Archer hated hospitals. Hated the smell, hated the sound of the machines beeping and hissing, hated the pale walls that always seemed to close in on him. He hated everything about them and had ever since his mom had died after her very long, very tortured battle with cancer.

  If he never stepped inside one again in his entire life he’d be perfectly happy.

  A nurse popped her head in and smiled at him. “You look ready to get out of here.”

  “I was ready before I arrived.”

  “Good news then,” she said. “I’m just waiting for a signature from the doctor and you’re free.”

  Archer ground his teeth when she vanished but resigned himself to the wait. When his phone went off, he pulled it from his pocket and stared at the notification in disbelief. Someone had just tried accessing his computer. His office computer. Someone was in his office and it wasn’t him.

  This was immediately followed by a text from Joe, which explained the situation but not the reason.

  Joe: Elle’s here. Wanted something off your computer. Per protocol, I escorted her from your office. She pretended to leave but she’s hiding in reception area. Please advise.

  Archer: Remote lock all exits without revealing yourself.

  Joe: You mean lock her in? Repeat, lock her IN???

  Archer: Affirmative. My ETA’s ten minutes.

  He shook his head in disbelief. Elle wanted on his computer. He had no idea what the hell she could be looking for, but she didn’t do anything without a reason. She was up to something and it couldn’t be good.

  Screw the doctor’s signature. Ignoring the pain throbbing through his arm, he pulled his shirt and sweatshirt back on and strode from the ER cubicle.

  He got to his offices in six minutes and came in the back entrance. Joe was standing there waiting for him, looking terrified. Earlier that night he’d faced down a crazy dude with a knife without blinking, but Elle scared him. Good to know. “I’ve got it from here,” he said.

  Joe let out a huge breath of clear relief, nodded, and then ran out of there faster than Archer had ever seen him move. He didn’t blame the guy. Elle was gorgeous, wily, conniving, amazing, and truly scary as fuck.

  He made his way down the hall, not bothering to hide his presence but not making a lot of noise either. His arm was aching like a son of a bitch and he was to-the-bone exhausted. He wasn’t sure what he’d find, but he knew one thing.

  It wasn’t going to be easy.

  It never was with Elle.

  He got halfway down the hallway when he heard a noise in the storage room. Jesus, what the hell was she up to? He stepped into the doorway and flipped on the light.

  There she was, looking like the hottest B&E expert he’d ever seen, all in black, half crouched beside a shelving unit, a stapler in her raised hand like she’d been about to throw it.

  “What the hell, Archer?” she said, rising to her full height, lowering her weapon of mass destruction. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “What were you going to do, attack me with the stapler?” he asked. “That’ll only work if it’s a heavy-duty one, and even then you don’t throw it, you’ll miss. You swing it with as much momentum as you can muster and hit the guy on the head. As long as it’s not my head.”

  With a grimace that could have been annoyance or embarrassment, she set it back on the shelf. “All I knew was that it wasn’t Joe coming down the hall. He walks with a heavier gait and also he’s still slightly favoring his left foot from when he broke it last year. I thought it might be you because you walk like a wildcat stalking his prey but I couldn’t be sure.”

  Now wasn’t the time to be impressed with her skills. He already knew she was amazing, and if she wasn’t bat-shit crazy, he’d have hired her a long time ago.

  Hell, who was he kidding? He couldn’t hire her, she’d kill him in his sleep.

  Or vice versa.

  Her gaze went to the bandage around his arm. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “You first. What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say middle of the night exactly. It’s only midnight.”

  “That’s not an answer, Elle.”

  She hesitated and looked away. A very rare tell for a woman who seldom if ever gave herself away. He decided he was too tired for this, for these games that he didn’t ever seem to have a full set of rules to. “You broke into my office.”

  “Technically, no,” she said. “I didn’t break in, there was no need.”

  “Yeah, because you flashed those dangerous baby blues at Joe,” he said.

  “Don’t blame Joe.”

  “I don’t. I blame you.”

  Eyes still on his arm, she took a step closer to him. Brave to the end. Always had been too. Few people dared half the shit with him that she did, but for some reason with her he allowed it. Clearly it was early onset of insanity due to misguided lust, he decided. “What did you need in my office, Elle? What’s on my computer?”

  “Was it deep?” she asked, very gently running a finger down his injured arm. “Did you need a lot of stitches? Are there any complications?”

  He caught her hand in his. “No, no, and no.” His other hand went to her ponytail, which he used to tug her face up to his. The gesture felt shockingly intimate and a vision came to him of other reasons why he might fist his hand in her hair to hold her head.

  Maybe he’d hit his own head tonight and didn’t know it. That would explain a lot. “Now you,” he said. “What are you up to, Elle?”

  “Nothing.”

  “A lie,” he said. “Let me guess why. You were mad that I cut short your booty call. Then you sent me an email that you clearly regret sending so you broke in here with the intention of deleting it from my computer before I could read it on my phone. How am I doing?”

  She was good. Really good. She didn’t even wince at the realization he’d already read the email. She simply inhaled slow and deep and said, “It wasn’t a booty call. It was a date.”

  “It was Mike,” he said. “It was totally a booty call. You need to learn the difference.”

  She stared at him for a long time, clearly taking this in, torn between trusting him and holding on to her mad. “He seems like a nice guy,” she finally said.

  “He is. He’s a nice guy who loves women. All of them.”

  She took this in as well and then hugged herself, another rare tell. “I’m single. That gives me the right to see who I want and do whatever I want with them.”

  Then it was his turn to draw in a slow, controlled breath, during which he tried to erase the image of her doing “whatever she wanted” with Mike.

  Or any man other than him.

  Christ, he had it bad.

  “Look,” she said. “You pissed me off with the Neanderthal act of ending my date, okay? You don’t have any claim on me, Archer.”

  Their gazes locked and held while he bit his tongue to keep the words in. Bit it hard too. Because it hadn’t been an act at all. Just the real him. “We done here?”

  Her eyes narrowed. Yep, if the steam coming out of her ears meant anything, they were completely done.

  Elle whirled away to leave, but her temper took over and before she could stop herself, she spun back. “And for your information, I do know the difference between a date and a booty call. A date is when two people go out and enjoy each other’s company, not just falling into bed like you probably did last week with that woman from the pub after the distraction job. Because that, Archer, that was a booty call.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She gaped at him, not sure if she was surprised or pissed. “You don’t even remember. Unbelievable. I hope she gave you something that makes your dick fall off.”

  He stared at her and then laughed.

  Laughed.

  “The other day you announced that I’ve got a full body rash and now you hope my dick falls off,” he repeated, still grinning. “Priceless.”

  She saw red. She gave him a nudge that was maybe more of a push because he was in her personal-space bubble again, looking big, bad, and just rumpled enough to be sexy as hell. The push didn’t do anything. Of course it didn’t. First she’d been careful because of his arm and, second, no one could budge the stubborn ass unless he allowed it, which didn’t stop her from doing it again.

  “Stop,” he said, eyes still flashing but not with amusement now.

  She heard the danger in his voice but she couldn’t heed it. She’d lost her shit. So she shoved him again and before she could blink, he’d curled his fingers into her sweater and pulled her to him, reversing their position to push her against the wall and pin her there with his hard, badass body, eyes dark as midnight.

  When he spoke, his words threw her for a loop.

  “You carry my knife on you,” he said. “All the time.”

  He wasn’t touching her with his hands. One was planted on the wall on the side of her face, the other was at his side, probably because it hurt to lift it. If she turned her head to the side, her mouth would brush against his forearm. It was shocking how badly she wanted to do that. “It’s a righteous knife,” she managed.

  “You carry it,” he repeated.

  She realized he was surprised. Maybe even stunned. “Yes,” she said while mentally battening down her inner emotional hatches. She’d been waiting all damn year for him to see her as something more than just one of the gang. She’d finally lost her shit and kissed him on that mountain. And afterward when he’d withdrawn, she’d remembered something important. She was stronger than this. She didn’t want a man who didn’t want her back, dammit. Maybe she’d had a very momentary lapse of good judgment, but she could recover from that.

  Was recovering from that.

  To prove it to herself, she slid out from between him and the wall and headed to the door because she was out. All the way out.

  And he let her go.

  Chapter 9

  #TakesALickingAndKeepsOnTicking

  The next morning, Elle had just finished her online accounting class and was making the transition from school to work, putting away her books, getting a refill of tea, and . . . shoring up her inner resolve to kick ass and forget about a certain six-foot-plus man who brought out both the best and absolute worst in her.

  Mostly the absolute worst.

  When the knock on her outer office door sounded, she frowned. It was eight in the morning. She had no appointments this early. Nothing until ten when she had to meet a potential tenant for one of the two available retails units downstairs.

  She stood, gulping down the last of her tea for a caffeine rush before moving to the door. She figured it was Trudy or her janitor husband, Luis, with a tenant question. Or maybe Spence, who often ran in the mornings and then came to steal whatever breakfast leftovers she had.

  It wasn’t Trudy or Luis.

  It wasn’t Spence.

  It was a blast from her past, and an unwelcome one at that.

  “Surprise!” her visitor said.

  Surprise indeed. “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought it was about time we caught up.” Morgan flashed a charming smile. “Sis.”

  Elle’s sister had made herself scarce for years even though they both lived in the same city and followed each other on Instagram. Elle had tried to keep in touch until she was blue in the face, making sure that Morgan always knew how to find her, but Morgan tended to show up in Elle’s world when she needed something. Twice for bail money and once to pay off the guy Morgan could never seem to shake—her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Lars. She’d “borrowed” money from him and even the fact that Lars and Morgan went back years hadn’t stopped him from threatening to bash in her kneecaps if she didn’t pay up.

  That had been two years ago. The guy scared the hell out of Elle—and she didn’t scare easily. Dealing with him was all too reminiscent of her entire childhood with her mom, and she’d promised herself never again. She wouldn’t let herself be dragged into that life she’d run so hard from. “Not buying the ‘catch up’ line,” she said. “You want something.”

  Morgan sighed. “Is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to see you?”

  “Actually, yes.” Elle had learned a long time ago to listen to her instincts because they were almost always right. “I’m sorry,” she said. And she really was. It’d been a long time since she’d yearned for something, anything, from Morgan. Such as a real sisterly relationship. But fact was fact. If Morgan was here, it was because she needed something. Something that would be costly to Elle, and she’d paid enough. “But I really can’t do this with you right now.”

  Morgan’s smile slipped. “Can’t? Or won’t?” She shook her head. “No, you know what? Don’t answer that, I already know.” And with that, she turned and slammed the door behind her.

  Elle paced her office for a few minutes, her mind whirling as emotions pummeled her. Regret. Guilt. An overwhelming sense of sadness because Morgan was the only family she had, dammit. She was a crappy sister but without that tenuous connection, she felt . . . alone. Hating herself for it, she yanked the door open again but Morgan was already gone.

  She went downstairs to be sure, but when there was no sight of Morgan anywhere, she headed into Tina’s coffee shop and bought an entire bag of muffins, which she took to Willa’s shop.

  Pru was in there with Willa, and at the sight of Elle and the bag in her hands, they actually jumped up and down in excitement. Willa had Vinnie, probably babysitting him for Kylie, and the little guy got in on the action, barking so hard his back legs lifted off the ground. Willa came in for a hug and held on tight, and after a brief hesitation, Elle held on right back.

  “You’re the best,” Willa said, pulling back with a smile. “You always know what I need.” Her smile faded a little bit. “Hey. What a minute. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Sure,” Willa said. “We could go with that and talk about other stuff, like how hot Chris Evans is or the fact that it’s going to rain later for the millionth time this week. Or better yet, we could discuss those amazing shoes you’ve got on today. But you should know that as soon as you leave, we’re gonna switch the topic to you.”

  “Me?” Elle asked.

  “Yes. We’ll worry about what’s wrong, if maybe you need help and you’re just being too stubborn to ask. Or . . . you could just spare us the gray hair and tell us.”

  “Gray hair? Really?”

  “Hey, family worries about family,” Pru said. “And family gives family gray hair.”

  They loved her. They really did, and at that realization, it all spilled right out of her. “My sister’s in town,” she heard herself say. “And that means bad shit is coming along right behind her as always, like category five hurricane bad shit. Also, I’m never going gray, not even for you two—at least not that anyone will ever know.”

  Pru smiled and took her hand. “You do know that when this category five storm hits, your real sisters will be at your back, right?”

  Willa took her other hand and squeezed, nodding her agreement with Pru’s words, her eyes solemn. “Always,” she said. “Through sickness, gray hair, and health, babe.”

  Elle’s throat went tight, too tight to talk. Because really, she wasn’t alone at all. She’d wanted family and she had it. Her friends were her family, more so than any blood relation had ever been.

  For the rest of the day, Elle struggled with what she’d done, turning Morgan away crisis unheard. And yes, she was one hundred percent sure there’d been some sort of crisis. She felt like such a jerk.

  She also struggled with something else. She needed to apologize to Archer. Not for the email. Oh hell, no way was she going to apologize for her feelings, especially as in the moment they’d been genuine. But she’d B&E’d his office and had used one of his men to do it.

  Not cool of her.

  And then there was the other thing—she’d been watching his office all day, wanting to get eyes on him and make sure he was really okay after being stabbed. Eyes only. No mouth. Under absolutely no circumstances was she going to let her mouth get involved.

  She’d given him up and she was sticking by that decision.

  But he’d stayed away from his office. This wasn’t all that uncommon. He spent whole weeks out in the field on jobs. In his opinion, the office was an evil necessity. So she gave it up and tried to get the scoop from Mollie.

  “He’s doing better,” Mollie said. “Not that he’d admit he wasn’t in top form all this week.”

  “So he’s on a job.”

  “Of course,” Mollie said. “That man doesn’t take time off for, and I’ll quote him here, ‘a little scratch.’ Luckily he’s just doing surveillance.”

  “Where?” Elle asked.

  “Sorry, honey.” Mollie shook her head. “I can’t give out his location.”

  “He shouldn’t be working at all, should he?”

  “No. The doctor doesn’t want him working for at least another week, which of course he thinks is ridiculous. The guys would’ve handled today’s surveillance but he refused help. He’s not into letting people take care of him, which is silly since the man’s done nothing but take care of all of us like we’re his family.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’d really like to tell you where he’s at since you’re probably the only one of all of us who can improve his mood, but—”

  “Oh trust me,” Elle said, “I don’t improve his mood.”

  Mollie gave her a get-real look. “Are you seriously going to stand in my reception room in that amazing dress—and I’m going to need deets on where you got that—and look me right in the eyes and tell me you don’t know what kind of influence you have on that man?”

  Elle opened her mouth and then shut it. Her phone rang and she’d never been so happy for the excuse to step out into the hallway to answer it.

  The number wasn’t one she recognized and when she answered, she knew she’d never heard the voice before either.