Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(28)

I sigh and curl against him as he slides his arm around my shoulders. “I don’t want to have secrets,” he says softly. “And I’m trying my damnedest not to. But some things I have to work through first. Does that make sense?”

I nod. “Yeah. It does.”

“Good.”

We sit like that for a while, just holding each other, wrapped in the dark of the night.

“We’ve got this right?” I finally ask, my voice a whisper, my eyes on the ocean that churns in front of us.

“Yeah,” he says, pulling me closer. “We’ve totally got this.”





What the Butler Saw

I wake up curled against Dallas and think that there’s really no place I’d rather be? and nothing else I will ever need. Except for coffee.

I definitely need coffee.

“Good morning.” His hair is deliciously mussed, and there’s a very obvious invitation in his eyes. An invitation that he backs up with the slow trailing of his fingers up and down my bare arm.

“Don’t even think about it,” I tease. “The only way you’re getting any this morning is if I get some coffee.”

“I can do that.” He stretches, yawns, then sits up on the side of the bed, giving me a very nice view of his well-muscled back and broad, strong shoulders.

“Mmmm,” I say, and he peers at me over his shoulder.

“Something on your mind?”

“Just enjoying the view.”

His eyes graze over me, bare except for the spread of black satin draped over my calf. “I know exactly what you mean.” He leans down and kisses me gently. “Give me a minute to go down to the kitchen,” he says as he stands. He grabs a pair of sweatpants from where he’d left them over the arm of a chair a day or so ago, then tugs them on.

“And this is why I have a Keurig in my bedroom.”

“I’m not the addict you are.” He flashes a wolfish grin. “You’re all the buzz I need.”

I counter by throwing a pillow at him. “Go,” I say, pulling the sheet up to my neck and then pointing toward the door. “No looking or touching until I’m properly caffeinated.”

He inclines his head in a subservient bow. “As you wish.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m still smiling after he’s gone. And when he taps lightly on the door a few minutes later, I say in my most authoritative voice, “Enter.”

Except it’s not him. It’s Archie. And he’s carrying a tray with a coffeepot.

The sheet, thank God, is still under my chin—I’d been planning on tormenting Dallas a little upon his return. But that fact barely makes a dent in my overall level of mortification.

Archie, however, is his usual professional self.

He crosses the room without even rattling the cups and sets the tray down on the bedside table. “Shall I pour?”

“I—um.” I struggle to answer, not really certain how to act in this situation. As I’m fumbling, Dallas comes in through the open door. He’s carrying two mugs, and he didn’t bother with a tray.

“Thanks,” I say wryly. “But you’re a little late.”

His eyes meet mine, and I honestly can’t tell if that’s an apology or amusement coloring his expression. Probably a little of both.

“I didn’t intend to disturb you so early,” Archie says smoothly. “But you have a guest. Mr. Martin.”

He’s looking at Dallas, but I’m the one who replies. “Mr. Martin? Bill? My Bill?”

“Yours?” Dallas says sharply, then looks as though he wishes he’d bitten his tongue instead.

“Miss Jane’s ex-husband, yes,” Archie says.

“Oh,” I say, peering around the room for clothes, then remembering they are across the hall in the study. And mostly ruined. Thankfully, I’d ordered a few things on line during our four days of bliss—including my now-destroyed skirt—and that new wardrobe is downstairs in my old bedroom. “Well, I just need to get dressed and—”

“He’s here to see Dallas, actually. I’ve put him in the first floor den,” he adds. “With coffee and orange juice.”

“Right. Well, I’ll go see what he wants,” Dallas says, looking as though he’d rather do anything but.

As I watch, he pulls on a pair of khakis that Archie hands him from the closet, then matches them with a loose knit shirt and loafers. He’s gone from looking like he just woke up to someone who could model for GQ in approximately twelve seconds. And when he takes the next step and smooths his sex-mussed hair, then rolls back his shoulders and stands tall, he looks like a man who could run an empire.

My man, I think, and hug the little nugget of pride close even as a disturbing question occurs to me. “Why is he here? Do you think he’s found out about—” I’m looking at Dallas, but I don’t finish the question because it occurs to me that I have absolutely no idea if Archie knows about Deliverance. But I’m terrified that Bill has come on behalf of WORR—the World Organization for Rescue and Rehabilitation.

It’s a group with a mission I believe in—assisting government agencies in the rescue of kidnap victims. But it has another purpose, too, and that’s to locate and shut down vigilante groups. A former assistant United States attorney, Bill is one of the top people at WORR. And Deliverance is very much on his radar.