Chapter Eight

Bridget’s eyes flew open, and Archer found himself in the crosshairs of an ultraviolet glare. “Why?” was all she said.

He tossed her a smile to show her the impolite greeting rolled off him. “Well, as it happens, you asked Lilah to send Lenna on her way, but I’m not Lenna.” Lowering himself to sit cross-legged at the edge of the hot tub close to her, he went on. “So, the way Lilah and I figured it, the request didn’t apply to me.”

She closed her eyes again, decisively, and turned her face away. “You figured wrong. Go away.”

“Can’t. I promised Lilah I’d let Key take a run so she could get back to the Inn.”

At the sound of his name, the Husky meandered over and head-butted his shoulder. “Arr!”

“That’s right, buddy.” He scratched the dog’s furry cheeks. “Who’s your new friend?”

“Arr!”

Pleased, he glanced over at Bridget and found her staring at him. Tendrils of steam rose from the water, cloaking her in a thin, ever-changing mist. It dampened her hair, turned her cheeks pink and dewy. Immediately, he imagined other pink, dewy parts. His body tightened.

“You’re not special. Key takes to everyone. He’s not discerning in the least.”

“Nothing wrong with being friendly,” he told the dog while raking his hands down the animal’s flanks. Tufts of white fluff took flight. “How’s your butt?”

“Sore. Which is why I’m in here. Go run the dog around and let me soak in peace.”

“Mommy’s cranky,” he said to Key.

“Fuck off, Archer.”

“That’s no way for Mommy to talk.”

The next thing he knew, a wave of water splashed his entire upper body. Key barked, excited by the prospect of a water fight, and bounded between them. He wiped his face with the bottom of his sweater, then peeled it over his head and looked at her. Chin stubbornly forward, eyes narrowed, utterly unrepentant.

“Was that an invitation to join you?”

Her eyes widened. “You are not serious.”

“Splash me again. Let’s see how serious I am.” He drew his T-shirt over his head and tossed it and his sweater a safe distance away. As he watched, she took a slow, erotically thorough inventory of his shoulders, chest, and abs before she jerked her attention back to his face. He saw a little wariness in her expression now, but Bridget being Bridget, she scooped up water in her cupped hands and dumped it directly onto his lap. The tan, twill work pants soaked it up. Smirking at her handiwork, she said, “You wouldn’t dare.”

He raised a brow. “Wouldn’t I?” Unhurried, he stood, removed his boots and socks, unfastened the pants, and shoved them down his legs until he could kick them off. Straightening again, wearing only white boxer briefs that didn’t hide much since the soaking, he let her look her fill.

Small muscles fluttered in her throat as she swallowed. Then she backed to the other side of the tub, sank chin-deep in the water, and stared at him with huge eyes. “I’m done playing.”

“Are you?” He hooked a thumb in the waist of his underwear and tugged it down an inch. “If I remember correctly, we’re just getting to some of your favorite parts.”

“Don’t make me set my dog on you.”

He looked at the big Husky, sitting on his haunches on the stone, head tilting from one of them to the other, ears perked. “He’s not your dog.” With that, he took a step toward the edge of the tub.

“Sic ’im, Key!”

Much to his surprise, the dog surged up onto all fours, bared his teeth—a lot of very sharp teeth—and let loose a barrage of aggressive barks that ended in ragged growls.

He froze, eyes on the dog, even as Bridget splashed forward, calling, “Down! Oh my God. Down, Key. Down.”

Key immediately sat, lowered his head, and whined. “It’s okay. It’s okay, boy.” She rubbed his head as he bellied down on the stone. “You’re a good boy. I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t sure if that apology was meant for him, or the dog, and had to admit he lost his focus on the question because she’d come out of the water enough for him to see she wasn’t wearing a top. “I didn’t know he would do that,” she said, glancing over, and caught him looking.

She’d never had a self-conscious bone in her body, as far as he could recall, but she froze, blushed, and then slowly sank into the hot tub. He swallowed hard at the sight of the churning water jostling the soft opulence of her breasts before they disappeared beneath the surface. “You’re exquisite,” he hastened to assure her.

Her laugh held a distinct note of I-call-bullshit. “Yeah, right. I’m sleep deprived, strung out on caffeine and ibuprofen, and I have a bruise the size of a grizzly paw on my ass. I may have to crawl upstairs on my hands and knees if I want to sleep in my bed tonight. Afraid I’m not feeling my most exquisite just now.”

Poor baby. Sympathy welled in him, but he suspected she’d hate him all the more if he offered it. “I stand corrected. You’re a mess. Flash your tits again, and I’ll react appropriately this time.”

That gained him a smile and an eye roll. Because the inadvertent flash of tits had completely restored what facing down a protective dog had temporarily deflated, he hooked his thumbs into his boxers again. “Hey, Bridge, what ‘cha got on downstairs?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m coming in. I want to do as the natives do.”

“I’m wearing swim tights. Three pairs of them.”

He grinned, stripped off his underwear, and tossed it onto his pile of clothes before stepping down into the hot tub. The extremely hot hot tub. Well aware she watched his every move, he held back a gasp, but the wince couldn’t be stopped. Still, he decided her round-eyed gaze more than offset a second-degree burn over three-quarters of his body. To play fair, he settled himself on the other side of the square tub, opposite her, and rested his arms along the rim. Everything from mid-chest down eventually adjusted to the water temperature. He stared up at the tarnished pewter sky and let out a low sigh.

“Enjoying yourself?”

He raised his head and looked at her, looking at him. “More than I expected. Not as much as I would if you came closer.”

“I’m comfortable exactly where I am.” She dropped her head back and closed her eyes. “Since I didn’t get any irate or panicked calls, I assume you guys held it together at the airfield today?”

“Everything went well. Mad handled the lessons. My out and back ran like clockwork.”

“Ray arrived this afternoon in Trace’s plane?”

“Uh-huh. He’s all set.” Stretching, he extended his legs under the water and brushed up against one of hers. Lured by silky skin, he repeated the casual contact.

“Cut it out.” He could tell by her voice she’d raised her head to snarl at him.

“You gonna sic the dog on me again? There was a time I didn’t scare you so much.”

“You irritate me. You don’t scare me at all.”

“Prove it.” He raised his eyelids and aimed a challenge across the water at her. “Come here.”

“No.” She dropped her head again.

He made a clucking noise.

“I’m not chicken.”

“If you say so, Shana-hen.”

Her long-suffering sigh brought a grin to his lips. After a moment, she sighed again, sort of impatient this time. “I’m burning up. I have to get out.”

“Need help?”

“No.”

“All right, then. Go on. I’ll soak a little longer and then exercise the dog.”

The sound of bubbling water and silence followed. He raised his head and lifted a brow at her.

She sat there, arms crossed, chewing on her lip.

“What?”

“I’m naked. I don’t want you looking at me.”

He let both brows rise. Bridget was, hands down, the most adventurous woman he’d ever known. Whether executing a barrel roll during a screaming dive, singing raunchy karaoke at a roadhouse after three margaritas, or stripping off her clothes and running into the surf at sunset on a deserted—but public—beach, caution and self-consciousness had never been her calling cards. Did this new inhibition apply with everyone or just him? He didn’t know the answer, but he knew he detested that it applied to him in either case. “I’ve seen the goods before. Seen. Touched. Pleasured. Hell, for a time, I enjoyed an all-access pass to every inch of you.”

“Times change. Turn around. Look the other way.”

So much for his familiar-with-the-territory logic. Letting out his own long-suffering sigh, he turned and stared at the house. Still, he heard no movement behind him, except, eventually, a frustrated sound.

“Bridge?”

“The towels are over on the hearth.”

Yep. Two rolled towels sat on the curved, stone hearth. “I’ll close my eyes.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything for a friend.” And though he sat there, facing away, with his eyes closed, she remained where she was.

He stared over his shoulder at her. “What now?”

“I don’t trust you.”

Well, fuck. That hurt. But clearly, she didn’t, and she looked truly miserable. “You can trust me.”

“Trust doesn’t work like that.”

Fair point. Trust had to be earned. “Okay. Tell you what. I’ll grab the towels and bring one to you. Oh, and for the record, if you want to watch me the entire time, I’m cool with it.” She’d always liked his body. And why not? It has been a slave to hers. Before she could answer, he hauled himself out of the tub, stood in the chilly air for a moment to let the water run off him, and then went to fetch the towels. He slung one around his waist and brought the other to her.

“Thank you.” She extended her hand for the rolled terry cloth.

He unfurled it and held it wide for her, just above the edge of the tub. “You’re welcome.”

Uncertainty and some very evident distrust had her biting her cheek, but after a moment of internal debate, she let out a breath and rose.

He kept his eyes on hers and lifted the towel higher as she took the first step. Pain flickered across her face. He leaned in, wrapped the towel and his arms around her, so she could hold onto him. Once she did, he lifted her out. With her caught up against him, he murmured, “There. Your modesty’s intact.”

Her hands found his shoulders. She tipped her head back and looked at him—a little suspicious. A little hurt. “Don’t mock me.”

“Never.” He meant it. Moving carefully, he adjusted the towel around her body and tucked an end securely in the enticing valley between her breasts. Everything inside him ached to follow that small, protective move up with a kiss to her parted lips, but he refrained. He had a funny feeling she expected it. He preferred to keep her guessing. Winning her heart the first time around had taken wits and creativity. Winning her heart this time? He wasn’t yet sure what it would take, but staying on the right side of the line between reliable and predictable couldn’t hurt.

With that in mind, he swung her into his arms. The dog barked, but in a playful way. Bridget, not as playfully.

“Wha? Hey, I didn’t sign up to be manhandled.”

He started toward the patio door. “Someone said something about having to crawl upstairs to sleep in her bed. I can spare you that.” At the door, he prepared to lean in and flick the knob, but Key jumped up and did the honors. “Nice trick.”

“Yeah. He’s full of them, but hold on ’cause he won’t close it behind us.”

He turned and let Bridget pull the door shut before striding through the high-ceilinged living room with rustic wood beams and tall windows flanking a huge river-rock fireplace. “I like your house.”

“Not mine much longer, but thanks.”

He headed to the large, wood-trimmed central staircase. “You’re moving?”

“Yeah.”

He climbed the stairs, determined to wait her out for the additional details of her plans, but by the time he reached the first landing, he’d also reached the end of his patience. “Where are you moving?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I have to find a place. Hopefully before Trace and Izzy get back from their honeymoon. They’re too nice to kick me out, but they’ll accept it if it’s a done deal.”

“Ah. Three’s a crowd?”

“Three single adults living here weren’t so much, but a married couple and single me? I’ll cramp their cozy couple fun, and I can’t exactly enjoy a social life with them around all the time.”

She hadn’t been enjoying much of a social life lately anyway, according to his investigator, but he kept that knowledge to himself and continued up the stairs. “Well, having just completed a house hunt here in Captivity, I’ve got bad news for you.”

“I know. I know. Inventory’s crap. We’re coming into high season. All the summer rentals are gone. First door on the right is my room.”

He made the turn at the top of the stairs and walked into the bedroom. A nice-size room, full of tidy clutter—a queen bed with a puffy purple comforter haphazardly arranged across the mattress, a couple of books on the night table, along with a small metal model of a bi-plane. Framed pictures sat atop her long dresser. A short hall led, he assumed, to an en suite. French doors on one wall opened to one of the decks off the front of the house. From there she’d have a view of the cove, the airfield. His house. And now when he stood on his deck and looked across the cove at her house, he’d know which room was hers. Until she moved out.

It was too soon, he knew, but he decided to follow the voice in his head whispering, Fuck it. He carried her out onto the deck and put her on her feet. Taking her shoulders, he turned her toward the view. From behind her, he pointed to the large cedar-and-glass structure situated between the trees. One of the few newer structures rather than a traditional painted Victorian or Cape. “That’s my house.”

“I know.”

Of course she did. “It’s big. Plenty of room for two.”

“How nice for you. “

“You could move there.”

“Ha. Right. Where would you live?”

He leaned close enough for their cheeks to touch. “We used to cohabitate really well.”

“No. Actually, we didn’t. What I did was spend all my time at your place. As much as it felt like home to me, it was always your place, and when you left, I had to find my own place. I don’t mean my apartment,” she dismissed when he would have spoken. “I had four walls, but it wasn’t mine. It was just a lonely box of nothing.”

He understood that he’d pulled her into his life, back then, far more than she’d brought him into hers. Mainly, he’d always justified, because he’d been farther along and more established. By the time she’d arrived on the scene, he’d already lived in Palo Alto for four years. He’d shared his favorite places with her, and they’d discovered a few new ones together, but had she found any of her own? He’d introduced her to his friends, but he couldn’t recall her making any deep friendships of her own. Frankly, they’d dominated each other’s free time. There hadn’t been a lot of reciprocity between them, though.

It was part of the reason he’d decided this time around, he had to come to her—weave himself into her world. But he’d never realized how destabilizing it must have been for her when he’d left. She’d had to start over.

Maybe he’d been too blinded by his own guilt and misery to comprehend anything beyond missing her terribly and knowing he’d hurt her. Hurting all over again for the girl he’d left behind, understanding now that her resistance to letting him back into her life stemmed from more than a bruised heart or battered pride, he wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head under his chin. “I’m sorry, baby.”

Instead of leaning against him, she stiffened. “Don’t be. I learned a valuable lesson. I would never make that same mistake again, with you or anyone else. I need my own space. Always.”

He would never classify anything about their relationship as a mistake, but semantics aside, he heard a requirement in her statement. One a smart man would strive to accommodate if he wanted to keep her happy. Her own space. That seemed entirely reasonable, just as it seemed reasonable to him that her separate space could exist within their shared space. But convincing her would take more than just words along those lines. He wasn’t stupid. He understood why she’d shared this bit of herself with him. It was her way of saying, “See my walls? They’re strong, I built them for a reason, and you’re not getting past them.”

Maybe not. Maybe he’d have to find a way to help her dismantle those barricades herself. How? By making her want things beyond those walls—things like him—more than she wanted the safety of her self-containment.

“Well, you’re safe in your own space for the time being.” He eased back and released her. “Have a shower and hit the sheets. I’m going to keep my promise to Lilah and exercise Key. When we get back, I’ll check on you before I leave.”

She turned to him, brow furrowed, as if a little disoriented by his easy retreat. Obviously, she’d expected him to press. Mentally awarding himself points for reliability and unpredictability, he whistled for the dog and walked out, leaving her standing on the deck, wrapped up in a towel and her own thoughts.

He killed forty minutes retrieving their clothes from the deck, tossing his into the dryer for ten minutes, then dressing and heading outside with Key to let him run off some energy. Back inside, Archer grabbed the bottle of painkillers and the cell phone Bridget had left on a table in the living room, got a glass of water from the kitchen, and carried everything upstairs. Key stayed behind in the kitchen to give his food bowl some attention.

Bridget’s door hung halfway open, the room beyond lit by nothing except the waning daylight. He entered quietly, in case she was already asleep, and put the items on her night table. The room smelled like freshly showered woman. The woman herself lay on her side beneath the down comforter, facing him, eyes closed. Asleep, or pretending to be?

“How’s Key?”

The quiet question told him she was neither. “Good.” He crouched beside the bed and swept her bangs away from her eyes. “We burned some calories playing fetch, and now he’s downstairs replenishing.”

She opened her eyes. “That will take a while. He has the appetite of a moose. Then he’ll sleep. Thanks for seeing to him.”

“No problem. Are you hungry?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Restless?”

“No.”

“Then why aren’t you asleep?”

She let out a defeated breath. “I can’t get comfortable.”

“Pain?”

“Some.” She shifted, winced. “More than some.”

“Okay. This calls for a two-step solution. Step one”—he popped the cap off the ibuprofen and dumped two onto his palm—“medication.”

She braced herself on an elbow and took the pills.

“Step two”—he tossed her cover off—“find a comfortable position.” She had a pillow between her knees and another backstopping her, presumably to prevent her from rolling in her sleep. The plain black sleep tank and leggings were built for comfort, but the body they covered was built to entice. “What here isn’t working for you?” It was all working for him.

“I don’t know. These pillows”—she tugged the one between her knees out and punched a fist into the yielding center—“are too soft. They give. They don’t support.”

He took the one behind her back and squeezed it. It stayed flat in the center after he released his grip. “Do you have firmer pillows somewhere?”

“That’s a question for my mom. I don’t even know where these came from. New ones magically appear once a year. Up ’till today, I never gave them a thought.”

“Okay.” He tossed the saggy pillow onto the bed and added firm pillows to his mental list. He’d done some online research already on how to make her recovery easier and would make some stops on his run to Juneau tomorrow. “Let’s try something else instead. You like that side?”

“Yeah. I guess…um…” Her voice trailed off as he leaned down and unlaced his boots. “What are you doing?”

“Offering you support.” Straightening to toe his feet out of his boots, he explained, “Approximately six feet two inches of support.” With that, he walked to the other side of her bed, got in, and scooted up against her.

“This isn’t going to help. Don’t—”

“Give it ten minutes.” He worked an arm under her waist and drew her closer, tucked her back against his chest. Her bruised butt fit securely in the curve of his hips.

Being a contrary creature, she tried to shift away, and… “Ow. You can’t stay.”

He placed his other arm over her, to anchor her, and fit the top of her head beneath his chin. “I’ll leave once you’re asleep. In the meantime, just be still.” When she complied, he eased his knee between hers. “Better?”

“This is a bad idea.”

He took that to mean she felt the ridge of his cock snug against the cleft of her ass. Not something he had a lot of control over, but not something he expected to relieve anytime soon, either. “You’re safe. Think of it as additional support.”

She snickered at that. “Men.”

“What about us?” He slid his leg in a little deeper, so his thigh rested between hers.

She moaned her appreciation, and he had to remind himself the sound meant he’d eased her discomfort, not turned her on, although he liked to think maybe he’d sparked a few interesting licks of lust in the process.

“You’re all so damn easy.”

True, but there’d been a time when she couldn’t have spoken such generalities with any authority. He’d been her one and only. Then he’d walked away, and she’d exercised her right to gain broader experience with his gender. Thinking of her with others always hit him like a fist to the gut, though he hadn’t exactly been a monk, either. Nobody else had captured his heart. Nobody else had come close. As she remained single, he chose to assume the same was true for her. “All of us, huh?”

“All of you,” she replied. Her voice was already starting to thicken.

“What can I say? You smell good.” Burying his face in her damp hair, he inhaled. “We’re susceptible to tricks like that.”

“Hmm.”

“Go to sleep.”

“’Kay.”

They fell silent. He listened to her breathing subside into a slow, regular pattern. Just when he thought she’d drifted off, however…

“Archer?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re exquisite, too. No disrespect to your manliness.”

“None taken. Thanks for noticing.”

“Mmm.”

She dropped off about then, which was good, because she couldn’t see the smile splitting his face.

Progress.