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“And he never fails to remind you.”
The muscles at the corner of his jaw flexed. “It’s not like that.”
“Really? Did you make partner? Or did my ‘scene’”—I threw up air quotes—“give him the perfect excuse to keep you as his peon?”
“Jesus, Delaney.” But he looked away.
Dumbfounded, I stammered, “Y-you aren’t a partner?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Acid burned in my stomach. Was it because of me and the scene I’d made? I’d interrupted Archer talking to a potential client after I’d gotten the call about Kane from Papa. Wilson had sicced Briony on me while I was tugging on Archer’s suit coat like a five-year-old child, and she’d dragged me out of the room.
And the person I’d been so desperately trying to be had complied. I had just heard that my brother shot himself in the head, yet I’d glued myself together. I could cry while I was packing. I could cry on the plane. I could cry when I was tucked into Archer’s arms after I saw that Kane would be okay.
Then Archer had approached, his face full of thunderclouds, and he’d chewed into me about how I was acting, his voice low, anger reverberating in every word. And my world had caved. The paper palace I had built for myself collapsed under the pressure of the real world. So I came home to the real world and left my fake existence behind.
I hadn’t thought about any repercussions for him, and standing on the porch while he was crusted over with ick wasn’t the time. I opened the door. “Better get that shower done.”
The intensity of his gaze grew like he wasn’t going to let the conversation drop. But he relaxed and held his arms out and looked at himself. “You’ll have to excuse my manners as I take all this off, but I’d rather your family see me in my underwear than track mud all over their house, as thanks for your hospitality.”
My mind froze on the reference to underwear. “You don’t have to—”
He shucked his socks first, then yanked his shirt off. He dumped it on the porch over his socks. The guy had ridiculous abs. A wide chest. No farmer’s tan like I sported, but an even bronze over his chest and arms.
He flipped open the clasp of his pants and shoved them down. My mouth went dry.
It’d been too damn long since I’d seen this man naked. The land wasn’t the only thing experiencing a drought.
He kicked his pants aside. “I don’t think they can be saved.”
I dragged my gaze to his dark eyes. They danced with humor. He’d busted me staring at him like we hadn’t just had the deepest conversation of our marriage.
My stomach did the most traitorous flip. I spun on my heel and didn’t bother holding the door open for him. I went straight down the hallway to the little closet we used for linen and useless junk Ma would never get rid of. I grabbed a towel and a washcloth. They weren’t the super-fluffy, extra-soft, ultra-absorbent stuff he owned.
I turned, and he was right there. My fingers brushed against his warm chest.
The dank smell of the stock pond clung to him, but without his clothing and the smell of horse sweat, Archer’s scent was able to break through.
Instead of closing my eyes and inhaling deeply, I said, “Geez, Archer. Give me some room, will ya?”
He was no longer looking at me like I was from another planet—the way he had since he’d arrived. The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I didn’t want to be forward and assume which bathroom you wanted me to use.”
“It’s right there. Behind you.”
He didn’t turn. His gaze dropped to my lips. “So it is.”
I swallowed hard, and his gaze darkened. The air thickened between us. This was why I’d pretended to be someone else. Because being around him, seeing him want me like that, was addictive, a drug I didn’t want to live without and had been willing to leave everything I knew for.
I couldn’t go back there. Neither could I move away from him, and it had nothing to do with the shelving at my back.
He swayed closer, crushing the towels between us, until his mouth was on mine.
Memories crashed into me. The way he could make me gasp. How he held me as he plunged into me. My cries when he made me come over and over.
I stiffened, but his kiss only softened; it didn’t let up until, eventually, I was moving my lips under his, kissing him back. He didn’t touch me, and I melted even more at the thought that he was being considerate about his dirty hands and arms. He had ways of making me feel precious. Another addiction. I’d never been precious to anyone.
The front door opened, and a dog barked. I jumped away, slamming into the shelves behind me. “Dammit.”
