by Nina Lane
I rubbed my finger over a crack in the table. I didn’t want to push this, didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know. But the question mushroomed in the back of my mind like a noxious cloud.
“Are you doing this to fuck with him?” I asked.
Archer lifted his head. “What?”
“Me.” I couldn’t look at him. “You know Dean and I are close. Are you…” shit shit shit “…pushing things with me because you want to get to him? Because you know it’ll piss him off?”
If I’d expected an instant denial, I didn’t get it. Instead Archer looked out the window again, almost as if he was actually wondering how to answer that. My chest constricted.
“I did that with Liv once,” he finally said.
“What?”
“The first time I met her,” he said. “Dean had brought her home for Thanksgiving one year. I knew they were getting serious. I figured out pretty fast I could get to him through her. So I did. I insulted her, and he beat the crap out of me.”
I wasn’t surprised. Not by Archer’s hostility or Dean’s rage. Archer would needle Dean every chance he got. And of course Dean would never let an insult go unpunished, especially one directed at Liv.
“He messed me up pretty bad,” Archer continued. “Broke my nose. But it felt good to light his fuse. To make the perfect Dean West lose his shit. It wasn’t the first time I’d done that.”
Pain and sorrow stabbed through me. I hated knowing that Dean and Archer’s troubles had lasted for so many years, breaking apart two brothers who might have otherwise been friends.
I studied Archer’s face, seeing the slight bump on the bridge of his nose that was apparently evidence of this epic beating. The imperfection only added to his rugged beauty, and I found my gaze sliding down to the wide sensuality of his mouth, the prickle of whiskers darkening his jaw.
“That…” My ridiculously active heart had increased in pace again. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”
“No.” He turned, a sudden and intense light in his eyes. “I’m not using you to get to Dean. Yeah, I’ve done stuff like that before. A lot. But I’m not doing it with you.”
With everything I had, I wanted to believe him. And with everything I knew, I wasn’t at all certain I could.
He knew it, too. I felt his gaze like the most potent of touches.
“Hey.” His voice was soft.
I looked up at him. I wanted to drown in the midnight dark of his eyes.
“I’m not using you.” He made an X over his heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“You’re still leaving in a couple of weeks, right?”
He nodded. “As soon as I’m done working on the house.”
“Okay.” I exhaled a slow breath. “I have rules.”
“I figured you would.”
“I don’t want to get into any more personal stuff.” I held his gaze, keeping my voice steady in spite of my wild, racing heart. “We only do it at my house and only at night. No motels or anything creepy like that. You can stay the night if you want to, but when I leave in the morning, you leave too. No calling me when I’m at work. If you want to reach me, use email. And I’m in charge of the remote.”
For what seemed like a very long time, he didn’t respond. He only looked at me with the morning sunlight sparking in his eyes and his arms folded loosely across his chest. When he finally spoke, his voice was smoke and honey sliding over my skin.
“No.”
I blinked. “No?”
“You don’t make the rules,” he said.
“Of course I make the rules.”
“No.”
“Archer!” I put up my hands in frustration. “I am this close to caving and finally agreeing to sleep with you after a week of you sniffing around me like a dog digging for a bone, and now you’re going to argue with me when I try to establish some boundaries?”
He nodded.
“Well.” I slammed my palms on the table and pushed to my feet. “If that’s the way you’re going to be, then I—”
He was out of his seat in a flash, faster than I could even take my next breath, and then he was pressing me up against the counter, all heat and dark eyes and that insane, potent masculinity that ran through his veins. He cupped my hips in his hands, his breath warm against my forehead, and then he pushed our lower bodies together.
Oh, god. He was already hard. So hard. A thick, heavy ridge against my belly. I struggled for air, reaching behind me to grip the counter.
“You don’t make the rules, storm girl,” he repeated, lowering his head to trail his lips against my neck. “You don’t do anything but what I tell you to.”
My heart crashed against my ribs. “Um… what?”
“We’re doing this my way,” he said, shifting so that his cock rubbed against me. He nipped at my collarbone, his husky voice muffled, his whiskers scraping deliciously against my skin. “You’re not allowed to tell me what to do. You don’t say where it happens or when it happens. You don’t even get to decide what happens. There’s only one thing you get to do.”
“What… what is that?” I could barely form the words past the heat filling my chest.
“Surrender.” He moved his lips up my cheek before capturing my mouth with his.
Lightning streaked through my blood. A moan escaped me as his warm, delicious lips moved against mine, his hands curving around to my ass. I couldn’t have resisted if I’d tried. I just melted, sliding my arms around his waist and falling into the kiss as if it were a place I’d already been and had deeply missed. My veins surged with desire, heat sparking as our mouths moved together with increasing urgency.
This… this was what I’d wanted since the moment I first saw him, the full press of his solid, muscular body against mine, the warmth of him engulfing me, the increasing pressure of his kiss as he parted my lips with his and drove his tongue in deep.
My heart hammered. I couldn’t remember ever being kissed like this, with such all-consuming fervor, like he wanted to possess me. I closed my lips around his tongue and sucked. He groaned, tightening his hands on my ass. My tight nipples rubbed against his chest, and pure, white-hot desire flooded me to the core.
“Oh, god.” I pulled my mouth from his with a groan. “All right, all right. I give in.”
“Don’t give in,” he murmured, brushing his mouth against my lower lip. “Give over.”
He lifted his head, his eyes smoky as he cupped my breast in his hand and pinched my nipple. An electric current rippled through me. I stared at him, flushed and so hot my entire body throbbed.
“You ready?” he whispered.
I couldn’t speak. I could only nod. He grasped my hips and lifted me onto the counter, pushing my legs apart and moving between them. He eased his hand beneath the hem of my stretchy shirt.
The second his callused fingers made contact with my bare torso, I shuddered in response. I could hear my heartbeat pounding, could feel the rush of blood pooling in my lower body.
I didn’t know what would happen next, if he’d slide his hand upward or… he went down, his fingers dipping below the waistband of my yoga pants. He smiled slightly, holding my gaze as he traced the lacy edge of my panties.
“You always wear sexy underwear?” he asked.
Jesus, his tickling touch was killing me. I squirmed, hooking my legs around his thighs and looking hungrily at the bulge in his trousers. “Most… most of the time.”
He traced a line from my belly button down between my legs, where the satin of my panties was already wet. I flushed, a little embarrassed by my easy arousal, but Archer’s quick intake of breath indicated his appreciation. He slid his finger down the crevice of my sex, once, twice, a slow easy rhythm that had me arching my hips toward him.
Tension coiled through me. I gripped the front of his shirt, wanting to unbutton it and finally, finally, touch his gorgeous chest, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but hold on and let him take me places I’d never been.
>
He slipped his finger under the edge of my panties, and then he was touching me with no barrier. I moaned, pressing my hot forehead against his chest, writhing to try and tell him I wanted his touch harder, faster. He dipped his head to the side of my neck again, capturing my earlobe between his lips.
“How often do you touch yourself?” he whispered.
I blushed. Blushed! Me, the hard-assed professor who took no prisoners. Archer West had reduced me to a quivering mass of arousal and blushing, and I’d fallen headfirst into the storm. I closed my eyes and pulled in a breath.
“How often?” he prodded, stroking his finger up to my throbbing clit.
“Often,” I whispered.
“Every night?” He kissed the pulse pounding at the side of my neck.
“Yes.”
“Do you use vibrators or your hand? Or both?”
My flush deepened, but the husky note of command in his voice indicated that not answering was not an option. He caressed me with slow strokes that made my nerves sizzle and ratcheted my urgency higher with every sweep.
“Usually just my hand,” I murmured. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I breathed in the scent of him, clutched his wrinkled shirt in my fists.
“Yeah? Why?” He slid his finger back down to the opening of my body.
“It’s… um, more efficient.”
I felt his smile against my neck. “Do you finger-fuck yourself or rub your clit?”
Heat poured over me. “God, Archer.”
“Both?” He started to press his finger into me.
“Both.”
“One day you’re going to show me.” He slipped his finger in farther, and I clenched around him involuntarily. He exhaled hard, his breath a hot puff against my shoulder, his voice hoarse with restraint.
“Damn, you’re tight,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to sink my cock into you. Watch you take me in deep. So fucking deep.”
I couldn’t breathe. My head was spinning. My whole body quivered.
Then Archer flicked his thumb against my clit, and I came so fast, so hard, that a scream lodged in my throat. Vibrations quaked through me, my blood rushed hot, and my world distilled to the heat firing inside me, the slow massage of Archer’s fingers, the rumble of his voice against my ear.
I drew in a gulp of air, my forehead still pressed to his chest. Another series of shudders filled me. I squeezed my thighs around his hand. The sound of our breathing rasped in the air.
When we separated, I was overcome by yet another foreign sensation of shyness. I couldn’t look at him as I adjusted my clothes and scrambled off the counter. Then I realized that I hadn’t returned the favor.
“Uh…” I pushed my hair away from my forehead, trying to regain my composure. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… you’re still…”
“Hard as a rock?” he supplied.
I smiled faintly, my tension easing. “Yes. I don’t want to leave you like that again.”
“Yeah, well.” He put his warm hand beneath my chin, lifting my face to his. “We’re not going any further until I give you the test results proving I’m clean. I don’t want there to be a single doubt in your mind. And I know a scientist like you needs proof.”
“But I—”
“It’ll be your turn soon enough.” He pressed his lips to mine. “I guarantee it.”
My heart kicked into gear all over again at the thought of what, exactly, my turn would consist of.
The pressure of his mouth increased again, and for a moment our tongues danced and swirled in another heady rhythm. Then Archer lifted his head, stroking one hand down the side of my face before he backed toward the door.
“I’m going to go,” he said. “For now.”
I nodded. I didn’t want him to go, but lord in heaven, did I need some time to myself. And he’d only be gone for now. I wondered what that meant.
And I realized, not without some consternation, that I hadn’t objected to his dictate about the rules.
“About those rules…” I said, trying to get some starch back into my spine. “We’re going to have to talk about that.”
He shook his head slowly. “Deal’s done, storm girl. You already surrendered.”
“I did not.”
“No?” He smiled, slow and easy, his eyes darkening. “Then I’ll have to prove it to you again next time.”
Next time. I was already throbbing with anticipation at the idea of next time.
“When is next time?” I whispered.
“When I say so.”
He disappeared into the foyer. I went to the kitchen doorway and watched as he opened the front door. Before he stepped outside, he turned back to look at me.
“I do have one rule,” he said.
“Just one?”
“Just one.”
“What is it?” I asked.
He shot me a very wicked smile. “Your body belongs to me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ARCHER
KELSEY MARCH. SHE OF THE SHARP tongue and incredibly hot, responsive body. A deadly combination. I couldn’t get her out of my head. Didn’t want her out. No, I wanted her in. In my head, in my blood. Making me jacked up and alive again. Driving everything else out with her predict the unpredictable and her cool, blue eyes and the blushing that pissed her off.
I was more turned on than I’d been in months. Aching. I cooled off a little during the long hike back to the hostel, but the second I walked into my room, I hit the shower and jerked off like a fifteen-year-old. Imagined pounding into Kelsey March like a piston, her legs pushed up to her pretty tits, her body shaking with every thrust. She’d wanted to scream in the kitchen when she came. I’d practically felt her swallow that scream back down.
Next time, she wasn’t going to hold back her scream. Not a single moan or whimper. I wouldn’t let her.
Even after the shower, my head was still filled with thoughts of her. I got dressed and pulled my notebook out of my duffel.
An idea had kicked into gear last night as I sat on Kelsey’s sofa. Characters and plots for a story. I drew a few sketches and wrote down some names. Though I hadn’t written in years and didn’t know if anything would come of this, it felt good to be inspired.
I worked for an hour before heading to Liv and Dean’s to return my brother’s clothes and pick up the trailer key, which I’d forgotten last night.
When I got to the apartment, a pleasant older woman opened the door and introduced herself as Marianne, the café hostess and part-time nanny to Nicholas. She stepped aside to let me in, bouncing Nicholas in one arm.
I took Nicholas’s chubby hand between my fingers, giving it a little shake.
“Hey, buddy. You get some eggs and bacon for breakfast? A good cup of coffee?”
Nicholas scrunched up his face. Marianne laughed.
“Would you like to hold him?” she asked then plopped Nicholas into my arms before I had a chance to respond. “Liv said you needed the trailer key, so let me get that for you.”
She disappeared into the kitchen. Nicholas and I looked at each other. He stuffed his fingers into his mouth and drooled.
“Don’t do that, man,” I told him. “Girls’ll tell you it’s not cool to drool.”
He drooled harder. Since he’d liked the plants on the balcony the last time, I went over and let him look out the window. He was a good, solid size. I’d always thought newborns must be hard to hold since they were so small, but a five-month-old—or Nicholas, at least—was sturdy enough that it didn’t feel like I could break him.
“Here we go.” Marianne came out of the kitchen with a key attached to a plastic tag.
After thanking her and waving goodbye at Nicholas, I drove up to the Butterfly House and parked beside Dean’s and Liv’s cars.
I climbed off the bike as Dean approached from the house. Wariness flooded the air. We stopped a few feet from each other. My fists tightened. I was ready for a fight.
“You get the key?” he asked.
“Yea
h.”
“Okay. The wood was delivered a few days ago.” Dean nodded to the house. “You can start on the first floor. We’re doing the stairs, too. All the tools and equipment are in the front room. Let me know if you need anything. I’m working on rewiring the basement. Liv is painting one of the bedrooms.”
He turned and walked away. My fists unclenched. I knew Dean wouldn’t let me off the hook about Kelsey that easily, but I’d take the reprieve. And despite my spotty job history, I knew how to work. I could sure as hell work fixing up a house.
I dropped my stuff off in the trailer and went into the house. Felt good, the half-finished, empty rooms, the familiar smells of sawdust and drywall mud, the exposed subfloors. I found a tool belt in the front room and put it on, checked out all the equipment, and got to work.
I spent the next few hours putting down an underlayment and laying the first boards. Glad not to think too much except for measurements and planning. Too much thinking and my head would fill with the desert. Mick’s garage, dirt biking, bars, nameless women. Dry heat, sharp cacti, and snakes.
I slammed a nail into a board. Too hard. The wood split. I cursed and grabbed a crowbar to yank it up. I tossed the broken board into the corner.
I stripped off my gloves and tool belt before going in search of something to drink. Liv and Dean stood together in the overgrown garden. Dean was gesturing toward the wooded area surrounding the property, like they were making plans about what to do with the yard.
I stopped at the side of the house. A stab of envy hit me. Hadn’t felt anything like it in years, not since things broke between my brother and me. I went my way. Dean went his. Everything had always come easily to him, and I’d figured nothing would change.
But until now I hadn’t had to actually confront it. Hadn’t had to see his beautiful house, cute kid, successful career, and his generous, pretty wife.
Liv nodded in response to what Dean was saying and wrapped her arms around his waist. He kissed the top of her head, then slipped his hand under her chin and lifted her face so he could press his mouth against hers. She leaned right into him, like he was a magnetic pull she didn’t want to resist.
