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Someone kneeled next to me, brushing hair out of my face. I knew as soon as the familiar aftershave hit my nose who it was.
“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” Archer’s face was drawn, his gaze searching my body for injuries, his hands gently touching my face.
Taking a wheezing inhale, I brushed his hands aside. They felt way too nice, and I knew I was veering into dangerous territory, letting him touch me. He did things to my body that I couldn’t explain and understood even less.
Archer had other plans, catching my hands in his. “What happened to your fingers?”
I grimaced at the red spots and blisters that marred my skin. I’d done a good job making a mess not only of my clothes but also my hands. “I burned myself getting the pots off the hot plate and using the heat gun.”
Releasing my hands, he helped me up, an arm around my waist. The heat of his body seeped into me, and I fought against the urge to lean into him. He was just being nice, yet all I could think about was how I wanted to stay this close for a bit longer.
“Are you painting again?”
I stilled, pleased he remembered but sad at the same time at the reminder that the only person besides Everleigh who knew everything about me was no longer my friend.
“I tried a new method.” Wiggling my fingers in front of him with a grimace, I untangled myself from his hold. “Safe to say I won’t be repeating the experience.”
“I found some of your paintings in the pool house. They’re amazing.”
Turning away to hide my blush at his compliment, I went into the large walk-in pantry in search of the first aid kit. I spotted it up on the top shelf. Grabbing the stool we kept on the bottom shelf I reached up to grab it. But before I made contact, two large hands spanned my waist and lifted me out of the way.
“What are you doing?” My voice was breathless, the feel of his hands on me like hot irons branding my skin.
“Keeping you from hurting yourself even more.”
He pulled the bag down, the move bringing him even closer. I held my breath and closed my eyes. A hand on my cheek caused me to take a shuddering inhale. Without thinking, I leaned into the touch. As long as I kept my eyes closed, I could pretend I was dreaming and there was no reason we shouldn’t be standing in the dark pantry with not even an inch between us.
“Let’s get you fixed up.” Archer’s voice was raspy, and his hand dropped away.
The ghost of his touch lingered.
I followed him into the kitchen, and he directed me to sit on one of the bar stools. Obeying wordlessly since my throat had closed up, I watched him open the kit and get everything out.
His touch was efficient and gentle, his movements sure as if he’d done this many times before. I guessed with the missions he went on, he would have plenty of experience patching wounds.
After smoothing down the last bandage, he put everything away again. I hadn’t moved at all the whole time other than lifting my hands.
Archer didn’t seem struck down by the same paralysis, moving around the kitchen with sure strides. He opened the fridge, reaching inside. “I’m out of milk in the pool house.” Holding up the container, he turned back to me. “You want anything? Hot chocolate?”
Something else he hadn’t forgotten. I still didn’t trust my voice to work, so I nodded, hoping he could see me in the dim light.
Putting a mug with milk in the microwave, he opened drawers in search of the hot chocolate powder.
“It’s on the second shelf on the left, right after you walk into the pantry.”
My voice didn’t sound like my own, and I cleared my throat. At least he couldn’t see my flushed body.
I watched his outline move confidently around the kitchen. He added hot chocolate powder to my hot milk before pushing it in front of me. When I spotted the mini marshmallows floating on top, I promptly burst into tears.
Covering my face with my hands, I didn’t resist the arms that wound around me, pulling me into a hard chest.
Archer ran one of his hands up and down my back, the other holding me to him tightly. When my sobs tapered into hitched breaths, he peeled me off him but kept an arm around me. “You don’t like marshmallows anymore?”
Chuckling through my remaining tears, I wiped my face with the hem of my T-shirt. “I love marshmallows.”
I burst into tears again, and he pulled me close once more, continuing his gentle murmuring and caressing.
Despite not wanting the loss of his touch, I eventually pulled myself together enough to move out of his arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
