Right Wrong Guy

by Lia Riley

  But deep inside, maybe some of her genes still carried that pilgrim spirit, a pioneer’s innate love of working with their hands. Plus she had this instinctive, almost primal need to nourish, and not always with healthy food because, let’s face it, red velvet cake can be just as vital to the body as zucchini. But how could she say all this to him, what if he laughed? Opening up meant trusting, sharing.

  No easy feat given the day she’d had, or the life she’d lead up to this point. Being vulnerable was terrifying—she’d learned early how awful people could be if given the opportunity.

  But then again, she was already alone in a rural Nevada motel room with a stranger she’d met in Las Vegas. The idea she could consider putting faith in anyone after today was remarkable. But Archer didn’t seem to take himself so seriously and that meant he was less likely to judge others. His ready willingness to accept her at face value gave her a jolt of courage at a time when she could have been rendered weaker than ever before. Some hesitancy still existed, she’d be mad not to retain it, but at least her faith in humanity more or less remained.

  “I’ve often dreamt of opening a bakery.” She smiled to hear her secret hope spoken out loud. “After all, what other work can I do where I get to eat my mistakes?”

  He laughed at that, in that deep, booming way that made her toes curl even as she joined in. Archer was all raw testosterone, clearly confident about his effect on the opposite sex, but so far he’d behaved more or less like a gentleman. But there was only one bed. A bone-splitting yawn tore through her chest as she arched in a subtle stretch wondering what to do. This whole experience ventured so far from her normal world she felt no better than Dorothy in Oz.

  “It’s high time you get some sleep. How about a nap?” Archer leapt to his feet, cleaning off the food boxes, and turning down the blanket. “Climb under the covers and I’ll tuck you in.”

  She pressed her lips together as something warm flickered in her belly. “It’s been twenty years since anyone’s tucked me in.”

  “Well”—he ran his fingers through his thick hair—“I’ve never tucked anyone in, so there’s that.”

  She scooted backward across the mattress, conscious of the t-shirt riding up on her bare thighs, but Archer kept his gaze trained on her face. Again the inexplicable trusting sensation welled within her. Once she lay down, he carefully arranged the blankets over her chest, keeping a more than appropriate distance from her breasts.

  Too appropriate.

  Eden Valentina!

  What did she want? A mauling? Honestly. But there was no doubt he’d make an excellent cuddler. Those strong arms were made to hold a woman close, make her feel safe and secure.

  “How was that for my first time?” he asked gruffly.

  “Fabulous effort.” She burrowed into the pillow, rubbing her eyes as if the gesture could scour away the bewildering physical impulses firing inside her. “I’m so grateful for everything. You’ve earned a perpetual place in karma’s good books.”

  “Hah,” he chuckled. “I don’t believe in any of that.”

  “What goes around, comes around?”

  “Nah. I’ve always thought that each day is its own—a clean slate.”

  “That’s a different outlook,” she conceded.

  “Well, there’s probably a whole hell of a lot about you that is different from me.”

  “Yeah, what else?” She rolled on her side and pushed a lock of hair from her face.

  “Well, you are a city girl for starters.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “My apologies.” He appeared genuinely contrite. “I only meant that you’ve got style and class in spades.”

  Again with the compliments. She didn’t have the first idea how to handle them.

  “Seeing you again in that parking lot was the last thing I ever expected. But hey, not all surprises are bad. Sometimes life’s great moments are in the unexpected.”

  “That’s rather profound.” The next yawn was a monster, she covered her mouth but the sound filled the room.

  “Profound if you’re a minute from sleeping.” His mouth tipped in a lopsided grin. That full bottom lip would make angels weep. “Before you nod off, tell me, is there anything else you need?”

  “Need?” A curl of heat licked through her.

  This is your wedding day. Even though she’d taken irreparable steps to ensure it wouldn’t be, the least she could do is show a modicum of respect for the institution, even if she didn’t respect the man. Actually. No scratch that. That was Old Eden’s way of thinking, the woman crushed under the weight of tradition, rules, and expectations.

  But new Eden crashed in Nevada motels with cowboys, wore suggestive t-shirts, ate grilled cheese from a paper box, fries without a fork, and that felt more like herself than she had in months. Maybe ever.

  “Earth to Freckles.” Archer waved a hand.

  She gave a slow, warning blink.

  “What can I say?” He shrugged with a wicked grin, this time letting his gaze linger across her body, as if she was covered in lace and silk, and not a tacky jungle cat bedspread. “The nickname suits you.”

  He clearly did whatever he damn well pleased. She’d be annoyed if she wasn’t so captivated.

  She shook her head. “Would you please get my phone from my purse?”

  He crossed to the dresser, opened her handbag and grabbed it, handing it over wordlessly.

  “Thank you.” She quickly checked her messages. Nothing. At least Reggie hadn’t followed through on any additional threats yet. No point watching, waiting, and fearing. She powered down her phone and set it on the nightstand next to an ancient clock radio. She didn’t know much about what would happen next, but one thing was certain. Reggie would never see a single dime from her. If he’d been in real trouble and come to her, she would have listened, and depending on the situation, might have been happy to help.

  But not like this. No, never like this.

  Archer grabbed a spare pillow from the closet and moved to the floor.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I know it’s not all that late, but I’m beat too. Late night. Naps all around.”

  She peered off the edge of the bed to the discolored carpet with dismay. “But I can’t let you sleep on that floor.”

  “It’s nothing,” he said simply. “I want you to rest, and I’m a big strange guy. Plus, I’m a cover hog.”

  She let out a quiet breath. He was willing to inconvenience himself and put up with a little discomfort to make her feel protected. How could some men be rotten and others so kind? Humans were a mysterious species indeed.

  “Seriously, don’t worry about me. I’ve had plenty of nights sleeping outside with a rock for a pillow. This is luxury.” He extended a hand. “Sweet dreams, Eden Valentina Bankcroft-Kew.”

  What would it feel like to have these big rough hands moving across her skin? She squeezed his fingers, the warmth and strength in his grasp stalling her breath even as her heart raced. “Thank you, Archer Kane.”

  ARCHER WOKE TO a blood-curdling scream that liquefied his insides. Fuck. Who was getting murdered? Where was Freckles? Before he could react, a warm body crashed on top of him, the vanilla scent snapping the situation back into crystal clear focus. Until five seconds ago, he had been sleeping soundly on a motel room floor. Turns out the scream wasn’t a helpless victim, but the alarm clock radio blasting Guns N’ Roses’ “Paradise City.”

  Disorientation faded fast because those were breasts pressed against his chest, soft, perfectly formed ones. The light seeping beneath the brown curtains hinted at dawn, and he had one hell of a case of morning wood.

  Edie’s face was inches from his, her pupils dilated and the freckles clustered around her parted lips begged to be kissed. He couldn’t breathe let alone move.

  “Sorry! I’m so sorry. The radio woke me up. I reached to turn it off and . . . fell.” Edie scrambled to a straddling position over his waist. He’d stripped o
ut of his jeans to sleep. She wasn’t improving the situation and would realize what she sat on in three . . . two . . . one . . .

  “Oh. Oh dear.” She rocked backward and that certainly didn’t help a fucking thing.

  “There’s a new one,” he said, affecting a lazy smile, even as his pulse pounded through his ears.

  “New what?” She froze, that grey-eyed gaze locked on his bare chest.

  Did she like what she saw? “I’ve gotten quite a few oh gods in my time, but never an oh dear.”

  Her eyes widened a fraction, even as her lips quirked. “You seem to have quite an opinion of it.”

  “I try not to let compliments go to its head.”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth but it did nothing to mask her snickers.

  “Now see here,” Archer said in mock outrage. “You’re going to hurt its feelings.”

  “Your . . . your . . . penis has feelings?”

  “He’s a sensitive soul.”

  She slid off and the place where her thighs had bracketed him held lingering warmth. Almost good enough to make him forget the painful spasms taking hold at the base of his spine. Shit. A night on the floor followed by the crash of her body hadn’t done his bad back any favors.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Something’s wrong, the way your jaw is clenched, and your eyes are—”

  “It’s nothing, a stupid injury is all. I got thrown off a horse last year. I’ll be fine after an ibuprofen.” Or three.

  “Okay, let’s see you sit up.”

  He scowled. “Don’t want to.” What a shitty situation. Impossible to impress while splayed on the ground like a damn starfish.

  “How about you go see if the coffee from the gas station across the road is any good?” he ground out. That might provide him enough time to crawl to his feet and hobble into the shower. Hot water worked miracles.

  “I can’t.” She yanked down the t-shirt she wore. “This is all I’ve got, unless I run around in my wedding dress.”

  “Didn’t stop you yesterday.” He didn’t mean to snap, but his back pain was kicking into gear, and this beautiful calm, collected woman was the last person he wanted watching him fall apart.

  “It’s your back. That’s what’s hurting you?”

  He gave a single nod, closing his eyes.

  She stood and walked to the nightstand behind his head.

  He hurt so bad he could barely remain quiet, but he’d have to be unconscious not to look at what she wore under his shirt.

  Pink silk, and legs for miles.

  She glanced down. “Are you checking me out?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Here I am, fetching you a pain reliever from my bag, and you’re sneaking a peek. I’ll get you a glass of water, but remember, I’m not your dirty nurse.” She returned, sinking to her knees, handing him two pills, and bracing his neck as he swallowed. “Did I hurt you when I fell?”

  “Nah, a stallion bucked me off last summer. Flares now and again.”

  “Like when a woman jumps out of bed on you.” She glanced down at his hips, a flush creeping between her freckles. “The way I landed, ahem, down there, I was afraid I might have broken something else.”

  “Hah, will take more than a buck-twenty of woman to hurt me there.”

  She arched a brow. “Roll over.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can help you.” She slipped her fingers under his side and started to push him over.

  He pressed back firm against the ground. “What are you going to do?”

  “Give you a massage.”

  “Nah, that’s fine. I’m okay.”

  “I used to have back problems when I was younger and regular massage worked wonders. Trust me, I know what to do.” She must have felt him tense. “Big brave man like you? You probably aren’t afraid of diddly squat.”

  “Diddly squat?” The pain twisted his laughter into a groan.

  “It’s something our housekeeper used to say.” She had a determined look on her face and he didn’t want to go up against her in this state. Gritting his teeth, he rolled over with a ragged moan, hating his weakness. Edie rummaged through her purse again. What now? There was the sound of a lid uncapping and then a squeeze. “What are you—”

  “Lotion.” She slicked small, surprisingly strong hands over his tight muscles.

  Oh fuck. That smell, sweet vanilla sugar. Despite the pain, his morning wood became a damn drill. He’d be punching a hole through the floor any minute. Edie’s fingers felt around until she hit the place where he twitched.

  “Right there?”

  “Yeah.”

  She worked him like a ball of dough, kneading his lower back in a way that hurt and felt incredible.

  “Where’d you learn how to do this?” he choked out.

  “I’m going by instinct,” she murmured. “Also, not to brag but I’m an excellent bread baker. Someday you’ll have to try my focaccia.”

  She leaned into him and her hair fell across his spine, tickling his skin.

  Yeah, he was definitely leaving a hole in this floor. He’d never been so hard when clothed, if being in boxer briefs counted as clothing. Normally, commando was his style, but he’d thrown a pair in his duffel and thank God for that. If Miss Eden Valentina Bankcroft-Kew had landed on him bareback she’d have bucked off and galloped to the hills. But the way she rocked her palms on either side of his lower spine, relaxing him on a deep level, maybe she was . . . how’d she phrase it, going by instinct. That’s how he operated between the sheets, went by feel, what seemed to work in the moment. He had his tried and tested moves, same as any guy. Even a few big moves. But improvisation was key.

  “Okay. The knot is almost gone. Why don’t you try moving now?”

  He rocked back and forth, teeth clenched but he released them slowly as he realized there was no pain. Shit. She’d done it.

  “Don’t twist, sit up and see if you can do it without pain.”

  It felt good to lie here pain-free, but if he didn’t move, she’d keep touching him, and God knew, he wasn’t famous for self-control. Take it easy. This woman meant to say “I do” yesterday. He promised to usher her safely to Brightwater, not see if she could have multiple orgasms.

  The idea of Freckles face flushed with pleasure, her delicate neck arching as she moved against him . . .

  Quit it.

  “Here goes nothing.” He sat slowly. “Yeah. I’m good, you cured me.” Incredible.

  Her gaze swung below his waist before traveling back across his abs and bare chest. Archer kept free weights in Kit’s garage and they’d lift a few nights a week, but under her inscrutable stare, he felt something he could barely name.

  Uncertainty—huh, that’s a new one.

  “Well,” she stood and finger combed her hair. Her scent infused the air, made her seem edible.

  God, he’d love to coat her with frosting and lick her clean.

  “You should take a shower. That combined with the massage and pain relievers will make it better for now. Sorry again for that wake-up call.”

  “Best one I’ve had in a while.” He hauled to his feet and shrugged. No point trying to hide what was happening downstairs. There wasn’t a need to flaunt it, but hell if he’d hold a sheet to his waist like a twelve-year-old popping his first stiffy. They were all adults here.

  “Well, at least I didn’t break it.” Her gaze dipped and held a fraction too long. Was it his imagination or were her pupils dilating?

  “Nope.” He made a show of glancing down. “Looks like it’s open for business.”

  She blinked three times fast and pointed at the open bathroom door. “You. Shower. Now,” she ordered.

  He saluted and sauntered past. Before he got the door closed she squeaked, “And better make it a cold one.”

  Chapter Six

  “ARCHER?” EDEN STARED in the motel bathroom mirror, her reflection a study in horror. “Please tell
me this is a practical joke.”

  “We’re in the middle of Nevada, sweetheart. There’s no Madison Avenue swank in these parts.” Archer didn’t bother to keep amusement from his answering yell through the closed door. “The gas station only sold a few things. Trust me, those clothes were the best of the bunch.”

  After he got out of the shower, a very long shower that afforded Eden far too much time for contemplating him in a cloud of thick steam, running a bar of soap over cut v-lines, he announced that he would find her something suitable to wear. She couldn’t cross state lines wearing nothing but his old t-shirt, and while the wedding dress worked in a pinch, it was still damp. Besides, her stomach lurched at the idea of sliding back into satin and lace.

  She’d never be able to don a wedding dress and not think of the Reggie debacle. She couldn’t even entirely blame him, her subconscious had been sending out warning flares for months. She’d once been considered a smart woman, graduated from NYU with a 4.0 in Art History. So how could she have been so dumb?

  Truth be told, it wasn’t even her mother’s dying wish that led her to accepting him, although that certainly bore some influence. No, it was the idea of being alone. The notion didn’t feel liberating or “I am woman, hear me roar.” More like terrified house mouse squeaking alone in a dark cellar.

  She clenched her jaw, shooing away the mouse. What was the big deal with being alone? She might wish for more friends, or a love affair, but she’d also never minded her own company. This unexpected turn of events was an opportunity, a time for self-growth, getting to know herself, and figuring out exactly what she wanted. Yes, she’d get empowered all right, roar so loud those California mountains would tremble.

  Right after they finished laughing at this outfit.

  Seriously, did Archer have to select pink terrycloth booty shorts with a Q and a T in rhinestones, one letter on each butt cheek? And the low-cut top scooped so even her small rack sported serious cleavage. “Get Lucky” was emblazoned across the chest, the tank top an XS so the letters stretched to the point of embarrassment. If she raised her hands over her head, her belly button winked out.