Page 48 of Missing Pieces (Brantley Walker: Off the Books #12)

As soon as the meeting let out , Archer spent another hour talking to Atticus, discussing some of the data as well as next steps for the statue case. He’d been relieved that Atticus was already letting him become part of the process, rather than seeing him as the enemy.

After that, he gave more time to Simon, listening as the man tried to wrap his head around Decker Bromwell’s revelation.

When it became obvious Simon wasn’t sure how to proceed, Archer told him they’d pick it up tomorrow, then hopped on his Harley and headed to Spencer’s house.

Since there was an hour to spare before their date, he was hoping Spencer would be home.

So what if he told the man he preferred a public place for their date?

It wasn’t like he couldn’t control himself around the guy.

And right now, he wasn’t interested in sitting at a table, making polite small talk, while a server hovered nearby to ensure they didn’t need anything.

He wanted some privacy and somewhere quiet so they could talk.

Or hell, they didn’t even have to talk. He was all for watching a movie or whatever.

He just wanted time with Spencer. Time to learn every nuance about him.

He wanted to hear stories of growing up in a small town, learn what made him happy, sad.

He wanted to know everything there was to know about Spencer Elliott, and the only way to make that happen was to spend time with him.

A little while later, Archer pulled up to the house, admiring it the same as he had last time.

The green of the plants in the well-maintained flowerbeds, the sprinkle of color throughout.

The large boulder propping up an old wagon wheel in the center of the circular driveway.

It was a beautiful place, there was no doubt about that.

There were no cars in the driveway, but he knew Spencer parked his car in the garage, so if he were lucky, that was the case now.

After securing his helmet, he walked around the house to the front door. He was halfway across the porch when he heard music. Loud music. “Old Time Rock and Roll” was coming from inside the house.

He slowed when he saw movement through the large glass windows. A smile crept up on his face as he watched Spencer dance across the living room, wearing white socks and a button-down shirt. He couldn’t see what he had on beneath, but Archer had a damn good imagination.

It was quite a good rendition of the iconic scene from Risky Business , but rather than holding a microphone, Spencer was holding a white tapered candle. And rather than lip sync, he was belting out the words along with Bob Seger.

After a few more creative leg moves, Spencer set the candle on the mantel, then popped the collar on his shirt as he continued to dance across the room.

Oddly enough, it was one of the sexiest things Archer had ever seen.

Because he didn’t want Spencer to catch him watching, he went to the door and knocked, adding some power behind the move to be heard over the music.

A moment later, the music cut off, followed by silence.

He was almost positive he saw a shadow behind the security hole, figuring Spencer was checking to see who it was.

The door opened a crack, and Spencer peeked out. “Hey. I … uh … thought we were meetin’ somewhere.”

“We were. But I decided eating in works for me. Thought we could order a pizza.”

Spencer didn’t open the door as he glanced down, then back up. “I need to … um … get dressed.”

“What you’re wearin’s fine,” Archer said, his grin growing. “I got a peek of your performance through the window.”

Instantly, Spencer’s face turned a rosy pink.

“It was hot,” Archer told him. Keeping his cadence smooth, he lowered his tone an octave and leaned forward. “Seriously fucking hot.”

Spencer continued to stand there, holding the door.

Archer made no move to go inside, but he did say, “You wanna get dressed so maybe I could come in?”

“Shit.” Spencer swung the door open wide. Before Archer could step inside, the man was racing across the room, sliding on his socked feet through a doorway, then disappearing down a hallway.

Chuckling, Archer came in, shutting the door behind him.

The house smelled good. Something citrusy. It could’ve been a lemon-scented cleaner, or perhaps one of those plug-in air fresheners discreetly hidden somewhere.

Not wanting to appear too comfortable, Archer remained near the front door, admiring the house until Spencer reappeared a few minutes later.

Gone was the button-down shirt and white socks, replaced with a heather-gray long-sleeved cotton shirt and a pair of loose-fitting gray cotton shorts. His feet were bare.

“I can order the pizza,” Spencer said, making a beeline toward the kitchen island without making eye contact. “What would you like on it?”

Archer could tell he was nervous, which was endearing. It warmed something inside him.

“I’m pretty easy when it comes to pizza,” he admitted.

Spencer chuckled, but it sounded forced.

Wanting to ease his nerves, he came over, standing beside Spencer and leaning an elbow on the kitchen island, trying to get him to look his way.

When Spencer finally did, Archer grinned. “Hi.”

That seemed to ease his tension because he gave a soft “Hi” in return.

From this proximity, Archer could smell Spencer’s cologne. He smelled as good as he looked.

Archer tipped his head forward, still smiling. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not.” The subtle vibration belied his words.

“Well, I am.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Archer chuckled. “Don’t believe me?”

“No.”

“It’s true.”

Spencer’s gaze remained unsteady, moving from Archer’s face to the phone, then back.

When Spencer held his stare, Archer said, “I thought about you today.”

“You did?”

“I did. All day.”

“Oh.”

Smiling, Archer stood tall and took a step closer. He reached up, pressing his finger beneath Spencer’s chin, tipping his head up so Archer could kiss him.

That was all it took for Spencer’s nervous energy to disappear, replaced by a sensual hum that Archer felt in his veins whenever he was near this man.

He wasn’t sure what it was, or whether he’d ever felt anything like it before.

Whatever it was, he wanted more. He hadn’t had nearly enough of Spencer Elliott, and he was already addicted.

Spencer turned to face him, their lips locked as their tongues mated. Gently at first, then more urgently when Spencer’s hands started to roam.

“I thought about you, too,” Spencer whispered.

Archer pulled back, cupping Spencer’s head to hold him still so he could meet his gaze. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what, pray tell, did you think about?”

Spencer’s amber-gold eyes shimmered.

“Tell me,” Archer urged, wanting to hear his voice, to understand what he was feeling.

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me,” he repeated, gently tapping Spencer’s temples. “I want to know what goes on in this beautiful head of yours.”

“I promise, you don’t.”

Frowning, Archer studied him. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re not wearin’ clothes in my thoughts.”

Smirking, he stepped closer, pinning Spencer between his body and the quartz-topped island. He eliminated the space between them, feeling the hard ridge of Spencer’s dick pressed against his thigh and letting Spencer feel exactly what he did to him.

“I want to hear it all.”

“I thought you said no sex.” Spencer’s voice was gravel-rough, his eyes glazed.

That wasn’t what he meant, but he decided to play along. “I said not on the first date.”

“Or the second,” Spencer noted.

“So what number is this?”

“Fifteen.”

Archer barked a laugh. “That many, huh?”

“I’ve lost count,” Spencer said with a smile. “I think it’s number three.”

“Is it?” Archer canted his head. “Feels like there’ve been more.”

He leaned in again, holding Spencer’s head still so he could own the kiss. He licked his way into Spencer’s mouth, relishing the taste of him. Archer liked the way Spencer submitted under his dominance. Since Archer enjoyed control, it was satisfying to feel Spencer become pliant and eager.

“One of these days I’m gonna lay you out like a feast,” he mumbled against Spencer’s mouth.

“One of these days?” Spencer huffed.

Archer released Spencer when he pulled back.

“But not today?” The disappointment in Spencer’s voice was like a sword, cutting deep.

“I’m not sayin’ that,” Archer told him, meaning it.

“I think you are.”

Feeling the moment slip away, Archer backed up a step. “Why don’t we take it slow for a bit. Cool?”

He was relieved when Spencer took a deep breath, exhaled. “Slow. Yeah. Okay. What do you want on your pizza?”

“Whatever you want’s fine with me.”

Turning, he headed for the couch, trying to adjust the steel bat in his jeans.

The man made him so fucking hard he hurt.

And while he wanted nothing more than to bend Spencer over and lodge himself deep within his body, something told him he had to go slow.

Not because Spencer was damaged or fragile.

Not entirely, at least. The man was no victim, of that he was certain.

No, Archer wanted to go slow because he didn’t want Spencer to kick him to the curb.

He had no desire to be this man’s one-and-done like he’d been for so many others.

Spencer stood with his back to Archer , pulling up the app for the pizza place on his phone. He skimmed through the menu, taking his time, needing a minute to calm down.

He appreciated Archer’s desire to take things slow, but it wasn’t necessary. Hell, it was an inconvenience if he were being honest. He was thirty-one years old for fuck’s sake. He was tired of waiting.