by Jill Shalvis
And then there was the biggie—the way he had of making her feel shockingly alive.
He did as she asked and stepped back but not before pausing to make sure they both knew who was in control here, and it most definitely wasn’t her.
No one did intimidation like Archer, and in his line of work he could be in a coma and still intimidate everyone in the room. He had muscles on top of muscles but didn’t look beefed up like a body builder might. Instead his body seemed lean and seriously badass, with caramel skin that strayed from light to golden to mocha latte depending on what the season was, giving him a look of indeterminable origin.
And sexiness.
It worked for him, allowing him to fit in to just about any situation. Handy on the job, she imagined. But with her he was careful. Distant. And yet she’d seen the way he sometimes looked at her, and on the rare occasion when he’d touched her, like when he guided her through a door with his hand low on her back, he let himself linger. There was always a shocking and baffling yearning beyond both the glances and the touches.
That, or it was all just wishful thinking.
Not that it mattered since he still held back with her. The problem was she yearned too. Yearned for him to see her as a woman, strong and capable enough to stand at his side.
But after what they’d been through, she knew that would never happen. She turned away, annoyed by how her entire body had gone on high alert as always, every inch of her seeming to hum beneath the surface.
She should have just emailed him.
He waited until she got to the door before he spoke, “I’ve got a job I need your help on.”
“No,” she said.
He just looked at her.
She took online college classes at the crack of dawn. Her job was demanding and took up a solid eight hours a day. At night she studied, fighting for her ever elusive accounting degree. Someday she was going to run her own accounting firm and be badass too, just in a different way than Archer. She was going to be a stable, respectable badass—in great shoes. But in the meantime, she worked herself half into the grave just to keep her head above water.
Problem was, school was expensive, very expensive. As was living in San Francisco. As were great shoes. Plus good jobs didn’t grow on trees. The one she’d had before this had turned out to be a nightmare. She felt lucky here, and although she was paid very decently, college was breaking her bank. To help fund herself, she took the occasional job with Archer when he needed a woman on a job. A distraction usually, but sometimes he prevailed on her other skills, skills she’d honed a lifetime ago.
“It’s a challenging job,” he said, knowing exactly how to pique her interest, damn him. “Need an ID on a guy, and if it’s our man, we need a distraction while we . . . borrow his laptop, the one he never lets out of his sight.”
Hmm. Definitely a challenge. “I don’t suppose he’s the type you could just walk up to and ask his name,” she said.
His mouth curved in a small smile. “Let’s just say I’m not someone who would interest him.”
“No? So who would?” she asked.
“A hot blonde with legs for days in a short, tight dress.”
Heat pooled in her belly and spread outward. Dammit.
“One with the stickiest pickpocket fingers I’ve ever met,” he added.
With a low laugh—dammit, was there anything sexier than a man who knew you to the bone?—she made it to the outer reception area. She’d just reached for the front door when it opened and she collided with someone.
The man caught her, keeping her upright. “I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she said. In his early thirties, he was about her height, medium build, and in a very nice suit. He also had a nice smile, a kind smile, and more than a little male interest in his expression.
“Mike Penham,” he said, offering her a hand. “I’m a client of Archer’s.”
“Elle Wheaton.” She smiled. “Not a client.”
“Ah, a mysterious woman,” he said with a smile.
“No, just a busy one.” She shot one last look at Archer—a mistake because his gaze was inscrutable and on her as always, and she felt her stupid heart do a stupid somersault in her chest as he came into the front room, moving with his usual liquid grace in spite of still being armed for a third-world skirmish.
“Mike,” he said in greeting to the man who’d just arrived. “Come on back.” He looked at Elle. “Tonight then?”
Since she’d never yet figured out how to say no to the hot bastard, she nodded. And for a single beat, the mask fell from his eyes and his golden green gaze warmed as he nodded back.
And then she shut the door between them.
Chapter 2
#AccidentallyOnPurpose
“Damn, she’s smokin’ hot. Is she available?”
Archer heard Mike’s question about Elle but he didn’t take his gaze off her as she walked her sweet ass out of his office. “No.”
Mike slapped his hand dramatically to his own chest. “Right through the heart, man. You’ve cut me right through the heart. She’s got some serious fire, that one. Love that in a woman.”
Yeah Elle had fire. She was like the sun. Get too close and you’d burn up . . . With a shake of his head at himself, Archer turned away, heading for his office.
“No, but seriously,” Mike said, following along after him. “I’ve got a shot at her, right?”
“No.”
Mike laughed. The guy was a walking conglomerate and a solid client who brought in business, a lot of it in fact, but that didn’t mean Archer wanted him within fifty feet of Elle.
Granted, the vulnerable, scared, isolated sixteen-year-old street rat he’d once saved when he’d been a twenty-two-year-old rookie cop was not a street rat anymore. Nor alone, scared, or vulnerable. She was outspoken and tough as nails.
But she wasn’t available. Hell no.
Not that she was his.
He wanted her. And he wanted her bad too. But she’d worked her ass off to become the woman she was now. He knew he reminded her of bad times, and there was no way he’d risk setting her back or damaging her in any way. She’d been through enough without him muddying the waters. So they were friends.
Or maybe the more accurate description was that they pretended to be friends.
He entered his office and he gestured for Mike to have a seat. “Your message said you have a security problem.”
“A big one,” Mike said. “I think our digital division’s got a leak.”
“What makes you think so?”
“We had two new high-tech communication products that no one else even had a bead on. We had a scheduled presentation to a very selective, confidential client—”
“How selective?” Archer asked. “How confidential?”
Mike rolled his lips inward. “Let’s just say very.”
The US government, Archer figured, reading between the lines. “And let me guess, someone beat you to the punch.”
“Our number one competitor,” Mike said grimly. “But there’s no way in hell that they beat us. Someone gave them the intel. From the inside.”
“That’s ugly.”
“Yes. And now I need to stop the leak. You in?”
Archer nodded. “I’m in, but—”
“I know, I know,” Mike said. “No guarantees, blah blah. I’ve heard the spiel, Hunt, but you’ve not failed me yet. Plus I’m going to pay you a whole helluva lot of money to make sure you don’t fail me this time either.”
Archer gave him a short nod. “Consider it done.”
When Mike left, Archer set some plans into motion to get that job up and running, and then he got to work going over the plan for the night’s distraction.
They’d been hired by an insurance company. Some of their clients were up in arms, claiming that they’d paid for additional services that had never been received.
It turned out that the insurance company didn’t even provide those service
s and had no records of receiving the premiums.
Enter Hunt Investigations. Archer had dug in and found it all came down to one freelance insurance agent who’d quietly offered select—read: rich—clients some opportunities to upgrade. All that had been required were additional “premiums.” The agent had then pocketed those additional premiums—of course without upgrading the policies.
With help from Archer’s resident computer specialist, Joe, they’d located the “agent,” a guy who had multiple aliases but was currently using the name Chuck Smithson. Some further research revealed that Chuck was a loner who trusted no one. He moved around between hotels and kept a cross-body messenger bag on him at all times, which most likely held his laptop and all his secrets. And since he lived in a state of paranoia and didn’t back up anywhere that they could hack into, they needed that laptop for evidence.
During their research, they’d found that swindler Chuck had an additional habit—he enjoyed trolling Internet hookup sites. Archer had gotten an email earlier from Elle that she was in on the job, so they’d set up a profile for bait. Chuck had taken that bait hook, line, and sinker, and was in fact expecting to meet “Candy Cunningham” tonight for a drink.
All Archer needed Elle to do was ID Chuck and then keep him busy while they took a look in the briefcase and copied his hard drive. The evidence wouldn’t be admissible in court but the insurance company didn’t want to take it that far and risk the public hearing about their humiliatingly heavy losses. They just wanted Hunt Investigations to confirm their suspicions before figuring out their next step.
Archer texted his team and waited as they began to file back in, fresh from showers, various forms of caffeine in one hand, breakfast in the other.
Max was head of the pack and since he’d been with his girlfriend, Rory, for two months now—a record for him—there was a definite pep to his step. He sat across the conference table from Archer with Carl, his Doberman, at his side. Carl was a huge asset to their team but at the moment all he had on his brain was the massive donut in his master’s hand.
Max shoved a huge bite of said donut into his mouth. “All set for tonight, boss,” he said to Archer. “We’ve got entrances and exits covered and Finn’s going to have all eyes on deck for us.”
Finn was the owner and bartender at O’Riley’s, the pub on the ground floor of the building where the distraction would take place. He also happened to be a close friend.
Archer didn’t usually bring work so close to his home base but he never took chances when it came to Elle.
Never.
She was a great asset when he needed a distraction because she had a way of making a man forget he had a brain. He’d been a victim of this himself, more than once. Thing was, too many times to count she’d managed to get him information that had closed a case for him, info he couldn’t have gotten without bloodshed.
She claimed to do these jobs because she loved the money. He knew that wasn’t strictly true. She did love money, in the way that only someone who’d grown up without any could. But he knew that wasn’t why she did it. Nope, she worked for him when he asked because she thought she owed him.
But the truth was, he owed her.
The rest of the guys got comfortable. Joe, who besides being his IT guy was also his right-hand man. Then there was Lucas, Trev, and Reyes. Their conference room was big, but so were they and the room seemed to shrink in their presence.
“Why do you smell like maple and bacon?” Joe asked Max.
“Because I’m eating a maple and bacon donut,” Max said.
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
Joe’s stomach growled loud enough to echo off the walls.
Max blew out a sigh and tossed him a white paper bag. “You gotta share with Carl though—I promised him some.”
Carl gave one sharp bark in agreement.
The rest of the guys protested, loudly.
“I want it.”
“Shit, man, I’ll even pay for it.”
But Joe held tight to the bag, fighting the others off. When he was in the clear, he pulled out the donut, broke off a corner, and tossed it to Carl, who caught it in midair with an audible snap of his huge jaws.
“Dude,” Max chided his dog, “you didn’t even taste that.”
Carl licked his massive chops but didn’t take his eyes off Joe, his new BFF.
Joe bit into the rest of the donut. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and moaned.
“Maybe you need a moment alone with that thing,” Archer said dryly.
“Yes. Jesus.”
“Right?” Max said with a smile. “I wanna marry this donut and have its babies.”
This started an explicit, filthy conversation that had everyone laughing until Archer opened his laptop. Immediately all conversation and amusement faded away.
Time to get to work.
Thirty minutes before the night’s gig, Archer heard the outer door to his offices open and close and then soft voices.
His receptionist, Mollie, greeting someone.
A few seconds later he heard the soft click, click, click of heels heading his way.
Mollie wore heels. So did some of his clients. But he knew the sound of these. Even if there hadn’t been attitude in every single step he would’ve recognized Elle’s smooth, confident stride anywhere.
And if that didn’t clue him in, the fact that his dick stirred was a dead giveaway.
A text from Mollie came through announcing Elle’s arrival just as the woman herself knocked once on his door. She leaned against the wood, saying nothing.
She looked . . . heart-stopping. That was the thing about Elle, she was always one hundred percent put together. He’d had plenty of women in his life. He knew the effort that they put in and the mind-boggling time they took, so he had no idea how Elle did it day in and day out. But whether on the job or in her personal life, it didn’t matter, she dressed like a million bucks and she never had so much as a single strand of her shoulder length blonde hair out of place. In fact, there’d only been one time in the eleven years he’d known her when she hadn’t been on her game and she sure as hell wouldn’t thank him for the reminder of that long ago, fateful night.
Earlier this morning she’d been in a power-red suit dress that had screamed success, even at the crack of dawn. She’d changed into a killer little black dress, emphasis on little. Her heels defied gravity with sexy little straps around her ankles and bows at the back, and her expression said she ate men for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
She did a slow twirl and he stopped breathing as he slowly rose from his chair. “Holy shit, Elle.”
“I wasn’t going for holy shit. I was going for sophisticated sexy.”
“Copy that,” he said. “But you’re also one hundred percent holy shit. You’re also a walking heart attack and aneurism—an all-in-one special.”
“Good. I was worried that maybe I look a little bit too much like I belong on Post Street.”
He looked her over again, enjoying the view way too much. “Post Street’s looking good.”
She rolled her eyes. “You should check out the corner of Post and Kiss My Ass.”
He grinned and strolled over to her. She smelled like a million bucks, making him want to press his face into her hair, or better yet her neck so he could inhale her like she was his own maple and bacon donut. Instead, he handed her an earpiece. “Comms. We’ll all be connected. There’ll be constant eyes on you too. The guys are already in place. Our mark isn’t known to be dangerous or armed but—”
“You’re not taking any chances with me yadda yadda,” she said