Axel was standing in my doorway, one arm casually propped against the doorframe, looking like sex on long, muscled legs. He was wearing a navy V-neck pullover with faded jeans that hugged every part of him that needed to be hugged. “Hello, Blaire.” Even his deep, rumbly voice sounded like sin personified.

“A-Axel,” I stuttered. “What are you doing here?”

He gave me a soft little half smile and shrugged one shoulder like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m here to see you, of course.”

“But… how . . . how did you find me?”

Both sides of his lips tipped up in amusement. “I have sources.” I remembered who he had been with last night and all day.

“Carrie. The little snitch,” I muttered.

He chuckled. “Don’t be mad at her. I kind of pried it out of her.”

“Pumping a four-year-old for information? Have you no shame?” I asked with a frown.

He squeezed past me, brushing against my hip and breast as he passed. “Nope. Not a bit. I did what I needed to do to find you.”

“What are you doing?” I asked indignantly. “You can’t come in here!”

Axel turned to me and tipped his head to the side, raising one eyebrow at me. “Of course, I can. I just did.” He walked a little further into the room to stand at the foot of the bed, hands resting casually in his pockets. “I wasn’t going to have this conversation while I stood in the hallway.”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Axel!”

“Okay,” he said, his tone casual as he pulled off his shoes like he belonged here and sat on my bed with his back against the two-toned, wooden headboard. “I’ll talk. You listen. Do you want to sit on my lap while I talk to you?”

I felt like a blood vessel in my temple was about to pop. This man was fucking infuriating. “No, Axel,” I said slowly. “I do not want to sit in your goddamn lap.”

He shrugged. “Okay. Suit yourself, but I have a very comfortable lap.” Smug fucker.

“You. Need. To. Leave.”

“After I’ve talked to you. I’m not doing the same shit we did years ago where I act like an asshole, and you just run. That’s how we lost five years together, and we are not doing that again,” he said emphatically.

“I already told you, I’m not living the next two decades with a man on a leash held by his ex. I’m not having some other… woman dictate when and where I can see you.” And I use the term ‘woman’ loosely. Shrew. Bitch. Hag. So many more appropriate monikers popped into my mind.

“You shouldn’t have to. And I promise it won’t be a problem anymore.”