Chapter Nine

“So, this is ‘The Guy.’” A blurry figure made air quotes around the words.

“Huh?” Bridget rubbed her eyes and wished him away, but when she opened them, her brother sat there on the floor between her dresser and her bed, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, glowing in a pool of moonlight streaming in from the French doors.

“The guy who rocked your world so badly you couldn’t find North for a while.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She dropped her head to the pillow and shut her eyes tight. “Go away. Haunt someone else.”

“I’m here because of you, not me.”

She opened her eyes and didn’t bother trying to hide her skepticism. He tipped his head to the side and regarded her. “What is it you need to hear, Bridge?”

“Nothing.”

“Might want to keep your voice down. I’d hate to wake ‘The Guy.’ ’Course, he won’t hear or see me, but he’ll sure as hell hear you if you keep yelling at me.”

“He’s not ‘The Guy’ anymore, okay?” she whispered. “There is no ‘guy,’ nowadays.”

Shay smirked. “Seems to be from where I’m sitting. Gosh, he’s dreamy.”

Obnoxious in life. Obnoxious in the afterlife. Good to know some things never changed. “Is this how visiting works in your…realm? You just pop in on people whenever? What if I’m taking a shower or, like, in bed with a guy for real? Neither of us wants that.”

“You control when this happens. This is all you. But if, for some reason, you sucked me in at what seemed like a bad time, I think I could poof. I don’t have great control yet, but I can tell you it’s way easier to leave than to stay.”

“Good. Leave.”

“Okay, but…” He shook his head. “You’ll just pull me back again some other time. There’s something we have to resolve. I just don’t know what.”

“Maybe the fact that you knocked up my best friend? My twenty-year-old best friend. How could you?”

“Accidentally, as you know, but that’s for her and me to resolve, Aunt Bridget. You were pulling at me before you knew about your niece.”

She pushed up on her elbow. “Niece?”

“What?” He offered her his blank face. The one he always used when he blurted something he wasn’t supposed to.

“You said niece. Lilah doesn’t even know the baby’s sex, so niece didn’t come from my subconscious.”

“Or nephew…”

For some idiotic reason, her eyes started to sting. “It’s a girl?”

“Gotta go.” Smiling hugely, he started to fade.

“Shay…”

“Bye, Bridge…”

“Shay!”

“Hey, shhh, baby. Wake up.” A rumbly, enticingly earth-bound voice caressed her ear. A warm hand stroked her cheek.

“I-I’m awake.”

“Are you hurting?” Archer leaned over her, trying to get a better look at her face. “You cried out in your sleep.”

“No.” She swiped her cheeks. “I mean, I’m not in pain. I had a—” What? Vision, hallucination, a conversation with my dead brother? “A dream.”

“A bad one?”

“A weird one.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not at all.” The phone screen on her nightstand read twelve twenty. That’s what she got for falling asleep at eight o’clock. Taking stock, she realized Archer was still wrapped around her, one arm under her, one long leg between hers, his healthy, efficient body warming her through her nightclothes. All that close, male contact stirred up cravings inside her for things that had been off her personal menu since November. Even so, stiffness had seeped into her bones, probably from sleeping on the same side for so long. Archer most likely couldn’t even feel a couple of his extremities at this point. For both their sakes, she muttered, “Scooch. I have to find another position.”

“All right. Hold on.”

The mattress gave and groaned as he shifted. She might have groaned as well, because even the small jostles inflicted sharp little stabs of agony, but she pressed her knuckles to her lips and toughed it out.

“Okay. Do what you gotta do.”

With more care than she’d ever given such a basic thing, she maneuvered herself onto her other side. And came face-to-face with him. “You don’t have to stay any longer. I’ve already gotten more sleep tonight than last night.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. He eased his leg between hers, rested a hand at the curve of her waist. “I’ll send you back to dreamland before I go.”

After her last dream, it wasn’t a destination of choice. “No, thanks.”

“Sounds like it was a bad dream.”

“No, just unsettling.” Moonlight and shadows loved the lines and angles of his face. It was plain unfair how irresistible he looked at the moment.

His lips curved into a grin. A wicked grin. “Was it a sexy dream?” His low voice promised to make the dream come true.

“Ha. Far from.”

“Was it”—his voice dropped another note—“a dirty dream?”

Since she really didn’t want to discuss the actual dream, she went with the obvious question. “What would be the difference between a sexy dream and a dirty dream?”

“You tell me. It’s your dream. Did I make an appearance?” he murmured, still grinning.

Her soft, thin thermals offered zero protection from the friction of his pants, the rugged muscles beneath. Her pulse quickened like it hadn’t in a long time. “You wish.”

“Was one of us naked?”

“I don’t remember the dream, you pervert.” Lie.

“Let’s see if I can jog your memory. Did this happen?” Very slowly, he placed a feather-light kiss on her lips.

Her breath hitched, which she should have recognized as a warning—too much emotion—but she sank her fingers into his hair to pull him closer, to get more. “Archer…”

He gave more, supporting the back of her head, sliding his tongue into her mouth to stroke hers, sighing his pleasure directly into her lungs. Permeating her from within and without in a way she hadn’t experienced in years. It was all so addictive.

Against her lips, he whispered, “God, Bridget, there are no words to say how much I’ve missed you.”

While her insides trembled from his admission, the pressure in her chest intensified. She’d been absolutely addicted to him once. Blindly, irresponsibly addicted, and the come down had been devastating. Pulling back, breathing heavy, she stared into his eyes. “I—” Her throat tightened. Damn it. Her chin trembled. Damn. Damn. Damn.

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

To her horror, she responded with a sob.

“Don’t cry, baby.”

Desperate to say something…anything…to recover some shred of dignity, she blubbered, “I dreamt about my brother.”

A big, gentle hand smoothed her hair off her forehead. “I know.” He kissed her there. “You called his name. But you didn’t want to talk about Shay, so…”

“I don’t,” she insisted, then proved herself a liar by adding, “He died this past November. Just after Thanksgiving.” Lord, she was losing her shit.

“I know that, too. I’m sorry. I wanted to come to the service and tell you that personally, but I didn’t want to…well, cause you more grief, I guess.”

A nasty thought snuck into her head. “Is that why you tried to buy Trace out of his interest in the airfield?” She’d looked into him when she’d first learned about his attempt. Archer—well, Skyline, which was, essentially, Archer—had amassed quite the pile of holdings over the last few years, but he hadn’t come sniffing around hers until a few months after Shay crashed.

“A mutual friend suggested your brother might be receptive to a buy-out offer. I took the opportunity—”

Opportunity? All the sadness inside her twisted into a hot, tight knot of fury. “My brother’s death was an opportunity?”

He took hold of her chin. “Your brother’s death was a tragedy. The potential to buy Trace’s interest was an opportunity. Do you get the distinction?”

She shook her head. Shook him off. “No. Right at this moment, I don’t get it at all.” Energized by anger, she rolled away from him and sat up. Instant pain had her yelling, “Fuck!” before quickly getting to her feet. She faced him down from across the bed. “You need to go.”

“If me leaving means you stop hurting yourself, I’m gone. When you calm down, we’ll talk this through.”

“No need.” Arms crossed to hold herself together, she turned to watch him as he stalked around the bed. “I think this exchange gave me ample opportunity to understand what you’re after.” And ample reminder that he was not to be trusted. He always had an agenda, and she was never at the center of it, no matter what pretty words came out of his mouth.

Most people knew better than to challenge her when her temper boiled over. They gave her time and space to cool down. Both her brothers, while bigger and stronger, freely admitted she was the meanest of them by far. They usually ran like rabbits rather than end up on the wrong end of her ire. Archer, however, was not most people. He stepped up, stood toe-to-toe with her, and looked her in the eye. “You don’t understand shit, Bridge. That’s fine. We’ll baby-step this. For now, just understand that I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Having said his piece, he turned and walked to the bedroom door, grabbing his boots off the floor on his way.

Bastard. Unwilling to let him have the last word, she called, “You already have. Twice.”

“Once,” he corrected. “And I’m sorry for that. Everything since has been you hurting yourself. I’m sorry for that, too, for what it’s worth, but not sorry enough to take blame I haven’t earned.”

Her fists opened reflexively, ready to grab something and throw it at him. The book on her night table tempted her. If hurling a book at him wouldn’t prove his “hurting yourself” point to some extent, she would have chucked one directly at his head. Stupid tailbone. They remained as they were for a long moment, in a silent standoff. Finally, he turned away and in a very tired voice said, “Go to bed.”

“Go to hell.” Oh, so satisfying.

Incredibly, he laughed. Long and hard, like she’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “That’s my girl,” he finally managed as he walked out. He kept right on laughing all the way down the stairs, through the entryway, out the front door. He’d probably laugh the entire drive home.

Which wasn’t satisfying at all.