Page 5

Archer

W hen we land, I offer to drive Wren home so Micah can get home to his wife and baby. He’s too eager to see his family after being away all weekend to question my intentions with his sister. He’s always eager to get back to them. On the rare occasion when we manage to drag him out to celebrate after a win, he’s always the first to leave.

I should feel like an asshole for using his weakness against him, but I don’t. As soon as Wren decides she’s ready to give me a real chance, I’ll be telling him the truth about us. But not before. I can’t risk him ripping her from my arms before I even have the chance to convince her that we aren’t a mistake. I need time to prove to her that what’s between us is real.

If he finds out before then, there’s no goddamn way she’ll stay with me. I’m not an idiot. She’s already afraid this is going to fuck everything up. I’ve got nothing but desperation on my side here. It’s a bitch of a mistress.

She’s quiet on the drive to her place. I don’t press her to talk. I figure I’ve pushed her enough for one day.

But when we pull into the driveway of her townhouse, she glances over at me, her lips pursed, and her brows furrowed. Trouble brews like a goddamn storm in her eyes.

“How do you know where I live?” The question drops into the silence between us like a ticking bomb.

Fuck.

“Micah told me.”

“He told you where I live.” She says it like a statement.

I kill the engine and pocket the keys, trying to buy myself a little time here. The truth is that this isn’t the first time I’ve been here. I come so often, I could drive to her place from the arena with my eyes closed and not miss a beat. Half the damn time, I find myself halfway here before I even realize where I’m heading.

But I don’t know if she’s ready for that much truth yet. She may kick my ass out of her life for good once she knows the depths of my obsession…once she knows just how far I’ve gone to keep her close.

“You’re lying, Archer,” she says, calling me on my bullshit before I even have time to come up with a good excuse. “Micah wouldn’t tell you where I live.”

“You’re right.” I swallow, my gaze flickering in her direction. She doesn’t look pissed. Just…curious. Confused. “He was bitching about the neighborhood after you moved in. Didn’t think it was safe enough for you. I come through here sometimes, so I asked for the address, told him I’d keep an eye on things if I was in the neighborhood, make sure there wasn’t anything he needed to worry about.”

“How often do you come through here?”

Well, shit.

“Often enough.”

“Archer!” she cries, frustration stamped all over her pretty little face. “You come by here just to check on me, don’t you?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“How often?”

I hesitate. One second. Two. “Don’t ask questions you aren’t ready to hear the answers to, Wren,” I finally murmur, my voice soft. “You might not like them.” It’s a confession and warning all wrapped in one. Not a lie…but not the truth, either. It’s the place in between, the one that gives me a little room and a little time.

Christ, I need time.

She stares at me, her lips slightly parted, stunned, I think. But she doesn’t shrink from the truth. She just…nods. And I want to haul her onto my lap and pour my secrets into her.

Would she run if she knew?

“Okay,” she whispers, the tip of her tongue peeking from between her lips. She doesn’t ask again. But she knows that I’m here every goddamn chance I get. I see it written all over her face.

“You ready to go get your shit?”

Apparently, that’s the wrong question to ask because sweet little Wren turns into a sassy little fire-breathing dragon before my eyes.

“First of all, do not refer to my things as shit,” she says, those gray eyes narrowing as her chin comes up. “I don’t call your equipment crap.”

I grin, unable to help myself. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Second…no! No, I am not ready to get my things .”

“Keep emphasizing the word like that, little bird, and we’re going to be giving your neighbors a show.”

She unlatches her seatbelt with careful intention before letting it retract back into the frame. I watch with an amused grin on my face as she leans down, searching beneath her seat with one hand.

“If you’re looking for a weapon, there isn’t one down there.”

“Don’t need one to murder you,” she says sweetly as her seat slides back. “I plan to do it with my own two hands.” She turns on me, eyes narrowed, determination written all over her face. And my goddamn cock throbs. It only throbs harder when she lunges across the console at me, hands extended like she really thinks she has a chance in hell of getting them around my throat before I get mine on her.

I grab her, hauling her onto my lap.

Her ass lands against my thighs as my lips come down on hers in a wild kiss. I pour everything into it—obsession, desire, everything .

She whimpers against my lips, tugging my hair like she did when I was between her legs this morning with my face buried in her pretty little cunt.

“If you’re going to kill me, baby,” I murmur, “at least let me make one final meal out of you first. Every condemned man gets to eat.” Between her legs is the closest to heaven I’ll ever get. If there’s a way to go, that right there is it. No questions about it.

“Shut up and kiss me again, husband .”

Oh. Fuck. Me.

I buck my hips, growling as a blast of pure fucking bliss rips through me. Maybe she meant to be a smartass when she said it, but there’s no hiding the possessiveness in her tone, like she means that shit. Like she’s claiming ownership of me right here in my car.

She’s playing dirty.

“You’re trying to get yourself fucked dirty in front of your neighbors, aren’t you?” I mutter, nipping her bottom lip before I kiss the hell out of her again. My hands are all over her ass. Of course they are. Where the fuck else would they be? I’ve been dreaming about this perfect, gorgeous, round ass for a year. I’m not going to stop touching it anytime soon.

“Maybe I’m just trying to get myself fucked,” she whispers.

I close my eyes. Count to three.

“What are you doing?” she asks, amusement in her tone.

“Trying not to come in my pants like a goddamn teenager,” I growl. “My wife is on my lap, asking me to fuck her. I can still taste you on my tongue, Wren. I still hear your little whimpers ringing in my ears. I’m a man on the edge right now.”

“Oh, yeah?” There’s no hiding the smile in her voice. She loves knowing that. Her lips touch my jaw before wandering lower. “Maybe I should send you over then, Archer.”

I don’t think she even realizes just how close she is to doing exactly that. Her teeth rake down my throat and I shove my hands into the back of her pants to squeeze her ass.

“Wren…” I intend her name to be a warning. It comes out like a plea.

“I like you desperate, Archer.” She flicks her tongue against my skin, tasting me. “I like the way your breath hitches, and your voice gets all raspy.”

“Boarding. Charging. Interference. Hooking. Hold–”

She pulls back to look at me, one brow arched. “What are you doing?”

“Reciting penalties.”

“Why are you reciting penalties?”

“To find the strength I need to keep from fucking you in this car in front of all your neighbors.”

“Ah.” Her lips curve into a grin, amusement dancing in her eyes. “And is it working?”

“Fuck no,” I growl, squeezing her perfect ass again.

Her delighted laugh spills through the car, tearing at my self-restraint. Good God. How the mighty have fallen. Like a ton of bricks, right at her pretty little feet.

I growl, yanking my door open. Before she can even protest, I’m hauling us out of the danger zone. She stumbles when I set her on her feet, gaping up at me with a protest written all over her face.

I bend, dropping a hard kiss on her mouth. “I’m not fucking you in the car for the first time, little bird. My wife will be spread out in our bed so I can take my time,” I growl. “Go get your sh…things and stop torturing me.”

“Fine.” She stares up at me, those gray eyes locked on my face. “But just so you know, you brought this on yourself.”

“Oh, yeah? How do you figure that?”

“You married me.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder, one corner of her lips lifting into a saucy smirk. “Now, you get to put up with my bullshit.”

She turns to head inside, but I grab her, hauling her back against my chest. My lips land against her ear before I nip the shell of it.

“Don’t start a game you can’t win, baby girl,” I growl against her skin. “I’ll have you bent over and screaming for your husband so loud and so often, it’ll be the only word you remember for the next week.”

She whimpers softly, her body melting against mine for a split second. And then she seems to remember that she’s supposed to be giving me hell because she pulls herself out of my arms. Her eyes meet mine over her shoulder.

“Promises, promises,” she says before sashaying toward her house, her hips swaying.

I tip my head back, groaning up at the sky. But I don’t follow her inside. I’m not a complete idiot. I know damn well that I don’t have that kind of control, and I meant what I said. When I’m inside her for the first time, it’ll be in our bed.

“What is with you guys and your ridiculously large houses?” Wren mutters an hour later, shaking her head as she strolls around the kitchen, touching everything she can get her hands on.

“You don’t like the house?” I ask, actually worried about it. I bought this place six months ago with her in mind. The Cape Cod house isn’t ostentatious but is big enough for a family, with plenty of room to spread out.

The heated pool out back is fucking magical. It looks like a little oasis with a waterfall spilling down rocks on one side. She grew up near water. I wanted her to have the option here without having to drive to a public beach.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder. “I just think it’s funny that single guys buy these massive houses.”

“Maybe we’re hopeful.”

A question reflects in her gaze.

“Some of us want families.” I shrug, leaning back against the island. “Maybe that’s what we’re planning for when we buy them.”

“Trust me, that is not what Micah was thinking when he bought his house. He didn’t want to drag a wife into this way of life until he met Elodie and realized he couldn’t live without her.” Something drifts through her gaze that I can’t read. “I always worried that was my fault.”

“Why would it be your fault, little bird?”

“You don’t know?”

I shake my head, my brows furrowed. I know Micah feels bad about the way she was raised, running all over the country for his games and shit, but his decisions aren’t her responsibility.

“I almost drowned when I was ten,” she whispers, and my blood runs cold. Jesus. “He’d just been drafted, and I thought…I don’t know.” She shrugs helplessly. “I guess I thought if I got into hockey like he was, he’d come home, our parents would stop fighting, and life would go back to normal. So I went out to this pond that had frozen over, determined to teach myself how to skate. He’d tried to teach me a dozen times, but I was always too clumsy.” Her lips twitch at the memory. “Anyway, I went out there to learn, but the ice was already thawing. I fell through it. By the time they pulled me out, I wasn’t breathing.”

“Jesus Christ,” I rasp, my heart hammering against my ribcage.

“I remember waking up in the hospital with him at my bedside in tears. He was so mad at me,” she whispers. “And so upset. He felt like he was the reason I was out there, like I wouldn’t have taken that risk if hockey hadn’t been our whole life growing up. It’s bothered him ever since.” She shrugs again, clearly uncomfortable with the memory. “I think that’s when he decided he didn’t want to get married.”

I stare at her for a long moment, fitting the pieces together in my mind. Trying to imagine…but I fucking can’t. She was just a kid. No wonder Micah is so protective of her. No wonder he feels guilty. Jesus. He’s going to lose his mind when he finds out we’re married.

“But then he met Elodie, and she changed his mind,” Wren continues, a soft smile overtaking her face. “She made him realize that love is worth the risk, I guess. He’s so happy with her and Tatum.”

“Yeah, he is.” I clear my throat, uneasy about my decision to keep the truth from him for the first time. It isn’t right. I fucking know it isn’t. “Maybe we should tell him about us.”

Her gaze flies to mine, her mouth open in shock. “He’ll kill us both, Archer,” she says, shaking her head. Panic flits through her expression. “No way. We’re going to pretend everything is normal until we annul this marriage and then…and then…”

I stalk across the kitchen toward her, instantly pissed at how easily she talks about unraveling our marriage. “And then what?” I ask, stopping in front of her. “We pretend that we never happened? That we were just a mistake?”

“I…”

“What if I can’t pretend, little bird?” I tip her chin up, forcing her to look me in the eyes. “What if I don’t think we’re a mistake?”

“You don’t mean that,” she whispers.

“Says who?” I arch a brow, holding her gaze. “You feel what’s between us, Wren. I know you felt it at their wedding. You’ve felt it every time we’ve been in a room together since that weekend.”

“Archer, please,” she pleads quietly, desperately. But I don’t want to give her the out she’s begging for. I want her to feel it. I want her to see what’s right in front of her.

I growl, dragging her into my arms. My lips come down on hers. Like always, the kiss is explosive. We ignite like kindling, going up in flames together. She clings to me, whimpering. Melting.

“Deny it now, little bird,” I growl against her lips, hauling her up into my arms. I plant my hands on her ass, pressing her back against the fridge.

Her legs spread around mine, her head falling back. I grind against her, my cock nestled between her thighs, driving against her perfect pussy.

She sobs my name, her hands scrabbling at my shoulders, clutching me tighter. Clawing.

“Please,” she sobs.

“Please, what?”

“S-show me.”