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A sound suspiciously close to a growl exits my chest. “You can’t say shit like that to me, Hollie.”
“Why not?” Her eyes are full of innocence, and I want nothing more than to drag her upstairs right now and take her to my bedroom.
“Because when you say shit like that, it makes me want to fuck you until you can’t even remember that other man. There’s no way you’re bad at it, angel.”
Her pink lips form a little O of surprise and now all I can think of is sliding my cock in between those lips and feeling her tongue run over me. I’m so hard at this point that a spurt of pre-cum leaks out of my cock and wets my boxer briefs. It’s time to get her out of my sight before I lose control.
She doesn’t appear opposed to my suggestion, but there’s no way I’m fucking her now while she’s drunk. She looks like she’s about to speak and before she can say something to make this situation even more painful, I usher her out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.
“I can sleep on the couch,” she offers, heading towards the aforementioned piece of furniture before almost taking a nose dive down the short steps into the sunken room.
“Angel, I have a guest room. Several, in fact. You’ll sleep in one of them.” I grab her hand and redirect her to the stairs. She doesn’t quite clear the first step and catches herself on the stairs.
“Whoops.” She laughs, spinning to sit her ass down on the stairs. This obviously isn’t working. The girl is too drunk to make it up the stairs. I reach down, put one hand under her knees and the other at her back before scooping her up into my arms. She lets out a little shriek of surprise and wraps her arms around my neck to stabilize herself as I head to the second floor. I try not to notice how soft she is, how good she feels in my arms. I passed appropriate about forty-five minutes ago and am firmly in dangerous territory.
She sighs contentedly against my chest and mumbles, “You’re warm,” before tucking her head under my chin and passing back out. I studiously donotthink about how right this is, how she fits into my arms like a missing piece of a puzzle. Before I can stop myself, I’m taking a deep breath of her scent that’s surrounding me. It’s honeysuckle again, just like that first day, plus something else that’s distinctly Hollie.
I maneuver the door to the guest room open without waking the sleeping beauty in my arms and place her down in the middle of the king-size bed. My fantasies of Hollie have all been restricted to the office. I never imagined her spread out on a bed in my home. That is my mistake. I’m not sure she’s ever looked more beautiful. Her hair is around her in small tangles, bare feet, and long lashes resting against her porcelain cheeks.
Before I can stop myself, I reach down and smooth back a strand of hair that’s fallen onto her face. I need to get out of here now. She’s going to have to sleep in her clothes. There’s no way I’m undressing her, even if I want to.
Pulling the throw blanket at the bottom of the bed over her body, I turn away from my slumbering temptation and leave the room. Firmly closing the door behind me. Letting out a shaky breath, I rub my hand over my face. I need to get my shit together. This can’t happen. I’ve already crossed so many lines with her. Instead of sitting in the room and watching my angel sleep like I want to, I head to my home office. A few hours of work will hopefully exhaust me enough where I can actually sleep while Hollie is under my roof.
Eleven
hollie
The light spilling in from the window falls on my face, waking me from what feels like the sleep of the dead. Disoriented, I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. Something doesn’t seem right. My room never gets morning sun. My head is pounding like Fred Astaire spent all night tap dancing on it. I sit up slowly, careful not to jostle my tender head too much, when I notice that I’m not in my bedroom.
Where the fuck am I? This isn’t Bianca’s or Violet’s room either. It’s not unheard of, one of us waking up in the other’s room after an evening out. It’s decorated tastefully in a Cape Cod style. The walls are a gentle blue-gray hue that serves to enhance the view out of the large bay windows. Is that Lake Washington? I definitely don’t know anyone with a place on the lake. The bed is the softest I’ve ever had the pleasure of sleeping in and it’s decorated with a fluffy comforter and a boatload of pillows which scream expensive.
Lifting the blanket that’s covering me, I note that I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes, thank god. At least I know I didn’t do anything I’ll regret too much.
Reaching over to the nightstand where my phone is resting, I notice a twinge in my bicep. I inspect the ache and notice what looks like bruises in the distinct shape of fingers. My thoughts are pulled back to the scene from the bar last night. Bits and pieces of the evening come back to me in flashes, almost like I’m watching a movie montage.
I was having fun meeting new people. I drank too much. Some man grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go. The thought sends a wave of nausea through me. Why didn’t anyone try to help me? A vision of Archer’s face, filled with fury, clouds my mind. Archer was there. He punched the man and took me outside. Oh my god, I wouldn’t let him take me home so he took me to his house. I’m in Archer’s house? That would make sense because I can’t imagine that I know anyone else who could afford this kind of view. Nothing else is coming to me beyond that. This is not good.
I grab my phone and check it for messages. Luckily, there is nothing from my roommates. They were probably too involved in their own lives to notice I never made it home. Or maybe they think I finally bagged Archer. Groaning, I note that it’s almost seven. I have to get moving.
On the nightstand, next to my phone, is a glass of water, two ibuprofen, and a t-shirt and boxers, with my heels stacked on top of them. Archer must have left these for me. Warmth fills my body at how thoughtful he is before it’s swiftly pushed aside by a crushing embarrassment. I can’t believe he had to deal with me in that state.
I never drink like that. god only knows what came over me. Wait, I do know. Archer’s girlfriend. Oh my god, what if she’s here too? I was ready to die of embarrassment when I thought it was only Archer who saw me at my worst. I can’t imagine what his girlfriend thinks about me. Are they talking about me right now? Laughing at me?
Tears sting my eyes, but I quickly blink them back. This is nobody’s fault but my own, and I need to own it like the adult that I am.
God, I hope he doesn’t fire me.
Clutching the tee and boxers, I make my way to the en suite bathroom. It’s larger than my bedroom at home. There’s a walk-in shower and a huge soaking tub. I would give my left boob to sit in that tub and soak for the next two hours, but I don’t have that kind of time. Turning on the shower, I wait for the water to heat before I step under the spray. The heavy water pressure soothes some of the stiffness out of my muscles. I let the scalding water wash away the alcohol that’s practically seeping out of my pores.
After the five minutes I let myself indulge in the water pouring over me, I step out of the shower and wrap a plush towel around myself before digging through the myriad of cabinets and drawers looking for a hair dryer. Score! It’s one of those Dyson ones that I’m pretty sure works via magic.
My hair is mostly dry when I slip on the t-shirt and boxers. They smell like Archer. I’m pretty sure I’m blushing from head to toe at the thought of the clothes I’m wearing being up against his skin. Stopping, I breathe in his scent, avoiding the moment when I’ll have to emerge from this room and face him.
My purse is across the room, so I grab yesterday’s clothes and shove them inside, thankful that I had my large work bag and not a tiny purse for going out. Shoes in hand, because there’s no way I’m putting them on with this outfit, I put my hand on the doorknob. Deep cleansing breath, Hollie.
I open the door and step out into a long hallway lined with art and photos. There are pictures of what is obviously a young Archer on the wall with an older man and woman. I can only assume they are his parents. Like everyone else, I know his parents died when he was younger, but not much else about them. My heart aches for the pain that young Archer in the photos is going to have to endure. He still has that same mischievous smile, though he likes to hide it.
There are noises far off to my left, so I head in that direction and go down the opulent staircase. This house is absolutely amazing. There are huge vaulted ceilings, but somehow with all that space, it doesn’t feel cold. It’s cozy and warm and feels like a home. I wonder if this is where he lived with his parents. I tiptoe into the kitchen and stop, frozen in my tracks.
