by Angel Payne
He’d been holding the ring when he did it, rendering Ava more speechless than the first time he’d asked. That was quite a feat, considering that first time had occurred when they were inducting each other into the Mile-High Club on Air Force One. When she’d finally found her voice on the pier and gawked at the ring, Ethan only slung back a smirk and said his sunshine could now wear the sun too.
“Caramba,” she whispered. Sergeant Archer, you’re hell-bent on spoiling me.
If only that musing didn’t tangle the pit of her stomach in abject anxiety.
“You’re talking to your ring again, aren’t you?”
She jumped. Ethan had seemingly teleported across the room and now pressed up behind her. Just her luck; she’d fallen in love with a man who was half ninja. “No,” she retorted. “It’s ignoring me today, anyhow.”
He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head. “Do you blame it? Engagement rings get inferiority complexes too.”
The knot in her gut tightened. Something in his murmur told her he wasn’t referring just to the ring anymore. “Ethan, I—”
“Ssshh. It’s okay. If you don’t like it—”
“No! Ay dios mio, I love it!”
“But…?”
She swallowed hard. His Dom tone, a low cadence of command, had entered the word with undeniable force. Despite his gentle hold, he expected an answer to his hard question.
His really hard question.
It was time to address the giant elephant in the room.
Ava stepped gingerly from him. There was a seat built into the window that offered views of the sweeping cliff and expanse of ocean. Right now, she was just grateful for its presence in helping her trembling knees.
As she lowered to the cushion, she tugged at her lip with her teeth. She doubled the pressure when Ethan settled next to her. She was seriously in trouble. The man took her breath away in normal circumstances. But here, with his eyes nearly matching the sea and his broad chest sheathed in a thick Irish sweater, he was male decadence—and Dominance—defined.
He reinforced the point by reaching and curling his hands around her wrists. He used the unconventional hold on purpose, sending an undeniable message. She was in his care now. Everything she said from her heart was safe. But he expected her to spill everything inside it.
After letting her wallow in silence for a minute, he quietly ordered, “Tell me.”
Ugh. This sucked.
“I—” She huffed and stared out toward the sea.
“Ava.” He tightened his hold. “This is me, remember?”
“Why don’t I just refuse to talk? Then you can punish me and—”
“Ava.”
She fell into silence when he secured both her wrists in one of his hands and used the other to yank up her chin. As soon as the force of his cobalt blues hit, her resistance evaporated. Tears stung her eyes and seeped down her cheeks. “Ethan,” she whispered, “I’m not sure I belong here.”
His reaction was everything she expected. A scowl full of hurt and confusion. “What? Why?”
She tried to clear her senses with a breath. “That’s my point.”
“I don’t under—”
“Of course you don’t. Because you’ve probably stayed in this suite fifty times before.”
“Well, it’s better than staying at my parents’ place when I go for visits.” A grimace twisted his face. “Fuck. Talk about a place where you can’t breathe.”
Her brows jumped. “Your parents’ house is swankier than this?”
Resignation took the place of his frown. “Mausoleums are swanky too, baby. Doesn’t mean I’m comfortable in one.”
His intention was to ease her nerves. She knew that and wished she could confirm his success. Instead, her dread ballooned. She squirmed in his hold, suddenly afraid to let him see the enormity of it. As she broke down like an idiot, he released her wrists in order to pull her onto his lap.
“Baby,” he soothed. “Ava, come on. I know you’re nervous, okay? But—”
“Nervous?” she spat. “Why the hell would I be nervous? Just because I’m meeting your polo club parents in a dress I bought in a rush off the rack, at their dinner table that’ll have thirty forks at each place setting, to talk about a wedding that’ll cost more than I make in a year—”
He kissed her into silence. Tugged her face up to look at him again. “All they want to do is meet you,” he murmured. “It’ll be nice, just the four of us. And we’ll probably talk about the weather and sports.” His forehead furrowed. “And, uhhh, Mom’s orchids.”
She sniffed. “I like orchids.”
His smile was dazzling. “There you have it.”
Ava tilted up her chin in a little plea for another kiss. After Ethan obliged, she whispered, “Okay. I’ll try not to embarrass the crap out of you.”
He dug his long fingers into her hair and pulled hard. “There’ll be no more talk like that, woman. You are my queen. You’ll wear my diamonds, you’ll walk at my side, you’ll be amazing, and you’ll never embarrass the crap out of me.”
She carried those words with her through the next few hours, enjoying a walk with him on the beach before they returned to the suite to prepare for the first dinner she would have with her future in-laws. They warmed her as she showered, pampered, and dressed and even made her smile as she slipped into her dark-purple dress, cut in a classic wrap style and then finished with her favorite pair of strappy Prada heels. They girded her as Ethan drove up the winding driveway to his parents’ home, which approached mansion status with its ornate, Tudor-style architecture, including a Shakespeare-inspired fountain in front. She held them in her heart as tightly as she clutched Ethan’s arm when they approached the door, which was set beneath an archway of white English roses.
He knocked and they waited.
He turned and kissed her, surrounding her in his leather-pepper scent tinged with John Varvatos cologne and the luxurious wool of his black dress sweater. She gripped his silk tie and shirt as he openly adored her with his lips. His groan vibrated through her, thick with his desire. Best of all, his love enveloped her, warm and complete.
Okay, maybe she could do this.
She got to savor the thought for another ten seconds, right up to the moment the door opened, flooding them with light—and the grins from at least fifty unfamiliar faces. In front of them was a woman who looked so much like Ethan, Ava had no doubt about her identity. She beheld the beauty of Elle Archer for the first time.
“Surprise!” the woman exclaimed before pressing her lips to Ethan’s cheek. “Happy engagement!”
Chapter Two
Ninety minutes into the party, Ethan still couldn’t figure out if this was the best thing Mom had ever done or the worst.
He exchanged a glance across the room with Dad, whose sympathetic shrug said he didn’t have the answer either. Good thing they’d broken out the good Scotch. The amber liquid in his glass helped cut the edge in his nerves, though he paced himself with obsessive care. He wanted to be ready to get back in the car any second. Ready to drive Ava out of here if Mom had any more bombshells hiding up her dress’s flowing sleeves.
Shit.
Did it suck major balls that he jumped to suspicions like that about his own mother? That would be a resounding yes. But had history given him every damn reason for the leap? That would be an even bigger yes.
Sure, he knew she loved him, but many times—most times—that depended on how far she could control him. When he’d signed up with the army, she’d treated the decision as the giant folly of his youth, something he’d grow out of before coming back to walk the Archer line—a line that would start with her orchestration of his fiancée selection and wedding. Although he’d dared to think otherwise, she had squelched his hope on the night he called to tell them Ava had accepted his proposal. Instead of asking to meet Ava, she’d muttered something to Dad about contacting her friend at the Atherton paper so they could compose an announcement th
at would make the occasion sound “halfway respectable.”
Why couldn’t he shake the suspicion that this was nothing but an extension of that PR campaign?
Fuck.
The word rumbled through his chest, making him realize he’d accidentally let it fly aloud. Fortunately, he had the wall to himself at the moment. He had no illusions the respite would last. It was hard to be the party’s inconspicuous guy when the “Congratulations” loop on all three of the room’s wide screens had your name on it.
Sure enough, a barrel of damn monkeys poured over him the next second. At least that was what the mix of buddies from his high school and college years felt like, trying to yell over each other as they dragged him outside. Though it was a chilly San Francisco night thanks to the soggy front spilling over from the South Bay, all the space heaters were blowing at full force around the glass-rock fire pit, which was also cranked to full force. The lights in the black-bottomed pool were on, and the landscape floods were making a valiant effort to impart an impression of the tropics in their fruit punch tones.
During the journey outside, Ava reappeared at his side, bearing the fresh Scotch she’d gone to get for him. She managed a sweet smile despite the discomfort clinging to her gaze. As several more girlfriends appeared on the arms of their guys, the expected chings of fingernails on wineglasses began, signaling that the couple of honor had to entertain the crowd with a kiss.
He eagerly jumped on the opportunity.
Even with the crowd surrounding them, he didn’t waste the chance to lock their mouths hard. He didn’t regret the choice. His woman always tasted good, but tonight…wow. The wine on her tongue, along with her natural essences of coconut and vanilla, pulled his tongue in deeper, deeper…
“Sheez, Archer. You demoing a tonsillectomy tonight?”
The question carried the unmistakable snark of Link Masters, who’d likely trademarked that tone by now. The guy had been one of Atherton High School’s gods, with his café au lait skin, piercing green eyes, and entrepreneurial genius that made him a millionaire before he could legally drink. He’d grown up to be a cocky-ass Bay Area big shot, though his arrogance was balanced by his infectious humor, generosity to his staff, and unswerving loyalty as a friend.
The guy could also take the same crap he dealt, which meant Ethan didn’t hesitate to drawl back, “Bite me, Linky Blinky.”
That earned him a round of appreciative groans from all the guys. “Yo, Masters; it’s almost Christmas,” somebody called out. “Think we’ll get a Linky Blinky reprise tonight?”
Ethan smirked toward his friend. “I double-dog dare you, man.”
Link held up both hands. “No fucking way. I may own half the big city, but your mom will own me if I run through her party dressed in nothing but battery-operated Christmas lights.”
Ethan chuffed. “Right. Like anyone’s going to see anything.”
“Pssshhh. Better than other people I know, damn near whipping their junk out and doing their woman in the backyard for the crowd’s enjoyment.”
He shared a secret look with Ava. Actually, that had almost happened last week in Seattle. Their scene in the main room at Bastille had gotten so hot, her ass turning such a gorgeous shade of red beneath his floggers, that he’d barely gotten her down from the St. Andrews cross and into a private room before spreading her wide and fucking her until they both collapsed.
That had been a damn good night.
Drawn by the indigo arousal in Ava’s eyes, telling him her thoughts rode the exact same train, he braced her jaw with one hand and dragged her close, claiming her mouth with his again. For an instant, the world spun away. Her little mewl, barely audible except by him, vibrated down his throat and begged him for more. Yeah, more. That sounded so fucking good right now…
“Archer! Shit. Get a room!”
He pulled up, enduring the catcalls as Ava dabbed her lipstick off his jaw. “Have one, actually,” he volleyed to his friend. “And you know, Blinky, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” He grabbed Ava’s hand and started to rise. “You heard the man, sunshine. Back to the Four Seasons for us. Good night, every—”
As the crowd’s roar of protest cut him off, Link pushed him back down. Parker North and Knox Redding, two of his best gamer buddies, helped. Both of them had women on their arms tonight as well, and that freaked him out. He’d kept up with both guys via in-game message boards through the years, and neither of them had ever mentioned a serious relationship interest. While Amy and Kamlyn seemed nice, he wondered if they’d been picked by his friends or for his friends.
“All right, spill.” The demand was made by Troy Stearns, one of the few jocks who’d rolled with their crowd instead of his fellow sports stars. Tall as Ethan and built of honed muscle, Troy would’ve been a kickass Special Ops man, though his ability to wallop a baseball had taken him on a different path. He’d just signed a multi-year deal with the Giants and proposed to his college sweetheart during a seventh-inning stretch to commemorate the success. “Everyone knows how I popped the question,” he elaborated, “but all of us know nothing about your story, Archer. Well, aside from the ‘thwarting the terrorist plan’ shit.”
“That story was incredible.” Troy’s fiancée, a polished little blonde named Sarah who he’d met while attending Cal State Fullerton, pressed her hand against her heart. Ethan smirked and pulled Ava tighter onto his lap when she gasped quietly at the woman’s egg-sized engagement ring. “Did you really have to chop off the president’s hand to save his life?” Sarah continued. “And did he really let you?”
He gave her a small nod and then dipped his head at Ava. “And this kickass woman hauled it to the ambulance for us.”
This time, the guys joined the women in their gasps. “That’s what I’d call an unforgettable one-on-one with the leader of the free world,” Link bantered.
“You mean besides the ‘wanting to barf up everything in my stomach’ part?” Ava returned.
Ethan joined his friends in giving her a raucous laugh at that—but the humor wasn’t shared by the women around the circle. He wished he hadn’t expected their reticence, but it came as no surprise. As good little girls of society, they’d all had the candidness bred out of them long ago. Now, none of them even realized it was missing. They looked at Ava like children barred from a candy store. Full of longing. And jealousy.
“Uh, wow,” Sarah stammered. “That’s so…”
“Unique,” Kamlyn filled in. Or was it Amy? They were so alike in their beige sweater dresses and pearls that Ethan kept mixing them up.
“Yes, errrrm, unique.” Sarah flipped her hair over one shoulder and flicked a little smile. “And refresh my memory, Ava. Why were you at the studio too?”
If Ava got any stiffer in his arms, he’d swear he was holding a doll instead of a woman. It was because she saw straight through Sarah’s thin ice of courtesy. The woman’s bullshit detector was one of the billion things he adored about her. Another was her ability to maintain her calm no matter how far other women brandished their cat claws.
“I work at the lot.”
Ethan squeezed her waist in reassurance. He knew how much it chafed her to be sworn to secrecy on the details beyond that. She could never reveal the part about being held hostage in an empty dressing trailer after being knocked out with sleeping gas that was supposed to be illegal on American soil. She could never disclose that one of Hollywood’s most beloved producers had actually been the traitor who’d led the whole operation, nor that California had been less than a minute away from becoming a nuclear wasteland.
He supported her by adding what he could, in a voice filled with pride. “She was the one who made it possible for the team to get inside the soundstage.”
“Ohhh, that’s right.” One of the Amy/Kamlyn twins chirped in with it. “You’re on the payroll for Ethan’s ex, right?”
Sarah flashed her fake smirk again. “Oh, that’s it. You…wash her hair or something, right?”
“She’
s Bella’s stylist.” Ethan showed no mercy with his tone now, grinding anger into each syllable. He saw that even Troy echoed his sentiment, looking at Sarah like she’d turned into a creature he didn’t know. “Every thread of clothing and speck of makeup you see on Bella Lanza is designed by this woman, not Bella.”
“Hmmm.” The woman considered that, though it was clear the needle on her diplomacy dial hadn’t been budged much. “So how come I haven’t heard of you, then?”
When that caused a shocked glare even from Troy, Ethan was positive something wasn’t right. Troy was a stand-up guy, meaning he wouldn’t put a ring on it with any shallow bimbo, but every word out of Sarah’s mouth said otherwise. That had to mean that the words weren’t hers. They’d been manipulated by someone else. Someone who’d been damn good at artful suggestion and had given the impression of Ava as a Hollywood poser instead of a legitimate stylist.
He clenched his jaw until his whole skull felt locked in a vise. Without turning his head, he started scanning the inside of the house. Where the fuck are you, Mother?
Ava shifted on his lap before answering Sarah in an uncomfortable murmur, “I’m sorry? I’m not sure I understand.”
“Why haven’t I heard of you?” Sure enough, the Elle Archer influence was apparent in every nuance of Sarah’s tone now. “You know, like Rachel Zoe or Kate Young?”
He felt the deep breath that Ava took and released. When she lifted her chin a little more at Sarah, her profile was as regal as a queen confronting an insolent courtier. He felt like borrowing some of Link’s arrogance for himself now. Eat shit and die, my friends. I get to marry the goddamn queen.
“Rachel and Kate are good friends,” Ava finally said, “so I’ll pass along your regards the next time I see them. Some folks in our field don’t mind keeping a high profile. I’m fond of privacy myself. Makes it easier to get through the grocery store line when I’ve had a bad day and want to stuff my face with Ding Dongs and potato chips—but I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about that, and that breakout on your chin is just due to stress or something.” She used Sarah’s gawking silence to push off his lap and get to her feet. “By the way, a honey and cinnamon mask will clear that up pretty fast. If the pimples spread, try some toothpaste.” She shrugged. “Helps with morning breath too. You can wake up, lick your own face, and you’re ready to go.”