The shouts started when they’d only taken a few steps.

  “Do you think Archer was involved in Vanessa Byron’s disappearance?”

  He kept walking. Kept looking forward. This was necessary. It was what he’d planned.

  He still hated it.

  “Do you think he killed Vanessa?”

  He would not look at them. They could take their pictures. They could post whatever they wanted. They always had. He’d tried proclaiming his innocence. Tried proving it again and again. But no one had listened. No one had given a damn about his side of the story.

  They’d been too ready to crucify him.

  “Did he bury her body?”

  No, hadn’t buried her body. Hadn’t done anything to her.

  “How does it feel to be dating a murderer?”

  Delilah stopped walking.

  They’d almost made it to the entrance of the opera house.

  But she turned her head. Stared up at him. He knew his jaw was tightly clenched, and he’d been grinding his teeth together. Shouting his innocence did no damn good. He knew. He’d tried over and over until he’d just…

  Stopped.

  But Delilah can help me. We can draw out the killer. I know he’s there. I know he’s watching.

  Just as he knew that Vanessa wasn’t just missing. She was dead. An enemy in the dark had killed her because he’d wanted to hurt Archer.

  “Is it always like this for you? I have to confess, I’ve never been on the receiving end.” Her voice carried only to his ears.

  He forced a shrug. “This is an easy night.” It was. Things had calmed down considerably in the last year.

  “Huh.” Her head slid back toward the reporters.

  He got a very, very bad feeling. “Um, Delilah…”

  She slipped from his hold. Moved toward the pack. Put her hands on her hips. “Have any of you tried to find Vanessa?”

  They were filming her. Taking her picture.

  “Have any of you done anything to find the missing woman or are you so busy trying to get some sensational story about Archer that you don’t care about what really happened to her?”

  They started shouting random shit again.

  He could have told Delilah to save her breath. They weren’t going to listen to—

  “What’s it like to be dating a murderer? Isn’t that what one of you asked?” Delilah fired out that question.

  A blond with an avid expression leaned forward. She’d asked the question.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Delilah added coolly. “Because the man I’m with tonight was never charged with a crime. Never charged. Never tried. Never convicted. And if you throw around accusations that say otherwise, I think that is hitting pretty damn close to slander. But then, you’d probably want to ask the lawyers at Radcliffe Industries about that, wouldn’t you?”

  Archer could not look away from her. The whole time…ever since Vanessa had vanished, no one had publicly taken his side.

  She reached back. Took his hand. “I’m with Archer because he’s my partner. As for the rest of your questions? You’re asking the wrong ones. Why don’t you try asking more about Vanessa? Why don’t you try to help her come home?” She gave a disgusted shake of her head. Swung back toward Archer. Then she gave a little start when she saw his expression. “Archer?”

  Immediately, he locked down his emotions. A mistake. Don’t let it happen again. Keep the mask up.

  She crept closer to him. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” His voice was a growl. Too rough and hard. “We need to get inside.”

  There were more shouts from the reporters. Curious glances from the others walking on the red carpet in their expensive evening attire. People who’d come not for the show, but to see and be seen.

  Isn’t that why I’m here? To start putting the pieces in place.

  Except he hadn’t quite counted on his growing response to Delilah. Wanting her was one thing, but the way he felt…This isn’t about desire.

  It could be about something far more dangerous.

  They didn’t speak again, not until they were settled in his private box and he was sure no one could overhear them. She sat down and glanced over the edge of the balcony’s railing. Gave a little wince. “That is a long way to fall.”

  He sat beside her. “What was that all about?”

  “It’s about gravity. You go over the edge and you are going to smack hard into the people below you.” She was still gazing down below.

  But he realized she was studying the crowd. Looking at all the faces out there.

  He leaned in even closer. Brought his mouth next to her ear. “I thought you believed I was a killer.” His breath blew lightly over her.

  A little shiver skated down her body. He was so close to her that there was no way for him not to feel that telltale movement.

  “It’s still something I’m considering,” she muttered.

  But he didn’t believe her. She’d defended him on the red carpet. And he didn’t know how in the hell to respond to that.

  “Are you sure my laptop is going to be safe in the limo?” Delilah asked suddenly as her head swung back toward him.

  She almost clipped him. He eased back, just a little, to avoid that collision. “It’s perfectly safe. Danny will ensure no one gets inside the vehicle.” She’d been very reluctant to leave her bag behind. “All your files are on there?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “The files that make me look guilty.”

  Her head tilted. “I have considered the possibility that you might be innocent. If I hadn’t considered that option, do you think I would be here right now?”

  God, she was so fucking beautiful. Those eyes of hers seemed to see straight through him. “No one defended me before.”

  She blinked. “No one? Not even your lawyer?”

  “Oz gets paid to do his job.” For the right price, Oz would defend anyone for anything. “You’re different…”

  “I’m getting paid, too, in case you forgot.”

  When it came to her, he forgot nothing. “You didn’t have to say a word to the reporters. You know how they work.” Hell, she was one of them. She could probably play them with one hand tied behind her back. “Why did you do it?” The question was driving him crazy—as crazy as she drove him.

  “Because I don’t like bullies. Because they need to focus on Vanessa.” A delicate exhale. “Because maybe I think you might be innocent and to see what you’ve gone through for the last two years…it really pisses me off.”

  Was that a lie? Or the truth? Dammit, he’d thought he could tell when she was lying. But—

  Does it even matter? Because he finally had someone who’d stood proudly not just by his side, but in front of him. She’d shielded him. Gone to bat for him. This wasn’t about their partnership. This was about her. “I’m going to kiss you right now.”

  “Why?” Breathless. Her gaze darted to the side, then back to him. “Because people are watching?”

  Sure. Whatever. If that was what she wanted to think…

  His head lowered toward her mouth. And some primitive, possessive instinct rose in him. “It’s not about the others.” He shouldn’t say this. Shouldn’t even think it. “It’s about you.”

  His mouth took hers. Her lips parted for him, and his tongue swept eagerly—greedily—inside. He pulled her closer. Didn’t care who might see them. Didn’t give a damn about anything but the way she felt against him. Her taste was pushing him to the edge of reason. The soft, sensual movements of her lips and tongue…

  A growl built in his throat, and he wanted more. He wanted everything. He wanted to lift her onto his lap. Shove up her dress. Fuck her right there.

  This isn’t me. This wasn’t the controlled, civilized man that he’d tried so hard to be. Or rather, the civilized man that he wanted the world to see.

  Delilah made him want to wreck his control. She made him want to let his true self out. A guy who wasn’t civilized. Who didn’t follow the rules. A guy who took and took and let the rest of the world go screw itself.

  She moaned softly. The sound drove him on. Archer kissed her harder. Deeper. His hand slid around the edge of her dress. Moved up her delicate ribcage. Inched toward the soft curve of her breast—

  She pulled back. A faint gasp slipped from her. She stared at him. Her lips were red and plump from his mouth. Her eyes wide, startled. A pink heat stained her cheeks.

  He wanted her mouth again. He wanted her.

  The lights flickered.

  Shit.

  Reality returned. He was in his freaking box. Hundreds of people were below. Eyes were on them. He swallowed, twice, and eased back into his seat. His damn dick shoved hard against the front of his pants. This turned on, just from a kiss.

  Not just any kiss, though. A kiss from Delilah.

  Her fingers went to her mouth. She looked away. Glanced across at the other box on the opposite side of the opera house.

  I can still taste her. And he liked her taste. No, he loved it. Wanted more. Will have more. Archer gripped the arms of his seat as the house lights began to dim.

  “There’s a blond-haired woman in the box on the other side of the building,” Delilah said, voice husky. “I swear, I think she’s glaring at me.”

  He looked toward the box.

  Before he could find the blond, the house lights died away as orchestra music began to fill the air.

  ***

  She was not making it until intermission. Delilah tried to keep her eyes on the performers—they were fabulous and amazing, and their voices could do insane, incredible things—but her attention was most definitely elsewhere.

  It was on the man beside her. On the man who’d kissed her like he needed her more than air. On the man who’d said he didn’t get controlled by his passions, yet he had her ready to rip his clothes off—right there. She’d been ready to jump him in the opera box, for goodness’ sake.

  Yeah, right. Like goodness had anything at all to do with it. More like wickedness. She’d wanted hot, fast, dirty sex with him. The wild rush of release. And, embarrassingly, she’d been pretty close to release.

  Just from a kiss. Insane. Impossible.

  Get it together, Delilah. She’d just…gone too long without a lover. Truth be told, she couldn’t exactly remember how long it had been for her. At least a year. Her body was in some kind of overdrive, and her feelings for Archer, her attraction—it was just magnified.

  She was so lying to herself. I just want him. So badly that she still quaked.

  Why did I speak up to the reporters? She’d known the reporters would realize who she was—any reporter worth her salt, and surely, there would be some good reporters in that crowd—would do a little research. Delilah’s identity would have popped up sooner or later, and they would have seen that she focused on true crime stories. Missing persons’ cases.

  So she’d thought to head the reporters off by admitting she’d gone to Archer first. But protecting him? Coming to his defense? That hadn’t been part of her grand plan.

  The plan had derailed because…

  They pissed me off. Archer had been all stoic, but she’d seen the stiffening of his body. She’d caught the haunted look in his eyes. And she’d had to speak.

  I am getting in too deep with him. Yes, she’d had her questions about him from the beginning. And the fact that he’d asked her to help him in his hunt? That certainly made him look less guilty, and her instincts were screaming at her, actually urging her to trust him.

  But her instincts had been wrong before. When her emotions got involved, it was hard to be detached and clinical. And my emotions are definitely getting involved. This wasn’t just about desire. Desire she could handle. This was—

  Delilah shot to her feet. “I need to go to the restroom.” Yep. She needed some space from Archer. Some space to clear her head. “I’ll be right back.”

  His head turned toward her. “I can escort you.” He began to rise.

  Her hand pushed down on his shoulder. That strong, broad shoulder. “Nope. Got it. I’m a big girl. I can handle this on my own.” Then she, yes, pretty much fled from him. She shoved aside the curtain to get out of his VIP box, and her heels click, click, clicked as she rushed to the restroom.

  ***

  Archer’s phone vibrated. He’d turned off the ringer so it wouldn’t interrupt the performance, but he’d been expecting a call from one of his investigators. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and frowned at the screen.

  He needed to take this call. Since Delilah was gone…

  He slipped from the box. Hurried toward the stairs. He’d find a spot where he wouldn’t disturb anyone. Where he wouldn’t be overheard. He’d make it fast. His steps rushed over the stairs.

  He’d be back before Delilah returned to the box. She’d never even realize he’d left.

  ***

  There was a large waiting lounge in the bathroom. Technically before you got to the bathroom. A waiting area that was separate from the stalls. A fancy place with plush couches and soft, classical music and flickering candles.

  Delilah rushed past that space and went straight to a sink. She yanked on the water and threw a few drops at her overheated face. Get a grip, woman. It had just been a kiss. Granted, it was definitely one of the best kisses she’d ever had, but it had only been a kiss.

  A door opened behind her. Heels tapped on the floor. Someone moved through the lounge. Came toward the stalls.

  Delilah glanced at her own reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were wide. Her lips swollen. Her cheeks flushed. She looked like someone who had been well and truly kissed.

  “You shouldn’t fuck him.”

  At that stark announcement, Delilah swung around. She found a blond in a sleek, red gown glaring at her.

  “He’s a monster. You fuck him, and he’ll do to you exactly what he did to Vanessa.”

  Before the house lights had dimmed, Delilah had caught a glimpse of this woman across the opera house. But they’d been too far away for her to clearly make out the lady’s features. Now that she had an up close view, Delilah instantly realized the woman’s identity.

  Tiffany Lassiter. Vanessa’s half sister. Delilah had tried to speak with Tiffany numerous times, but Tiffany had refused her. Every. Single. Instance.

  Delilah reached back. Turned off the water. Grabbed a paper towel to dry her fingers.

  “Did you hear me?” Tiffany surged closer with an aggressive lunge that she probably shouldn’t be making in those heels. “He’ll do the same thing to you.”

  Delilah tossed away the towel. “What did he do to Vanessa?”

  “She didn’t want him any longer. But Archer wasn’t going to let her just leave him.” Her hands clenched at her sides. “No, no one leaves Archer.”

  A cloud of fury and pain seemed to circle Tiffany. “I’m very sorry about Vanessa,” Delilah said softly. She cleared her throat. “My name is Delilah Darrow, and I’ve tried to talk to you before about—”

  “I know who the hell you are.” Snarled. “And I know what the hell you think you’re doing—you think you get to poke and pry in everyone’s lives and get your big story and be some kind of superstar.”

  Her hands pressed to the sink behind her. The porcelain felt cool to the touch. “That isn’t what I think at all.”

  Tiffany’s left hand flew up, and she pointed at Delilah. “You aren’t going to make him look like some poor victim that we should all pity. You won’t turn him into the hero of this tale.”

  “I—”

  “You won’t.” With that, she spun on her very high heel and stormed away.

  Delilah realized that she was gaping. She snapped her mouth closed and shook her head. Not the reaction she’d expected from Tiffany Lassiter. She’d…shit…what did I expect?

  When she’d first reached out to Tiffany, she’d felt a sense of kinship with the other woman. Because I know that it’s like to lose your sister. She’d wanted to help Tiffany. Not stir up old fury and pain. Delilah shoved away from the sink. She’d explain. Get Tiffany to understand.

  But when Delilah exited the restroom, there was no sign of Tiffany. She looked to the left. To the right. Nothing. She figured she could only be a few steps behind the other woman. Delilah’s stride was quick as she hurried forward. If Tiffany had gone back to her box, she would have gone down the hallway to the right.

  Delilah went to the right. She walked past the top of the stairs—stairs that curved and led to the lobby below.

  “I won’t let you.”

  At those low words, Delilah froze. “Tiffany?” She started to turn back. She was right in front of the stairs—

  Something hit her shoulder. A hard, powerful shove. Delilah surged forward. Her heel—the stupid, too high heel—caught the edge of her dress and suddenly Delilah was hurtling through the air. She grabbed for the banister, but her body was moving too fast. She missed it.

  And slammed down the stairs.

  Chapter Eight

  He heard a thump. Another. A faint groan. Archer shoved his phone back into his pocket and hurried across the marble floor of the lobby. Automatically, he glanced up, looking toward the second level of the theater, and a glittering, massive chandelier caught the light and sent it dancing across the ceiling.

  Another groan. So soft.

  He turned the corner. Almost stepped on a high-heeled shoe.

  Cinderella lost her slipper. He bent down. Reached for the shoe. He wasn’t at the opera with Cinderella, and he damn well preferred his wicked stepsister.

  “Help…”

  His head whipped up. A woman was sprawled half-way down the staircase. Not just any woman—

  Delilah. He raced toward her even as a roar of fury broke from him. He rushed up the staircase. “Delilah!”

  She winced. One of her delicate hands had a death grip on part of the banister. “Managed to…catch myself. After half the steps.” A wince.

  “Where are you hurt?” His gaze scanned over her. Then his hands followed suit. He touched her carefully. Tenderly. “Where—”

  “Nothing is broken. Just bruises. Probably lots and lots of lovely bruises.”