Page 11

Archer

“S top looking at me like that, Wren,” I say, chuckling as I kneel at her feet to double check the laces of her skates. “It’s not going to get you out of this.”

“Darn it,” she mumbles under her breath.

I just shake my head, fighting a smile. She’s been trying to talk me out of the rink and into bed since halfway through lunch. But she isn’t afraid of the ice anymore. At least, not entirely. I doubt she’ll willingly step out onto a frozen pond ever again, but that’s all right. She doesn’t need to do that. I just want her comfortable around the arena. I don’t want her feeling like she isn’t safe. And, when I finally manage to get her pregnant, I want her to know that our kids will be safe too.

“This isn’t going to end well,” she says like she’s foretelling certain disaster. She’s clumsy as fuck, so she may be. But I’m undeterred as I rise to my feet and hold out my hand, helping her to her feet.

She wobbles, clinging to me before she finally finds her footing. Mostly. Every few seconds, she sways to the side.

“Micah never tried to teach you again after your accident?”

She eyes me like I’ve lost it. “Are you kidding? He spent the first couple of years panicking if I went anywhere near ice. I’ve always been a swimmer, but he freaked about water, too.” Her nose scrunches. “I guess I never really asked him after that. It stressed him out too much.”

I’m not surprised. And I guess I can’t really hold that against him. Just knowing she almost died back then feels like a weight on my chest. I can’t even imagine how much worse it was for Micah and her parents, who had to see the aftermath of that firsthand.

“Do you know the basics?”

“You mean put one foot in front of the other and pray I don’t fall?” she retorts, sarcasm heavy in her voice. “Yep.”

“No, smartass.” I shake my head at her. “Do you know how to find your center of balance? How to walk in skates?”

“I mean…the balance thing is basically the whole problem, Archer,” she huffs at me. “I’m not very graceful on flat feet, let alone on a tiny blade that a madman designed.”

I take a step away from her and then another. She throws her arms out like she’s trying to steady herself.

“Keep them slightly in front of you, Wren. Like this.” I demonstrate what I mean and then watch carefully while she mimics me. “Good girl. See how much steadier that feels?”

“Uh, no?”

I choose to ignore her because I can see the difference even if she doesn’t have the confidence yet. “Walk to me.”

She shuffles forward a step, dragging the blade along the carpet-covered cement.

“Pick your feet up, baby. Walk like you’re marching.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” she retorts, and I narrow my eyes on her. That only makes her grin. But she takes a tentative step, lifting her feet this time.

I walk backward as she walks toward me.

“You’re moving the goalpost,” she complains.

“Yeah, I am. Get your cute ass over here and stop me.”

She grumbles but keeps marching toward me. Once I’m sure she’s got a feel for the blades beneath her feet and how to properly balance on them, I stop moving away from her, allowing her to come to me.

She stops in front of me, one brow raised. “Now what, drill sergeant?”

“Keep being a smartass, little bird. You’re going to pay for every remark when I get you home.”

“Is that supposed to stop me?” She flicks her eyes up and down my body. “Because that is not a threat, Archer. It sounds like a good time to me.”

She’s impossible. And fucking adorable. “Bend your knees like you’re squatting, Wren.”

“Do I look like I do squats?”

“You were doing it on my cock last night. Same principle.”

“If you believe that, I did not do it right last night,” she mumbles, making me smile. She’s sassy as hell when she’s uncomfortable.

But with another little grumble, she does as instructed, and bends her knees, squatting. She forgets to keep her arms out to balance herself and almost lands on her ass before I catch her, keeping her upright.

“You want to lean forward slightly so your knees and toes are in a line and you’re pushing with your chest,” I murmur, guiding her through the motion until she’s in the right position. “Keep your arms out in front of you, baby. Until you know what you’re doing in those skates, your arms stay like that at all times.”

She follows my instructions without complaint this time. When she doesn’t fall, her eyes widen. “Hey! I didn’t fall.”

“That’s because you’re doing it the right way this time,” I murmur. “Balancing is half the battle with ice skating. Once you’ve got that part figured out, the rest comes easy.”

She eyes me doubtfully but lets me lead her through standing upright and then squatting several times before I’m satisfied.

“You ready to try this on the ice?”

“No.”

“You can do it, baby girl. I’ll be right beside you.”

She bites her lip and then nods, allowing me to slip my hand into hers. I walk her toward the ice, holding onto her. Once we’re on the ice, I let go of her hand.

She immediately panics, forgetting everything I just taught her.

“Breathe, Wren,” I murmur, hooking an arm around her waist to reel her back into my arms. “You know the basics. I just taught them to you. You can do this.”

She exhales a deep breath and then nods.

I release her slowly, sticking close to her side while she gets a feel for the blades with the ice beneath her. She’s anxious though, and keeps tensing, throwing off her center of balance.

“You know my first memory is on the ice?” I ask, trying to distract her into relaxing a little.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. I was maybe two or three. I don’t fucking remember, honestly. I just remember my parents holding my hands as they zoomed around the ice. I felt like I was flying. I think that’s when I decided I wanted to play hockey like my dad.”

“Did he play professionally?” she asks, relaxing little by little.

“Nah. He just played in a local league with some of his buddies, said he wasn’t good enough to play at a professional level. But he loved the sport.” I smile at the memory. “We were on the ice together every chance we got. Go ahead and try to march, baby. Slow and easy.”

“It was like that for Micah and our dad. He coached Micah in little league, saw that he had real talent. They spent so much time on the ice together. I wanted to be just like Micah when I was younger.” She lifts her feet, carefully marching toward me. “But I did not get his grace. Didn’t get his skills, either.”

She doesn’t have to say anything for me to know the tension between her and her brother is driving her crazy. I see it in the way her brows furrow and her lips turn down when she speaks about him. She misses him. And I’m guessing he misses her the same damn way. He isn’t texting her every day just to piss her off. He’s doing it because he can’t stand not talking to her. But they’re both too stubborn to bend.

Nash told me not to let him stew too long before I stepped in. I think it’s time. This shit has dragged on long enough. He needs to know I’m in love with his sister and that I’m not going anywhere. Doesn’t matter how pissed he is, it won’t change anything. But freezing her out isn’t going to make either of them any happier.

And he’s not any happier than she is. He’s been moping around the arena for a week straight. He’s playing for shit. He tolerates my presence, but he doesn’t really speak to me. He talks around me, acting like I’m not there. It’s frustrating as hell. We need to be on the same page, especially with so much shit coming at the team right now.

Logan’s business is all over the news, thanks to Charles Montaque, a reporter with a hard on for the team. So is Nash and Emilia’s. Things are tense as a motherfucker.

“You really want to tell your brother that we’re married?” I ask Wren, carefully watching her expression. “Dip down and then march again.”

“Yes.” She nibbles on her bottom lip, worry in her eyes as she follows my instructions. I don’t think she even realizes that she’s gliding effortlessly each time she dips down. She’s so focused on me and the conversation, on keeping her arms in front of her, that she doesn’t even notice that she’s already skating for those few seconds. “Do you…not want him to know?”

Fuck. Is that what she thinks? That I said no today because I have reservations about us?

“I was ready to tell him when you woke up in my bed at the casino, Wren,” I say. “But I needed time to convince you to give us a real chance.”

“Britney Spears,” she says, smiling as she dips again.

“Yeah, Britney Spears. I would have said anything to keep you from walking away from this marriage. And he would have demanded it as soon as he knew. At that point, you would have gone along with him.”

“Want to know a secret?” she asks.

“I want all your secrets.”

“I didn’t regret it, Archer.” She meets my gaze, hers serious. “When I woke up in your bed and remembered that we got married, I didn’t regret it. It felt right.”

“Fuck,” I groan, clenching my hands in an effort to keep them off her. She says shit like that, and all I want to do is drag her into my arms and put my hands all over her. I want to make her moan and come and scream. Repeatedly.

She manages to reach me, stopping in front of me. “I’m glad I married you when I was drunk in Vegas.”

I growl, wrapping my arms around her waist to yank her up against my chest. She collides with me. I mean to catch her, but somehow, her skate tangles in mine and we go down.

She squeals in shock, but I’ve got her. I’ll always have her.

I twist, holding onto her so she lands on top of me instead of on the ice. She sprawls across my chest, her body shaking with laughter.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I should have taught you to fall. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she breathes, lifting her head to look at me. Her eyes are bright, a smile stretched across her face. “I’m probably squishing you, though.”

“Fuck no,” I growl, palming her ass. “You’re right where you belong, Wren.”

Her expression softens as she stares at me.

“Marry me.”

She blinks like a little owl. “What?”

“Marry me.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Agree to be mine, little bird.”

“I’m already yours, Archer.”

“Yeah, but I want you to remember me asking this time,” I murmur. “And I want you to remember saying yes. I don’t want it to be because you’re too drunk to know what’s happening.”

“I wasn’t too drunk,” she whispers.

This time, I’m the one left blinking in shock. “What?”

“I wasn’t too drunk. I remember you asking. I remember saying yes. I knew I should probably say no, but I didn’t want to say no. So I just…didn’t. I took what I wanted.” She swallows hard, staring at me. “Most of the ceremony is a blur. But I remember what happened in the elevator clearly.”

“Fuck,” I growl, sitting up beneath her. I scoop her into my arms, kissing her hard and deep. She whimpers, pressing her body closer to mine. I run my hands all over her, unable to help myself. She’s sweet and warm, and she’s in my arms. She’s mine—not because she was too drunk to say no, but because on some level, she wanted it just as fucking badly as I did.

“Can we be done skating now?” she asks. “I’m ready for the getting lucky part of this date, husband.”

“Fuck yeah,” I groan, completely on board with that plan. She’s accomplished enough out here for one day. Right now, I only want one thing. Her beneath me, screaming my name.

Nothing else matters.

“You’re playing with fire, Wren,” I warn her hours later, my back against the shower wall as she runs her soapy hands all over me, teasing the fuck out of me. “Keep it up, and I’ll be making a mess of you again before we even leave the shower.”

I’ve already been all over her. Christ, we barely made it through the front door before I had her pinned to it. We’ve been all over each other for the last three hours. I can’t stop. Neither can she.

“Maybe that’s my master plan, Archer.” She smirks up at me, wrapping one fist around my cock. The other cups my balls, driving me out of my fucking mind. “Maybe I’m trying to get myself fucked sideways in this here fancy shower of yours.”

She pumps her fist, squeezing at the tip.

I grab her around the waist, spinning. We land with her tits pressed to the shower wall, my chest to her back. She moans loudly, throwing her head back against my shoulder.

“You want to come again, little bird?” I slip my hand between her body and the wall, homing in on her swollen clit. “You need your husband to fill this greedy little pussy?”

“Yes!” she sobs.

I yank her hips back, carefully kicking her legs apart.

“Archer!” she shouts when I slam into her. I fuck her hard and deep, keeping her pinned against the wall with one hand on her shoulder so she can’t go anywhere. The other stays between her legs, my fingers running in circles around her clit.

“Is this what you wanted, wife?”

“Yes, yes,” she moans. “Harder.”

I fuck her like a goddamn savage, her commands spurring me on. She takes every thrust, sobbing for more. It’s wild, frenzied, and so goddamn good I can’t catch my breath. Fuck it, though. Who needs to breathe? I just need this—her wrapped around me, taking everything I give her. That sweet voice in my ear, begging for my cock. I just need her .

She shatters around me, her cries echoing off the shower walls. And Christ, I love that sound. It’s the purest form of worship there is.

I impale her on my cock, nipping her shoulder as her pussy milks my cock, demanding everything I’ve got. I spill into her again and again, chanting her name.

By the time it’s over, we’re both breathing hard, and she’s plastered to the shower wall like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. I spin her again, hauling her into my arm to kiss her.

“I love you,” she whispers sweetly.

My heart squeezes in a vise.

How is this real? How is she mine? I don’t know, but I thank God anyway. For long moments, I just hold her, coming down. It’s bliss, the kind of perfection no man deserves.

Eventually, I manage to get us both cleaned up and out of the shower. She’s swaying on her feet when I dry her off, so I scoop her up, carrying her to bed.

She smiles up at me so sweetly, reaching for me like she can’t stand to be separated from me for even an instant. I crawl in beside her, pulling her into my arms.

“We should tell Micah,” I murmur.

She lifts her head, looking at me. “Yeah? You really want to?”

“Yeah, baby girl. It’s time.”

Her smile is everything. “Okay,” she says simply. If she has any doubts, I don’t see them. There’s nothing but happiness in her eyes. “When should we tell him?”

“After the game,” I murmur. We fly to Detroit in the morning. After what happened at the last game, the last thing we need is for him to be too pissed to keep his head in the game.

“Okay,” she says, laying her head against my chest. “We’ll tell him when you guys get back.”

I stroke my fingers through her hair, gently untangling it. For long moments, I don’t say anything. She already knows most of my secrets. She’s still here. But before we tell Micah, I need to tell her that I’m the one who started the nonprofit she works for. That I started it to make sure she had a job here and didn’t have to leave. I don’t want it to be between us, standing like a roadblock. She deserves to know.

“I need to tell you something, little bird,” I murmur.

She doesn’t say anything.

“Wren?”

I brush her hair back from her face, only to find her eyes closed.

Fuck. She’s already asleep.

I sigh, pulling the blankets up over us. I don’t wake her up, though. I’ll tell her when we get back from Detroit. Before we talk to Micah.