by Nina Lane
I pushed the thought away and got to my feet. Archer closed his hand around mine, and we worked our way to the dance floor. It was easy to get into the rhythm of dancing with him. He didn’t get all up into my space, but took the lead in a way that made it entirely natural to fall into the music.
My blood warmed, and my tension slipped away, all the stress about review boards, proposals, and tenure decisions melting into the primitive beat. The lights flashed in a kaleidoscope of colors. I spun and twisted and twirled. Energy filled me. I welcomed Archer’s hands on my hips, his body brushing against mine.
My heart pulsed. Bodies gyrated around us. “Red Red Wine” pounded from the speakers, the heady beat pulling me closer to Archer. In the shifting light, his ruggedly handsome features looked sharper, harder, his eyes hot as coals as he raked his gaze over my body. My breath shortened. Our eyes clashed.
A current of electricity sizzled between us. He slid his hands down my sides, his touch burning a path clear through my dress. I drew in a breath, wanting him to pull me closer. I wanted to feel the length of his body against mine.
I closed the distance, unable to take my gaze from his, those midnight eyes in which I could see myself. My breasts brushed against his chest, a shock of arousal coursing from my hard nipples to my sex. He tightened his hands on my hips, the pressure evoking an unbearable craving to know what his touch would feel like on my bare skin. I wanted to put my arms around him. I wanted to press my cheek against his chest and let him take me to places that were dark, dangerous, and exhilarating.
The heat of his body enveloped me, drew me in. I moved where he moved, both of us swiveling our lower bodies, circling ever closer. My nerves burned. Then he was there, his hips pressed to my stomach, his chest against my breasts. We both slowed, still moving, the noise and dancing around us fading.
And then I felt the swell of his erection against me, a hard, unmistakable ridge pressing into my belly. Lust shot through me like a firebolt. He moved his hands slowly around to my ass and lowered his head, still guiding me to the rhythm of the music, his breath a warm trail over my cheek to my neck. I closed my eyes. My whole body went weak when he pressed his lips to my collarbone.
Oh, god. I was aching. I wanted him to slide his hands under my dress and caress my skin. I wanted him to push his knee between my legs and guide me to writhe against his strong thigh again. I wanted to feel his lips on my breasts, my belly, my—
A moan escaped me, barely audible under the noise of the music, the thumping bass line. I pressed my hand against Archer’s chest, felt the warm, rigid slopes of the muscles beneath his shirt, and then without thinking, I slid my hand down to cup the hard bulge pushing against his trousers. His breath hissed out. I leaned my forehead on his chest and closed my eyes.
I couldn’t do this. Shouldn’t do this…
His hands tightened on me, and when he spoke his voice was a rough growl.
“Let’s get out of here.”
We couldn’t move fast enough. He grabbed my hand and moved through the mass of people crowding the dance floor. I followed blindly, stunned by the intensity of my response to him, the hot fever coursing through my blood.
He got our jackets and hurried us out the front door, the rush of evening air a shock after the noise and heat of the nightclub. I shivered, struck by the sudden sense that I wasn’t losing control of this situation. I’d already lost control.
Archer tossed my jacket around my shoulders and led me back to the car. Before I could get in, he pushed me up against the passenger door, his hips hard against mine, his body so big and muscular I knew there would be no escape, even if I’d wanted it.
I didn’t. I wanted more. More of his body. More of his touch. More of him.
He stared at me, something feral lighting his dark eyes. He slipped his hand beneath my chin, tilting my face to his. My throat tightened with some indefinable emotion. I suddenly realized that the reason I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I’d felt like this was because… I never had.
“You’re beautiful,” Archer murmured, his husky voice rolling over my skin. He reached up with his other hand to touch the blue streak in my hair. “You’re like a creature from some exotic land that no one has discovered yet.”
I managed to find my voice through a laugh. “That is the strangest, most amazing compliment I’ve ever received.”
A responding smile tugged at his mouth before he lowered his head and captured my lips in a kiss of fierce possessiveness. I melted, falling against him, giving in to the urge to wind my arms around his neck and thread my fingers through his thick, dark hair. He shifted closer, his hands finding my hips again, sealing our bodies together. It was a kiss of command, of heat, of promise, of lust.
He urged my lips apart with the pressure of his, his tongue against mine bolting arousal to my core. A moan escaped me, sliding from my mouth to his. Our tongues danced as we kissed and licked and sucked. I pressed my hips against his and writhed, aching to feel the length of his hard cock, wishing desperately that I could see it, see him, touch all the planes of his body…
He lifted his head, breaking our kiss. His breathing was hard, rasping against my lips, tension coiling like wire through him. He leaned his forehead against mine and tightened his hands on my shoulders.
I couldn’t speak past the heat still filling my throat. I closed my eyes, unable to stand looking into the burning darkness of his gaze.
“What?” I whispered.
“We keep going, I’m going to fuck you right here,” he muttered, his voice rough with restraint. “You’re so goddamn sexy, you make me forget I have any control.”
“We could…” I swallowed hard and opened my eyes to stare at the unfastened buttons of his shirt, the V of tanned skin, the column of his throat where I knew his skin was warm and taut.
“We could go back to my place,” I whispered.
Oh, no. No. I couldn’t… I wouldn’t… no…
“Where do you live?” He nuzzled his nose into my hair, his breath stirring the tendrils around my temple.
“Back… back in Mirror Lake. I—I can tell you how to get there.” I knew I couldn’t drive. I could barely walk.
Archer moved away from me, the sudden loss of his body heat causing a cold shiver to prickle my skin. He reached around me to unlock the passenger-side door.
“Professor March?”
For a second, the world turned hazy. I blinked. Tried to take in a breath.
“Thought that was you,” said a young man’s voice. “Whatcha doing out here?”
A blond guy stood nearby with a couple of other college kids, all urban chic in jeans and T-shirts. I forced myself to snap out of the sensual heat in which I’d just been immersed.
I recognized the blond guy as one of my undergrad students from the previous semester. Matt. I cleared my throat and straightened, pushing away from the car.
“Hi, guys. Just out for a night. Thought we’d get out of Mirror Lake.” I sensed Archer behind me, but this time his presence wasn’t comforting. “Where are you guys going?”
“Over to a bar on East Street,” Matt said, his eyes flicking to Archer.
“Have a good time,” I said, then because I knew I had to sound like a professor rather than a horny woman who’d just been making out in a parking lot, I added, “Stay safe.”
“We will. Good seeing you.”
“You, too.” The college kids headed away from us toward the noise and lights of downtown. I was still cold. Behind me, Archer was silent.
I turned to face him. I looked at his beautiful mouth, the angles of his cheekbones, his thick-lashed eyes and eyebrows that mitigated the hard planes of his face. His eyes were shuttered now, as if he knew something had drastically changed.
An ache split through my chest. I wanted to curse, even as the rational part of my brain knew this was a reprie
ve I would again be grateful for in the morning.
Or at some point. Like a year from now, maybe.
“I… I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I should go home alone.”
Archer tilted his head in the direction the guys had gone. “Because of a few college kids?”
“They probably saw us kissing.”
“So?”
“They’ll talk.”
“So?” Irritation darkened his eyes. “Kissing won’t get you in trouble.”
“No, but… I don’t need it getting around that Professor March was busy making out in a parking lot on Saturday night.”
He pushed away from the car. “You don’t need it getting around that you were making out with me.”
“No!” A spark of anger flared. “This isn’t about you, Archer, believe it or not. I’m a professor… a good one. No. A great one. My students respect me. I’ve worked hard for my reputation, and I don’t want it getting around that I’m anything less than professional.”
“Jesus, Kelsey. You need to be a professor even when you’re off the clock?”
“I’m always on the clock.”
Archer looked at me, his eyes filled with frustration. Then he yanked open the passenger-side door and indicated that I should get in. I did, my hands shaking as I pulled on the seatbelt and waited for him to start the car.
I didn’t know how to explain it. I couldn’t. It was more than just a few guys catching Archer and me in a parking lot. For all I knew, they’d forgotten about the incident already, and even if they didn’t, they probably couldn’t have cared less what I was doing or with whom.
No. It was slipping into the uncontrollable that scared the living shit out of me, the knowledge that I’d been about to take a wild, reckless plunge over the edge. And the unbearable, aching sense that I’d love every second of it, even knowing the fall would hurt like hell.
Because there was always a fall. Always a price to pay.
We drove out of Rainwood in silence. I spoke only to tell Archer how to get to my house on Mousehole Lane. When he pulled up to the driveway, I fumbled for my jacket and purse.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I know I was… I mean, I…”
Christ. I stammered more with this man than I ever had in my life. I couldn’t form a sentence around him. I could hardly grab a coherent thought.
Get it together, Professor March.
“Archer, thank you for coming with me tonight,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. “I apologize for leading you on again. I’m not… I’m not always myself when I’m with you.”
“Yeah, you are. You just don’t know it yet.”
My stomach knotted. A girl who took risks and faced challenges without fear…
“Well, good night.” I took hold of the door handle. “You can borrow my car to get wherever you need to go. You can either bring it back here tomorrow or leave it at Liv and Dean’s.”
I started to push the door open when his hand enclosed my wrist. I turned back to him. He was watching me, his face shadowed and his expression unreadable.
“Does the offer to come in still stand?” he asked.
“Archer, I said I—”
He held up his other hand in the gesture of a pledge. “I won’t touch you. We haven’t had a chance to talk all evening. Give me an hour alone with you with no one else around.”
Something shifted inside me as I gazed at him, at his eyes that almost glittered in the night. I wanted to be alone with him, too. And while there was a whole hell of a lot I wanted to do with him, I was absolutely certain he wouldn’t break his promise.
“Just to talk,” I said, in case there was any misunderstanding.
“Just to talk. Though I won’t turn down something to eat, if you were to offer it. That dinner wasn’t enough to feed a cat.”
“Okay.” I let out a breath. “Eat and talk only.”
“Okay. But I have to warn you that I’m still hard.”
My heart jolted, my gaze snapping involuntarily to his lap. It was too dark to see anything. I forced my eyes back to his face.
Archer winked at me. “Made you look.”
CHAPTER NINE
KELSEY
HE LOOKED GOOD IN MY HOUSE. I owned a Craftsman-style bungalow that I’d fallen in love with because of the hardwood floors and built-in bookshelves, the bay windows, and decorative trim. A few men had been here over the years—though none in my bedroom.
And none of them had looked the way Archer did as he walked around, studying the architectural details, the paintings, the family pictures, the souvenirs I’d brought back from various trips.
He was wholly masculine, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, his white shirt wrinkled now but still astonishingly sexy with the top buttons undone and the material tight enough to reveal the planes of his chest.
To avoid gawking at him, I disappeared into the bedroom to change. I stood staring at my closet, wondering what to wear. Should I go casual with jeans and a T-shirt or put on another dress or…
I shook my head at myself. It didn’t matter. Well… it shouldn’t matter. As if trying to drive that point home, I pulled on a pair of black yoga pants and a stretchy, dark blue shirt that had a rip near the hem. Exactly what I’d change into after a day of work when I didn’t care what I looked like.
Except when I stepped back into the living room, Archer’s gaze slipped appreciatively over me. Everything inside me responded to that look. I hurried to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
“How about eggs?” I called. “I can make an omelet.”
“Sure.” He appeared in the kitchen doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb. “This is a really nice place.”
“Thanks. I bought it when I first moved here.” I busied myself cracking eggs and getting out cheese and tomatoes.
“Anything I can do?” he asked.
I nodded toward a loaf of bakery bread. “You can slice that. Knives are in the drawer by the stove.”
We worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. Though Archer was big, he fit well in my kitchen, moving with his easy masculine grace and making sure we didn’t get in each other’s space.
“So what made you become a meteorologist?” he asked.
I didn’t answer right away. It was a personal question, and I didn’t get into personal stuff with just anyone. But Archer West wasn’t just anyone.
“My parents were from Russia,” I finally said, finding it easier to tell him more since we were both busy working. “We immigrated here when I was two. Neither of my parents knew much English, but they found an apartment that had cable included in the rent. My father discovered The Weather Channel. He loved it. Watched all the shows about weather phenomena and forecasting. That was how both he and my mother learned a lot of English. They’d even talk about the weather at the dinner table. So I grew up with it. Guess it was a natural fit.”
“Your father must be really proud of you.”
The comment caught me off guard. Secretly I’d always imagined that my father would be proud of what I’d accomplished, but to hear it from Archer felt like he’d looked right into my heart.
“My father died when I was a junior in college.” I turned away so Archer couldn’t see my face. “He had a heart attack.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “My mother lives near Chicago. It’s about a five-hour drive.”
“You visit her a lot?”
“I try to. Hey, do you like bacon?”
“I love bacon. It gives me a lard-on.”
I chuckled and took another pan from the cabinet. After we’d made a big, cheesy omelet, crispy bacon, and thick-cut toast, we filled our plates.
“Have a seat.” I tilted my head toward the breakfast nook, a polished walnut table tucked beneath a half circle of windo
ws.
Archer eased his tall frame onto one of the bench seats, putting my plate at the seat across from him.
“What do you want to drink?” I asked, peering into the refrigerator.
“Got any chocolate milk?”
“Chocolate milk?” I straightened and looked at him over the top of the refrigerator door. “What are you… ten years old?”
He gave me an engaging grin. God, he was cute. One minute he had me all hot, breathless, and writhing shamelessly against him, and the next minute he had me wanting to hold his hand and share an ice-cream sundae.
“I don’t have any chocolate milk,” I told him. “But wait a sec.”
I rummaged in the cupboard and found an unopened container of hot cocoa mix. I made two mugs of cocoa in the microwave and joined him at the table.
“So where in Russia were your parents from?” he asked.
“Near St. Petersburg.”
“You’re an only child?”
I nodded. “My parents thought they couldn’t have children, so after years of trying, I was quite a surprise. They immigrated because they wanted me to have a better life and a good education.”
“Kelsey March doesn’t sound like a Russian name.”
“My father’s last name was Markovich. Like many immigrants, he wanted to change it when he became a citizen. And because I was born in March, he changed it to March.”
“And Kelsey?”
I picked at a crust of toast. “My real name is Kseniya. But I went to a school full of Emmas and Allisons, and… among other things, I didn’t want my name to be so different. After I read a picture book about a girl named Kelsey, I told everyone to start calling me Kelsey.”
“Including your parents?”
“They still called me Kseniya at home. But at school and in public, they called me Kelsey.”
I felt him watching me, probing for all the things I wasn’t saying.
“It sounds like your parents succeeded in giving you everything they’d wanted,” he said.
