it was because he’d had a taste of her now and was afraid he might never get a chance at another, but he wanted, needed, to make things good for her.
The next night Archer managed to catch Elle as she was coming out of her office.
“Still stalking me?” she asked politely.
“Maybe I just missed you,” he said as they stepped into the elevator together.
“That would require emotion, Archer.”
“You think I don’t have emotions?”
She sighed. “I know you do. I just think you don’t like them.”
“Are we talking about me or you?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes as they crossed the courtyard and headed to the street, where she began to walk at a pace that amazed him given the height of her heels.
“You’re walking all the way home?” he asked.
“The girls and I ate pizza and brownies for lunch. I’ve got about two thousand calories to work off.”
He kept pace and she glanced up at him. “You my bodyguard?”
“You’re the one with a knife.”
She snorted. “You probably had more adventures today than I’ll have in a lifetime. Walking must seem tame to you.”
“Elle, you’re more of an adventure than anything that’s ever happened to me.”
She ignored this and made a few stops, one for some flowers, another for a loaf of fresh bread from a bakery, and then again for a bottle of wine, making him wonder if she was prepping for a date. He hoped not because he’d have to kill the guy.
“Having fun?” she asked dryly.
“Yes.”
She laughed. “Liar. You’re not into fun.”
“I have my moments.”
She blushed, which he found both charming and adorable, although she recovered quickly.
“Hmm,” she said. “Because after breaking up two dates in a row, I’d have said you were actually a fun-sucker.”
“Elle, I didn’t want to mess up your fun either time. You think I don’t know how long it’s been since you let yourself have a life?”
She flushed and looked away.
He turned her face back to his. “But seeing you go out with other guys when we’re . . .”
She arched a brow. “Do tell.”
Shit. He’d walked right into that land mine. “I’m not going to apologize for a single thing I’ve done,” he said.
She wasn’t impressed. “Shock.”
“I’m not going apologize for the things I’ve done,” he repeated, “because I’d do all of it again if I had to in order to keep you safe.”
“You’re not paying attention, Archer. I’m not in danger these days. I don’t need you to keep me safe. I can take care of myself.”
“I know. And I get it,” he said. “You’re smart and strong. You’ve got it all handled. And okay, maybe I should’ve told you about the job—”
“You think?”
“Look, I have faults, okay? A helluva lot of them actually, but . . .”
“Don’t let me stop you,” she said. “But what?”
But . . . she was the most important person in his life. Without his family, she was basically his best friend, even when they went long stretches without communicating. But he’d never told her that because doing so would’ve made him feel . . . vulnerable.
And he didn’t do vulnerable.
Elle strode past him, nose in the air.
He followed her up the stairs. At her front door she turned and faced him. “I don’t need a boogeyman check.”
“Humor me,” he said.
“Actually, I think I’ve humored you long enough.” She turned to unlock her door and stilled.
He looked around her to see what had stopped her and saw that her door was ajar.
Someone had broken in.
Chapter 17
#ShadyBusiness
Elle stood there in front of her opened door, barely registering, when Archer put a hand on her hip, firm and protective, pushing her behind him so that she couldn’t see past his broad shoulders. But she had no problem seeing the gun he’d pulled out of nowhere.
He nudged her to the side of the opened door, her back to the wall. “Stay here,” he said and then he vanished inside.
She stood there, torn between following him or doing as he’d asked, but in the end she decided that following him would make her the dumb chick in every horror movie ever filmed.
Someone had broken into her place.
It’d been a damn long time since fear had ruled her body, but it took over now like an old friend, as if no time had gone by, making her feel as if she was a kid in perpetual panic all over again.
Archer reappeared as silently and efficiently as he’d vanished, tucking his gun away behind him. “I don’t see anything out of place but I need you to come look to make sure.”
She nodded numbly and he took a second look at her, frowning as he slid his hand in hers. “Hey,” he said, pulling her into him. “You’re shaking.”
“No I’m not.”
“Okay,” he said gently, squeezing her. “Maybe it’s me.”
She let out a small mirthless laugh and followed him inside, still holding tightly to him. Her laptop was still on the table. Her TV hadn’t been disturbed. Nor anything else that she could tell. “I didn’t leave my front door unlocked,” she said.
“I know.”
“You do?”
He squeezed her waist, making her realize he was still holding her to his side. “You’d never have left it unlocked,” he said. “You’re too smart that. Not to mention anal.”
She choked out a laugh at the compliment and insult sandwiched together and knew by the way he smiled that he’d meant to get that reaction from her. “Should I call the police?” she asked.
“Already did.”
An hour later the police had come and gone. Archer walked around checking the windows and then he grabbed her purse. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Go where?” Elle asked.
“To bed. You’re done in.”
“I don’t need my purse to walk down the hall and get into bed,” she said.
“That’s not the bed you’re going to.”
It took her a minute to respond, as her body and brain had two very different reactions to the thought of sleeping with him again. Her body wanted to jump up and down and pump a fist in anticipation. Her brain wanted to scream that she was in far more danger from Archer than anyone or anything else.
At least her heart was anyway . . . “This is a really bad idea,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because you’ll flash me your panty-melting smile and my clothes will fall off.”
This got her the wolf grin. “And?”
“And,” she said, “we’re no longer mutual orgasm givers.”
He just looked at her, purse held out, the thing looking small and feminine in his big hand.
“Fine.” She snatched it. Someone had broken into her home. Touched her things. And she had no idea why or what they’d been looking for. The truth was that her knees were still knocking and she didn’t want to sleep here alone anyway. “I’ll sleep on your couch.”
“Wherever you want,” he said, and then he drove them through the night, in his zone, quiet. Watchful.
Elle didn’t have a zone, but she could pretend with the best of them. “It was probably Morgan,” she said.
He gave a slow shake of his head. “I called her. It wasn’t.”
She stared at his profile in the dark, slashes of ambient light slanting over his face at every streetlight they passed. “Excuse me,” she said. “You called her? You and my sister are on calling-each-other terms?”
He parked in front of his building and turned to face her. “While you’re still good and pissed off at me, there’s something you should know.”
“Great. What now? No, wait,” she said. “Let me guess. You’ve kept track of my period as well as everything else, and you know I’m a day late.”
>
He stilled. Blinked once. Not another muscle moved on that big body, not a single one. After a very long beat went by—during which she cursed herself for opening her big, fat mouth—he said with deceptive calm, “You’re late?”
What the hell was wrong with her? She hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to say a damn word. She’d only just realized this morning. She was one hundred percent certain it was stress. Or ninety-five percent anyway . . . “Guess you don’t know everything, do you?”
There was a muscle ticking in his jaw now, and he took a moment to visibly compose himself. It was pretty fascinating really, the control he had over his emotions. She considered herself quite the emotion controller but Archer was the master.
He got her inside his place and then, in a move that shouldn’t have charmed her as thoroughly as it did, put on some hot water, presumably for her nightly tea.
Dammit. He knew exactly what she needed, always. Well, almost always. Because right this minute standing in his kitchen, she could’ve used a hug.
He came to her and for a minute she thought he’d read her mind. He pulled off her jacket and set it over the back of a chair. He took her purse and tossed it on top of her jacket. Then he put his hands on her arms, gently stroking up and down as he bent at the knees to look her in the eyes. “Can I ask you to sit without starting a fight?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Asking would be nice.”
She thought, but wasn’t sure, that she saw a very small smile curve his mouth. “Will you please sit?”
With another shoulder lift, she headed back into the living room to the couch and sank into the cushions. It was the most comfy couch she’d ever sat on. It seemed to embrace her and she lay her head back and closed her eyes, suddenly and completely exhausted.
For whatever reason, Archer let her be. She heard him tinkering around in the kitchen and the thought made her smile. Archer tinkering in the kitchen . . . The image that conjured up felt incongruous, the big badass Archer in an apron bent over the stove.
“What are you smiling about?”
Shit, the man moved like smoke. She jerked and opened her eyes to find him crouched in front of her. He set a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table.
“You’re not wearing an apron,” she murmured.
With a frown, he palmed her forehead.
“I’m not sick,” she managed with a low laugh and pushed his hand—the one that felt far too good on her skin—away from her.
He didn’t budge. “Talk to me, Elle.”
She blew out a breath. “I’m not ready to talk to you.” She picked up the remote on the coffee table and aimed it at the biggest TV she’d ever seen.
It came on, the volume up high, the screen flashing through channels so fast it made her dizzy. “I think I just launched a lunar module, but I’m not sure.”
He reached over and turned it off. “You’re exhausted. You need sleep but there’s no sense in trying to go to bed when you’re this pissed off. Let it all out, Elle. You’re . . . late?”
“Only a single day. It’s nothing.”
He didn’t take his eyes off her. “So you’ve been late before?”
“No,” she admitted. Normally she was so regular she could be a calendar. “It’s probably stress.”
His gaze held hers. “But maybe not.”
“I’m on the pill,” she reminded him.
“Not foolproof.”
“It’s too early to worry,” she said, “it’s highly unlikely I’m . . .” She couldn’t even say the word.
He put his hand over one of hers and linked their fingers. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.”
We. At that one single word, her throat went tight. Not a you. Or an I. They were a we. They couldn’t get along to save their lives, he was bossy and manipulating and controlling and alpha, and he drove her crazy.
But that we . . . That we definitely staggered her.
“You hear me past that stubborn, beautiful brain of yours, right?” He squeezed her fingers. “You’re not alone in this, Elle.”
She couldn’t speak. She was completely undone.
He gave her a minute. Or hell, maybe he needed a minute too. Finally she found her voice. “I’m not pregnant.”
“You mean you don’t want to be pregnant.”
Right. That.
Chapter 18
#ThereIsntAnEmojiForThis
Archer watched Elle rise to her feet and pace his living room a few times, muttering to herself, something with a lot of pronouns like you and me and we. She was making no sense at all but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Which was easy enough to do because he was completely thrown for a loop.
She could be pregnant with his baby. He needed to sit down more than a little but instead he locked his legs into place and waited her out.
Finally she turned to him. “What did you mean, we’ll deal with it? You don’t want children any more than I do.”
“Things change.”
She stared at him and then turned to continue her pacing. Then suddenly she stopped, standing in the middle of his living room, body language tense, blonde hair pulled back from her face, twisted in some fancy do that made her look like a goddess.
One pissed-off goddess who he absolutely wouldn’t mind having his baby.
“Are you actually telling me you’d want kids?” she asked in disbelief. “And be careful here, Archer, because you’ve very purposely perpetuated the image of impenetrable badass. You’re an island and you don’t need anyone, you never have. In fact, it’s taken you by my calculations eleven years to want . . .”
“A relationship,” he supplied helpfully.
“Yes,” she said. “That. Eleven years, Archer. So I’m not sure how I’m supposed to believe that you see yourself with a white picket fence, the same woman every night, and . . .” She appeared to struggle for what might be worse than a white picket fence and the same woman every night. “And a tricycle in the front yard!” she came up with triumphantly. “Because honestly, you just don’t fit the profile.”
He realized he was going to have to give her something to get anything in return. “I agree,” he said. “I’ve led the life I’ve