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“Unbelievable.” The balcony, with its stone wall and a cozy-looking wicker couch tucked close to the house, is irresistible. Braving the cold, since I left the puffy coat I purchased two days ago downstairs, I step outside into the elements, arms tightly braced over my chest.
The clouds hang low and gray overhead, giving the afternoon an almost evening feel. I peer over the ledge, expecting to see the screened porch below, but I can’t see it unless I lean waaaay out. Whoever designed this place thought of everything, even having an unobstructed view from the top floor.
“You like it?” a rumbly voice asks. I nearly leap out of my skin. Archer is standing on the balcony of his townhouse. It mirrors this one, right down to the stone fireplace and wicker couch.
“It’s pretty incredible,” I say, figuring he knows exactly how incredible it is. “I noticed an office space downstairs.”
“Thought you’d need it.” His hands are buried in the pockets of a dark wool coat, his mouth a firm line. Trying to get a read on him is impossible. A week ago he was smiling and flirting, dark intent shimmering beneath a cool façade. Now there’s nothing but the cool façade…if it’s a façade at all. I’m tempted to ask if he’s gone professional on me after signing a contract, but I don’t. That’s probably for the best, considering what happened the last time I slept with a coworker. While I doubt Archer will screw me over, maybe limiting what we had to one night is for the best.
A purring ring comes from his balcony, and he pulls his cellphone from one of his pockets. “Let me know when you get settled. I’ll show you the facility.”
“I’m ready when you are,” I answer. After the flight and the drive here, I’m too antsy to relax. I need to do something other than wend around this enormous townhouse by myself.
He nods once, takes the call, and walks back inside.
Back in my own bedroom, I unzip my suitcase and find my cosmetics bag. I brush my teeth and hair, and in five minutes I’m pulling on my coat, shouldering my purse, and pocketing my house key. When I open the front door to leave, Archer is standing on the threshold, still in his dark wool coat, still looking edible. This close up, my breathing goes shallow. I snap my attention to his lips, wondering if this week has been as long and sexless for him as it was for me.
If I were a different person, I might ignore the elephant in the room. He seems to be okay with that tactic, judging from his personality-free text and muted presence. But, that’s not me. I’m not one to wait for the shoe to drop. I knock the shoe out of the other person’s hand. It’s not my style to ignore what’s obviously happening in a situation. Even if he considers us a one-and-done, someone should say it out loud.
So, I guess it’s going to be me who does it.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to have sex with me anymore.” I add a shrug for emphasis, trying to appear nonchalant. I don’t feel nonchalant, but he doesn’t need to know that. I’m willing to be forward and have a hard discussion. I’m not willing to be vulnerable and allow my pride to be stamped out like a waning campfire. “We’ll be working closely together for the next few months. No one understands better than me the wisdom behind keeping those two compartments separate. I respect it too. You don’t have to worry about me misreading your actions while I’m here. If that’s what you want.”
There’s not only the physical space separating us, but also the invisible wall keeping him distant in another way. Sexual tension roared between us before. Now it’s nothing more than banked heat.
“You think I don’t want to have sex with you?” he asks, monotone. His eyebrows center over his nose, and his beard frowns along with his mouth. “I moved you into this townhouse because I wanted you close. I didn’t want to make you feel like I’m watching your every move. You need time to settle into your new location and position. I’m trying not to pressure you.”
Oh-kay. I open my mouth and then close it. His wasn’t a statement of agreement or disagreement, was it? I bite my lip and grip my purse strap with both hands. “So…you want us to be on hold while I’m here?”
He cups the back of my neck with warm fingers. Chills skitter down my back when he spikes those fingers upwards into my hair. My heartrate ratchets up as I soak in his nearness, losing myself in the green of his eyes.
“The only hold I want with you, Talia, is this one.” His eyes burn into mine intently as he tightens his fist in my hair. Tipping my head back gently, he adds, “I haven’t stopped thinking about your kitchen counter since I left Miami.”
“Neither have I,” I whisper, revealing way too many of my cards.
His lips curve. Not quite a smile, but his expression is a touch playful. He loosens his hold on my hair and slides the length of it over one shoulder, toying with the ends for a few mind-numbing seconds. “Are you available for dinner after I show you around?”
I laugh. “You think I’m unavailable for dinner?”
“This is the no-pressure part.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t like it,” he states.
“I didn’t say that.”
Palm on my hip, he backs me into the living room and kicks the door closed behind him with one booted foot. He leans in, his lips practically on mine while my heart patters like a drunken tap dancer. After he left Miami I tried not to think about him, tried to convince myself one night was enough. I was deluding myself. After the fundraiser when he agreed to work with Lotus Leaf, I thought of him daily. Sleeping with him, finally seeing his smile, made me more aware of how far away he was, not less.
“You exited a situation where your boss and your ex treated you like you were nothing.” His voice is low and penetrating, his breath sliding into my mouth when he speaks. “You hollowed out a home for yourself there, a position you earned. Meanwhile, Ed is telling everyone he fired you when both you and I know you were well within your rights to quit. Less than twenty-four hours later, you decided to move to a state way too cold for your warm skin and work for me on a temporary basis. I signed a contract you drew up, after I amended it to make sure you were compensated fairly. Less than one week later, you boarded a plane and stepped foot into a house you’ve never seen before. Fifteen minutes after that, you haven’t so much as unpacked a bag, and you’re telling me you understand if I don’t want to have sex with you?”
I don’t know how to respond to his detailed and accurate recap, so I say nothing.
“Hear me, Wildflower.” He cups my jaw and pulls his head back to meet my eyes unerringly. “I want to have sex with you. I’ve wanted to have sex with you for a week. I get hard every time I think of chocolate chip cookie dough.”
“Does that happen often?” My lips twitch, and though he keeps his stoic expression, there’s newfound warmth in his voice.
“Too damn often,” he mutters, brushing my bottom lip with his thumb. His gaze follows the path, his eyes darkening in color. “I’m trying to be a gentleman. What I want is to flatten you against this wall and take what I’ve been craving for seven long, lonely days. I’m trying to let you gather your bearings, get a little bit of rest, and settle in. Woman”—he gives me a subtle shake—“you’re making that hard for me to do.”
