The desire ignited between them, just as she’d known that it would. Need flooded through her body and had her rubbing against him. She could feel his arousal—thick and full and long—and she knew he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. His taste was incredible. His skillful, wicked tongue made her go wild. She heard a moan and realized it was her own, and she didn’t care. She wanted to keep kissing him.

  No, no, she wanted a whole lot more than a kiss.

  And because of that, Delilah pulled back.

  He had a hot, predatory look about him. Lust burned in his eyes. “What do your lovers call you?”

  Her brows pulled low. “What?”

  “Your friends call you Lila, but what do your lovers call you? Because sooner or later, I will be your lover.”

  She wanted to call him a cocky bastard, but the truth was…

  Sooner or later, I will be your lover, Archer. They both knew they were crossing lines. They both knew the desire between them wouldn’t be ignored.

  His hand slid over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. After her tumble on the stairs, her hair had come loose from its ever-so-careful twist and now slid over her shoulders. “Forget what they called you,” he rumbled. “Doesn’t matter a damn to me. You’ll be my Delilah.”

  My Delilah. There was a dark, possessive edge to Archer’s words.

  Then he stepped back. “If you need me, call out,” he said once more.

  Because he would be in the room right next door. Check.

  He turned and walked away.

  “If you need me,” Delilah raised her voice, “then just shout. I’ll come running to your rescue.”

  He stilled. After a beat, he glanced over his shoulder. “You know, I believe you would.”

  “Isn’t that what partners are for?” I can still taste him. I want him.

  “No one has come running for me before.”

  “Then you were hanging around the wrong people.” Obviously. “Good thing that’s changed.” And, before she could do or say anything else—like jump those bones he’d mentioned before—Delilah retreated into the bedroom. She firmly shut the door.

  Two hours later, she screamed for him.

  Chapter Nine

  “Archer!”

  He lunged out of bed. Rushed out of his bedroom and nearly ripped Delilah’s door from the hinges as he fought to get to her. Delilah’s voice had been high-pitched and threaded with pain.

  No one fucking hurts her!

  He slammed his hand into the light switch and illumination immediately flooded in the guest room as he searched for the threat. Archer was more than ready to kill.

  Except, there was no threat.

  Delilah was in the bed, the sheets tangled around her legs. She wore a black tank top, black panties and—

  “Don’t just stand there! Help me!” She let out a pain-filled moan and grabbed for her thigh. “Cramp. Stupid, terrible, painful cramps.”

  From the fall. Shit. He should have rubbed her down before bed. He lurched forward, like a puppet pulled by strings, and reached for her. Archer sat on the edge of the bed, and his hands moved hers so that he could reach the tight area. As soon as he began to rub the tense muscles, her breath hissed out.

  He froze. “Am I hurting you?” Never want to hurt her.

  “Do not stop.” Her head fell back against the pillow. “I tried to get out of bed a few minutes ago, thinking I could try to walk some of this off, but I almost fell. Please just…help me.”

  “Always.” He worked her carefully. Tenderly. Her skin felt like silk beneath his touch. The muscles beneath the silk were tense and hard, and his fingers circled over those sore spots. He stroked and worked, trying not to think about the fact that her panties were inches from his hand. Or about the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that little tank top. He could see the tight thrust of her nipples against the fabric.

  She needs you. Keep your shit together. Stop ogling her.

  A moan trembled on her lips. “Thank you. So much better. I just…I couldn’t make it stop myself.”

  He would rub her all night long if it helped. He kept at it, and her stiff muscles eased beneath his fingertips.

  Her eyes drifted closed.

  “Does anything else…” Shit, but his voice was grating and rough. Archer cleared his throat and tried again. “Does it hurt anywhere else?”

  Her lashes lifted. Slowly. Languidly. “My shoulder. Part of my back. I, um, hit that side when I went down. But you don’t have to—”

  “Roll over.”

  “Archer?”

  “Princess, roll that sweet ass over. I’m going to take care of you.” The way he should have taken care of her earlier. But, no, he’d been a selfish prick and he’d let her go off on her own into the guest room. After that fall, her muscles must be aching constantly. Hurting so badly that she hadn’t been able to sleep.

  He couldn’t do much for her, but this—this he could do. “Roll over,” he ordered again.

  “Only because I really hurt,” she grumbled.

  Hell, even her grumble was sexy. The problem was that he was finding everything about Delilah to be sexy. When he’d originally come up with his plan, everything had seemed so easy. Delilah knew the score, so she could help him set the scene. There would be no confusion about what was happening between them. No mixed messages. They’d work together. And, he’d, yes, use her to get what he wanted. Because he was a selfish bastard who often used people in order to get what he wanted. It was the way he’d always been.

  She turned onto her stomach. “It was the left shoulder,” she told him as her head moved to a comfortable position on the pillow. “Then down a few inches.”

  His fingers curled around her shoulder. So delicate. He was careful here, so very careful. “I have some cream I can put on for you. It will help with the stiffness.”

  “Right now, I just want your fingers.” Husky. “God, that feels good.”

  She felt good. His jaw locked tight as he went to work on her. Stroking. Kneading. Not too hard because he didn’t want to injure her anymore. Just enough to help ease the pain. She stretched beneath his touch.

  He kept his eyes on her back. Not her pert ass. The ass that was so close to him.

  Swallowing, Archer leaned over her a little more. His fingers slid down, moving the inches she’d indicated before as he tried to work out the tension. And ignore my giant dick.

  “That feels so great. Didn’t realize the mighty Archer Radcliffe was a massage therapist on the side.”

  “I’ve got lots of secret skills.” He tried to make his voice light. Utterly failed. Light just wasn’t him. The words came out as more of a rasp than anything else.

  And his fingers edged around her side as he stroked her. Accidentally touched the curve of her breast because she’d turned a bit—

  They both froze.

  The sound of her breathing—his—seemed far too loud in the bedroom.

  “I, um, think that I’m good now.” Delilah rolled fully toward him. “Thank you.”

  His hands moved. Caged her body when they pressed into the mattress on each side of her. “I can…” Shit, he sounded rough. “I can put that cream on your body. It will help with soreness.”

  She nibbled on her lower lip. Her gaze traveled down his body. “You’re just wearing boxers.”

  “You screamed. I was afraid you were in trouble. Not like there was time to waste getting dressed.” And there was no way she could miss the massive erection currently tenting his boxers. It was what it was.

  And her gaze was currently on his dick.

  Time for him to move back. He started to rise.

  Her hand flew out and curled around his wrist. “You know, I think I’m still a little sore. Can you work me for a few more minutes?”

  I can work you all night long. Not the right reply. He jerked his head in agreement. Was it her back? Was that where she needed—

  Her hand pushed his toward her upper thigh. “It hurts here.”

  His fingers spread over her thigh. Rubbed. “Here?” Her skin was so freaking soft.

  Her breath caught. “Actually, a little higher…”

  His fingers slid up. “Here?” His voice was even more of a growl. His fingers were near the edge of her underwear.

  “Y-yes…”

  There was something about her voice. His gaze lifted. Caught hers. Saw the desire in her stare and felt all the air leave his lungs. “Delilah?”

  “Maybe a little higher.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck…His fingers eased under the edge of her panties. She was wet. Hot. Incredible. Her legs parted more for him, giving him better access as his fingers stroked her. First her clit—he strummed her clit and she arched back against the bedding with a little moan.

  Gorgeous.

  He just had to dip a finger into her. Just one…

  His index finger slid inside. Inside the hottest, tightest heaven he’d ever touched.

  The damn panties are in my way.

  His hand pulled away from her.

  “Archer?”

  He yanked the panties down her legs. Tossed them somewhere—they landed on the other side of the room, and he didn’t give a shit about them. What mattered to him was Delilah. A Delilah who was naked from the waist down. A Delilah who’d asked for him to touch her.

  So touch her, he would. First with his fingers. He learned every inch of her tender core. Learned what made her gasp. What made her quiver. Learned that she was so incredibly, insanely tight as he pushed first one finger, then another into her and thrust them, again and again into her heat. His thumb trailed over her clit.

  Her breath came faster. Harder.

  It wasn’t quite enough for him. Or her.

  So maybe she needed a different type of touch.

  He repositioned himself. Put his mouth on her. Licked her clit. Tasted her. And didn’t stop—didn’t stop using his lips and his tongue, didn’t stop tasting and taking and devouring until Delilah came against his mouth. She jerked beneath him, her whole body jolted, and his name broke from her.

  He kept licking her. Tasting her pleasure. Getting damn near drunk off her.

  She fell limply against the mattress. His head slowly lifted. His dick was hard and aching for her. He wanted to rip aside his boxers and plunge deep into her. He wanted to make her call out his name again. Over and over.

  He wanted her to need him. To want him more than she wanted anything else.

  The way I want her right now.

  And because he wanted so much…because it mattered…so much…He slowly pulled away from her. Pulled away, climbed from the bed, and rose to stand near the mattress.

  Her gorgeous eyes blinked up at him. “I—Archer?” She reached for the covers, as if embarrassed. She should never be embarrassed. She was perfect.

  He caught her hand. “I want you.”

  Her attention shifted to the dick shoving toward her. The dick that was very close to her face.

  I want her mouth on me.

  She licked her lips. “I can, um, see that.”

  “When I fuck you, I don’t want you to still be wondering if I’m a killer.”

  Her stare flew back to his.

  “Women have fucked me since Vanessa disappeared. I know what they thought. I don’t want that to be you.” He wanted so much more from her. “Just over twenty-four hours ago, you burst into my life. And your plan was to bring me down.”

  Just over twenty-four hours…

  Weird. It felt like she’d been in his life so much longer. “Maybe it’s still your plan,” he continued, voice grim. “Maybe you’re still working your angle, doing all the things that just make me want you more, even as you plot to get my ass tossed in a jail cell.”

  She didn’t deny the charge. Didn’t confirm it. Just stared at him with eyes so bright and solemn.

  “When we fuck, you’ll know who I am.”

  “I know who you are.”

  He raked a hand over his face. He wasn’t explaining this shit well and staring at a naked Delilah was damn well not helping with his thought process. In fact, staring at a naked Delilah made it hard for him to think of anything but fucking her. “Try to get some sleep.” Gruff. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Start digging. Find the truth.”

  He swung away from the bed. If he didn’t leave now, he would be climbing back into that bed. Denying himself something he wanted very, very badly? That wasn’t part of his nature. Frankly, the shit sucked. But he was trying to prove something to her.

  He wasn’t a monster. He didn’t just take and take and take in this world. No matter what the tabloid stories claimed.

  “You have the wrong impression of me.” Her voice was quite calm. Strong. It reached him just as he was about to cross the threshold and leave the guest room. “Probably because, as you said, it’s only been a little over twenty-four hours…and I just let you go down on me.”

  And I want to go down on you again. And again. Her taste was addictive. Spicy and sweet at the same time.

  “I don’t normally jump into bed with men I’ve just met.”

  That was fucking excellent to know.

  “And in case you’re not real clear on it, let me help you out…you had your mouth on me. If you think that didn’t involve trust, if you think that didn’t involve me letting myself be incredibly vulnerable with you, then you need to rethink the whole situation. Because that was about trust. It was me showing you how I feel.”

  He whirled back to face her.

  She’d yanked a sheet from the bed. Wrapped it around her body, toga-style, as she stood and glared at him with the regal grace of a queen. “It wasn’t like I just did it so I could see what wicked skills you had with your mouth.”

  His hands fisted—only so he would stop himself from reaching out for her. He was trying here. Trying hard to be more than his normal, selfish bastard self. She was pushed down the fucking stairs. Delilah had been through one hell of a night. And if he took her…

  “You think I’m not seeing you?” Delilah asked him as she tossed back her hair and notched up her chin. “Because I am. I already had background on you before I ever said the first word to you. I knew more about you than most of your lovers ever did. When it comes to research, I am very, very thorough.”

  “Yet you still thought I was a killer.”

  She took a step toward him. Seemed to catch herself. “Did I? Or did I just ensure that I got close to you? That I got in your world? Because here I am, in your house, with complete access to you. Maybe I didn’t think you were the killer. Maybe I just thought you were the key.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “I already know you better than anyone else did,” she continued clearly. “And I’m learning more and more about you with every moment that passes. If you were truly a cold-blooded ice king, then I think we would be wrecking the bed right now.”

  He wanted to be in that bed. Wrecking it.

  “But I think there is so much more to you than you’ve let the world know. Every now and then, your mask cracks, and I see you.”

  No, she didn’t. “Good night, Delilah.” Once more, he whirled for the door.

  “I like what I see. That’s why I wanted you tonight.”

  He didn’t look back again. Couldn’t. He hurried away from her while his self-control was still in place. She didn’t get it, but his control had been hanging by a thread. All it would have taken was one freaking minute more, and he would have pounced. He could have lifted her up. Ripped away that sheet. Taken her against the wall.

  Taken her and never let go.

  He slammed closed the door to his bedroom. Marched to the en suite. He ripped on the shower—using the ice cold water because he needed to cool down. But then he turned his head. Caught his own reflection in the mirror. The hard features. The blazing eyes.

  I like what I see.

  His expression hardened. She had no idea just what a true bastard he was. Soon enough, though, Delilah would learn the truth.

  ***

  The push had been a mistake. Too soon. Too sloppy. A surge of emotion—anger—had taken over. Delilah Darrow had just been right there.

  It had been so easy. So tempting.

  Until Archer had rushed in like some knight to the rescue. Who the hell did he think he was kidding? Everyone knew what Archer was. Just because he hadn’t been convicted, it didn’t mean the world didn’t believe he was guilty.

  If it weren’t for the fact that he’d been born into too much damn money, he would have been a pariah. But the sad truth was that too many people would overlook the crimes of the rich and powerful.

  So in order to hurt them, you had to attack the things they truly valued.

  But you didn’t value Vanessa. I thought you did. I was wrong.

  Because Archer had never looked shattered after Vanessa’s disappearance. Never shown his rage or fear. Oh, no, not the controlled Archer fucking Radcliffe.

  He’d kept his mocking mask in place through the investigation. Through the scandal. Through everything…

  Until tonight. Until he’d been holding tightly to Delilah and carrying her out of the opera. His rage had been clear to see. So much fury because she’d been hurt.

  He’d never been furious about Vanessa. Hadn’t given a damn when she’d cheated. Even when the stories had filled the air—the accusations about him had flown—Archer hadn’t shown his fury.

  Not until his new lady had taken a tumble down the stairs.

  Yes, the shove had been impetuous. A mistake that could have proven costly, if anyone had seen the attack. But, something important had been learned.

  Archer had a weakness.

  And I do love it when the bastard is weak.

  Chapter Ten

  “I figured you would come calling, sooner or later, Archer.” Tiffany Lassiter swung around from her carefully poised position on the balcony at the expensive restaurant and offered him a wide smile. “You’re just lucky I was in the mood to—” She broke off. Frowned.

  Delilah waved at her. “Hi, there. Fancy seeing you again.”

  Tiffany’s mouth opened and closed—very fish-like—as she gaped at Delilah.