by Nina Lane
Now that we’d gotten the preliminaries out of the way, she’d be direct in her approach, just a point-blank invitation or—
She walked past me in a rush of cool, good-smelling air.
The click of her heels stopped at the elevators. I turned to where she stood, arms folded, her gaze on the lighted row of numbers above the doors. Ignoring the hell out of me.
“Hey,” I said.
She turned her head.
“What’ve you heard about me?” I asked.
Kelsey shrugged. “Not much.”
“He hasn’t told you anything?”
“Sure he has.” She said it so matter-of-factly, as if Dean had told her I was an insurance salesman. “Every family’s got one like you, right?”
The tone in her voice, like I was nothing special, grated my nerves.
“You mean a fuck-up?” I asked.
“I mean someone who gets off on being a fuck-up,” Kelsey replied, turning on her heel to face me. “Who thinks it’s his life’s work to screw with people and act like the world owes him a favor instead of getting off his ass and doing something.”
“That’s what you think?”
“That’s what I know.”
“You didn’t care last night.”
“That,” she replied coolly, “was last night.”
The elevator pinged, the door slid open. She stepped toward it, her blonde hair swishing behind her.
I moved before I could think, launching myself into the elevator doorway. The three students inside stared at me. I turned to face Kelsey, slamming my hands against the doors to stop them from closing.
“You don’t know jack about me, sweetheart,” I said, lowering my head to look into her eyes, daring her to back away. “Whatever the good professor has told you is bullshit. I’ve seen him twice in five years. He doesn’t know a goddamned thing about my life. And just because I got you hot last night, don’t you think you know me either.”
She didn’t take her eyes from mine, but her face reddened. I could see the pulse beating at the hollow of her throat. The edge of her bra still showed between the unfastened top buttons of her shirt.
“I’m disappointed in you,” I continued, tracking my gaze down to the V of her neck. “I thought you were the kind of woman who’d form your own opinions about things. But if we’re doing this based on second impressions, and if I’m the fuck-up who screws with people, then you must be the controlling bitch who hasn’t gotten laid in years.”
A shocked giggle came from one of the students in the elevator. Kelsey’s flush deepened. She lifted her chin, ice coating her eyes.
“You can move now,” she said coldly.
I stared at her. Unlike last night, today she was wound so fucking tight. I wanted to unwind her, mess up her world, rip that sexy lingerie right off her. I wanted to make her lose control.
“Say please,” I murmured.
Her mouth tightened. Her eyes flashed blue fire at me. For a second, I thought we’d end up in a deadlock.
“Please,” she hissed.
I pushed away from the doors, keeping my hand on one to hold it open for her. She stepped past me into the elevator. The clean, sweet smell of her drifted to my nose again.
I wasn’t done with her. Not by a long shot. In fact, I was just getting started. I looked at her blue eyes again.
“Nice bra,” I said. “I like the lace.”
I pushed away and let the doors slide shut.
CHAPTER THREE
KELSEY
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD.
I struggled to draw in a breath, aware of the three students looking at me with intense curiosity, their attempts not to giggle over everything about that little encounter. Thank heavens they were undergrads or history students who likely wouldn’t recognize me. I hoped.
I pulled the lapels of my blazer together. Inside my bra, which was indeed lacy, my nipples were hard. My pulse was pounding. I was hot.
Archer West. Of course the universe would throw me right back in front of the man who’d shown up naked and smoldering in my dreams last night. The man whose touch made me shiver like a snowflake. The man I’d stopped in mid-kiss before I melted on the floor, or pressed my breasts against his arm, or stroked my hand down his chest to…
For god’s sake.
When the elevator reached the ground floor, I hurried out to the quad, inhaling a deep breath of spring air.
What the hell was wrong with me? Sure, I’d once had a thing for bad boys, the wrong boys, but I was a thirty-six-year-old woman, for crying out loud, who’d long outgrown her wild and wooly side. A woman who’d learned a long time ago that, at some point, you had to get your shit together.
And no matter how hurt poor Archer West might be by my quick-fire assessment of him, it was the plain truth. Despite my temporary weakness last night, I’d been with enough men like him to know exactly how he viewed the world.
He was a walking cliché with a chip on his shoulder the size of Gibraltar and an inferiority complex a mile wide. Women loved him, wanted to take care of him, cried when he left them. He charmed them with his wicked smile and that glint in his gorgeous brown eyes and the promises of his powerful body, not to mention the sexual prowess that radiated from him like a goddamned aura…
I groaned softly, shaking off the image as I walked. I’d felt him the second I’d stepped into Dean’s office, sensing the presence of a sexy bad boy like a Doppler radar homing in on a thunderstorm.
Just like in the bar, his dark gaze had sizzled right through me, causing my blood to rush into my ears and my thighs to tighten. And then when he’d touched me… I’d stripped him naked in my imagination in two seconds flat.
Again.
And oh, how I liked what I saw. Those tattoos inking his taut skin, rippling pectoral muscles and a rigid abdomen with a tantalizing trail of hair leading right to—
Whoa. Down, girl.
So wrong in so many ways. But from what Dean had told me, Archer was a drifter—well, of course he was—so likely he wouldn’t be in Mirror Lake for long. I wondered if he was here for another reason besides a family visit. Even though it was none of my business, I made a mental note to ask Dean soon.
No. No, I wouldn’t. Because it was none of my business. And because I didn’t want to know more about Archer West than I already did. Therein lay danger, and I’d do well to heed the warning that was as loud as a tornado siren.
Even though I’d already kissed him and flirted with him. Deliberately. And honestly, too. It would indeed be a pity if Archer West didn’t bite.
“Kelsey!” a voice called from behind me.
Oh, shit. I walked faster.
“Kelsey!” Peter Danforth, a young reporter in his mid-twenties, loped up beside me, all curly brown hair and bright, eager eyes. As usual, he wore an ill-fitting suit with a pencil-thin tie. He’d taken a few of my classes as an undergrad before starting the journalism graduate program, and now he viewed me as his main source of weather-related news.
“Go away, Peter,” I said.
“Aw, come on. Talk to me.” He quickened his pace. “You said you expected to hear something conclusive about the Spiral Project funding this semester.”
“I lied.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Really?”
I shot him a glance. “No.”
“Come on, Kelsey. You did say you’d hear by now.”
Irritation ripped through me. I had no intentions of telling him about my disastrous meeting with SciTech, especially when I hadn’t yet told my grad students. “Yeah, well, I haven’t.”
“Can you give me an ETA on when you’ll know?”
I stopped and turned to face him. He smiled, still all puppy-dog anxious for me to throw him a bone. I had to admire his determination—not so much his expectation of a reward.
“Peter.” I reached out and straightened his askew tie. “Leave me the hell alone.”
His smile di
dn’t waver. “Sure, Kelsey. If you’d just tell me the status of the project and future funding, I will be more than happy to leave you alone.”
“I’m not telling you anything because there’s nothing to tell right now.” I stepped back. “However, if you leave me alone, I’ll give you an exclusive as soon as I have something to tell.”
Without waiting for a response, I continued across the quad. He didn’t follow.
I turned toward the Meteorology building, catching sight of Archer West. I stopped and watched him, reacquainting myself with everything I’d found so appealing about him last night.
He was tall, well over six feet, with a lean, muscled body that made me shivery inside. He moved with an easy, masculine grace, his biker appearance a stark contrast to the students wandering around with their backpacks.
A stark, gorgeous contrast. His black hair was overlong, unruly, curling around his ears and the back of his neck. As he walked, he took his phone out of his back pocket. My eyes followed the movement, down to the jeans hugging his long legs, and I remembered the way his thigh had felt pressed against mine…
I was half aware that I was standing there just staring at him. A student swerved to avoid me on the path.
“Kelsey, just one more thing…”
Oh, the fuck no.
I ripped my gaze away from Archer West and glowered at Peter. He jerked his chin in Archer’s direction. “Who’s that guy?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then why were you staring at him?”
“I was wondering if he’s a hitman I could hire to take you out.”
Peter laughed, all white teeth and twinkling eyes. If he weren’t such a pain in my ass, he’d have been adorable.
“Look, I just want to know if you could tell me when you go out for more data collection,” he said. “Because, you know, maybe I could go with you when you do.”
“No.”
His face fell. I ignored a mild twinge of guilt.
“But if I did, I’d be a shoo-in as an embed reporter for the Spiral Project,” he said. “You know it would make my career to travel with the biggest mobile forecast unit in history.”
I couldn’t blame him. Not really. He was a kid eager to get ahead, probably had his sights set on working for CNN or The Weather Channel, anxious to impress and show off with some big scoop.
Not that the Spiral Project qualified as a scoop yet, but it had the potential to be a major breakthrough in tornado forecasting… and Peter knew it. He was annoying, but not stupid.
“I don’t even do fieldwork anymore,” I reminded him.
“But—” He glanced over my left shoulder.
“Take a break, Peter,” I suggested, walking backward away from him. “Stop worrying so much about your career. Find a girl and have some fun.”
“Ouch.” He clutched his heart. “How can I do that when I’m saving myself for you?”
“You should be so lucky.”
“No, he damned well shouldn’t be.”
The low, male growl jolted right through me. I whirled around and found myself looking up into a pair of intense dark eyes that ratcheted my heartbeat up.
Archer’s gaze slid from me to where Peter was still standing.
Before I could speak, Peter squeaked out a, “See ya,” and hurried off.
“Who was that?” Archer asked.
“A kid who thinks you’re a potential hitman.”
“Huh.” He lifted an eyebrow in vague amusement. “Why does he think that?”
“I might have told him.”
“Ah.”
That one sound, escaping on his breath, was like a kiss. Heat zinged through my blood. I lowered my gaze to his mouth, so beautifully shaped with that slight indentation in his top lip, and tried not to remember what it had felt like to press my lips against his. I tried not to think about the fact that before last night, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d kissed a man, let alone…
Stop. Don’t go there. Not with him standing right in front of you, the epitome of everything you shouldn’t want.
And remember, he thinks you’re a controlling bitch who hasn’t gotten laid in years. Try and ignore the fact that he’s right.
I dragged my eyes back to his. My heart still thumped hard, making me intensely aware of my body’s reaction to our closeness.
“What do you want?” I finally asked.
He didn’t respond, but stroked his gaze over my body in a look that clearly said, You.
Me?
Oh, yeah.
Oh, no.
Out of sheer self-preservation, I retreated a few steps, even as I was unable to stop myself from admiring the way his T-shirt stretched over his chest beneath his jacket, the outline of his pecs against the thin cotton, the worn fabric of his jeans with one button of his fly tantalizingly unfastened….
Jesus. I was starting to throb. I took another step back, painfully aware of the pulsing between my legs.
“How…” My throat was dry. “How long are you staying?”
He shrugged. “Couple of days.”
Something stirred in my chest. Disappointment? I backed up another step. It was strangely hard to move with him looking at me like that.
“Have a good visit, then,” I said. “I’m sure I won’t see you again.”
“I’m sure you will.”
I came to a halt. I had to put a stop to this right here. Right now. Even if Archer was leaving in a couple of days, I wasn’t going to let him fuck with me.
I also wasn’t going to think of the words fuck and Archer in the same sentence ever again.
“Look.” I crossed my arms, tilting my head to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry if I insulted you. If you’re some upstanding, do-gooder Boy Scout in disguise, then I stand corrected. But I’m not one for playing games. I shoot straight from the hip. And I don’t have either the time or the inclination to do this… this kind of thing with you.”
There. My heart was beating even faster after that little speech. He closed the distance between us, all potent masculinity, his dark gaze lighting with the barest glimmer of amusement.
“You started it,” he said.
I laughed. “Go tattle on me, then.”
“No way.” He shook his head. The sun glinted off his dark hair, making the strands glow like little bands of light. “This is between you and me. Yeah, I’m a fuck-up. I’ve been one my whole life. I’ve screwed with people. Gotten in plenty of trouble. But if you think that’s it, you’re wrong. And if you want to know about me, you don’t let anyone else tell you. You deal with me.”
“I don’t want to deal with you. I don’t even like you much.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly the vibe I got when you kissed me last night.”
I swallowed hard. “That wasn’t me.”
“It sure as hell felt like you.”
“It wasn’t. I’m not the kind of woman who makes out with strangers in bars. I was upset and angry, and you were…”
“What?”
“A distraction,” I admitted, aware of a rising shame.
Archer studied me, his expression shuttered.
“I don’t need you to like me, Professor March,” he said. “But I’ve gotten enough bullshit from women who assume I’m pond scum. Don’t you be one of them.”
I stared at him, stunned by the forcefulness in his words. Why did he even care what I thought of him? And why did it feel like this was suddenly and intensely personal?
I opened my mouth to make a sharp retort, but what came out was the truth. “I don’t think you’re pond scum. I do think you’re the kind of man I need to stay far away from.”
“What kind of man is that?”
“The dangerous kind.”
His mouth twisted. “You want a nice, classy guy, huh?”
I should want a nice, classy guy, I thought.
“Yes.” I gave Archer a short, firm nod. “And now that we’ve got that straightened out, I’ll be going.”
His hand shot out so fast it was like the strike of a snake. His fingers closed around my wrist and he drew me closer to him.
“I’m not nice,” Archer said, his voice low. “I’m not classy either. But I’ll be straight with you too.”
Wariness shot through me. He had layers that he wore like leather. I didn’t want to even think about peeling those layers away to find out what was beneath.
“Let go of me,” I ordered. “And I’m not saying please.”
He didn’t let go. His fingers found the pulse throbbing wildly at my wrist. Again I felt the rigid calluses on his hand. Shivers sparked up my arm.
Desperation rose. I really had to stop this. And even if Archer West didn’t know it, he’d all but handed me the weapon I knew would hurt the most.
“I don’t need you to be straight with me,” I continued. “I don’t need you to be anything. You were a distraction last night. But now? You’re not worth my time.”
His expression didn’t change. The edges of my vision faded into black and white so that the burn of his eyes seemed to be the only color in the world. His grip tightened.
“I was right about you, storm girl,” he murmured. “When was the last time you were fucked real good?”
Heat bolted through me so fast and hard that it caught me off balance.
Archer released me. I stepped back, curling my hand around my wrist, still warm from the pressure of his hand. My breathing was choppy and shallow. I tried to muster up some indignation, but I was too busy trying to calm the fire raging in my blood at the idea of him being the one to end my lengthy dry spell.
“Thought so,” he said. “Let me know if you ever want to change that.”
“Hah. Fat chance.” That was the only retort I could manage with my imagination kicking into overdrive.
Archer West would be one hell of a man to tackle after so long. He wouldn’t be like a gentle rain on the parched ground that was my sex life. No. He would be an overwhelming, drenching storm with lightning bolts and thunder and the insane, crazy exhilaration of knowing you’re in the middle of something wild and uncontrollable.
I was getting wet just thinking about it. I couldn’t even imagine what would happen if I actually did it. With him. This sexy, dangerous, mouthwatering specimen of a man who had already made his interest in me all too clear.