Her gaze darted to his hand. Up to his face. He didn’t let his expression alter. He’d grown far too skilled at hiding his emotions. He didn’t sound as if it mattered to him whether she took the deal or not. Didn’t act as if his future hung in the balance. He merely waited, with his hand outstretched…

  Until her fingers curled around his. Until that electric jolt fired through his body.

  “We have a deal,” Delilah agreed.

  Chapter Five

  Had she made the worst mistake of her life? Possibly. Time would certainly tell. If she’d entered into an agreement with a killer, Delilah knew that the truth would be revealed very, very soon.

  It wasn’t as if she planned to let her guard down around Archer. Quite the contrary. She’d be extra careful with him.

  Delilah began to tug her hand back.

  His grip tightened. “I will, of course, require confidentiality for the time being. Not like I want you going out and posting online about your new undercover assignment.”

  “I plan to save my reporting until the end of our relationship.”

  “Relationship?” Archer repeated as his brows rose.

  “You know exactly what I mean.” His hand was strong, and she could feel faint calluses along his fingertips. She hadn’t expected the calluses, not from a guy like him. He sat in this fancy office, in that leather chair, all day. Everyone catered to him.

  I won’t be like that.

  “We do need the world to believe we have a relationship. So a certain amount of public displays of affection will be warranted,” Archer mused. His gaze turned considering. “Don’t worry. Nothing too extreme. If we go overboard, then the media will suspect something is off.”

  Because he was always so careful. So in control. No sloppy PDA for him. A careful holding of the hands. An arm around the shoulders. Not like he’d ever be caught nearly fucking someone in a hallway. Hardly the style of Archer Radcliffe. “Don’t worry. I can handle PDAs.” Now she tugged again to free her hand. “No one else is here right now, though, so how about letting me go?”

  He looked down at her hand. Almost seemed surprised to still be holding her. Slowly, he let her go. As her hand pulled back, his fingers slid along her inner wrist. A careful caress. One that had her breath giving a fast jerk.

  She immediately put her hands behind her back.

  “You should pack up whatever you need from your rental house.” He turned away. Paced back around his desk. “You’ve only been there a few weeks, so it’s not like you have a sentimental attachment to the place.”

  She didn’t have a sentimental attachment to many things. “You’ve obviously got a top-notch investigative team at your beck and call. How come they haven’t found this mystery guy for you?”

  He glanced back at her. “They tried and failed. I thought it was time to attempt a different method. Then you ever-so-conveniently walked into my life in that delectable dress of yours.”

  Her chin lifted. “When did you realize I was working you? Was it when I started bidding?” Just so she could know for next time. Delilah liked to learn from her mistakes.

  “It was the moment you walked into my line of vision. I knew immediately that you weren’t like the other women in the ballroom.”

  She stiffened. He’d insulted her? “If you think I’m not good enough to belong with that crowd, then how the hell do you plan to pass me off as your new love interest?”

  Now he whirled to fully face her again. “I never said you weren’t good enough. What gave you that idea?”

  He’d given her that idea. Delilah glowered.

  “Oh, right.” A nod. “I said you weren’t like the others. You misunderstood what I meant. Your gaze wasn’t calculating. You didn’t have boredom and pretentiousness clinging to you like cheap diamonds.”

  “Wow.” Delilah rocked back on her heels. “Someone doesn’t like his friends.”

  “Those people weren’t my friends. They were the individuals who happened to be in my world.”

  She tucked that tidbit away for further study—later. “I’ll pack my stuff. Then what?” Deliberately, she kept her voice all casual and relaxed. In truth, she felt as if she might jump from her skin at any moment. He didn’t realize what he was doing, the opportunity he was providing, but it was far too good to pass up.

  A chance to get straight into his life? To talk to everyone close to him? Everyone who’d been close to Vanessa? Oh, hell, yes. And he wanted to pay her? One hundred grand?

  She’d take the money. Take the chance. And if he turned out to be guilty, she’d be taking him to jail. This wasn’t amateur hour. She wasn’t some dewy-eyed co-ed with dreams of changing the world. Been there, done that. That girl had died a hard death…

  The same day her sister had vanished.

  Delilah had worked hard—damn hard—to study and learn and master as much as she could. She’d trained with police, shadowed a PI for half a year, taken multiple martial arts classes, spent two months tracking with a bounty hunter. Anything—everything. She’d wanted to learn as much as she could. She had contacts all over the US. All over the world.

  Innocence wasn’t something she could afford in this world, so she’d given that up long ago. She knew you couldn’t trust people. That you could take nothing—no one—at face value. Her guard would not be lowered.

  She would get this case closed.

  Ever since her sister had vanished, Delilah had worked to bring home as many of the missing as possible. To date, she’d brought home two women, one man, and one boy.

  They’d all been dead. But the families had still needed the closure, even if finding the bodies had broken Delilah’s heart.

  “I’ll give you until six to pack, then I’ll come to pick you up tonight. Do you have another suitable dress?”

  “Suitable…for what?”

  “The opera.”

  “We’re going on a date?” That was the first step?

  “We’re going to catch attention. There is a special showing tonight. If you don’t have a dress, I’ll send one over for you.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks. I’m sure I have something that will work.” Maybe. Possibly. If she dug deeply into her closet.

  A nod. “I’ll send something over.”

  “Uh, did you hear me?”

  “In fact, I’ll make sure you have an entire new wardrobe. It will be necessary, I assure you.”

  “Whatever. It’s your dime.” He wanted to throw fancy clothes at her? Have at it. When they were done, she’d keep what she wanted. Sell or donate the rest. “Not worth arguing about.”

  He blinked.

  “What?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you look at me like I have two heads? You do that, quite a lot.”

  “Just trying to figure you out.”

  “Good luck with that.” But wasn’t she doing the same thing? Trying to figure him out? “See you at six.” She turned for the door. Took about three steps. Stopped. “You understand this is crazy?”

  She felt him closing in behind her. “Absolutely. I’m rather surprised you agreed so easily.”

  Why not agree? It gave her what she wanted. He knew that. “I would have done it for fifty thousand.” Delilah just tossed that out as she peered over her shoulder at him.

  “And I would have easily paid two hundred grand.”

  Well, damn. Unwillingly, she felt her lips curve. “Next time, I’ll ask for more.”

  His features tightened. It was a subtle, slow thing. A faint hardening near his golden eyes. A flexing along his hard jaw. A hollowing of his cheeks. “There will be no next time. You aren’t vanishing.”

  Certainly good to know. She swallowed because her throat had suddenly become very, very dry. “Try to pick out some nice things, will you? And black is my favorite color.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  She should go. Why was she staying? She was playing him. He was playing her. The game was incredibly dangerous, and yet she felt…drawn to him. Pulled.

  So bad.

  She focused forward again and took more steps toward the door. Her hand reached for the doorknob.

  “The show starts the moment you step foot outside this office.”

  “And here I thought it had already started.”

  “Just giving you a final chance to change your mind.” Those low words almost seemed like a taunt. Or maybe they were supposed to be a warning. Either way, it didn’t really matter. She’d agreed to the plan. She didn’t intend to cut and run now. He’d learn that about her, soon enough. She didn’t give up.

  After all, it’s been five years, and I’m still looking for Layla. I will never give up on her.

  Delilah pulled open the door. The assistant with the stylish glasses was behind his desk, and his head immediately bobbed toward her.

  But Casey Wilkins wasn’t alone. The lawyer, Oz, sat on the edge of Casey’s desk, swinging one Italian-leather-clad foot.

  He had to know who she was. He’d been in on the research, hadn’t he? One of Archer’s guard dogs. So she gave him a tight smile. One that showed her teeth.

  But she felt a warm hand close around her shoulder. “I can’t wait to see you tonight.” Archer’s voice. Intimate and low. He turned her toward him. “Don’t keep me waiting.” And his head lowered toward hers.

  Oh, damn. The show was most definitely starting. Apparently, Archer wanted his assistant to get the picture that they were a couple. Was Casey an office gossip? Was that the deal? Was—

  Archer’s mouth pressed to hers and her spinning thoughts just…halted.

  Everything seemed to still around her. Even the air itself seemed to settle for a moment. Her body had gone tight.

  His lips brushed carefully against her own, and her mouth parted.

  Sell it.

  Her mouth parted, and her tongue dipped out toward him. He gave a low growl in the back of his throat, and his hands slid around her. He pulled her against his body, and, oh, wow, but he must be in the mood to sell it, too, because she could feel the hard length of his arousal pressing up against her.

  Archer Radcliffe, a man she could have sworn was made of stone, was aroused. He was holding her tightly and kissing her with an almost savage grace. Skilled and passionate, just the right touch to make her ache and need.

  She was woman enough to admit that her knees felt a little jittery. She could also admit that kissing him was no hardship. In fact, this was the best kiss she’d had in ages.

  And it had better not be coming from a murderer.

  She jerked back at the thought. Her hand flew to her lips. Lips that were warm from his mouth. She could still taste him, dammit. To herself, she could admit that Archer tasted very, very good.

  But when did I start thinking he might not be guilty?

  The answer flew through her mind…

  Last night.

  Her breath whispered out. Her hand moved to caress his stubble-covered cheek. “Don’t keep me waiting.” With that, she turned and sashayed off. She gave her hips a little extra roll because—what the hell? Why not?

  Delilah didn’t glance back. She jabbed the button for the elevator. When the doors opened, the space was blessedly empty. She slipped inside. Turned and pressed her back to the wall. As the doors closed, she had a perfect view back down the corridor—back to Casey’s desk. Oz still sat perched on the edge. As for Archer, his hands were shoved into the pockets of his pants and his gaze was on her.

  Possessive. Almost predatory.

  The doors closed.

  ***

  “Ah, Arch? Mind if I take a moment of your time?” Oz asked, voice smooth. “Got a wee bit of business to discuss.”

  Archer turned back to his office. The door was open. “Come in.”

  “Thanks so much,” Oz announced. “I think Casey was getting tired of amusing me. Later, Casey.” He followed Archer inside. Shut the door.

  Leaned against it.

  Archer settled in behind his desk. He rolled back his shoulders.

  “So…” Oz announced with a long sigh.

  Archer looked up at him.

  “So…are you fucking insane or what?”

  Chapter Six

  The limo arrived at her house at exactly 5:58 p.m. A little early, but Delilah was ready. She had her rolling luggage bag—the large one—at her side and her laptop bag hung over one shoulder. She waited on the porch. Did that look too eager?

  She didn’t really care.

  The limo driver came toward her. There was no sign of Archer.

  “Hello, ma’am.” The driver was young, with sandy-blond hair and a slightly crooked grin that flashed one dimple. “I’m Daniel Gates. You can call me Danny.”

  “Hi, Danny.”

  “Let me get the bags for you.” He reached for her laptop.

  But she shook her head. “I like to keep this one close, but I’d appreciate some help with the luggage.”

  “You got it.” He began to wheel the luggage down the sidewalk. His curious gaze darted over her. “The, um, boss is in the limo. He was just finishing up a call.”

  “Sure. Totally get it. Why bother to leave the vehicle and act like a gentleman?”

  Danny stopped. Gaped. “You…ah…”

  She opened the back door to the limo. Peered inside. “Hmm. Seems like the phone call is over.” Because Archer was reclining back against the leather. Looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  You’d better care. “My dates usually come to the door for me,” she told him crisply. “They don’t just pop up in cars to collect me and wait for me to come to them.”

  Danny was behind her. She heard the nervous tap of his feet.

  “It was a rule my dad had, you see. One that stayed with me even after he passed away.” She wouldn’t think about how her dad had withered right in front of her eyes after Layla’s disappearance. He’d viewed himself as their protector. And to be unable to protect his daughter…Her chin rose. She was bending toward the open door and giving Archer a cold smile. “He said that any man who thought he could take out one of his daughters had damn well better walk to the porch and introduce himself.”

  Archer inclined his head. “My mistake. Would you like a do-over?”

  She had no idea what possessed her, but Delilah heard herself say, very definitely, “Yes.” With that, she turned away. Almost bumped into Danny.

  He was still gaping at her. “Y-you are not like his other dates.”

  “God, I hope not.” She nodded. “Thanks for the help with my luggage. I really do appreciate it.” Then she made her way back to the porch.

  She heard footsteps behind her. Not the nervous taps of Danny’s feet, but the heavy, solid tread that she knew belonged to Archer. She turned on the porch. Straightened her shoulders. Put a friendly smile on her face.

  Archer closed in. The sun was starting to set, and streaks of gold slid across the sky. He stalked toward her with a predatory grace. He was dressed in a tux, looking expensive and sinfully gorgeous, and she was far too conscious of her own attire. The silky dress that fluttered lightly with the faint wind. It dipped off one shoulder, and the fabric hugged her bust and waist, only to flare at her hips. The silk tumbled down her legs. Her high heels gave her a few extra inches, and she’d pulled her hair up into what she thought was a rather elegant twist. She’d had to watch the how-to video for that twist online seven times before she’d managed to perfect it.

  He stopped at the end of the sidewalk. Didn’t climb the three steps that led up to her porch. His head tipped back as he gazed up at her. “You look beautiful.”

  That was nice. Way better than him just sitting in the back of a closed limo while she scurried out to him.

  “I should have brought you flowers,” he said, voice roughening. “That was my mistake. Next time, I will be better prepared.”

  “You don’t have to bring me flowers. You do have to get out of the damn car. I can’t have my dad rolling over in his grave.”

  His eyelids flickered. “I’m sorry about your father.”

  So am I. He’d been her rock. Her gruff, tough-on-the-exterior dad who had always been a complete marshmallow to her and Layla.

  That’s why he blamed himself. Because he thought if he’d just—

  “I think I would have liked him,” Archer continued as he seemed to consider things. “No damn way I ever want my daughter rushing off into a car with some guy I haven’t even seen.”

  “When I was sixteen, my date came to pick me up for prom.” Why was she telling him this? But she was. And he was listening, raptly. “My dad was sitting on the porch swing and cleaning his gun.”

  Archer’s lips curled.

  “My date didn’t get within two feet of me all night. He wouldn’t even dance with me.” The memory was so clear. “When I got home that night, my dad was still waiting up. He always waited up for us to come home.”

  But Layla never did.

  Sadness pulled at her. “You can be so careful. You can try to make all the right choices, but bad things will still happen no matter what precautions you take and blaming yourself just doesn’t do any good.”

  His hand reached out. Caught hers. His grip was careful. Comforting. Since when was Archer the comforting type? But he was—or rather, he was trying, with her.

  For her?

  “Do you blame yourself?” he asked softly.

  For Layla. And for her dad. Yes, she did. Because she was a lot like her father. Delilah cleared her throat. “I don’t like flowers. You don’t need to bring me those.” She hadn’t planted the ones that were around her house. They’d already been there when she moved in. Delilah didn’t have a green thumb. Flowers died on her, and dead flowers just reminded her of all the flowers that had come to the house—for days, for weeks—after Layla vanished. Flowers that had withered as the time passed.

  “If you don’t want flowers, then I’ll bring you diamonds.”

  She could only shake her head. “It’s not real, Archer.” Soft. For his ears alone. “You’re already paying me plenty. You don’t have to—”