Crave (Billionaire Bachelors Club #1)(8)

“I can’t help it if you’re rude,” I say with a sniff. I sound like a complete snot but I don’t care.

“You push all my buttons,” he admits, his voice quiet and edged with a mysterious darkness that sends a thrill shooting down my spine. He keeps his eyes trained on me as he slowly draws closer.

“Right back at you.” Why do I sound so breathless? It doesn’t help that he’s stopped directly in front of me, his big, broad body obliterating everything else until he’s all I can see.

“I’m hoping you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.” He reaches out his hand toward me and I stare at it, not sure what he wants me to do. “Please?”

Did Archer Bancroft just say please? I’m sure this is a rare moment in history. “Why do you care about having my forgiveness?” I keep my gaze trained on his hand for fear he’ll see the confusion and emotion in my eyes.

Shit. What is wrong with me?

“Fuck, Ivy, why do you always have to be so difficult?” His hand drops.

I chance looking up at him, see the irritation and frustration written all over his face and I’m so overcome with the need to comfort him I take a step forward, ready to grab hold of his hand and . . .

And what?

“Archer?” A woman’s voice calls from nearby, causing the both of us to look at each other. The slightly panicked look on his face indicates he knows exactly who this woman is.

“Who’s looking for you?” I ask.

“No one.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Clearly someone is, since I can hear her call your name.”

“She’s not important. I went on one dinner date with her, Jeff, and Cecily a long time ago. She had us married and planning for babies by the end of it,” he says irritably, glancing over his shoulder.

“What’s her name?”

He turns to me. “What?”

“Her name? The no one who’s looking for you?”

“I, uh . . . don’t remember.” He runs a hand through that sexy hair again, strands falling over his forehead, and I’m filled with the sudden urge to push his hair out of his eyes. Comb my fingers through it.

Stop!

I need to remember he’s a complete jackass. I should run. Right now. In fact, I’m fully preparing to let him know exactly how much of an ass I think he is when the woman’s voice sounds again, closer this time as she continues to call Archer’s name like some worried owner looking for her pet dog.

“We should—oh.”

He practically shoves me against the railing, the rough concrete scratching my back through the thin fabric of my dress and he immediately slips his arm around my waist, protecting me. Holding me. His chest is against mine, my br**sts pressed flush to him, and I release a skittering breath, my mind hung up on having him too close.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, incredulous.

“Shh.” He rests his hand over my mouth, silencing me. His palm is big and warm, his fingers long, and I swear his skin tastes the slightest bit salty, not that I’m licking him or anything.

Oh God, I think . . . no, I know I want to lick him. Desperately. Slip one of those long fingers in between my lips and suck. And that is just so, so wrong . . .

“Maybe she won’t find us,” he whispers, dipping his head so his gaze meets mine. “Stay still.”

I slowly nod, his hand still over my mouth, his eyes locked with mine. His touch gentles as he takes another step closer and I want to melt at his nearness.

“Archer, are you back here?”

I flick my eyes to the left and see the woman. She’s standing about fifty feet away, her head whipping this way and that, almost frantically searching, and I press farther against the ledge at the same time Archer steps into me. His arm is still around my waist, protecting me from the rough concrete, and he’s standing so close I can hardly breathe.

There’s a giant pine tree giving us cover, throwing shadows over the corner we’re standing in, and I don’t think the woman can really see us. She’s oblivious to the fact we’re not that far from her.

Which I’m thankful for. I shouldn’t be. I should be kicking Archer in the shins and letting the woman know he’s right here and then throwing him to the she-wolf. Let him deal with the poor soul he rejected God knows how long ago who still harbors a thing for him.

He’s a complete womanizer. I’d be wise to stay away from him.

My head tells me this. But my body is singing a completely different tune.

Our gazes lock, his thumb sweeps back and forth across my cheek so slowly I want to die. It feels so good. This . . . is not right. His nearness confuses me. The way he looks at me, touches me, it makes me want him.

Desperately.

My earlier thoughts come rushing back, when I was being all “woe-is-me” wishing for a random stranger to make out with in a dark corner. Being with Archer like this is the next best thing. He’s looking at me like he’s thinking the same thing I am. Which is scary.

Exhilarating. Exciting.

As I stare up at him, I see how absolutely perfect his lips are. How come I never noticed this before? And when his tongue darts out to lick them, why are my knees suddenly shaking?

Oh, this is bad. So, so bad.

The woman finally gives up and leaves and I slump against the railing, ready for him to move away from me. Ready for him to grab me by the hips and lift me up onto the concrete ledge so I can wrap my legs around him and beg him to do me.