The love seat, built for show rather than actual use, complained with a splintering crack and then collapsed beneath them.

  They hit the floor. She saw a brief flash of Archer’s white teeth as he smiled his badass smile in the dark and then rolled, pinning her beneath him, her hands caught in his above her head.

  “Your arm,” she gasped.

  “Worth the pain.” His kiss was hot and deep and she almost lost herself in him.

  Almost.

  She fought the dregs of passion because no way was she going to be passive, not when for the first time in far too long she felt . . . alive, from the tips of her hair to her toes, which were already curling. Yanking her hands from his grasp, she placed them on his chest, unable to see much of anything but needing to touch, slowly sliding them up and around his neck, pulling him down to meet her lips. “More,” she demanded and skimmed a hand down his bare, sleek back and into his trousers. When she then slid that hand around to his front and brushed against a very hard erection threatening his zipper, he growled her name low in his throat, sounding gratifyingly breathless. He had his hands up the back of her dress, each palming a cheek, his fingers dipping in between, and when he discovered how wet he’d made her, he groaned.

  She clutched at him, already halfway gone. “Archer—”

  “I know. Christ, Elle. You feel amazing.”

  “Now.” She didn’t even recognize her voice. “Right now.”

  “My office.” His voice was rough gravel, like he could barely speak. “My couch is bigger and not in pieces on the floor.”

  “No, here. Please . . .”

  His low laugh was sexy as hell, damn him. He knew exactly what he did to her. “I do like the please,” he murmured. “More of that.”

  “Archer, I swear to God if you don’t do me now, I’m going to hurt you.”

  “Mmmm. Bossy too.” His mouth was busy at her breasts, her bra tugged open, his teeth and tongue driving her wild. “You’re a fantasy come true, Elle.” His voice was thick with erotic promise, his hands following through on that promise, his fingers especially taking her straight to heaven. “And we’re going to get there. But not with you on your back on this floor.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  She made an unintelligible sound of objection and he soothed her with a hot kiss before pulling back and tugging her up to her knees. Then he turned her away from him and slid his hand down her back, encouraging her to bend over the coffee table.

  Before she could suggest that he bend over the table and they’d see if he liked it, his fingers were back in play between her thighs and she couldn’t remember why she’d wanted to object.

  He draped himself over her in a protective shell, his chest plastered along her back, his legs encasing hers, one arm around her middle, palming a breast, the other between her legs, those fingers slowly but surely driving her right out of her ever loving mind. His mouth was just as busy, his teeth teasing the side of her throat, her jaw. “Good?” he murmured.

  She nodded and then, to make sure he didn’t stop, gripped his wrist to hold his hand in place as lightning flashed through the window. She jerked but he wrapped himself around her. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.

  And he did. He had her writhing against him as he urged her thighs open as far as they could get with her panties wrapped around them and his long, powerful legs on either side of hers, all while his fingers teased, cajoled, coaxed her into a hot mess, knowingly moving in an oscillating circle that seriously tugged every single thought right out of her head. She felt surrounded by him, completely surrounded in the very best possible way as his hot, wet mouth played over the nape of her neck and shoulders. Her head fell back, her breath coming in short, desperate little whimpers, her entire world shrunk to this, to the pleasure of his body and mouth and fingers . . . God, those fingers. “Archer—”

  “You’re close,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “I can feel it.”

  She opened her mouth to disagree because she didn’t come quickly. Ever. But apparently she did now. She burst, quivering in delicious orgasm and then, before she could process the shock of that, he’d managed to put on a condom and thrust inside her, and she came yet again. Or still . . .

  “Fuck, Elle . . .” His fingers tightened on her hips as he filled her to capacity, reducing her to a puddle of goo. “You feel so good.”

  She bit her tongue hard so she wouldn’t make any noise, but it was almost impossible to remain quiet with him so hot and silky hard inside of her. She could feel every single inch of him as he slid in and out, thrusting harder and deeper with each stroke, and it felt so incredible that she came again, oblivious to the storm around them or the fact that she was on her knees, bent over the table, begging for more.

  He gave it to her, everything she wanted, and when she cried out his name, he groaned something back, something hot and erotically dirty, and he shuddered and finally let himself go.

  From the dim recesses of her mind she remembered how she’d felt watching that couple go at each other in the elevator like the rest of the world didn’t exist, remembered thinking wistfully that she’d never experienced such a thing.

  She could now check that box off.

  For a long moment they stayed still in that instance in the dark, Archer pressed up against her, the two of them panting for air, muscles trembling, before he finally shifted.

  And she thought, okay, that’s it. He’s going to stand, zip, and walk out the door.

  But he didn’t, and in perhaps the sweetest thing he’d ever done, he lingered there with her in the dark, stormy night, still inside her, his mouth brushing lazily and warmly up and down the nape of her neck, his arms tight around her.

  Cuddling.

  He was cuddling her.

  When his thumb brushed over her nipple, her entire body jerked, hungry for more, the greedy thing. A little bit unnerved by that, she elbowed him to give her space, and when he did, she staggered to her feet.

  A small beam of light came on and she blinked.

  Archer had a penlight between his teeth and was buttoning his trousers. From within his pocket, his phone was vibrating, as it had been on and off for a while now.

  Not in any apparent hurry, he set the still-lit penlight on the table where he’d just given her the best orgasms—plural!—of her life.

  She’d never look at the table the same way again.

  Her gaze drifted to the love seat next. Following her gaze, he laughed. “I’ll get it out of here for you,” he said.

  “No, that’s okay.” It was Friday night, the courtyard would be a hotbed of action in spite of the storm. She didn’t need everyone to see him carrying it out, speculating about what had happened. Although in this case, the truth was probably crazier than anything anyone could make up. “Luis will get it for me.”

  Archer lifted his head and studied her. His eyes softened and a small smile crossed his mouth. He stepped into her, pushed the hair off her hot and sweaty forehead, and brushed his mouth over her temple. “You okay?”

  A low laugh huffed out of her. “I think you know that I am. I didn’t expect that to be so . . .” She shook her head, at a loss for words.

  He let out a slow exhale. “I did.”

  She met his gaze and at the look on his face something inside her clutched hard. He regretted what they’d just done. The best time of her life and he regretted it. “Are you about to piss me off again, Archer?” she managed to ask.

  “We both know I can do that without trying.”

  Not exactly an answer. She laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, well if your next few words are anything along the lines of ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘that was a mistake’ or ‘I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you,’ then it’s a definitely.”

  He just held her gaze and her heart stopped. “Wow.” That she was right gave her no satisfaction at all. “You know what?” She gestured to the door. “I want you to go now”—she pointed at his mouth when he opened it—“without saying another word so that I can still stand the sight of you.”

  “Let me drive you home first—”

  “No, I’m good, thanks. Oh and, Archer?” She waited until he looked at her. “Stay the hell away from me.” And then, although she wanted to turn away from him as he walked out her door, she forced herself to watch him go.

  Chapter 12

  #DeadBoyfriendWalking

  Archer prowled the length of his office and back. Two minutes ago he’d been kicked out of Elle’s office. One minute ago a big case he and his guys had been working on broke wide open and everyone was coming into work.

  He had maybe three more minutes to himself and all he could think was that something had just changed in his world and he was pretty sure he knew what.

  Or at least who.

  He’d known a year ago that by leading Elle here to the Pacific Pier Building as general manager for Spence things would change. But for most of that year he’d managed to keep his distance, both mentally and physically.

  It hadn’t been until he’d had a taste of her that night they’d been camping that his world had stopped spinning.

  And he’d been a little off his axis ever since.

  After what had just happened in her office, he’d lost all balance whatsoever. The funny thing was that a year ago he’d have said his world worked just as it was. That he had everything he needed. He had a home he loved and a business he’d built from the ground floor up that was both successful and also satisfied him.

  But something had happened to that satisfaction over time. He’d felt less fulfilled and more . . . restless and unsettled.

  Unsatisfied.

  But unable to pinpoint why, he’d ignored it.

  Then she’d come into his life and for the first time he’d been out of his league. With her, he was never sure of anything.

  Maybe it was because her smile lit up his world. So did the way she cared so fiercely for those in her life, even him, which made him one lucky son of a bitch. When he made her laugh, he felt like Superman. And when he made her melt . . . God. He could still see how she’d looked in her office, trembling for his touch.

  And when he’d given in to it, his foundation had cracked. He could tell himself that what had happened had been a mutual explosion of pent-up need and frustration and that was it. But that was a lie.

  It wasn’t over and it wasn’t done. Ever since that kiss on the mountain, he’d been telling himself that was it. That he wouldn’t give into further temptation, he wouldn’t play with her, never her.

  But the thing was, he wasn’t playing at all. He was dead serious.

  And suddenly that no longer scared him or had any sort of power over him. He didn’t want it to be over or done. Truthfully, she was the best thing in his life and he was a complete idiot if he let her walk away from him.

  Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, the guys piled into his office at that moment and they were off and running the job for a high-profile criminal attorney involving a missing witness and a cover-up. It spilled over into the weekend and through much of the week, it was Thursday morning before he had a moment to breathe or think of anything outside of the job.

  He’d texted Elle several times and had gotten no response. It was early, too early to catch her in her office because he’d disturb her while she was in class. So he went into his office, trying to make a dent in the ever growing paperwork, his mind playing Friday night in Elle’s office on repeat.

  Christ, he’d screwed up all year, keeping his distance like he had. But then Elle had upped the ante, offering him emotional support at every turn like . . . like they were something to each other. And he realized she was right. They were something to each other. They were everything.

  Stay the hell away from me . . .

  He’d long ago promised himself he’d never hurt her. He’d die first. But with Friday night flashing through his mind—the crazy storm, the feel of Elle’s sweet, curvy body against his, the sound of her soft sighs in his ear, how she’d reached for him as she’d come, his name on her lips . . .

  He wasn’t going to be able to stay the hell away from her.

  He’d given her time this week only because he’d had no choice, but the job was over now and he wanted, needed, to see her. Something had changed for him, in a big way. And he was over watching her from afar. Over worrying about their past and whether she might be with him now because of gratitude or a sense of debt.

  He’d take her however he could get her and he wanted her at his side, for keeps.

  Aware that it would be a hard sell, he was working on his pitch but he hadn’t gotten anywhere when Spence called him up to the roof. Few people knew about the best spot in the building, from which there was the kind of view of San Francisco and the entire bay that postcards were made of.

  Spence had brought breakfast burritos and they sat, legs hanging over the edge of the five-story building, watching the world go by.

  “What’s the occasion?” Archer asked.

  “The week sucks. Breakfast burritos make it better.”

  Archer looked over at him. Because while it was true—breakfast burritos did make everything better—there was more to this story, he could tell. He felt like a jerk because he’d been so focused on himself—and Elle—that he’d neglected his best friend. “You still working on that new drone prototype with Caleb?”

  “We accidentally blew it up.”

  Archer grimaced. “Sorry, man. How about your date this past weekend, the secret one you made me swear on my life not to tell anyone about—”

  “Didn’t work out,” Spence said glumly.

  “Why?”

  “She’d looked me up.”

  Shit. This was unfortunately all too common. Once a woman caught a whiff of Spence’s net worth, she usually pulled out all the stops to hook him. “I told you to let me vet her,” he said. He—or Elle or any of the others—always tried to vet all Spence’s dates because, although the guy was a genius, he had zero ability to weed out the ones looking for their MRS degrees.

  “She seemed normal,” Spence said.

  “But?”

  “But she thought I’d be interested in getting married ASAP. No prenup.”

  Archer had to laugh. “On date one, no less. She definitely gets this month’s Gold Digger Award.”

  Spence shoved some more fries into his mouth. Spence often said much more with his silences than his words. He wasn’t shy or introverted but he could be quiet, focused on his work, and come off as uninterested.

  Elle called him a sexy geek, but Archer knew the guy’s love life hadn’t been all that exciting.

  Neither had Archer’s, until Elle. Now he felt both like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet and the most terrified because she had all the power. And that was a true first for him. “You ever been in love?” he asked.

  Spence blinked. “I’m sorry, did you just ask me a relationship question? Because you’re allergic to relationships, remember?”

  Archer shifted uncomfortably, already sorry he’d brought it up, but it was too late now. “Well, have you?”

  “Are we really going to talk about . . . love? The two most emotionally stunted guys I know?”

  “Humor me,” Archer grated out.

  “Okay then . . .” Spence shrugged. “Yeah. Or at least I thought I was. And you know this already.”

  “But you felt like you’d protect her, no matter what?”

  “Of course. Why?” Spence slid a look his way. “Do you, uh, love Elle? Wait. Shit. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.” He ran his hands over his face. “This way if Elle ever asks me if we talked about this, I can deny it.” He dropped his hands and glared at Archer. “But the next time you’re having an emotional meltdown, call a professional like Willa or Pru.”

  “It’s not a meltdown,” Archer said, but he was talking to himself because Spence was walking to the stairwell door. “At least not a big one.”

  He’d just gotten back to his office when Mollie buzzed to tell him that someone was there to see him. He looked at his schedule. “Who?” he asked, not seeing any appointments or meetings until later.

  “Morgan Wheaton.”

  He stilled. It’d been a long time since he’d heard or thought of Elle’s sister. “Send her in.”

  Morgan walked into his office with the same easy, natural confidence her younger sister, Elle, usually displayed but there was a subtle difference.

  Elle’s grace came naturally.

  Morgan only imitated it.

  “Well, look who traded up,” she said, eyeballing his office. “Nice digs.” She smiled but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “How’ve you been, Officer Hunt?”

  “We both know I’m not a cop anymore.”

  “No shit.” She walked to his window and looked out. It was only February but she wore a flimsy sundress with a thin denim jacket opened to reveal her assets. Her bare legs went on for days, and she wore the kind of sandals that strapped up her calves to her knees, all carefully orchestrated for maximum effect, which wasn’t that difficult to achieve with the Wheaton-family genes.

  She looked a lot like Elle but with something important missing.

  The spark of vulnerability.

  Okay, so maybe Elle hid that spark every bit as well as her sister to most of the world, but he’d never had any trouble seeing it.

  A fact he knew she hated.

  “Nice view,” Morgan said from the window, taking in the marina, the bay, and the slice of the Golden Gate Bridge.

  While she studied the sights, he leaned back and studied her. There was only two years’ difference in age between the sisters, but Morgan had always looked older than her years.

  While acting much younger.

  There was a quality to her that said life had sucked so far and she didn’t expect it to get much better, and it frustrated him. By keeping Elle safe that night, he’s ensured that both girls had gotten out without facing the cops, but only one of them had used the opportunity to change her life, turning herself around, and it wasn’t the sister standing at his window.

  “What’s going on?” he asked her. Because something was going on, he was certain of it. She’d never have come here otherwise. She needed something and for whatever reason she thought he could give it to her.