Broody Brit by Naima Simone

Chapter Thirteen

Zenobia

“No.” I groan, slapping at Axel’s bedside table to shut off the alarm. “More sleep.”

The heavy, muscular arm around my waist tightens. Axel shifts behind me, but then stills again. Something I’ve learned about him over the past four days since we’ve started this little arrangement: once asleep, it takes a train roaring through the room to wake him up.

Another thing I’ve discovered?

He doesn’t have an alarm clock.

Confusion trickles through me, and one of my eyes peels open as the sound that penetrated my subconscious reaches me again. Is that…? No, couldn’t be…

Holy shit! It is.

“Dammit!” I jackknife up and scramble from under his weight and the blankets. “Axel,” I hiss while searching the floor of his apartment for my discarded shorts and shirt. “Axel!” I dare to whisper-shout as loud as I can. Tugging my clothes up my legs, I lean over the bed, cup his shoulder and shake his big frame. “Wake up.”

He blinks, his fuzzy blue eyes meeting mine.

“Simon and Bridget are home.”

Seconds after I drop that bomb on him, the sleep clears from his gaze, and he frowns, sitting up. “What?”

“Simon. Bridget. The people who are letting us stay under their roof?” I pull my shirt over my head. “They’re here. Back from vacation four days earlier than scheduled. Shit.”

I’m a fucking toddler trying to find the right holes in this thing. Heart pounding in my chest, I inhale a deep breath and waste precious seconds untangling the top and poking my arms through the correct sleeves.

“They can’t find me here.”

Herebeing in his apartment with him.

“Fuck.” He scrubs a hand over his face, the abrasion of skin skating over his beard echoing in the room.

“Exactly.”

I hurry across the floor and grasp the doorknob. Disappointment and a sudden ache blooms behind my sternum. Both drive me back to the bed. Diving on it, I crush my mouth to his for a quick, hard kiss. Fuck morning breath. We’re losing the idyllic haven from the world we created between us, for us. And I’m mourning it. Because with Simon, Bridget, and their family’s return, that’s coming to an end.

Pushing myself off the bed again, I retrace my steps and pull the door open before I can crawl back among those covers and submit to the urge to hide under them. “I’ll try to head them off in the kitchen. Give me a minute before you come out.”

Without waiting for his response, I slip out, closing the door behind me, not allowing myself one last glance. I’m too weak for that. Silently, I pad across the garage and pause in front of the kitchen entrance, hand on the doorknob. When I don’t hear voices on the other side, I gingerly twist the knob and push. Exhaling, I step in, quietly closing the door behind me and scurrying to the coffee maker as if I’d been there along about to mainline the first hit of caffeine. My pulse is racing like I already indulged in something stronger.

I grab a mug and K-cup, pop the pod in, and just as I hit the button to start the coffee brewing, Bridget appears in the kitchen.

“Z!” My friend rushes across the room and envelopes me in a hug. The weight in my chest hasn’t eased, but delight still fills me at seeing my girl. I’ve missed her something fierce at work. Off work, too. “I’ve missed you.”

She leans back, green eyes sparkling, her caramel-colored ponytail swinging. At thirty-eight, she’s a decade older than me, but I swear, she looks younger than me. That’s what being happy and confident in yourself, being in complete love and the mother of the best kids ever will do for a person.

“I’ve missed you too.” I grin, pulling her in for another hug. “You scared the shit out of me, though. What’re you guys doing home so early? Was the happiest place on earth not quite as happy?”

I twist and grab my coffee, glancing at her over my shoulder with an arched eyebrow.

She snorts. “Shut up and fix me one of those, please.”

Chuckling, I pass her mine and retrieve another mug and K-cup.

“We found out that Brendan has a science project coming up that he can’t miss, even though it wasn’t included on the list of assignments given to him before we left. It’s worth 50 percent of his grade, so we packed up and here we are.” She sighs and leaning forward whispers, “Can I be a bad mother and admit that I want to send his science teacher a big ass fruit basket? I was so ready to come home. If I had to go down Space Mountain one more time, Donald or Mickey was going to get junk punched.”

I laugh just as Simon strides into the kitchen. “I heard that, luv, and you should be ashamed. I don’t even know how I can stand to look at you right now,” he chides in his crisp accent, but the adoration that shines from his blue eyes as he gazes at his wife makes a lie of that statement. Even after five years together, four years of marriage, and twins, these two still appear seconds away from jumping each other.

I eye the kitchen table with suspicion. Yeah, I’d rather not know what secrets it has. I ate off of it, after all.

“Zenobia, my darling, have you missed me?” He spreads his arms wide, and yes, he’s my best friend’s husband, but still, I get why all the nurses call him Dr. Sexy Pants.

Tall, blond, piercing blue eyes, chiseled jaw, and a body that doesn’t quit, he’s movie star handsome. Yet, he does nothing for me. I mean, I’ve always looked at Simon as a friend. It has nothing to do with a recently discovered fascination for men who resemble Viking warriors with voices made of grit and whiskey.

“I sure did.” I go into his arms, hugging him tight. “But I have to admit without you around, the nurses have been more productive. No Dr. Sexy Pants to drool over.”

“God, I hate that name,” he grumbles as Bridget and I snicker.

“Pop, Ellie, and Lizzie won’t let me help them unpack. They said only you can do it.” Brendan, Bridget’s thirteen-year-old son from her first marriage, walks in, Simon and Bridget’s four-year-old twins Eleanor and Elizabeth trailing behind him. His world-weary tone belongs to someone who has suffered all the indignities of life and is seriously put out by them. “Hey, Z!”

I adore this kid, and though he’s approached that age where he’s too cool to hug, I don’t let that stop me from grabbing him close and smacking a kiss on top of his head. “Hey, B! You enjoy your trip?”

“It was cool.”

Oh yeah. Such a thirteen-year-old boy.

“I mean, it was al— Whoa! Thor!” he shouts, his teenage cool suddenly abandoning him.

I don’t need to glance toward the garage entrance to guess Axel had entered the room. His presence crackles and leaps over my skin like my body has been plugged into a wall socket.

Jesus Christ. Don’t scare the kids, I silently scold my nipples which threatened to bead under my shirt.

“Sorry to disappoint, but not Thor, son.” Simon coughs, covering a laugh. He affectionately tousles Brendan’s hair, who still stands, mouth hanging open, gaping at Axel. “Axel. Good to see you, mate.”

Simon strides over and grabs him up in a hug. For a moment, Axel doesn’t return the embrace—his huge, muscled arms remaining down at his sides—but then, almost awkwardly, he lifts them and pats Simon on the back. If Simon notices Axel’s discomfort, he doesn’t reveal it or comment. Instead, he shifts away, his hand remaining on one of Axel’s shoulders.

“Come on. I’d like you to meet my family. This starstruck guy over here is my son Brendan. These two little angels are my girls Eleanor and Elizabeth. And the tall angel is my wife Bridget. Everyone, this is my friend, Axel Wright.”

“Cheers,” Axel says, jerking his chin up.

Ellie and Lizzie stare up at him, eyes round, and poor Brendan. I’m stuck between wanting to pat him on the head and running for my phone and snapping his picture so I can torment him with a picture of his Cool Point Epic Fail for life.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Axel,” Bridget greets, trying and not succeeding in hiding a smile at her kids’ reactions to him.

But who can blame them? He’s… God. Him. I’ve just left his bed, and I’m nearly struck dumb by the sight of him with his golden hair slapped up in a messy bun and clothed in a wrinkled T-shirt that hugs his muscular torso. Faded jeans drape off his hips and cling to thick, powerful thighs. I’ve seen the man naked, so in clothes, his magnetism should at least be a wee bit muted. But no such luck.

God, I wish there was a dial at his back where he could just switch that hotness from nuclear to regular ol’ phenomenal.

At least then it would be easier to not pant after him in front of witnesses.

One peek at him, though, reveals he’s not experiencing that issue. He stares at me, and that quick I’m caught in that electric blue trap. There are kids in the room, my brain screams in warning. Abort! Abort! But apparently, my vagina has shanghaied this ship, because my body is in full rebellion, and I can’t look away. Images of what he did to me just hours ago download to my brain, and my lungs seize, my stomach clenches and my sex quivers.

I’m in trouble.

The peal of a familiar ring tone saves me from complete humiliation. Jerking my gaze from him, I glance toward Brendan, who is holding my phone toward me.

“I forgot to tell you, Z. Your phone was ringing on my way down here. Twice. Whoever’s calling must really want to contact you.”

“Thanks.”

I meet him halfway, keeping my attention focused on him, but not before skimming over his father. More specifically, the narrowed, speculative gaze of his father. Well, shit. Something tells me Simon didn’t miss that little byplay between Axel and me. I smother a sigh. Not that I have to explain myself to him or seek his permission seeing as I’m a fully-grown woman, but he and Bridget did offer me their home. Yeah, I can’t touch that decision until after coffee.

Accepting the phone, I hit the accept button on the screen. “Hello.”

“Morning. Is this Zenobia Hester?”

“Yes, this is her.”

“Great. This is Greg, the super at your apartment building.”

Surprise flares inside me, followed by a heavy coil of foreboding. Good God, what now? “Hey, Greg. Is something wrong with the repairs?”

“On the contrary,” he assures me. “I’m calling to let you know we finished with everything ahead of schedule. If you’d like to move back in tomorrow, you can.”

“Wow, that’s… great.” Isn’t it? It is. Then why aren’t I happy? My gaze flicks to Axel, who’s sitting at the breakfast bar, his back stiff. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem. Have a great rest of your day.”

I end the call and stare at the cell. Simon and Bridget returning home early. My apartment ready ahead of time. It’s like the universe is telling me this no-strings affair has reached its expiration date. I mean, I knew that it had to. Just not so soon. Not before I had my fill of him.

As if that could ever happen. Wasn’t it you telling him you’re behind those walls of his and he won’t ever be able to push you out?

Oh, shut up. I can’t be held responsible for what I say during sex.

Jesus. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m officially losing it.

“Z? Everything okay?” Bridget asks, settling a hand on my shoulder.

“Great.” I force a smile, that from her arched brow, I don’t think is fooling her. “That was my building super. My apartment is ready, and I can get out of your hair sooner than I thought.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Not that we want to get rid of you.” She smiles. “But I know how you’ve hated being displaced. This will be getting some normalcy back.”

“True.”

Axel’s stare is like a brand on my skin, but I don’t look in his direction. Instead, I return to the coffee machine and busy my hands with making a cup. Maybe by the time it’s brewing, I’ll have convinced myself this jagged-edged disappointment in my chest is due to not having a whole house at my disposal and not because my no-feelings-no-strings affair with Axel ended before it really even had a chance to begin.

Yes. That’s why.

God, I’m such a shitty liar.