Accidentally on Purpose (Heartbreaker Bay #3)(58)

He squeezed her waist, making her realize he was still holding her to his side. “You’d never have left it unlocked,” he said. “You’re too smart that. Not to mention anal.”

She choked out a laugh at the compliment and insult sandwiched together and knew by the way he smiled that he’d meant to get that reaction from her. “Should I call the police?” she asked.

“Already did.”

An hour later the police had come and gone. Archer walked around checking the windows and then he grabbed her purse. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Go where?” Elle asked.

“To bed. You’re done in.”

“I don’t need my purse to walk down the hall and get into bed,” she said.

“That’s not the bed you’re going to.”

It took her a minute to respond, as her body and brain had two very different reactions to the thought of sleeping with him again. Her body wanted to jump up and down and pump a fist in anticipation. Her brain wanted to scream that she was in far more danger from Archer than anyone or anything else.

At least her heart was anyway . . . “This is a really bad idea,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because you’ll flash me your panty-melting smile and my clothes will fall off.”

This got her the wolf grin. “And?”

“And,” she said, “we’re no longer mutual orgasm givers.”

He just looked at her, purse held out, the thing looking small and feminine in his big hand.

“Fine.” She snatched it. Someone had broken into her home. Touched her things. And she had no idea why or what they’d been looking for. The truth was that her knees were still knocking and she didn’t want to sleep here alone anyway. “I’ll sleep on your couch.”

“Wherever you want,” he said, and then he drove them through the night, in his zone, quiet. Watchful.

Elle didn’t have a zone, but she could pretend with the best of them. “It was probably Morgan,” she said.

He gave a slow shake of his head. “I called her. It wasn’t.”

She stared at his profile in the dark, slashes of ambient light slanting over his face at every streetlight they passed. “Excuse me,” she said. “You called her? You and my sister are on calling-each-other terms?”

He parked in front of his building and turned to face her. “While you’re still good and pissed off at me, there’s something you should know.”

“Great. What now? No, wait,” she said. “Let me guess. You’ve kept track of my period as well as everything else, and you know I’m a day late.”

He stilled. Blinked once. Not another muscle moved on that big body, not a single one. After a very long beat went by—during which she cursed herself for opening her big, fat mouth—he said with deceptive calm, “You’re late?”

What the hell was wrong with her? She hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to say a damn word. She’d only just realized this morning. She was one hundred percent certain it was stress. Or ninety-five percent anyway . . . “Guess you don’t know everything, do you?”

There was a muscle ticking in his jaw now, and he took a moment to visibly compose himself. It was pretty fascinating really, the control he had over his emotions. She considered herself quite the emotion controller but Archer was the master.

He got her inside his place and then, in a move that shouldn’t have charmed her as thoroughly as it did, put on some hot water, presumably for her nightly tea.

Dammit. He knew exactly what she needed, always. Well, almost always. Because right this minute standing in his kitchen, she could’ve used a hug.

He came to her and for a minute she thought he’d read her mind. He pulled off her jacket and set it over the back of a chair. He took her purse and tossed it on top of her jacket. Then he put his hands on her arms, gently stroking up and down as he bent at the knees to look her in the eyes. “Can I ask you to sit without starting a fight?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Asking would be nice.”

She thought, but wasn’t sure, that she saw a very small smile curve his mouth. “Will you please sit?”

With another shoulder lift, she headed back into the living room to the couch and sank into the cushions. It was the most comfy couch she’d ever sat on. It seemed to embrace her and she lay her head back and closed her eyes, suddenly and completely exhausted.

For whatever reason, Archer let her be. She heard him tinkering around in the kitchen and the thought made her smile. Archer tinkering in the kitchen . . . The image that conjured up felt incongruous, the big badass Archer in an apron bent over the stove.

“What are you smiling about?”

Shit, the man moved like smoke. She jerked and opened her eyes to find him crouched in front of her. He set a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table.

“You’re not wearing an apron,” she murmured.

With a frown, he palmed her forehead.

“I’m not sick,” she managed with a low laugh and pushed his hand—the one that felt far too good on her skin—away from her.

He didn’t budge. “Talk to me, Elle.”

She blew out a breath. “I’m not ready to talk to you.” She picked up the remote on the coffee table and aimed it at the biggest TV she’d ever seen.