By the time she placed her mouth on him he was no longer coherent. And moments later, as the world spiraled out of control, it was apparent that she not only owned his body, she was also the keeper of his soul.

  The next morning Elle sat straight up in bed and found Archer standing by his dresser buck naked, searching through a drawer. He pulled on black knit boxers, cargo pants, and a black T-shirt. Then he walked to a wall safe and began to strap on weapons. Glock on his right hip. Knife clipped to the inside of one of his pockets. Cell in another pocket. Black baseball cap on backward, boots on and laced up, flak vest strapped across his chest and back.

  Why this turned her on so much, she had no idea but she could scarcely breathe for wanting him.

  When he was loaded for bear, he turned and caught her staring at him, probably drooling, and his eyes darkened.

  “Say the word,” he said, “and it all comes back off. You’ll be late for class, very late, but I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She felt herself go damp and was so tempted she had to bite her tongue to keep the “oh yes, please” in.

  Apparently reading her mind, Archer started toward her with sexy, wickedly dirty intent blazing in his hot eyes. He got to the bed just as a knock came on the bedroom door.

  “Hurry up, bitches,” Morgan yelled through the door. “I need the shower.”

  Archer groaned and dropped his forehead to Elle’s shoulder.

  “You should’ve let me kill her,” she said.

  At the end of the day, Elle was still at her desk when her phone went off with a text.

  Morgan: I’m staying in the building instead of heading to Archer’s with you. Got plans.

  Elle: What plans?

  Morgan: Poker game in the basement at seven.

  Elle: No. Hell, no. I refuse to let you grift my friends out of their money.

  Morgan: I won’t cheat! The sexy geek said he’ll bring me to Archer’s afterward. Okay with you, MOM?

  Elle: Don’t even think about sleeping with Spence.

  Morgan: Aw. Worried about me?

  Elle: Worried about HIM.

  Morgan’s response was the middle finger emoji. Elle rolled her eyes and stood up to get ready to leave when her phone buzzed again, a call this time.

  “You hanging in there?” Archer asked.

  She could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “Better than you, it sounds like. How about dinner?”

  “You cooking?” he asked with such wistful hope that she was caught off guard.

  “Yes,” she said, then she stilled in shock. Yes? Was she insane? “I’m leaving now.”

  “With Morgan?”

  “No, she’s staying for tonight’s poker game.”

  “Take Joe,” Archer said. “Give him five minutes to get to you.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “There’s a missing dickwad out there sending his goons after you and your sister,” Archer said. “Humor me.”

  Three minutes later, Joe was at her door. “I’ve gotta stop at the grocery store,” Elle warned. They got under way and after a while she eyeballed him. “I don’t suppose you know how to cook?”

  “Hell yeah I know how to cook,” he said. “It attracts the ladies.”

  She rolled her eyes and dragged him into the store with her. “Help me pick out something that an idiot could cook and still impress someone.”

  He grinned. “You going to seduce boss man tonight?”

  “None of your business. Can you help me or what?”

  He set her up with a pack of steaks, potatoes, and a ready-made salad. “Doesn’t get better than barbequed steak and potato, and a little green to make you feel healthy,” he said.

  “I don’t know how to barbeque,” she said.

  “You turn a knob, toss these babies on the grill, wait a few minutes and then flip them over. Trust me, you’ll have that man eating out of the palm of your hand.” He flashed a grin. “Or wherever you want him eating . . .”

  She gave him a long look.

  This didn’t faze him in the slightest. “Call me if you have any problems.” He walked her into Archer’s place, checked for monsters in all the corners, declared her good to go, and left her alone.

  Elle walked out the living room sliding-glass door and stared at the biggest barbeque she’d ever seen. There was indeed a knob on it. As well as instructions engraved on the steel side. Turn on gas. Point knob to desired flame height. Grill.

  “Easy enough,” she said out loud. She turned on the gas. She heard it hiss out. Then she cranked the knob and—

  Whooomph.

  The flame ripped out from beneath the grill and just about took her eyelashes and eyebrows along with it. “Holy shit!” she gasped, leaping back, tripping over a lounge chair, and falling to her ass on the deck. Sitting there, she reached up to touch her face.

  Still there.

  Relieved, she got to her feet and studied the flame before turning it down a little. Note to self: men are stupid. Five minutes later she had the steaks and the potatoes on the grill.

  “Take that, Iron Chef,” she murmured as she poured herself a very big glass of wine. She went back onto the deck and stared down at the busy streets below, at the marina past that, and the gorgeous bay. The view made her sigh with pleasure. If she had this view, she’d never leave. She’d take off her heels and curl up on the chair and watch the world go by.

  Which, in the end, is exactly what she did. She kicked off her heels, hiked up her dress enough to get comfy, and took in the view as she sipped her wine, feeling damn content and righteous as hell that she’d made dinner with her own hands for the man she . . . well. Wasn’t that a little complicated? She liked him. A lot. She also admired his strength, both inside and out. He was smart, self-made, and when he chose to be, funny as hell.

  And yeah, she possibly, maybe, probably loved him.

  She leaned back and closed her eyes at that terrifying thought while images flashed through her mind. Archer giving her that just-for-her smile that very morning, the smile that said he got her . . . and damn but he did always seem to get her, in a way no one else ever had. Archer, ticked after that distraction job and yet he’d still taken her into his arms on the dance floor, rocking her to that slow song. Rocking her world while he was at it because there was no one who could make her as crazy as he did, and no one else on the planet who could make her feel as much as he did either. Archer, busting into her office, willing to put his life and limb on the line to save hers, always, without question . . .

  The only thing more shocking than that was that she knew she’d do the same for him . . .

  She had no idea how many minutes later she jerked awake. The smell came to her first, charbroiled meat. The smoke came next. And then when she whipped her head around, she saw the flames shooting out of the barbeque.

  She flew to her feet, stubbing her toe on the leg of the barbeque as she slammed the lid of it down and cranked the knobs to off before crouching low to turn off the gas below as well.

  By the time she straightened, the flames had died.

  And so had the black lumps that had been the steak and potatoes.

  Dead. She’d killed them dead. Reaching out, she picked up one charred lump, burned her finger, and dropped it. With a sigh, she shoved her hair back from her sweaty face—the heat coming off the barbeque was surely giving her a sunburn—and whipped out her phone. “You suck,” she said to Joe.

  “Only if you ask real nice,” he said.

  Ungh! “I burned everything!”

  “Did you trim the fat?” he asked. “Keep the flame on medium? Turn the steaks after three to four minutes? Immediately remove from the flames?”

  No, no, no, and a solid no. She disconnected on him and went hands on hips, staring down at the mess. Then she whipped her phone back up and called her favorite Italian restaurant, which delivered. She placed an order, offering to double the tip if they rushed it.

  By the time she’d cleaned up the barbeque mess and discarded the evidence, the food had arrived. The delivery guy had a ready smile that faltered at the sight of her. Not having time to give that a single thought, she paid him and went into the kitchen to dish everything out onto plates and set the table.

  She’d just finished when Archer strode in. He tossed his keys to the counter and headed straight toward her, his nostrils flaring. “What’s that smell?”

  She panicked. She’d lit the two candles she’d been able to find and she’d shut the patio door, but not before standing there like an idiot in the living room waving a magazine around, trying to get the burnt smell outside. “Um . . .”

  “Italian,” he said with a smile, staring down at the table. “I thought so. Chicken Parmesan? Looks amazing.”

  She took a breath and smiled with relief.

  “I had no idea you could cook,” he said.

  “Oh well, I—” She gasped when he curled an arm around her waist and tugged her into him.

  He gave her a smacking kiss on the lips and then pulled back, cocking his head as he studied her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Like the look.”

  Pulling free, she turned to eyeball her reflection in his stainless-steel refrigerator and barely repressed a shocked shriek. Her hair had rioted and there were streaks of what looked suspiciously like charcoal across her jaw and cheek and forehead.

  Archer came up behind her, leaving not even air between them, his hands on her hips, his jaw pressed to hers. He had to bend to do it too because she’d left her shoes on the patio.

  Along with her brain, apparently.

  “Barefoot in my kitchen,” he murmured, his hot mouth against her ear.

  And maybe pregnant . . . She thought of the test kit she had in her purse. One of these days she was going to take it. Soon. “Don’t get used to it,” she managed.

  “What, you being barefoot?”

  “Me being a mess.”

  He turned her to him and cupped her face, suddenly serious. “I’ve wanted in under your armor for a long time, Elle. Don’t deny me now.”

  This just about undid her. It certainly left her speechless.

  He smiled again, looking pleased with himself. “Can we eat now? I’m starving and your food looks amazing.”

  She watched as he moved away from her to sprawl into a chair and dig in. Guilt consumed her. “So about the food—”

  “Hang on a second,” he said around a huge bite, leaning back, his eyes closed. “I’m having a moment.”

  “But—”

  “I skipped lunch,” he said. “And this is almost as good as an orgasm. Only almost because let’s face it, nothing’s as good as an orgasm.”

  “I didn’t cook it,” she blurted out.

  He flashed her a smile. “I know.”

  She stared at him. “You knew the whole time?”

  “Well yeah.” He was slathering a thick hunk of Italian bread with enough butter for a heart attack with one hand, spooning more chicken Parm onto his plate with his other. She had no idea how he ate the way he did and stayed so leanly muscled.

  Bastard. “How?” she demanded. “How did you know?”

  He slid her an amused glance. “My barbeque’s still smoking and smells like you torched it in a bonfire. You’ve got soot on your face and on your feet. The trash isn’t shut all the way and even from here I can see a take-out container near the top.”

  “Do you have to be so observant?” she demanded.

  “How else would I be able to keep up with you?” An arm snaked out and he yanked her onto his lap, where he buried his face in her hair. “You cared enough to want me fed. That turns me on about as much as you barefoot in my kitchen. Barefoot and—”

  She put a finger over his lips. “Don’t say it.” She didn’t want to hear the word pregnant on his lips. Behind her hand, he was smiling. “You’re a very odd man,” she said.

  “Have you taken a pregnancy test?” he asked around her finger.

  “Not yet.”

  “Take the test, Elle. We need to know.”

  But it would change his actions, she thought with a catch in her gut. He’d stay with her out of even more obligation to her and—

  “Stop.” He lifted her face to his as he read her thoughts, making sure she knew his. “Whatever we find out,” he said, “I’m here for you. Whether it’s just you, or you and our baby. Always. But it’s a fact that you’re getting the raw end of the deal.”

  She shook her head. “Not true.”

  He nipped the finger she still held to his mouth.

  “Very odd man,” she repeated softly.

  Not insulted in the least, he smiled and pulled her hand away from his mouth and then took that mouth on a leisurely tour up her throat, letting it make its way along her jaw to her ear.

  “Here, Archer?” she asked breathlessly, tilting her head to give him better access as she eyeballed the table.

  “Not the table. I’ve been dreaming about all the things I want to do to you and I don’t want to be interrupted.”

  “There’s more . . . things?” she asked a little breathlessly.

  “Oh yeah.”

  While she quivered at the thought of that, he rose and carried her to his bedroom, where he kicked the door closed, hit the lock, and dumped her onto his bed.

  Elle expected Archer to quickly strip her out of her clothes but instead he made himself at home between her thighs and nudged her face to his. “I want in your life, Elle. All the way in.”

  “Well if I’m not mistaken . . .” She rocked against an impressive erection. “You’re about to get as far in me as you can.”

  But he wasn’t playing. “You know what I mean. I’m trying to give you the time you need but I need a hint on how this is going.”

  “The fact that I’m halfway to orgasmic bliss in your bed should be a pretty big hint,” she said.

  He smiled. “So you’re halfway to orgasmic bliss already, huh? Damn, I’m good.”

  She kissed his jaw and nuzzled his throat. “You are.” She pulled back and cupped his face. “You’re going to be able to stop manipulating me?”

  He sighed. “I manipulate everyone.”

  “Yes, but I’m not everyone.”

  Their gazes locked and held. The silence stretched and finally he spoke. “Stay with me.” It was worded like a command but he said it softly. Probably as close to asking as he would come, she thought, her heart pounding hard. God. Was she really going to do this, give him the power she’d never really given anyone by falling for him? “How about if we go one night at a time?”

  “Works for me,” Archer murmured. And closing the distance between their mouths, he kissed her.

  Chapter 23

  #GoingGoingGone

  The next morning Elle walked into the kitchen followed by a dressed for general badassery Archer. He headed straight to the oven, turned it on, and set a bagel on the rack. He looked at Elle questioningly but she shook her head.

  Carbs were the devil.

  Instead she hit the coffeepot and poured two cups, handing one to the big, silent alpha leaning against the counter while he waited for the bagel to heat up. He gave her one of those smiles that made her knees wobble.

  Morgan came in and eyed them both. “Cozy,” she noted.

  Ignoring that, Elle found an orange in the fridge and commandeered it.

  “Seriously,” Morgan said. “The big guy’s even smiling.” She turned to Elle. “Nicely done.”

  Elle rolled her eyes. “Gotta get to class,” she said as she grabbed her purse.

  “I’ll take you.” Archer looked at Morgan. “And you.”

  “I can call a cab.”

  Archer shook his head. “I got a call from Trev. They managed to triangulate the last calls from the burner phone, which were all placed from the Tenderloin District. We have a job we can’t get out of this morning but this afternoon we’re going to try to root Lars out. Until then, I need you two to stay in the Pacific Pier Building.”

  They drove in silence, everyone apparently locked in their own thoughts. As for Elle, hers bounced all over the place, from the danger Morgan had brought to their door to giving Archer another shot at her heart—which was possibly the most terrifying.

  When they’d parked and were walking through the courtyard, Morgan turned to Elle and said quietly under her breath, “I’m really not okay with you all putting yourselves in danger to keep me safe.”

  “I get that,” Elle said. “But I don’t see another choice right now. The guys will get to the bottom of this soon.”

  “How?”

  “They’ll find Lars.”

  Morgan looked worried. “He’ll hurt them.” She reached for Elle’s hand. “Can we talk?” She glanced at Archer, who’d gone on ahead of them. “Alone?”

  A bad feeling went through Elle. “Yes, but I have a class and then two meetings. Can it wait until after?”

  “I’ll come to you at lunch.”

  Elle nodded and caught Morgan’s hand, in which she held her phone. “You trust me, right?”

  Morgan blinked. “Um . . . yes?”

  Uh-huh. “If that’s really true, you won’t mind loading the Find My Friends app on your phone so we can keep track of each other.”

  To her credit, Morgan barely hesitated before relinquishing her phone to Elle so she could load the app. Elle decided to accept that gesture as a giant step in the Trusting Each Other Program . . .

  Until Morgan didn’t show for lunch.

  At twelve thirty, Elle called Mollie, looking to see if her sister was maybe caught working through lunch. She’d gotten a text from Archer several hours earlier reminding her that he and the guys were leaving the building and he didn’t want her going anywhere alone.

  Mollie told Elle that Morgan had vanished about thirty minutes ago without a word.

  Since it took two minutes tops to walk from Archer’s office to Elle’s, this wasn’t good news. What was Morgan thinking? That she could really take down a dangerous man on her own?

  Oh shit. That’s exactly what Morgan was thinking. Elle brought up the Find My Friends app on her phone and sat there, heart pounding while it loaded Morgan’s approximate whereabouts.