Right Wrong Guy

by Lia Riley

A green eye stared back and she yelped, covering her mouth. “You came back.”

  “I forgot to tell you something,” came the deep rumble.

  Her next breath was nonexistent.

  Archer.

  She glanced down. Her red and green flannel robe might be comfy on cool mountain nights, but wasn’t exactly alluring. Not that alluring was a good idea. No, alluring was a bad, bad idea. Her stomach flipped as heat spread through her body. Her hand migrated to the doorknob, opening it slow, hoping he couldn’t hear her swallow. Hard.

  “You scared me half to death. What are you—”

  “I want to be a hell of a lot more than your friend. All I can think about is lighting that secret fire you’ve got kindling inside.”

  She couldn’t say anything in response, not when she was too busy reaching for his shoulders and dragging his hot, hungry mouth over hers. Archer groaned, sinking his big hands into her hair. This wasn’t slow but dear God was it thorough. His lips alone were absolutely lethal. What on earth would happen when his tongue tangled with hers? It didn’t look like she’d have long to wait. Her inner muscles coiled as one of his hands slid to the nape of her neck, angling her head back to deepen their kiss. Every way he moved, from the crushing pressure of his mouth to the way he grazed his teeth on her skin was so explicit. Half teasing, half devouring.

  He smelled woodsy, like nature and hard work, with traces of laundry soap and man. She throbbed, as if her pulse suddenly originated from her clit.

  Raw heat emanated from him, yet she shivered, her nipples hard against the robe’s rough cotton. She was all ragged edges even as her bones transformed to warm maple syrup.

  And she wanted more, the rough and tender.

  His tongue thrust, her back arched, and they both moaned.

  “You taste like cherries and chocolate,” he murmured, his voice ragged and husky with need.

  She did this to him.

  His own faint taste of whisky wasn’t half bad either. Was it enough to get her drunk, because her legs didn’t seem to have a prayer of supporting her. Luckily it didn’t matter because his hands braced her ass, she didn’t even know he’d moved, and then she was rising, feet leaving the floor. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist as he pushed her against the open door. But she’d been in the shower five minutes ago and wasn’t wearing panties. Her robe parted and he was there, his hard length rocking against her sensitive skin, the denim providing just enough friction to make her ache a dull pain.

  Yes, oh yes, this was a need that hurt.

  How long had it been since she’d come? Too long. It didn’t seem worth it to count back that far. Not when she could be bucking against him instead, messy, urgent, and perfect. Her need came from a deep place, roaring awake, a forge that had been simmering. All she needed was more stoking.

  And a little more stroking.

  “Touch me.” That was her voice. She said the words, and not just once. Over and over. “Touch me. Touch me.”

  Not even saying. Begging. Breathless. So breathless maybe he couldn’t understand except he did because they were moving. He kicked her front door shut and then she was on the love seat. Well, technically, he was on the love seat and she was on him, her robe open, bracketing her exposed breasts and framing her sex. He stared over her exposed body with an expression that reflected the feeling surging inside her.

  Consumed.

  His gaze rose, locking with hers as he reached up and slid away the robe, let it fall down her back, crumple beneath her ass.

  “Beautiful,” he said, caressing the slope of her shoulders.

  “I know why you’re here,” she said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Guys like you want one thing.” And while that was true, God, she was going to give it. Regret could wait until tomorrow.

  “Let’s get something straight, Freckles.” His hands slid oh-so-slowly down, grazing the sides of her breasts, outlining her curves. “I’m not here for one thing, I’m here for everything.”

  Before the words could even finish registering, he dipped forward. That mouth that had done wicked things to hers latched on to her breast. He took his time licking, tasting, alternating between both as if time didn’t exist. He fluttered his tongue over the tip of one, and then sucking it in, slow and gentle, he gently squeezed the other. Back and forth he went, until she felt impossibly full, aching.

  His hand dragged down leaving her breast. His mouth remained, sucking harder now and then, and then, oh God, and then, a finger teased between her folds. She didn’t realize how wet she’d gotten. He slid straight over her clit and the twin action of his touch coupled with the pressure on her nipple nearly sent her backward.

  His fingers moved against her and she had no choice, she had to move in response. It was slow what they did, as slow as a dance but a million times more intimate. She was fresh from the shower, but even still, could smell her need, sharp and clean. There was no hiding that this was everything she wanted, everything that she had fantasized about for night after lonely night.

  When he pulled back from her breast she moaned in protest, but moaned louder for the lazy circles he kept on her center.

  “Want to watch?” he muttered.

  Her gaze drew downward. His long tanned fingers stood in sharp contrast to her red curls and pale thighs. He slid one finger into her heat but it wasn’t enough. She needed more. She needed him. Her hands moved to his belt buckle, skimming the hard bulge.

  “No,” he ground out.

  “No what?”

  “Not tonight.”

  She paused. “I don’t understand. I thought we were going to . . .”

  “You’re going to. Tonight is for you.”

  Despite the building pressure, deep in her pelvis, she was shocked to stillness. What guy offered up a woman pleasure while forgoing his own? Especially a guy with Archer’s reputation.

  “Stop thinking, feel,” he ordered.

  “But I—”

  Two fingers joined the first and her eyes rolled back into her head.

  “I said feel,” he rumbled.

  And there was nothing else to do but what he commanded. Archer filled her on the inside, while his thumb kept its insistent pulse. “Good, God, so good. You are so good.”

  She was getting close. And as much as she wanted to be there, she didn’t want this to end. Because once it was over, logic would gather up her senses and remind her that this was one big fat terrible—

  “Kiss me,” he growled. “Kiss me and come.”

  And really, how do you turn down a request like that?

  Oh, his taste, that faint smoky whisky and trace of spearmint. His tongue thrust a rhythm slightly different from his fingers, enough to keep her off-kilter, to produce sensations laden upon sensations until she was positive she couldn’t take another second.

  Then, he yanked back her hair, not enough to hurt, just to feel amazing, the same amount of roughness that his scruff had when skimming her neck. And that was it. She was flying. Or a pounding wave. Who cared, this was the single most powerful orgasm of her life, and Archer stayed there every step of the way, not backing off, not slowing down until she collapsed against him, ragged and spent.

  Her pulse thundered in her ears. Did he feel the same pulse against the fingers still slipped inside her? After a moment, he slowly pulled his hand away.

  “I’ve never seen anything as fucking gorgeous as you getting off, Freckles.”

  She giggled, slow and sleepy. This is probably a line he fed all the girls but right now she was as smug as a cat that got into the cream. If that’s what it felt like to be used by Archer Kane, well, maybe she needed to rethink her priorities.

  But he did something next that she never expected.

  He hugged her.

  His arms encircled her waist as he rested his forehead between her shoulder and neck.

  “Your smell, the vanilla, I can’t be around anyone baking these days or I go nuts. The other day, someone was
baking cookies and I got hard.”

  “Shut up, no you didn’t.”

  His laughter vibrated into her skin. “Well, it could have been because I was standing beneath your apartment.”

  “You’re serious?” Two nights ago she had baked cookies up here, almond sugar.

  “As a heart attack, Freckles.”

  “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or freaked out.”

  He gave the tip of her nose a soft kiss. “Welcome to my world, that’s how it’s been since I met you.”

  “I don’t understand. You haven’t come around. I haven’t even seen you since the day you brought me from Vegas. I assumed . . .”

  His eyes narrowed and he reached forward gathering up her fallen robe and handing it to her. “Go on, get what you need to say off your chest.”

  She slid off his lap, moving to the far end of the love seat, which meant her thigh was still grazing his. She’d ridden him like a bronco. She’d gone crazy from vitamin O deficiency.

  “Are there any women in this town you haven’t slept with?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  She stood and paced. “Stop being so literal. What I mean is, are the stories I’ve heard true?”

  “I don’t know which stories you’ve heard.”

  “Just tell me the truth,” she snapped. She didn’t want to dance around the edge. “I haven’t come this far to put up with . . . with . . . more guy bullshit.”

  Archer raised a brow at that. “I have a reputation. It’s not entirely undeserved.”

  “You use women.”

  He cocked his head. “Use? Yes, I suppose. But I never pretend. It’s clear from the beginning. I’m not a guy who promises flowers and romance. I keep it simple, cut and dried. The woman knows full well what she’s consenting to . . . it’s sex and sex only. That’s what they agree to, and if they don’t, I’m out of there.” He stood, dragging his hand through his hair. “But that’s not what this is between me and you.” He stared out the window, his palm resting against the center of the glass.

  “Oh come on.”

  He whirled around. “I know it sounds like a line, but you’re different. I’m fascinated. Captivated. From the moment I saw you I haven’t been able to see anyone else. You’re what I want, and what I want with you, I’ve never wanted with anyone else. Never thought about it.”

  Archer stood there, ripping his heart out and holding it raw and beating for her examination. Never had a woman affected him this way. It wasn’t that he simply had to have her, although make no mistake, he craved her touch, the same way he needed air. But it was more than that. And that more is what left him off-kilter, because what if he was alone in this?

  What did she want?

  And why did two tears stream down her cheeks?

  She wiped them away.

  “What are those for?” he said, crossing the room, gently framing her face. Lord, her skin was so soft, so perfect. He could see a slight redness along her neck where his beard had rubbed.

  She stared into a far corner of the room, her lower lip quivering slightly, still swollen from his kisses. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me. Nothing like you, I mean. Growing up, I was . . . awkward. My teeth stuck out. My hair was so red, so bushy. In school, kids used to pick on me. It was bad. They’d write terrible things inside my textbooks. But I couldn’t tell Mother. Daddy had died and she was devastated. She was so pretty, so elegant and refined—I was humiliated by what was happening to me.

  “Eventually, I got braces and discovered a flat-iron. By the time I got to college, I fit in, more or less. But on the inside, I always expected the tables to turn. To do something or appear in some way that would send people after me again, like a pack of hyenas. It was easier to fade into the background, not draw attention to myself. I got so good at acting like a ghost that I became one. Reggie is the only man who ever paid me attention, and it was for all the wrong reasons. Until you.”

  Archer ground his teeth so his jaw didn’t slam onto her floor. To stand here and listen to the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on tell him that she was an ugly duckling didn’t compute. She wasn’t a ghost. She was a living flame. If men stayed away, it’s probably because her looks intimidated them. Hell, they intimidated him too, but then he’d never had a problem playing with fire.

  The imprint of her kiss burned into his body.

  Tonight he came here to get her outside her head, to stop her thinking, to make her feel instinctively what they had here. This kind of chemistry just doesn’t happen. He should know.

  She set her hand on his chest and gave a little push. “I need you to leave.”

  “Eden—”

  “Edie,” she corrected. “I’m not sure what to think about you, but earlier you said you weren’t here for one thing.”

  “That’s right. I’m not looking for a one-night stand with you.”

  “Then prove it and go home. Archer, please,” her voice broke on his name.

  He had her, even if she didn’t realize it yet. She wanted him the same way he wanted her. If he pushed tonight, he could have her body.

  But that would ruin everything, only serve to confirm her suspicions. This was a long game. He had to go slow if he wanted her heart in the bargain.

  He leaned forward and she glanced up, lips parting. Damn it. He went for her forehead instead. His mouth smoothed away her worry wrinkles.

  “I hate to leave you like this, but I’ll go. Sweet dreams, Freckles.”

  And then he did the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.

  He went home to his empty bed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  EDIE FLOWED ALONG with the cheerful crowd pouring into the Brightwater Rodeo Grounds for the Fourth of July town celebration. The banner strung over the bandstand read “Welcome to California’s Biggest Little Fireworks.” A few pies were in the oven back at Haute Coffee, a little risky, but unthinkable to miss her first official small-town event. A half hour couldn’t hurt when she was right down the block. She shifted the plate of cookies to one hand, and rolled her wrist, sore from kneading. If anything, the coffee shop’s second day exceeded the first. She should be grinning ear to ear, heels clicking, and turning cartwheels, but instead unsettling images kept flitting through her mind.

  The way Archer’s lips worked across her breasts until she could barely see straight.

  How his fingers pulsed and rolled against her sensitive skin in a rhythm that was gentle, wicked perfection.

  Who needed fireworks when mere memories threatened to detonate her insides?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, still feeling the slide of his tongue over hers as she came in a white-hot flash.

  Stick a fork in me. I’m done.

  But all those skillful moves had been honed somewhere. Still, Archer didn’t hide his womanizing past. He wasn’t a liar, except for when calling her stunning and gorgeous. No one had ever spoken such words to her and he made them sound convincing—too convincing. Who knew what he saw when looking at her, but it didn’t appear to be untamed carrot-colored hair, a lack of sexy curves, or the surplus of freckles.

  When his gaze locked with hers, she truly felt beautiful.

  So why couldn’t she believe it outside the moment?

  The rodeo grounds were packed. People waved as she walked by, so many familiar faces. There was the electrician who did a fantastic job retrofitting the shop. His wife swore she’d never liked coffee until she’d tried Edie’s brew. Then there was Old Fred, up on the stage, playing polka tunes on his ancient-looking accordion. This morning, he’d leaned across the counter and whispered that her pies tasted better than his wife’s, making her pinky-promise never to repeat his confession.

  Quincy was off on a business trip, probably for the best. If her cousin was here, they’d likely end up alone, sipping champagne from his gourmet hamper and ignoring curious stares as townsfolk covertly eyed the richest man in town.
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  Nicer to be plain old anonymous Edie Banks.

  The potluck tables groaned under the weight of casseroles, salads, and desserts. She veered in that direction. Locals at the coffee shop made it clear the fireworks were synonymous with food and everyone contributed. She set her plate of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies down and surveyed the various goodies. There were a few questionable Jell-O salad molds, a yummy looking fruit salad, and some promising brownies. A cheesecake sat in an adorable daisy Pyrex dish. It looked tasty, but no one had cut so much as a piece. Strange. She leaned in and read the label printed on a small chalkboard label, “Avocado Lime Cheesecake.”

  She gave an inward wince. While the offering received points for creativity, avocado? In dessert? That seemed like an automatic no. Still, she bit her lip, considering—what made a cheesecake truly delicious was the creamy factor. What if the avocado amped that aspect?

  Oh, no point dithering, be brave and give it a taste.

  She cut herself a whisper-thin slice and people stared as she took a tentative bite. It was a little hard to chew under their direct stares, but everyone seemed genuinely interested in her reaction.

  “How is it?” a woman muttered from across the table. “Kooky Carson’s daughter made that.”

  Edie carefully swallowed. She didn’t have a clue who Kooky Carson was, but she knew delicious when she tasted it. “The flavor is . . . wow, absolutely fantastic.”

  “Are you serious?” another woman asked. “Because the ingredients—”

  “They might be unorthodox but trust me, this cheesecake is amazing.” She gave a wicked smile. “I don’t care if none of you believe me because that means more for my plate!” She cut herself a bigger piece.

  A few other women crept in and cut small pieces. “If Edie says it’s good, it must be,” one said defensively to her skeptical friend.

  A warmth spread through Edie’s chest. It was a testament to a job well done if they thought she had good taste after Haute Coffee was open for only two days. “Who made this? I really need to get the recipe.”

  “Annie Carson.” A woman pointed in the direction of a pretty petite blonde. The same woman who’d visited the coffee shop on opening day with Archer’s brother, Sawyer. She was a blogger and had a cute style sense. The two of them sat together with her young son and Edie’s heart warmed to see them all burst out laughing, clearly having good time. Maybe this woman could be a friend. She baked like a dream and shared similar taste in men. Sawyer possessed the same handsome features as his brother, although he always looked more serious, whereas Archer possessed those endearing dimples.