Break the Sky (Spiral of Bliss Spin Off) (8 page)

Bitter disappointment flooded me. With a groan, I pressed my palms against my eyes.

I wasn’t soft. I’d always been able to deal with shit. I could handle my work, the tenure process, my students, the pressure from my colleagues. I could handle having my research proposals rejected.

But being forced to contend with everything at once, and even thinking about giving up the Spiral Project…

Fuck.

I grabbed my satchel and went outside into the afternoon sunshine. The air and coolness eased some of the prickliness in my nerves. Spring was in full force in Mirror Lake, flowers and trees blooming, and pedestrians strolling on Avalon Street.

I ordered an iced coffee from an outdoor stand and found an empty table on the terrace near the lake. I should have powered up my laptop, but instead I just sat there and looked at everything.

A kid at a nearby table was eating a double-decker ice-cream cone. A college couple was sharing a plate of fries. A guy was sitting by himself near the fence, one booted foot propped on the wrought-iron railing.

Oh.

Not a guy. A
man
. And not just any man. Archer West. A big, sexy Archer West man.

He looked out of place amidst the crowd of families and college students, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. A spiral-bound notebook lay open on the table. His body was relaxed, one hand curled around a cardboard cup of coffee, his eyes concealed behind a pair of sunglasses. He wore faded jeans and a navy T-shirt, the sleeves tight around his very well-defined biceps. He lifted the coffee cup to his mouth and swallowed, the muscles of his throat rippling.

Oh
times infinity.

I had a flashback to the night when I’d watched him at the bar. I felt that purely
girl
flutter of awareness again, a deep stirring of all my fantasies about sexy rebels who stormed through life on their own terms and made no apologies for it. He was exactly like that. I knew it.

I also knew he was no whitewashed hero. Sexy rebels always had a dark side. Sometimes too dark. The warning bells rang loud and clear in my head.

Still I watched as he lowered his foot to the ground, the movement stretching his jeans at the thigh. I swore my mouth was watering.

When he stood, I forced my gaze back to my work. I busied myself getting my laptop out of the case, watching Archer’s movements from the corner of my eye. He was getting closer… closer…

Oh, lord. My heart thumped harder with every step he took in my direction. I felt like I was in the school cafeteria with the object of my heartbreaking crush walking toward me. I even held my breath as I waited to see if he would notice me, and if he did, if he’d ignore me and keep walking or…

“Professor March.”

Never in all my years of teaching had anyone—
anyone
—said my name and title like that. Like he wanted to eat it.

“Archer.” I lifted my head, shading my eyes from the sun as I looked at him and putting on my professor voice out of both habit and a twinge of desperation. “I thought you’d be out of town by now.”

“Not yet.”

He moved to the right, in front of the sun, and I realized he was blocking the glare for me. I lowered my hand. He was in shadow now, a halo of light around him. Dark angel.

He took off his sunglasses, his gaze like a hot caress over my skin.

“Your shirt is unbuttoned again,” he remarked.

Oh, crap. While I secretly appreciated that Archer liked my choice of lingerie, I didn’t want to get a reputation around the university for showing off my cleavage. I glanced down to fasten the wayward buttons—which were firmly locked into the buttonholes.

“Made you look,” Archer said.

I smiled, temporarily disarmed. I looked up again to find him watching me with amusement and a touch of heat. The combination had a devastating effect on my senses.

And even though my reason was still at war with my instinctive attraction to him, I pushed the opposite chair away from the table with my foot.

“Have a seat,” I said.

He put the notebook and his coffee down before sinking into the chair.

“What’s that?” I asked, nodding toward the five-subject notebook.

“My little black book.”

He grinned when my mouth dropped open slightly. I flushed. Apparently I was gullible as all hell where he was concerned.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “No classes today?”

“No, I just wanted to get some air. My office is pretty stuffy.”

“What do you do in your office?”

“Research. Write proposals. Grade exams. Help my students.”

“You like the work?”

I’d told him I was a straight shooter. I certainly couldn’t lie now.

“I like the forecasting,” I said. “I love it, actually. Tracking storms, finding new methods of prediction. I like working with my grad students. I don’t like the bureaucracy or the headaches. I don’t like writing proposals or having to publish tons of research papers. I don’t like being stuck in a classroom or that other people get to tell me what to do.”

“So why did you take a professor job?”

I shrugged, reaching for my coffee. That wasn’t a question I could easily answer.

“Stability,” I finally said. “And if I get tenure, my position is permanent. I’m set for life.”

He didn’t respond. I sensed he didn’t think being “set for life” was necessarily a good thing. There had once been a time when I didn’t, either. When I’d wanted freedom and spontaneity.

“And if you don’t get tenure?” Archer asked.

“Then I’m fired from King’s.”

And the Spiral Project is dead.

An ache prodded at me. I looked at my laptop. The sun made it hard to see the screen.

Then I felt his fingers on my knee. My heart leapt. I jerked my gaze to Archer, who smiled faintly as he reached to cup his hand around my ankle and lift my foot to rest on the chair beside him.

“What…” I swallowed hard. “What are you doing?”

“Touching your leg.” He skimmed his fingers over the arch of my foot and a few inches up underneath the hem of my pants. His touch rocketed heat through my entire body, so powerful that I almost gasped.

But I didn’t pull away.

“Um… why?” I stammered.

“Because I’ve wanted to touch you since I first turned around and saw you staring at me,” he replied, stroking his hand farther up my pant leg. “Then again when you stormed into Dean’s office and whacked me on the head. And because you wear some damn sexy shoes. And because I meant it when I said I was going to finish this.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” I asked, trying to inject a sharp note in my voice. “What’s your definition of
finish
?”

“It’s the principal language of the Finns in Finland.”

A laugh burst out of me. It felt good to laugh. I didn’t laugh very often. Archer smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners and giving him a boyish look at odds with his sexy, rough-guy appearance.

He stroked his fingers over the outer arch of my foot again, tracing my skin right beneath where the strap of my sandal crossed. I could feel the ridge of calluses on his fingers. My blood warmed.

“You…” I had to stop and draw in a breath. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“My definition of
finish
.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a deep rumble that made me hot and prickly everywhere.

I wanted to arch against him like a cat begging to be scratched. He would scratch so good.

“I want to sleep with you, Kelsey March,” he whispered. “After I kiss, bite, and lick you. After I fuck you deep. After I make you come so hard you scream my name. After I make you lose control. That’s my definition of
finish
.”

CHAPTER SIX

KELSEY

I STARED AT HIM. I COULDN’T
think past the heat flooding me, the pounding of my heart, the insanely hot images of my naked body entwined with Archer’s… no, not entwined.

I wanted him on top of me, behind me, his big hands gripping my hips. I wanted our bodies to slam together, to writhe, crash, and collide, not
entwine
. I wanted it dirty and rough and so, so hard.

I couldn’t speak. Anything that came out of my mouth would have been a moan of lust. I squirmed in my seat, trying to breathe evenly. My wispy panties were not made to withstand the intense, potent effect of Archer West.

He ran his hand up my leg again, his coarse palm eliciting shocks of pleasure with every caress. It took everything in me to pull my foot off the chair, away from his warm touch, away from him.

I lowered my head, focusing on closing my laptop. My hands shook as I shoved it into the case. It caught on the strap. I cursed and tried to untangle the strap, to undo the stuck zipper that refused to budge.

Archer reached across the table and took the laptop from me. With a few quick movements, he unzipped the case and pushed the computer in.

“Come on,” he said.

“What?”

“Where’s your car?”

“On… on the other side of the street.”

He picked up his notebook and the laptop case. We walked back to the street. When I indicated which car was mine, he opened the door and put the case on the passenger seat.

“Go home,” he said. “Change into jeans. Boots, if you have them, but real ones. No heels. And bring a jacket.”

I could only stare at him. “What for? Where are we going?”

“Meet me back here in half an hour.” He glanced at his watch. “Your time starts now.”

I noticed he didn’t ask if I actually wanted to go… wherever. But since my brain had apparently short-circuited and lost all capability for independent thought, I got into my car and drove home. I was still shaken both by Archer’s effect on me and my lack of ability to resist him. Every time he touched me, every time he
looked
at me, I went all weak and soft.

I’d never been weak or soft. And it bothered the hell out of me that I was with him.

I put on jeans, boots, and a King’s University fleece before I grabbed a jacket and went back out to my car.

Archer was waiting on a bench where I’d left him, his leg crossed over his thigh in a purely masculine position. As I approached, he stood and tucked his notebook beneath his arm.

“Where are we going?” I asked again.

“I’m taking you for a ride.” He slipped his hand beneath my elbow.

I jerked away, irritated. “Look, I get it, okay? You want to get into my pants. And I know I went overboard in the bar, but I’m already tired of you assuming that I’m just going to fall into bed without even a—”

“I meant,” Archer interrupted, a smile tugging at his mouth, “a motorcycle ride.”

“Oh.” I flushed and disliked myself for it. I shot him a glare. “Well, what was I supposed to think with all the foot touching, sexy talk, and everything?”

“Exactly what I hoped you’d think.” He stopped beside a beat-up Harley that had dented metal saddlebags and a seat patched with duct tape. He unlatched a saddlebag to put his notebook inside.

“Archer, I—”

He turned to face me. The protest died in my throat. He put his hand beneath my chin and lifted my gaze to his. My heart hammered with a combination of anxiety and anticipation.

“Yeah, I want you,” he said softly. “You know exactly what I’m about. And I know you’d never expect more from a guy like me. But I also know you’re going to spontaneously combust if you don’t
let go
.”

“Oh, thank you.” Somehow, by digging deep, I managed to sound sarcastic. “Thanks ever so much for looking out for my well-being. I really appreciate knowing you want me to be your charity fuck.”

My irritation only made him smile.

“You’d be anything but a charity fuck,” he said. “Think about it. You and me. No strings attached, no holds barred. No expectations. I’m leaving town soon, so there wouldn’t be any shitty breakup. Just us having fun while I’m here.”

“Sounds like a great arrangement for you,” I remarked.
And for me, but damned if I’m going to admit it.
“How many times have you used that exact speech on a woman?”

“Never.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t need speeches, storm girl.” He grabbed a second helmet from a backpack. “I don’t play games, either. What you see is what you get.”

I already knew that. I’d known the minute I saw him walk into the bar. And oh, how I liked what I saw.

He came around the bike and settled the helmet on my head. A crease of concentration appeared between his eyebrows as he buckled and adjusted the strap beneath my chin. Then he glanced up and saw me watching him.

For a moment, we just looked at each other. I could see the tiny flecks of silver in his eyes, the darker ring of brown around the irises, his incredibly thick eyelashes.

He reached up and took off my glasses, leaning closer as if he wanted to study my eyes without the barrier of glass between us.

I suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable. I tried to grab my glasses back.

“Give those to me.”

He looked through the lenses first before settling them back on my nose. “Why do you wear them?”

“So I can see, dumbass.”

“The prescription doesn’t seem very strong.”

I was startled. In truth, my eyesight wasn’t that bad. I needed glasses to drive and for seeing far away, but I rarely wore them at home or on weekends. I liked the way they were sort of a shield between me and other people, and they gave me a sharper look that served me well at work.

Apparently Archer West had figured that out.

I straightened the frames. “Well, I need them, okay?”

“Okay.” He put on his helmet and nodded to the Harley. “You ever ridden before?”

“Once or twice, but it was long time ago.”

“You lean with me and the bike. Keep your feet on the foot pegs. If you need me to stop for any reason, tap me on the thigh. There’s a handrail for you, but it’s not very reliable. I strongly advise you to hold on to me instead.”

He looked at me gravely. Suppressing a smile, I shook my head at him. He responded with a wink and a grin.

Well, crap. There he went disarming me again. One minute, hot sexy promises and the next minute gentle flirting. He kept throwing me off balance, and I both liked and didn’t like it.

He swung his leg over the bike and gestured for me to get on behind him. I climbed on, hesitating a second before sliding my arms around his waist.

Oh.

A bolt of desire shot through me. I adjusted my thighs around his hips. He shifted, reaching down to clasp my hands and pull them more securely around him. He interlaced my fingers so my palms were flat against his abdomen—his rock-hard abdomen with muscles so clearly defined under his T-shirt. I exhaled a slow breath, feeling the warmth of him spread up my arms.

“Yes, the… um, the handrail seems a little loose.” I hadn’t even bothered looking for the stupid handrail.

“Told you.” He sounded like he was smiling. “Hold tight.”

He revved up the bike and guided it out of the parking lot. He took the ride through downtown slowly. While I appreciated the chance to get used to the feel of the bike and the roar of the engine, I quickly realized that I was dependent on Archer. I had to trust that he knew what he was doing, that he would drive safely, that he wasn’t whisking me off to some dark cave where he could have his way with me.

I shifted closer, tightening my arms around him. God, he felt good. Solid, warm, and so strong. He could lift me into his arms without any effort at all. And whisk me off to some dark cave where he could have his—

A laugh choked my throat. Despite the fact that I kept telling myself
I couldn’t do this
, it seemed, in fact, that I was.

At a stoplight, he turned his head. “Okay?”

“Yes.” More than okay.

He reached back and patted my thigh. Another rush of heat filled me. I leaned against him and forced myself not to think. Though the growl of the bike between my legs was exciting, it didn’t compare to the feeling of pressing against Archer’s back, the heat of his abdomen warming my palms, the subtle shifts of his muscular body against mine as he drove onto the highway.

I had no idea where he was going. I didn’t care. He could have ridden to Canada and I’d have loved just sitting there with my arms around him, the bike roaring beneath us, and the wind whipping past.

I felt free. Open. Unlocked.
Just for now.

Archer pulled off the highway past Forest Grove and took a two-lane side road through a heavily forested area. After parking in a lot near a ranger’s cabin, we both climbed off the bike. The hum of the engine still throbbed in my blood as I pulled off the helmet.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“A state park that I heard about at a hostel.” Archer took off his helmet and dragged a hand through his black hair.

He fastened the helmets to the bike, and we started off on one of the trails winding through the trees. It was lovely and quiet, with only the sounds of birds whistling and the faint rustle of the wind.

“What were you doing at a hostel?” I asked, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets as we walked.

“I’m staying in a room there.”

“Oh.”

I felt his glance. “That bother you?”

“No.” I was surprised, though. I’d figured Archer didn’t have much money, but surely Dean could…

Shit.

Why was I constantly… and conveniently… forgetting about Dean? That Archer was Dean’s
brother
?

“Whoa.” Archer stopped and faced me, holding his hands up. “You just went dark on me.”

“I was thinking about Dean.”

He frowned. “Not what any guy wants to hear when he’s alone with a woman.”

“I mean… you’re Dean’s brother.”

“So?”

“So Dean and I are friends.”

“You’ve known him how long?”

“Since college. He was a couple of years ahead of me.”

“You ever date him?” Though his voice sounded casual, a note of jealousy underscored it.

“No,” I said. “I never dated Dean. We’re friends. He helped me through some shitty stuff years ago. He’s always been a rock. I’d never want to screw things up with him and me.”

Archer looked at me for a second. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I can’t compete with him. Never could. If that’s the problem, then I’m out.”

I stared at him. “You’re out? You mean you’ll fold, just like that? Just because I brought up Dean?”

“You want an excuse to stop this whole thing, don’t you?” In his eyes was an unmistakable guilt and pain whose source I didn’t want to know. “You found the best one, sweetheart. If you’re backing off because of Dean, then yeah, I fold.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. And while part of me was very aware that he was saying exactly what I
should
want to hear, a wave of hurt crashed into me.

“What the hell?” I snapped. “What happened to
I’m going to finish this
and
I want to sleep with you
? You can’t come on to me like a fucking hurricane and then fold just because I mention Dean.”

“If you’re thinking about my goddamned brother when you’re with me, then fuck it, Kelsey. I’m not competing with him. No way.”

“I’m not asking you to!”

“Then why did you bring him up?”

“Archer, you
ass
, you didn’t think Dean just might be an issue? You knew from the beginning that he and I are friends!”

His features tensed. “I didn’t know from the beginning.”

I fell silent. My breathing was fast. A sudden yearning hit me—the desire to rewind time and go back with Archer to the corner booth of a bar where we hadn’t known anything about each other. Where I’d pressed my thigh against his, and had the courage to touch his tattoo. Where I hadn’t been Professor March. Where the world had distilled to a single, hot kiss.

“You made up your mind about me at first,” Archer said. “Then you find out I’m Dean’s brother, and suddenly I’m nothing but a fuck-up who screws with people.”

I swallowed my rising shame. “That’s… that’s not true.”

“No? That’s not what you still think?”

I stared at him, my heart racing. Of course it wasn’t. In less than three days, Archer West had shaken everything I’d ever heard about him. He’d also tilted my world off its axis, and I wasn’t at all certain I wanted it back in place.

“No,” I said honestly. “That’s not what I still think.”

His shoulders relaxed a little. “Well, I still think you’re a controlling bitch who hasn’t gotten laid in years.”

I laughed. “You’re not far off the mark, then.”

He grinned, his eyes creasing as he approached me. He reached up to take a few strands of my hair between his fingers.

“I also think you’re smart, incredibly sexy, and that you want this to happen as much as I do. We could have one hell of a good time together while I’m here.”

My breath shortened. I stared at the pulse beating at the side of his neck and wondered what it would feel like to press my lips against the warm, taut skin there.