Archer's Voice (26 page)

"You do?" I asked quietly
.

She nodded. "Yup. All the signs are there. Jaw ticking, glaring at other men who come into your proximity,
broody, unpredictable behavior, branding…" She gestured to my hickey. "You gonna go put him out of his misery?"

I laughed softly
, and it ended on a groan. I sat there for a few seconds considering the situation at hand and then said, "I hope so. Ready?"

We walked out to my car and
I handed Natalie my keys since she had agreed to be the DD. As she started the car, she said, "By the way, I know he's not a toy to you. I see the way you look at him too. And I can see why you like him… and that scar," she groaned out the last word, "it makes me want to rock him in my arms and then lick him."

I laughed. "Whoa! Careful there or my jaw is going to start ticking and I'm going to brood the rest of the way home."

She laughed, but after a second I looked over to her and she was thoughtful. "What I'm wondering is, do you see something long-term with him? I mean, how will that work exactly?" Her voice was gentle.

I sighed heavily. "I don't know. This is all new. And yes, his situation is so diff
erent–there are challenges. But I want to try. I know that. Whatever that means… It's like, the second I saw him, my life started. The second I started loving him, everything clicked into place for me. As confusing as our situation is, inside it feels like it all makes the most perfect sense."

Natalie was silent for a se
cond. "Well, that's poetic, babe, and I believe every word you say, but life isn't always so poetic. And I know you know that better than anyone. I'm just encouraging you to be a realist about this situation, too, okay?"

She glanced at me, continuing,
"He's damaged, honey, and I don't just mean his vocal cords–I mean, Jesus, from what you told me, he grew up in an abusive household, his uncle
shot
him, his parents both died
right in front of him
, and then he was kept alone and isolated until he was nineteen years old by a crazy uncle, not to mention the fact that he has an injury that keeps him locked away in his own mind for all intents and purposes–that's gotta leave a mark, babe. Is it any
wonder
he's damaged?"

I let out a big breath, letting my head hit
the seat back. "I know," I whispered. "And when you put it like that, it sounds crazy to even believe in the possibility that we can work–that he could work with
anyone
, but somehow… I do. I don't even have any way of explaining it other than that despite everything you just mentioned, he's still good and kind, and brave and smart, and even funny sometimes." I smiled. "I mean, think of the strength of spirit you have to have to come through what he did and not be as mad as a hatter, to still retain a gentle heart."

"True," she agreed. "Still, damaged people do things because they can't trust or believe in anything good. He's never had anything good. I'm worried that
the more serious it gets with you, the more it's going to freak him out. Where he'll work, what he'll do with his life, that's almost the easy stuff compared to the emotional baggage."

I looked at her, biting my lip. "
I have baggage, though, Nat. I'm damaged too. Aren't all of us?"

"Not to that extent, honey. Not to that extent."

I nodded and lay my head back on the seat. "When'd you get so insightful into the human spirit anyway?" I asked, smiling over at her.

"I'm an ol
d soul, babe–you already knew that." She winked at me and I grinned.

We pulled up in front of my co
ttage and I hugged Natalie goodnight before she hopped out with my key, waving over her shoulder. I went around the car and got in the driver's seat. I'd be okay driving a mile to Archer's house. I already felt completely sober.

When I got there, I let myself in the gate and walked down to his house. I knocked lightly, and a few seconds later, he answered wearing only a pair of jeans, and rubbing a towel through his hair.

I took him in as he stood there, looking so damned beautiful, and so damned insecure.

I laughed softly. "
Hi." I sighed and walked in his house and turned to look at him when I heard his door close behind him.

Why are you laughing?
he asked.

I shook my head and brought my hands up.
Because I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I wish you could read my mind so that you would know how much I want you, no one else. There could be three hundred men after me right now, and it wouldn't matter. Because none of them are you, Archer Hale.
I dropped my hands for a second and then immediately brought them back up.
None of them are the man I love
. I shook my head slightly and then continued.
And I was going to try to wait until maybe you were ready to say it, too, but… I can't. Because it literally wants to burst out of me all the time. And so it's okay if you don't love me, or if you're not sure if you do. But
I'm
sure. And I can't stand letting another minute go by where I don't tell you I love you, because I do. I. Love. You. I love you so much.

He stood frozen
as I rambled, but at the start of my final five words, he moved across the space separating us so quickly that my breath caught in my throat and my hands fell. He grabbed me to him and pulled me against his body so tightly that I squeaked, a high-pitched sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

He picked me up and buried his face in my neck and as I wrapped my arms around him, he pulled me even tighter. I rested my head on his shoulder and
breathed in his singular scent. We just stood like that for several minutes.

Finally, I pulled back and
took his hand as I led him to the couch and we both sat down.

I'm sorry about what happened at the bar.
Can I explain?
He nodded, pursing his lips slightly and I went on.
Jordan is just my friend, he always has been, never anything more. We grew up together–I met him when we were twelve. I've been aware that he had a crush on me for a while, but I made it clear to him that I only had friendly feelings for him.
I paused before continuing.
He pushed the issue after my dad died and that was the straw that made me take off.
I smiled slightly.
So, I guess you could say that you actually have Jordan to thank for sending me your way.
Archer smiled too, and looked down at his hands in his lap. When I began speaking again, he looked back up at my hands.
Anyway, that's what you saw tonight–him working through the fact that we'll never be more than friends, and then us coming to a good place as far as that goes. That's all.

Archer nodded, ran his hand through his hair, and said.
I'm sorry–sometimes I feel like everything is over my head. It makes me feel… weak and angry, and not worthy of you. Not worthy of anything.

I grabbed his hands
quickly and then let go.
No. Don't feel that way–please don't. God, give yourself a break. Look at everything you've accomplished already. Look at who you are despite everything you have going against you.
I brought my hand up to his cheek and he shut his eyes and turned into it. "And did I mention that I love you?" I whispered. "And that I'm not in the habit of loving unworthy people?" I smiled a small smile at him.

His eyes opened and they roamed my face fo
r several beats, his expression almost reverent, before he said,
I'm in love with you too.
He let out a breath.
I am so desperately in love with you.
His eyes widened as if the words that he had just "spoken" were almost a surprise. His lips parted and his hands asked me,
Is it enough, Bree?

I let out a breath and smiled, allowing myself to take a minute to rejoice at the knowledge t
hat the beautiful, sensitive, brave man in front of me loved me. After a second I said,
It's a really good start
. I shook my head slightly, looking down.
The rest we'll figure out, okay?
I took his hands in mine.

Vulnerability washed over his expression as he nodded at me, his face conveying his doubts.
My heart squeezed.
What's wrong, Archer?

After a few seconds, he leaned forward and took my face in his hands and kissed me tenderly on my mouth, his lips lingering there as he rested his forehead on mine and closed his eyes. He leaned back and said,
I love you so much it hurts.
And truly, he looked pained.

I smiled a small smile at him and brought one hand to his cheek
, and he closed his eyes for a beat before I brought my hand away.
It doesn't need to hurt.

He breathed out.
It does though. It does because I'm afraid to love you. I'm afraid that you'll leave and that I'll go back to being alone again. Only it will be a hundred times worse because I'll know what I'm missing. I can't…
He sucked in a shaky breath.
I want to be able to love you more than I fear losing you, and I don't know how. Teach me, Bree. Please teach me. Don't let me destroy this.
He looked at me beseechingly, pain etched into every feature on his face.

Oh God, Archer, I thought, my heart squeezing tightly in my chest. How do you teach a man who has lost everything, not to fear it happening again? How do you teach a person to trust in something none of us can guar
antee? This beautiful man that I loved looked so broken, sitting before me expressing his love for me. Expressing his devotion. I wished with all my heart that that could be a happy thing for him–but I understood why it hurt.

Loving
another person always means opening yourself up for hurt. I don't want to lose more than I already have either, but isn't it worth it? Isn't it worth giving it a chance?
I asked.

He searched my eyes and nodded his head, but his own eyes told me that he wasn't convinced that he meant it. I took a deep breath. I would make it my job t
o make him believe. I would believe strongly enough for the both of us if I had to. I took him in my arms and then scooted over so that I could climb up on his lap and nuzzle him more closely. "I love you, I love you, I love you," I whispered, smiling, trying to make this moment a happy one.

He smiled back and put his lips against mine, mouthing, "I love you, too," against my mouth,
as if he was breathing love into my body.

I kept breathing against him, and after a while,
he started fidgeting slightly, adjusting me on his lap. My pulse rate quickened as my body reacted to his nearness, his smell, the feel of his big, hard body right up against mine, and specifically something hard and hot pressing into my hip.

I reached my hand down and rubbed the bulge at the front of his jeans and smiled against his neck. "Are you constantly hard?" I asked, my lips against his skin.

I felt him chuckle silently against my chest and smiled at the fact that the sadness and tension from a few minutes before seemed to dissolve as our bodies heated. I leaned back and looked at him, tenderness and desire shining in his eyes. He brought his hands up.
Yes, when you're around–it's why I'm always grimacing.
He faked a pained expression.

I tilted my head. "I thought that was just your natural personality."

That, too
.

I
laughed and when I put more pressure on the grimace-causing bulge in question, he closed his eyes, his lips parting.

When he opened his eyes, he asked,
Do you miss hearing the sounds I might make during sex if I had a voice?
He watched my face as I thought about that.

I moved a piece of hair off his forehead and then shook my head slowly
.
No, I don't think about that. I don't rely on the sounds you might make to read you. I watch your expression and your eyes.
I leaned in and brushed my lips against his mouth and then leaned back.
I listen to your breathing and the way you dig your fingers into my hips right before you're about to come
.
There are so many ways to read you, Archer Hale. And I love every single one of them.

His eyes glittered at me before he
moved forward suddenly, grabbing my face in his hands and laying me back down on the couch before coming down over me. I had a feeling the time for talking had just ended. Butterflies took up flight between my ribs and my belly clenched. I moaned, a deep, breathy sound that came up my throat, and let him take over, arching up into him, my core beginning to throb insistently. How was it that this man had just started having sex, and only with me, a couple weeks ago, and yet I trusted him with my body over anyone more experienced I'd been with before? Archer, overachiever that he was. I smiled into his mouth and he smiled back into mine, although he didn't lean back to ask me what exactly I was smiling about. I swept my tongue inside his mouth, the taste of him making me feel like I was going to combust–how could the inside of someone's mouth taste so delicious that it made you instantly dizzy with lust? It had been hours since I'd had a sip of beer, but I felt drunk on him–drunk with love, with lust, with something indescribable that I couldn't even name, and yet it owned me, body and soul–some kind of primal connection that must have been there before I existed, before he existed, before he or I ever breathed the same air, something written in the very stars.