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I contribute nothing tous.
“Minka?”
“I was only trying to say,” frustrated, I clear my throat and look out at the water, “since we’re both on similar pay scales, our rent can be split down the middle and no one has to feel guilty. But if you’re part owner in a one hundred and thirty million dollar boat, then I no longer compare.”
“And you don’t like feeling as though you can’t compare?” Setting his fingers beneath my chin, he tilts my head up and draws my eyes. “You don’t like that discrepancy?”
“Nope. Not at all.”
“You don’t have to worry, then.” He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. “I have part ownership in a four milliondollar boat. Which sounds cool and all, but I paid nothing for it, I inherited my share because my criminal father shit his pants and died in a diaper. And my entire financial share is tied up in a hunk of steel that sits on the water. It’s not like its money in the bank.Plus, if I did have that other crazy amount of cash tucked away, I might feel guilty for going halfsies with you on the rent.”
Satisfied, and yet, grumpy, I press my lips together. “Right.”
“No way would I make you pay exactly half if our net worth was so ridiculously different.”
My eyes narrow with suspicion. With skepticism. Because Archer Malone has a tell when he’s not being entirely truthful, and I’m not sure even he realizes it. Maybe no one has ever been close enough to notice, or special enough to live after the confrontation was had.
His jaw ticks when he lies, made noticeable by the bristle of short stubble coating it. And right now, while he stares directly into my eyes, his jaw does that thing.
“You would tell me everything, wouldn’t you?” I study his eyes and reach across to take his hand. To hold it between mine and squeeze. “You wouldn’t keep secrets from me? That was part of theI dostuff we said. Something about honesty and killing people together, not apart.”
Chuckling, he draws our hands up and presses a kiss to the top of mine. “I would prefer you just stop killing people, period.” He nips at the end of my finger and glances across when footsteps brush against the deck. Lowering my hand, but not releasing it, he nods over my shoulder and grins when I fold backwards on the lounger to findmy sourcecarrying a massive silver tray overflowing with food. “We’ll take breakfast over there,” he points toward a table. “Thank you. Can you also bring a pot of coffee, and today’s newspapers?”
“Copeland City and New York, Sir?”
“Newspapers?” I frown. “We’re conjuring newspapers out of the ocean now?”
“We always have a way, Doctor Mayet.” Archer pushes up to stand, and because he still has my hand, he pulls me up, too. Gently, he brings me closer until our thighs brush and our chests touch, then he drops a sneaky kiss to the side of my neck as Calum places his tray down and sets out plates and silverware. “Figured you could counteract your inability tonotwork by reading the paper. You’ll see who murdered who, and maybe Felix will hit the papers in New York just for the sake of it. He gets off on front page bullshit.”
“It would be a rush for him, I’m sure.” Stepping back, I watch my feet and maneuver around our chairs, inching out from between the two andnotfalling on my ass. But the wind blowing against my manilla file draws my eyes. The threat that its contents will go flying into the air after one, good gust, enough to have me leaning across and taking it. And of course, Archer’s eyes follow every move I make. His gaze focuses not only on my ass as I bend, but my hands as I push up again.
“You gonna tell me what’s in there?” he questions quietly. “Or am I gonna have to withhold my affections until you fess up?”
I tuck the file under my arm and scoff. “You withholding affection, is like me choosing not to breathe.” I offer him my hand, an experiment almost, knowing he won’t deny me. Then I slide in closer and wrap myself around his arm as we approach the table for breakfast. “What are we doing today?”
“Eating.” He pulls out a chair and dismisses Calum with a smooth exchange of cash between palms, then he helps me sit, folding over me and sliding me back in. He drops a kiss to the top of my shoulder, then another to my cheek. “Not admitting to the secret folder?”
Not admitting to the secret fortune?
“It’s not work.” I free the file from beneath my arm and set it on the table as he circles around to sit across from me. “It’s research.” Leaving it, I examine the options laid out for breakfast and select a fat grape to nibble on first. “You can look if you want. You’re bound to have an opinion.”
Considering, he forgoes his meal and picks up the file instead. Sitting back in his chair and setting his left ankle on the opposite knee, he flips the folder open and scans what’s inside. “Clinical Hematology.” He leafs through to the next. “You’re looking into the pills Nicki suggested?”
“Doctor Cleary does not specialize in blood clotting disorders.” I toss the second half of my grape in and chew. “She’s a general surgeon, Archer. She doesn’t get to make suggestions about my body.”
“She was trying to be helpful.” He scours the pages of research I’ve obtained over the last few weeks. Archer wants me to take these experimental pills, because the idea of stabbing myself with a needle every couple of nights bothers him.
The idea of becoming someone’s guinea pig bothers me, so…
“Not all medications work for everyone,” I explain. “And messing with something that already works is risky.”
“What are the risks?” Snapping the folder closed, he sets it down and meets my eyes. “Tell it to me like you’re the doctor and I’m the patient. Explain it like I’m three.”
My lips curl into a smirk, his request, cute enough to tamper my budding bad mood. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He looks across with a smile as Calum brings a fresh pot of coffee and two bundled newspapers out, then he flips fresh mugs and starts pouring. “I’m a kid, and I’ve been bleeding a lot. My parents work really hard, but they’re not around much. So I need you to give it to me in really plain language.”
I select another grape and sit back, folding my arms and studying my half-naked husband as the morning sun shimmers off his broad chest. “Alright.” Exhaling a deep sigh, I think back to the book I was given as a child. “Hemophilia is typically an inherited blood clotting disorder. This means a patient’s blood does not coagulate on its own.”
