Her mouth fell open. “So on top of ruining the only two dates I’ve had in ages and being a part of my life for the past decade without my knowledge, you’ve hired a known grifter who happens to be the sister I asked to leave me alone?”
“Well technically you and I are on a date this very minute, and in spite of the break-in thing, it’s not going so bad, right?”
She stared at him and then laughed.
“And Morgan is . . . well, Morgan,” he said. “But she’s also your sister. Family. And family trumps everything else.”
“Then why haven’t you reconciled with your dad?” she asked.
“I’m working on that one.”
She blew out a breath. “I’d like to say the same,” she admitted. “But I’m not sure Morgan and I can get there. I don’t have many good experiences with family. Or relationships, for that matter. The most important people in my life are my friends. And in spite of everything idiotic you’ve done, and there has been a lot of idiocy”—she hesitated—“you’re one of them.”
Something new slid through him. It was warming and it felt . . . amazing. What didn’t feel as amazing was the fact that she’d just put him in the friend zone.
Because that part sucked.
Elle took a long time in Archer’s shower. At first she’d just stood there letting the hot water beat down on her shoulders, attempting to steam away her troubles, of which there were so many she couldn’t keep them straight.
But then the scent of his soap, a visceral reminder of the man and how he made her feel, just about did her in. Rubbing the suds over her skin awakened every desire for him that she’d worked hard at tamping down. By the time she turned off the water, her body was on high alert, practically quivering with need and hunger.
Stay strong, she ordered herself as she wrapped herself up in one of Archer’s towels.
“You smell like me,” he murmured when she strode out of the bathroom.
She ignored the way her body quivered at that.
He handed her a folded T-shirt. “PJ’s,” he said.
“Thanks.” She turned from him and drew the shirt over her head, letting it cover her body before carefully reaching under it to pull out the towel.
From the careful way he sucked in a breath, she took it that she hadn’t been entirely successful but when she turned to glare at him, his expression was calm.
She had no idea how he did it, how he kept that illusion up in the face of . . . well, anything. But she intended to pretend to do the same.
Fake it until you make it, that was her motto.
“Share my bed, Elle. It’s big and warm.”
Said the Big Bad Wolf to Riding Hood. She shook her head. “I’ll take the couch,” she said.
“Come on, just take half the bed. I can control myself if you can. Friends, right?”
She stared at the huge bed with the invitingly thick bedding and swallowed hard because she knew firsthand that he could indeed control himself. What she didn’t know was if she could say the same.
He laughed knowingly, the bastard, and she stomped off to the couch. He brought her a pillow and a blanket and then walked around the place turning off lights and checking the windows and doors while she lay still like a statue and pretended not to be straining there in the dark, strung tight and filled with tension.
“You going to be okay?” he asked quietly.
“Always.”
He paused for a long beat like he had something else to say, but in the end he didn’t, he simply turned and disappeared into his bedroom.
She fell asleep with shocking ease, but she didn’t stay that way. She was worried about who’d broken into her apartment. And still pissy about Archer directing her life for the past eleven years. And she was wondering about her sister . . . And then there was the elephant in the room. What if she was really pregnant, what then? Would she do better than her mom? God, she hoped so, but shuddered at the thought that she might not.
Shaking her head, she forced herself to relax, but talking about her past had dug up stuff best forgotten. Dreams haunted her, stupid memories long buried. Like the time when she’d been somewhere around five years old and her mom had vanished. She and Morgan had been alone for three days before child services found them and took them to foster care. They’d remained there until their mom bailed herself out and claimed them. That had happened twice more before she and Morgan had learned to evade social services entirely, but, at turns hot and sweaty and then freezing cold, she still tossed and turned at the barrage of unwelcome memories.
“Elle. Scoot over.”
She jerked in surprise to find the outline of Archer’s tall, built body standing over her.
“Shh,” he said gently and crouched down to her level. “Just me. Scoot.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re having bad dreams. I’ll beat them off for you.”
“How?”
“I’ll hold you tight and not let anything get you.”
That sounded alarmingly perfect. “You’re not allowed to protect me anymore,” she said. “I already said so.”
“How about just until dawn then, just this one last time,” he said quietly, stroking the damp hair from her forehead. “For me.”
She huffed out a breath. “Well, if it’s for you . . .”
“Come here, Elle.”
Oh how she wanted to do just that. “Archer?” she whispered, heart in her throat.
“Yeah?”
“Do friends sometimes sleep together?”
He nudged her over so they were spooning, her back to his front. “When it’s you and me they do. Whatever you need, Elle. Always.”
Her throat tightened because in spite of the fact that he drove her crazy, she knew he meant it.
He pulled her in even tighter, warm and strong, and as those arms closed around her, she finally let go and slept like the dead.
Chapter 19
#GotMilk?
Elle woke up still on the couch and wrapped around Archer like a pretzel. He was flat on his back, breathing slow and even and very deeply, assuring her he was still asleep.
So she very slowly opened her eyes and stared at him. Or at the part of him she could see, which was his stubbly jaw since she’d pressed her face into his throat at some point in the night. She was in the crook of one of his arms, pressed up against his side, a leg thrown over his like she owned him, an arm across his chest, her hand in his armpit.
That’s when she realized one of his arms was thrown out to the side of his body, the other had wrapped around her like Saran Wrap, his hand on her butt.
At the thought, her body gave a slight hopeful quiver. She told it to shut up. Not that there was anything wrong with having her merry way with a man, but she’d already been there done that with him more than she should have, and now she knew it was a one-way street to Hurtsville, guaranteed.
She pulled back very slightly to get a better look. He was no longer wearing a bandage over his knife wound, which was healing up nicely, but it still shocked her to see the red, puckered scar.
Nothing about him was safe.