Chapter Six

A smart man didn’t waste an opportunity, Archer reminded himself. Though he would have done anything to undo the injury, including trading places with her, that simply wasn’t possible. But he could trade places in a different way.

“I can cover for you while you’re out of commission.”

Six sets of eyes focused on him.

The violet-blue ones that always stole his breath blinked. “What?”

He eased sideways past Ford and Mad and walked to where Bridget sat. Once there, he crouched so they were face-to-face. “I run an air and freight company with the bulk of its operations in Alaska. I hold a commercial pilot’s license from the state, I’m already here, and as it happens, I enjoy a great deal of control over my schedule.” To counter the highhandedness of that fact, he smiled and added, “I also work cheap.”

Instead of looking at him like the answer to her prayers, she looked trapped. And frankly, she was trapped, though he didn’t want her to feel that way. The trap only got stickier when Wing said, “Duuuude!” and stepped forward and slapped his shoulder. Mad clapped his other shoulder, and some general murmurs of appreciation sounded from behind him. Everyone assumed her agreement. Everyone except him. He waited, watching her mentally rummage through her nonexistent options. To make it easier for her, he pointed out, “You need me. What do you say, Bridge?”

She shook her head, but it was more of a denial of the situation she found herself in than a refusal of his offer. “I-I won the bet. I won. Right, Mad?”

Before Archer could insist that they’d tied, Mad knelt down, too, and cupped her face in his hands. “This is one of those situations where you win the battle, but you lose the war, I’m afraid.”

How could he have forgotten how stubborn she was? “Tell you what. If you still want your restraining order once you’re back in the cockpit, you can start it then.”

“That’s fair,” Wing said. Others concurred. Mad stood and stepped back, apparently assuming things were resolved.

Not quite, to Archer’s mind. “For now, though, I’m yours for just three little words.”

“If you expect a ‘thank you,’ you’re—”

“Not ‘thank you,’ Bridge. All you have to say is, ‘I need you.’”

“I’ve got three words for you. Go fuck yourself.”

He shook his head. “Try again.”

Bridget’s irate gaze searched out the other faces in the room, looking for support, but the deafening silence coming from over his shoulders told him she wasn’t finding any. Finally, her eyes met his. Wearing an expression reminiscent of a child swallowing foul medicine, she said, “Fine. I need you.”

He smiled and patted her leg. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Before she could answer, Ford broke in. “Are your keys in your purse?” He asked the question briskly, leaving Archer the impression the man wanted to move things along before they went off track again.

When Bridget nodded, Ford retrieved her keys and threw them to Wing before handing the purse to her. “Get her car.”

“On it.”

Mad went with him, to fetch his own car and give everyone a ride back into town.

Lilah, Ford, and Archer stood by while the doc ran through care instructions—two days of bed rest, lots of ice and heat, and then, pain levels permitting, she was cleared for driving short distances, sitting and standing in reasonable increments. Archer listened with half an ear while the doctor ran down the red flag scenarios where Bridget should contact her right away. It was unlikely she’d share the details of her recovery with him, let alone bring him into the loop if she encountered a setback. Lilah, on the other hand, practically took notes, so at least he could relax in the knowledge Bridget had a level-headed adult keeping an eye on her.

“I’ll come by tomorrow evening and walk Key,” Lilah said, “and then the following morning and evening. I can keep coming the rest of the week if you need me. Just let me know.”

“You have a dog? What kind?” It piqued his curiosity at the same time it underscored how much he didn’t know about her nowadays.

“He’s not my dog.” Her cool tone kicked him out of the conversation and shut the door in his face. If she thought acting like a bitch would frighten him away, she didn’t know much about him, either.

Lilah shamed her friend with a soft, “Bridget.”

She ran a hand through her hair and let out a long breath. “He’s my brother’s dog,” she finally said, then dug her phone out of her purse and checked her messages.

“Ah. Well, I can help with that, too. Whatever you need.” He slipped the phone from her hand, tapped into her contacts, and added himself. Then he sent himself a text, so he’d have her in his phone before handing hers back.

“Hmm,” was all she said. Staring at her phone, she said, “I don’t think of you as a dog person.”

While he might not know about the dog, he knew her. “I like animals. Maybe one evening while you’re resting, I’ll take him up with me.”

That brought her head up. “In the Cirrus?”

“Sure. Does he like to go high and fast?” ’Cause his caretaker did. She lived for those sorts of thrills. Knowing this about her, he’d brought all his best toys to Captivity.

“I don’t know if he’d go with you. He doesn’t know you.” She looked away. Cleared her throat. “How fast does it go?”

“The guy who customized her for me thought she topped out around three hundred twenty knots at twenty-eight thousand feet, but I’ve gotten closer to three hundred thirty knots at thirty-one thousand feet.”

Her eyes went wide. Her lips parted on quickened breaths. He knew lust when he saw it. Stoking it, he lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “She’s new, though. I haven’t had a chance to really open her up yet. I’ll have to find the right day, weather-wise.” He sent her a smile. “Depending on my co-pilot’s availability, of course.”

She straightened her spine, then winced. “Ow. Co-pilot? I didn’t say I’d be your co-pilot.”

“I didn’t ask you. I was referring to the dog.”

“Like I said, he might not take to you. Stranger danger and all.”

“You’re just trying to get me to invite you along.”

She looked away. “I am not.”

“You’re welcome to come, too, as soon as you’re airworthy.”

Turning, she looked at him from beneath her eyelashes and slowly smiled. A sexy smile. A seductive smile. A smile that featured heavily in his most torturous dreams. “If you’re serious about finding the top speed, you should let me take her up, solo.”

Ha. “Not a chance, gorgeous.”

“I’m lighter. I like to push the envelope.”

“Still, no.”

“I’m good at it.”

“No argument.” She’d basically taught him to fly, but he’d learned a lot since then. “I’m good, too, as it happens.”

“I bet I’m better.”

Ford laughed out loud. “Maybe recover from the fallout of your last bet before you launch into another one. Your ass is already in a sling, so to speak.”

Bridget’s cheeks turned pink, which gave Archer almost as much satisfaction as her deep-seated fascination with his plane. He’d get her up there, with him, and remind her of how perfectly in sync they were when they flew together. If the weather cooperated, maybe he’d get her out on his boat and remind her how much fun they had on the water together. And eventually—eventually—she’d start thinking about other things they did well together.

Wing and Mad returned with the vehicles. He snagged Bridget’s keys, determined to drive her home, and when she balked, justified it with, “If you expect me to hit the ground running tomorrow, you have to fill me in on a few things about the airfield beforehand.”

With her wrapped in his coat again, her shoes and purse in her arms, he carried her to her car—a green Yukon emblazoned on the side doors and back window with the Captivity Air & Freight logo—and settled her into the passenger seat as gently as possible while the others climbed into Mad’s Cherokee. By the time he got behind the wheel, windows were lowered and goodbyes exchanged. Mad pulled away, and finally, for the first time in four long years, he was alone with her.

“Which way?” He knew her house sat on the opposite side of the cove from his. He could pick out the large, shingled home with the white trim and dark roof from his upstairs deck and could probably find his way there given his basic familiarity with the town, but he wanted to hear her voice.

“Go down to Main, make a right, then continue straight until you’re past the harbor.”

“Got it.” He pulled away from the curb. “What time do you need me at the airfield tomorrow?”

“Trace, Izzy, and the parents are flying out at nine. If you arrive before then, go tinker with your toy. I don’t want them catching wind of any of this, so stay out of sight. Once they’re off, I’ll come find you.”

“You will not.” He forced himself to loosen his grip on the wheel. “You’re on bedrest tomorrow and the next day.”

“I have to see them off. They’ll know something’s wrong if I bail. Trace will press on Lilah to get information because he knows she won’t lie. And she won’t. Not even for me. If he finds out I’m”—she made an all-encompassing gesture at herself—“he won’t leave.” Big, desperate eyes pleaded with him. “I can’t ruin this trip. Not after…after everything my family’s been through this past winter. As soon as they’re wheels up, I’ll go straight home and into bed with my ice pack and my heating pad. Swear to God.”

He couldn’t turn her down. He knew what she’d been about to blurt out before she stopped herself. Shay’s death. But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for her. “You disobeying doctor’s orders is not part of our deal.”

“What’s it going to take, Archer? Go on the right fork here.”

He steered the truck along a road that cut into the hillside rising along the cove.

“What do you mean?”

“What’s it going to take to get you to let this go? Make another right, there.” She pointed to a short side street that went up to another street that ran parallel to the one they were on.

He made the turn. “Are you suggesting you can buy my cooperation, Shanahan?” He made the left onto the next street without her guiding him. From here, the moon floated high and full over the cove.

“There must be something you want. I’ll give it to you, in exchange for letting me manage my family the way I see fit.”

“In exchange for letting you endanger your health and well-being?”

“One morning—an hour at most. I’ll be fine. If I’m not, you can drive me over to Dr. Devan’s office yourself and say, ‘I told you so,’ the entire time. This is our driveway.”

He made the right into the tree-lined drive, pulled to the paved, circular pad at the top, and parked the truck in front of the large Cape Cod–style home with craftsman touches and three pretty decks off the second level. Outside lights burned, and a light was on somewhere inside the lower level, but otherwise the home sat still and dark, surrounded by trees. The view from here was almost a mirror image of the one from his place. Same big, white moon reflected on the same glassy water. Same scattering of stars above the tall points of Spruce tops. After cutting the engine, he released his seat belt and turned to her. “There is one thing that might persuade me.”

She released her belt as well and started to slide out of his coat. “Name it.”

He reached out and stopped her fast fingers. “Keep it. I’ll carry you to the door. We’ll discuss it there.”

“I can walk.”

“Not in heels, and not in bare feet on a forty-degree night.”

“Archer—”

“Bridget.” He threw the exasperated look she lobbed at him right back at her.

“Whatever.” She moved her shoes and her evening bag from the floor to her lap and crossed her arms. “Go ahead and do your He-Man thing one last time if it helps boost your testosterone level after losing our bet.”

“Thanks.” He eased out of the car and faced her through the open driver’s side door. “Decent of you to think of it that way, as opposed to recognizing this as me looking after you.” With that, he shut the door and walked around the front of the truck to her side. She opened the door before he arrived.

“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

Indeed, she had. Even as a kid, years before he’d met her, she’d enjoyed a huge amount of freedom and, by all accounts, even more during the years they’d been apart. “Well, tonight you need help. If you don’t want it from me, I guess I could go knock on the door and lay out the situation for whoever answers. Would it be your dad or your mom, do you think?”

Her sigh turned the air in front of her face to a misty cloud. “Just take me to the side door so I can sneak in quietly.”

He slipped one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and lifted her out as smoothly as possible. She bit her lip but didn’t make a sound. Brave Bridget. Show no weakness when facing the enemy. How long before he convinced her he wasn’t her enemy? How long before he won her trust? Thanks to her injury, he had four weeks to make headway. He wouldn’t have wished it on her, but he wasn’t about to squander the chance, either. After pausing to nudge the passenger door closed with the toe of his boot, he carried her across the asphalt and up a short set of stone stairs to a small porch protecting a door at one side of the house, closest to the barn-sized garage. At this stage in the season—too cold for insects, too soon for the rustle of mammals coming out of hibernation—his footfalls and their breathing were the only sounds to disturb the quiet. The clean scent of pine permeated the cool air. He carefully lowered her to her feet, placing her on the thick, sisal welcome mat that read Hope You Like Dog Hair.

With the door at her back and him in front of her, there wasn’t much chance of maintaining a bubble of personal space. Her skin glowed like alabaster in the soft light overhead. Her eyes turned indigo. Maybe hoping to sweep him back a few inches, she set her purse and shoes on the porch rail and started to shrug out of his jacket. He took two handfuls of the front to keep her in it. Under different circumstances he might have pulled her to him, but given her fracture, he stepped closer to her. “Let’s discuss the price of my silence, first.”

She stared at his hands, fisted in the jacket. “Discussion isn’t the right word. We both know I don’t have a lot of bargaining power. Just keep in mind I didn’t end up like this on my own. You goaded me into making that bet.”

“How could someone you’re so disinterested in goad you into anything? You came up with the pole climb all on your own. Your idea, Bridge, though I’m sorry you’re hurt.”

“Sorry enough to do as I’ve asked, without any additional persuasion?”

“Nope.”

“Right. What do you want?”

“I’m still waiting for that kiss hello.”

She looked up at him, eyes hot, slashes of color riding high across her cheekbones. “That’s not fair. You lost the bet.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

She poked a finger into the center of his chest. “There’s no love here.” Another poke. “And I’m not looking for a war. All I want is to be left—”

He caught her hand before she poked him a third time. “This isn’t about what you want, remember? This is about what I want.”

“Why?” She punctuated the question with a stomp of her foot, followed by a swift breath of pain.

Frustration got the better of him. “For God’s sake, Shanahan, just stand still for thirty seconds and you’ll have what you want, including an answer to that question.”

“Ten seconds,” she countered.

He rolled his eyes skyward and fished his phone out of his pocket. “Twenty seconds. Final offer. Otherwise, I…” Christ, was he really going to coerce her into this? He’d meant to give her a reason to kiss him without having to own any responsibility for the decision, but she was right about the bargaining power, and he found that didn’t sit well. “Four fucking years, Bridget. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“Fine.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “I’ll cop to curious. Twenty seconds’ worth of curious. Not a second more.”

Determined to make them count, he set the timer to vibrate, placed the phone on the porch rail, and tipped her face up to his. While she glared at him from beneath long eyelids, he skimmed his hand along her jaw and into her hair until he cradled the back of her head. Using his other hand, he stroked his thumb along the angle of her eyebrow, her temple. Her eyelashes fluttered. She inhaled quickly. If she hoped the sound conveyed impatience, she’d be disappointed to know it conveyed lust. Simple, unvarnished lust that drew responses from every part of him—mind, body, soul.

Determined to take his time, and hear that quick inhale again, he traced one side of her upper lip with his thumb, from the curvy center notch all the way down the graceful slope to the corner, and then the soft pillow of her lower lip. They parted a little more, and…yeah, there it was…another quick breath.

“I thought you wanted a ki—?”

“Shh. No rushing.” Still cupping the back of her head, he caressed the sensitive skin behind her ear with long sweeps of his thumb. She’d always had a little weak spot right there, and judging by her next inhale, she still did.

He didn’t know if she realized it, but she’d brought both of her hands up to rest on his chest. Maybe to keep him at bay, originally, but now her fingertips curled into his sweater. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Her breath hitched.

Jesus, she undid him. Always had. Always would. Moving slowly, he leaned in. Eyes locked, he brushed his mouth over hers, barely touching. “Okay, Bridge?” He murmured the question, caressing her lips in the process.

“Uh-huh.” Her warm breath fanned his skin. Something agonizingly sweet and devastatingly familiar shivered through him. It shivered through her, too. He felt it. Her pupils expanded until her irises were narrow perimeters of deep purple. His thumb swept over a pulse in her neck tripping along at a pace that matched the hammering of his heart. A small, helpless noise rose from deep in her throat.

Urges, instincts, knowledge no amount of time could dull, roared at him to dive into the kiss and pull them both under. Drown in her, in what he’d denied himself—denied them—for too long. You can, a desperate part of his mind whispered. You know what to do. You know how to make it good for her.

But another sound filtered through those dangerous thoughts. The sound of his phone vibrating on the porch rail. The sound signaling his twenty seconds of heaven had come to an end. Moving slowly, sliding both hands along her jaw, he lifted his mouth from hers. She stared at him, blinked, pressed her lips together, and slid her tongue between them in a way that made him want to groan, and then just stared at him some more.

His move. He reached behind her, turned the doorknob, and opened the door an inch. Very quietly, he said, “That’s why.”

“Why what?” she whispered.

He couldn’t hold back a smile. “You asked me why. Now you know.” With Herculean effort, he stepped away. “See you tomorrow.”

She stood stock still for a long moment, then peeled his jacket off in a couple jerky movements and held it out to him, her arm fully extended to keep maximum distance between them during the exchange.

He traded her keys for his jacket, shrugged it on, turned, and started walking.

“Archer.” Her voice was softer than the wind rustling the spring leaves.

He turned.

“I hate you.”

Yeah. And he deserved it. But hate was a strong emotion, making it an important step up from the indifference she’d initially claimed. God knew what it said about him, but he saw it as progress.