His roar had attracted attention. A security guard appeared at the bottom of the steps. “Sir? Ma’am? What happened?”

  “She fell,” Archer snarled. “We need a medic to check her out.” Because Delilah couldn’t know if she’d broken anything or not. He wanted a trained medical professional checking her. Screw it. “I’m taking you to a hospital.”

  Delilah pushed up to her feet. “No.”

  “Yes,” he snapped right back as fury and what could have been fear pumped through his blood. “You’re getting checked out. You just fell down the stairs—”

  A shake of her head.

  Why did she keep shaking her head at him? He was not budging on this point. She would be checked out. Dammit, if she hadn’t caught herself, she could have easily broken her neck—

  He stopped the thought. Just shut it down. But the image was already in his head. An image of Delilah, lying at the foot of the stairs, with her lovely neck twisted.

  No.

  Delilah put one hand on his chest. Leaned in close to him. “Get me out of here, Archer.”

  Hell, yes, he would. He—

  “I didn’t fall.” Her lashes lifted. She was far too pale. All of the color had leached from her cheeks. Even her gaze didn’t seem as bold and bright. “Someone pushed me.”

  A cold fist closed over his heart.

  ***

  “So, the carrying thing is nice. Don’t get me wrong. I love that you feel compelled to now carry me everywhere we go, but it’s totally unnecessary.” One of Delilah’s arms hung around Archer’s neck and her head pressed against his shoulder. “Gorgeous house, by the way. Big enough for you and half an army, am I right?”

  “Do not push me.” Low and growling.

  “But it gives me joy. Pushing you, I mean. Makes me feel better about the header I took down the stairs.” She tried for a lighter edge to her voice.

  His stubble-covered jaw just hardened all the more.

  And the lighter edge failed. Apparently, it was very, very hard to lighten the mood after an attack.

  Archer had insisted that she talk to the security guard. Then the cops. And he’d also been adamant that she get thoroughly checked by a doctor. The doc had just backed up what she’d already suspected—bruises would come. She’d be sore. But no broken bones. She’d been lucky.

  She wasn’t dead. Bones weren’t shattered. So, yes, Delilah did feel lucky. What would have been even luckier? Catching the sonofabitch who’d shoved her. “The cops didn’t believe me, you know.”

  “I fucking know.” He turned to the right. Took her inside what looked like a den. Carefully lowered her onto a brown leather couch. But his hold lingered, as if he didn’t want to let her go.

  I don’t want to be let go. Because he had been holding her as much as possible. He’d carried her into the hospital. Carried her out. Kept a grip on her wrist when they’d been in the limo. Stayed at her side every moment.

  And I wanted him there. “It really sucks when people don’t believe you, doesn’t it?” she murmured.

  His lashes—thick and long—slowly lifted. His golden gaze held hers. “Yes. It sure as hell does.”

  He was close enough to kiss. All she had to do was lean forward just an inch, maybe two.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. Lingered. The gold seemed to heat. Delilah could feel heat rising in her own body, too. Sex should be the last thing on her mind. Oddly, it wasn’t. How messed up is that? Maybe it was the adrenaline. Or the whole near-death drama bit. Maybe it was from being in his arms so much. Or—

  Or maybe it’s because I know he’s innocent.

  Someone had pushed her, but it couldn’t have been Archer. He’d rushed up the stairs to her. Whoever the hell had pushed her—that person had been on the second level of the theater. No way it could have been him.

  But Delilah did believe she’d gotten the shove because she’d been at that opera house with Archer. And if someone was willing to attack her because she was with him…

  Did that same someone attack Vanessa?

  Archer’s lips pressed together. His gaze darted up to meet hers. Then he backed away. “I want to hear every bit of the story again.”

  She kind of just flopped on the couch. Her shoes were long gone—one of the reasons Archer had insisted on carrying her—and her dress rode up to expose her legs. Like Delilah cared. Other things to worry about. So what if he got to see her thighs? “Not much of a story. I was walking past the stairs. I thought I heard a voice, so I stopped.”

  “What did the voice say? You didn’t tell the cops that part.”

  “Because I couldn’t be sure I heard correctly. I just heard something. A whisper.” She stared up at his ceiling. Her hands pressed over her stomach. It quivered and twisted. She wasn’t ever going to forget the rush of fear she’d felt when she flew over those stairs.

  “What do you think the voice said?” He stood by the couch.

  Her head turned. She took a good look at him. His fancy clothes were wrinkled. He’d left his coat in the limo. Jerked open the top two buttons of his dress shirt. His hair was tousled, not perfectly styled, because he’d raked his fingers through it over and over again. “I thought the voice said, ‘I won’t let you.’”

  His eyes immediately turned into slits. “Won’t let you do what?”

  That was the rub. “So…I, um, might have engaged in a small conversation with someone before my fall.”

  Tension slid through his body. Through the whole room. Everything suddenly seemed way more dangerous. “What conversation? You didn’t say anything to the cops about a damn conversation.”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t tell them because I was waiting to say this to you.”

  He squinted at her as if she’d gone mad.

  She hadn’t. “It’s part of our investigation and I thought you and I could handle things better. If the cops went after her, she’d just clam up with them.”

  He put one hand behind the cushions near her head as he knelt beside the couch.

  Oh, wow. He was certainly much closer.

  And his other hand? It was brushing against her thigh. Maybe flopping on the couch hadn’t been the best idea, after all. Now she was all caged by him.

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” Archer’s words were murmured. Almost husky like an endearment.

  Delilah frowned. “Is that how you sound when you’re really mad?” Low and sexy and growly?

  “It’s how I sound when I’m attempting my best not to scare you, but still trying to get you to tell me everything.”

  That was interesting. Her hand rose. Pressed to his cheek. “I’m not scared of you.”

  A shudder worked the length of his body. “You could have died tonight.”

  “The odds weren’t high that I’d break my neck. It was just a tumble down a few steps.” Delilah tried to play it off but, truthfully, she had been terrified.

  “You don’t know what could have happened.” Still low. But rougher. “Who did you talk with before you fell?”

  She swallowed but kept touching him. Almost stroking him. As if she was trying to soothe him. Crazy. She was the one who’d had the push down the staircase. “Tiffany Lassiter followed me into the women’s room.”

  “What?”

  “She was in the box across from us. Remember the blond I mentioned? It was her. She saw us making out, and I think she felt duty-bound…” Or some kind of bound. “To warn me.” This was where things got tricky. Fine. Things had been tricky for a while. “At first, she was telling me that I would wind up like Vanessa.”

  “That will never happen.” A guttural vow.

  “I certainly hope not.” She could not look away from his golden stare. “Vanishing isn’t on my agenda. I never want to wind up like Layla.” Wait. She’d meant to say Vanessa. That she never wanted to wind up like Vanessa.

  But…

  But the truth had come out on its own, and it hung heavily between them. Delilah saw the knowledge in his eyes and prepared for him to say something to her that would be some sort of weak statement about understanding or how he was sorry or—

  His head turned. His lips brushed against her palm. Once. Twice. There was an odd care to his caress. A tenderness she hadn’t expected.

  Then his head turned back. His gaze returned to meet hers.

  And in his stare…she saw…I know. I know what you meant. I know.

  She wet her lips. “That was, um, how the conversation started, but right before she stormed off, Tiffany told me that I wasn’t going to make you into some hero.”

  “Never been accused of that before.”

  No, she didn’t think he had. “It took me a few moments to go after her. I wanted to talk.” Time for full disclosure. “I tried talking to her before, but she refused to meet with me. I was hurrying after her, thinking she’d gone back to her box, and that was when I thought I heard the voice.” A frown pulled at her brows as Delilah tried to remember. “But I think the voice came from downstairs.” Those last few moments were a bit blurry. “That’s why…I was turning toward the staircase. I thought the voice came from below.” Tiffany’s voice? “Then someone shoved me.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t fall?”

  She shot upright into a sitting position. Moved fast and he had to jerk back. Delilah swung her legs over the edge of the couch. “The cops thought I imagined it. So did the guard. I don’t need you doubting me, too.”

  “I just asked if you were sure.”

  She lurched to her feet.

  “Don’t.” He curled his hand around her.

  “I don’t need you to carry me. I need you to believe me. I felt a hand on my shoulder. A strong, hard push. Then I went tumbling. I tried to catch myself. Missed on the first attempt.” She could remember the world spinning. The hard drumming of her own heartbeat. The pain that had radiated from her hip when she’d slammed into a step. “But I caught hold on my second try. That was when you entered the scene.” Rushing in like some sort of roaring lion.

  So much for him being controlled. I can see past that lie now.

  “You never saw who pushed you?”

  “No. I just saw you, coming from the bottom of the stairs, so I know it wasn’t you. I know you didn’t do it.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you.” Low. Rough.

  She sucked in a deep breath. “That’s good to know.”

  “I am not a killer. I didn’t hurt Vanessa. That last night, I told her goodbye. She walked the hell away. That was the end of the story.”

  “The story isn’t over.” Wasn’t that obvious? “What happened tonight was about you. Not like I have a line of enemies out there. No one has come for me before now.” Before the first night that she’d been on his arm. Except, this wasn’t the first night, was it?

  She’d been with him the night before, too.

  Two dates. “We should see if anyone was at the charity ball and at the opera.”

  A slow nod. “I already know one person who was.”

  The sinking in her stomach told Delilah who this person would be. “Tiffany?”

  “Yes. She tends to have a way of showing up wherever I am.”

  “Because she blames you for what happened to her sister.”

  He laughed.

  Her brow furrowed. Laughter hadn’t been the reaction she’d expected.

  “No, that’s not the reason.”

  “Then what is?”

  Eyes glinting, he said, “She wants to sleep with me. She wanted that before Vanessa and I were together, and she wanted it after, too. Vanessa hadn’t even been gone a month before Tiffany was at my house, trying to get in my bed.”

  Her lips parted. Delilah couldn’t quite figure out how to respond.

  “Considering that I was suspected of killing her sister, I thought that reaction was a bit…off.”

  “Damn off.” Her shoulders squared. An ache immediately rushed through her and she winced.

  His eyes narrowed. “Delilah?”

  “Can you call me Lila?” Absently, she reached up to rub her shoulder. “That’s what my friends call me.”

  “But we aren’t friends.”

  Her hand stilled. There had been a note in his voice—almost sensual… Her head lifted. Her gaze met his. “We’re partners.”

  “Sure. But I also want to fuck you, and I don’t typically go around wanting to fuck my business associates.”

  She let her breath slide in and out. “You are a very blunt man.”

  “I’ve found that being blunt saves time.” His attention was focused completely on her. “Now you know exactly how I feel, so if you decide you want to wander into my room in the middle of the night and jump my bones, have at it.” His gaze never left her face.

  She ignored the fierce pounding of her heart. “You just made a joke.”

  “Did I?”

  She had no idea. Maybe? “I’m going to bed. No, correction, I’m taking an extremely long, hot shower, and then I’m going to bed. I don’t predict any bone jumping on my agenda, but I do thank you for the option.” Delilah took a step forward, then bit her lip. “Yeah, so…ahem. Where is my room?”

  He pointed toward the curved staircase. “Second floor. Right hallway. Door number two.”

  “Wonderful. More stairs. Just what I was hoping for.” Squaring her shoulders—dammit, the left one really ached—she headed for the stairs.

  But he scooped her into his arms before she’d taken more than a handful of steps. He picked her up easily, showing the savage strength that was hidden beneath his expensive clothes. Automatically, her arm curled around his neck.

  “No protest?” he asked.

  Zero protests. She was tired and achy, and a bed sounded like paradise. “You want to carry me up? Have at it. But if you drop me, I will be exceedingly unhappy.” It seemed only fair to warn him.

  Soft laughter came in response. At the unexpected sound, her head turned. Their faces were so close.

  Close enough to kiss. Not that she was planning to kiss him. When she kissed him, all kinds of things happened. Things like her body heating. Her breasts aching. Her yearning and wanting.

  His laughter had already faded. “I was afraid.” A low confession from Archer. “When I saw you on the stairs, I was afraid you’d been seriously hurt.” His hold tightened on her. “That was never part of my agenda. I didn’t expect…” He stopped. His jaw flexed. “I didn’t expect this so soon.”

  “Neither did I. But obviously, this person has been watching you very, very closely.” Something that should make them both wary. “The attacker has stayed close the whole time. And you were right, having a woman come into your life set off a chain reaction.” A very dangerous and immediate one.

  “Do you want out?” He watched her carefully.

  “No, but I do very much want to catch the person who thought it would be fun to give me a shove.”

  “So the hell do I.” His gaze dropped to her lips. Heated. The gold seemed to blaze as he looked at her mouth.

  She wet her lips. Oh, hell. Why had she done that?

  Archer’s stare went even hotter.

  The seconds ticked by. He kept holding her. She kept thinking about how it felt when his mouth took hers. When she’d first started this case, first started investigating Archer, she hadn’t planned on her reaction to him. She shouldn’t have felt any real reaction. Everything should have been faked.

  It wasn’t.

  “Are you real?” he rumbled. “Or just who you think I want you to be?”

  He was talking about the first night. The way she’d known how to deliberately bait him. “Do you think I’m making you want me?”

  “You breathe, and I want you.”

  That was incredibly blunt—and honest.

  And I feel the same way. “This isn’t a normal reaction. The…the attraction between us is very strong.”

  “I think strong is a weak word.” He pulled his gaze from her mouth. Headed for the stairs. Carried her up easily. Didn’t show even a little strain.

  Color me impressed. “I felt better when I saw you.” A stark truth that made her uncertain. “I was scared, and then you came running to me, and I felt safe.” When he was supposed to be the bad guy—the monster—yet the sight of Archer had made her feel like she’d be okay.

  He reached the landing. Turned to the right. Went past the first door. Stopped at the second. He still held her.

  “You can…” Her voice had gone all husky. Not deliberate. “You can put me down now.”

  Slowly, he did. He lowered her until her bare feet touched the floor. Her body brushed against his. Her arm slid from behind his neck, and her fingers moved to curl around his shoulder. “Thanks for the lift up the stairs.”

  “Your bags are inside already. The luggage and the laptop.”

  Handy.

  “If you need me at all during the night, I’ll be right next door.”

  Oh. That was close. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She reached back. Opened the door. Let it swing inward behind her. “Good night.”

  He didn’t move. “I don’t think of myself as a violent man.”

  Certainly another point about him that was good to know.

  “But I intend to absolutely destroy whoever it was that sent you tumbling down those stairs.” His hand lifted. Curled under her chin. “And I swear, you will not be hurt again. Not on my watch.”

  She’d know to be on her guard, twenty-four, seven, too. Delilah hadn’t expected an attack so soon. Her mistake. She made it a point not to repeat mistakes.

  Why did the attack come so soon? Was it because she and Archer had been seen together two nights in a row? Because he’d kissed her in such a public manner when she knew that type of display hadn’t been typical of his romantic interactions in the past?

  His thumb brushed across her lips in a light caress. “I discovered something quite startling tonight.”

  “What’s that?”

  Instead of answering, his head lowered. His lips took hers. Tenderly. So gently. A caress more than a kiss.

  Her left hand rose and gripped his arm. Now she was holding onto him with both hands, and Delilah pulled him ever closer. Her lips parted, and her tongue swept out. She wasn’t particularly in the mood for some gentle, little good night peck. If he was going to kiss her, then they were damn well going to kiss.