.

“Axl—”

“That’s why he’s sleeping on your couch.”

“Okay, see, the call came in when—”

“That’s why he’s on your deck hardly wearing anything, while you are on your deck, also hardly wearing anything.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say this was hardly any—”

“And you didn’t call me.”

His voice was so flat in delivering that, I closed my mouth.

“You didn’t call me or Mo or Boone or even Smithie. You called Cisco.”

And that was an accusation.

“Okay, I see that isn’t—”

“And you kissed me like you just kissed me. What’s the matter with you?”

And again, I shut my mouth.

Because that?

I did not like the tone of that.

It hurt.

“You know, think I made it clear I’m in to do the work, Hattie. But there’s only so much a man can take,” Axl declared.

“Listen, brother—” Brett tried to get in there.

Axl’s head jerked his way. “I’m not your brother.”

“Just calm down and let Hattie get a word in.”

“You got advice for me with this?” Axl asked, flinging a hand out my way.

Right.

First I was “work.”

Now I was “this.”

Seriously?

I mean, he always wore cargo pants. And I knew he was a commando. He’d been in on Evie’s rescue the first time she got kidnapped (that one without all the girls) and Evie said there were smoke bombs and tackling involved. Not to mention, he’d charged after Ryn when she was taken, I was there as yet to be abducted, and I heard the gunshots he was exchanging myself.

So he left it in little doubt he took his masculinity very seriously.

But acting possessive and like the wronged man when he’d only kissed me once and he did it when he had a girlfriend?

(Okay, I participated in that, and encouraged it, and that was very wrong, until I understood what was up with him and the woman he was seeing, but I didn’t have a boyfriend.)

Seriously, after he broke into my studio and was a jerk to me, then I got a nasty call when he stormed out, I could phone whoever I wanted.

Right?

Before I could share my thoughts on this, Axl’s attention returned to me.

“So, official. My job in this,” he cut a hand between him and me, “is done. You want it? You’re up.”

And with that, but no explanation to what that meant, he walked right through my gate and the entire deck shook when he slammed it behind him.

For long moments, both Brett and I stood there silent, staring at the door.