Chapter Four

“Mind if I cut in?”

Archer endured the punch of want that hit him everywhere at once at the sight of Bridget in a slinky dress that showed every line of her body and heels that turned her long legs into an erotic proposition—one not aimed at him.

He ruthlessly blocked the shards of jealousy that threatened to slice at him, knowing she’d had that body pressed up against her former friend-fuck. Harnessing a cool he was far from feeling, he sent her a smile that challenged her to accept. She hated to back down from a challenge. At least, she’d used to.

She raised one dark eyebrow. “You sure you want to risk it? I’m wearing very high heels, and I’m not used to them. One wrong move, I might leave a hole in your foot. Accidentally.”

Inwardly, he smiled. Some things never changed. She still hated to back down. “I’ll take my chances.”

One step on his part, a half step on hers, and she was in his arms. At last. It felt like heaven, having her so close, her fingers linked casually at the back of his neck, his hands spread as low as he dared across the small of her back, her silk-covered breasts barely touching his sweater, her thigh brushing against him through the slit in her skirt.

But heaven came at a price. He wanted to hold her tight. Draw her in. Fit their bodies together the way they’d once fit automatically. He ached to tip her face up and kiss her gleaming lips, but he kept himself in check because she had to want it, too, and that would take time.

Luckily, he had time. The rest of his life, if necessary.

“So, you’re back,” she said, looking everywhere but at him.

“You knew I’d be back.” He kept his focus on her face. Those unfamiliar heels she wore put them almost at eye level. Eventually, she’d run out of other places to rest her gaze. “It’s a small town. Word travels. I figure by now you know I plan to stay.” Since he didn’t want to dive too deep into that, right now, he added, “How was the wedding?”

Her eyes met his, briefly, before her long black lashes shielded them. “All good. He said, ‘I do.’ She said, ‘I do.’” Her hands moved at his neck while she spoke. “They sealed it with a kiss. Pretty much storybook stuff.” She glanced at him again. “Why?”

Deliberately, he misunderstood her question. “I figure you guys don’t get quite this dressed up for a run-of-the-mill Saturday night. Plus, my realtor mentioned they’d set the date for this weekend.”

Her mouth turned down at one corner. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. You look amazing, by the way.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” Her lips went neutral again. “It took forever.”

He laughed. “I’m not used to it. I think I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen you all done up.” Student life hadn’t required formal attire, and Bridge hadn’t been the kind of girl who refused to walk out the door without red-carpet ready hair and makeup. The opposite, really. He pulled her a little closer and moved his lips to her ear. “In my favorite memories of you, you’re not wearing any makeup. Your face is naked, just like the rest of you…”

She immediately stiffed. Wrong move. Easing his hold, he let her put some space between them. In clipped words, she asked, “Why. Are. You. Here?”

“There’s something here that I want very badly.”

“The airfield?”

“Captivity Air caught my eye, yes. It would round out Skyline’s holdings in the region nicely—”

“There are lots of small airfields in Alaska. Go find another one to round out Skyline’s holdings.”

“None of the others would put me in partnership with you.” He looked at her in a way that would leave her with no doubt of his ultimate goal. “But Trace isn’t selling, so I’ll have to be patient.”

“He’s never going to sell to you, Archer. If that’s what you’re after, you might as well pack up and leave. You can’t have the airfield, and you definitely can’t have me. You’re wasting your time.” Her statement came out loud in the silence between songs. Around them, heads turned.

He kept his voice low. “It’s my time to waste, but given enough of it, I bet I can.”

“What do you bet? Name it.” She played to the audience now. “Let’s settle it here and now.”

He stepped back as well and crossed his arms. Eyewitnesses weren’t necessarily a bad thing, but the terms of a bet had to be established fairly. “I’m not going to enter into any kind of wager that involves me leaving Captivity. Sorry, Bridge, but screw that.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t fine, judging by her expression, but she went on. “If I win, you leave me alone.” Crossing her arms to mimic his stance, she added, “That shouldn’t be too hard for you. Leaving me alone seems to be your specialty. You’ve done it almost perfectly for the last four years.”

Direct hit to a very sore spot, but he refused to let her see any damage. “I think it might be very hard, if not impossible, given this is a town of less than two thousand permanent residents. What’s ‘leaving you alone’ supposed to look like?”

“Like a fucking restraining order.” She pointed at him. “If you walk into The Goose, and I’m here, you turn around and walk out. If you see me on the street, you cross to the other side and pass by like a stranger.”

Clearly, she felt cornered, and that was on him, but the restraining order comment hit below the belt. “You don’t need a restraining order. I’m not here to menace you.” He tipped his head, regarded her with a calm he couldn’t truly claim, and let fire with a question guaranteed to have her playing into his hands. “What are you afraid of?”

Her eyes went wide. “Afraid? I’m not afraid of anything, Archer. Least of all you.”

“I don’t know. Kinda sounds like you’re afraid to be near me.” He moved closer to her, pleased to see she didn’t retreat. “I don’t think you’re afraid of me physically. I’d never lay a rough hand on you, and you know it. I think maybe you’re afraid of me on another level. Afraid of the memories? Afraid of the feelings I stir up?”

A hum of speculation went through the small crowd of onlookers. Bridget’s cheeks flushed with temper, and he battled a serious urge to kiss her. But then she really would get the restraining order.

“You’re confusing fear and disinterest.” One dark brow winged again as she gained confidence in her comeback. “I’m not interested in interacting with you. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, and got burned anyway.”

An oooh went through the bar as their spectators acknowledged the verbal scorch.

He kicked the corner of his mouth up into a grin. “Sounds like you’re saying I’m a little too hot for you.”

The line was so cocky, even Bridget had to laugh. “Jesus, Archie, you haven’t changed a bit.”

“I’ve changed a lot.” He kept his eyes on hers, holding her with the force of his gaze. “You’ll just have to get to know me better to realize it.”

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “Not interested, remember?”

“So, we’re back to the bet. If you win, you get your restraining order, with the understanding that I have to be able to move around. I have to be able to use the airfield, whether you’re there or not.” It was a bad bet, on her part. Captivity earned its name for a reason. Winter months literally held residents captive. Snow made the roads impassable. The cove froze, barring boats and ferries. The airfield became the only way in or out of the town, and that, too, remained subject to weather conditions. The world narrowed to the general store, the post office, The Goose, and a few other essential businesses. Interaction would be inescapable. On the other hand, winter was seven months away. Winning would buy her a lot of time and waste a lot of his.

She waved away his condition. “I acknowledge that you’re entitled to move around.”

“Great. Now, if I win…”

“Then no restraining order,” she interjected. “You get to move freely in Captivity. Approach me at your own risk.”

“Uh, that’s a one-sided wager, Bridge.”

The onlookers murmured their agreement.

She leaned back against the bar and looked at him from beneath the fringe of her bangs. “Fine. Name your stakes.”

He didn’t even have to think about it. “We’re old friends. If I win, I want to be greeted like an old friend. I want a kiss hello.”

“No.”

The response came so quickly she obviously hadn’t thought her position through. She’d set things up in his favor, and he played it as it lay, nodding sympathetically. “I understand.”

“Do you, now?” She crossed her ankles.

“Sure. You lied when you said you weren’t afraid of me. Obviously, you’re afraid to kiss me. The only thing I can’t figure out is if the fear stems from a lack of trust in me, or a lack of trust in yourself.”

More ooohs from the peanut gallery had her straightening. Hands fisted at her sides, she opened her mouth to fire back with a response but evidently got her temper under control because she closed it again. Smoothing her hands down her hips in a way that made his throat go dry, she smiled. Bridget could be wily. He remembered that well.

“What’s the contest?”

“You choose. My only condition is it happens tonight.” Kind of a risk, as she had a huge home court advantage, but he saw a pool table and a dart board and felt pretty good about his chances with either.

He watched her consider both of those options and reject them. “Does it have to be in the bar?”

“No. Wait. How much have you had to drink?”

She looked at the ceiling, doing a mental calculation. “Bunch of champagne at the reception. Couple tequila shots here.” A small frown furrowed her brows. “We’ll have to even that out.”

“No planes. No boats. No motor vehicles.” Giving consideration to where in the fifty states his boots were currently planted, he tacked on, “No guns. I’ll do a couple shots.”

Bridget smirked at that before turning to the girl behind the bar. “Lilah, line up two shots of tequila for Archer. Make them doubles. Put ’em on my tab.” Turning back to him, she added, “I consider it a good investment.”

He shrugged. “What’s the contest?”

“The pole.”

That elicited whoops and cheers from the rest of the bar patrons and a brief chant of, “Pole! Pole! Pole!”

Bridget handed him an oversized shot. He downed it, set the glass on the bar, and asked, “What’s the pole?”

Mad Dog handed him the other shot, waited until he swallowed, and explained, “Twelve-foot totem pole a short way down Main Street, in the Captivity Sculpture Garden. Our Bridget here holds the official, unofficial speed record for climbing to the top and back.”

A feat of speed and strength? He had this bet in the bag. Finding her challenging stare amongst the faces crowded around them, he lifted his chin. “Let’s do it.”

They spilled out of The Goose swept along by a small wave of people. Side bets went down all around them, with Ford acting as bookie. After a few minutes of listening to the action, he came to the unsettling realization that the odds were close, but not in his favor. Bridget walked beside him—he’d deliberately slowed his strides to match hers, which were hampered by the high heels. “Is this legal?”

“The betting? Probably not.” She crossed her arms against the chill in the air and held on to her biceps. “But only a tight-ass would report it.”

“Not the betting. Climbing the totem pole.” He shrugged out of his jacket and, over her objection, draped it across her shoulders. “Keep it. I have a sweater.”

She expelled a heavy breath at his chivalry but let it be. “Legal? Meh. I can’t claim knowledge of every single law.” Aiming a triumphant look his way, she went on, “If you’re trying to find a way to back out, just forfeit. You stay on your side of the cove. I’ll stay on mine.”

“I’m not looking for a way to back out. Simply wondering if I’m going to need to post bail before I collect my kiss.”

“Keep wondering.” She picked up her pace, trying to stride off, but a crevice in the sidewalk trapped one of her skinny heels. He caught her around the waist before she stumbled.

“Easy, turbo.” Holding her to him—her back to his front—he inhaled deeply. Under the scent of hair gel or some such product he picked up the same old drugstore shampoo he remembered fondly from back in the day. Memories so fond he couldn’t help the physical reaction that manifested. Between the scent and the feel of her against him, he didn’t stand a chance. Hopefully his coat would hide the…

“Let go of me.”

So much for hope. “Is that any way to thank a guy for saving you from a face-plant?”

“Thank you. Now, are we done here?”

He loosened his hold, then felt and heard her shaky exhale and smiled. Into her ear, he said, “We’ve never been done, Bridge. We’ll never be done.”

She turned to face him and spoke quickly. “Another twenty minutes to win this bet, and I’ll dropkick you to your side of Captivity where you can stay, or leave, or do whatever the hell you want. It won’t concern me, Archer, because we…are…done.”

“Hey, you can say my actual name.” The crowd kept walking, oblivious to their sidewalk stalemate. He took her arm to make sure she didn’t lose her balance again. “I hope you’ve got some more of that lip stuff in your little bag there.”

“Why?” Irritably, she jerked her arm, but he held on.

“Cut it out. If you break an ankle on the way there, you’re the one who’s going to have to forfeit, which means you’ll need the lip stuff sooner rather than later.”

That ended her efforts to shake him off. The irritation stuck. “Why would I need it at all?”

He smiled. A smug smile, he knew, but he couldn’t feel bad about it. “Because you’re going to need to re-apply it after I win this bet and kiss it all off.”

“Dream on, loser.” She left the sidewalk and led them along the route the group took, following stone pavers into a grassy, parklike area.

“I hope it tastes good. Like strawberries or cherries.” Or you.

“You’ll die wondering.” She didn’t spare him a glance.

“You could give me a preview. A quick sample, so I know what I have to look forward to.”

The group came to a halt. Bridget did as well, and looked up, smiling, at three long shadows in the moonlight. Two shorter poles flanked a tall, intricately carved and colorfully painted center pole. He craned his neck to see the spread eagle’s wings at the top. Twelve feet seemed higher when it stood straight and narrow directly in front of you.

Beside him, Bridget shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to him. “Tell you what. I’ll give you the whole damn tube when you lose. Do with it whatever you like.” She slipped her shoes off and stepped onto the cut-stone base surrounding the pole.

He inclined his head and stepped up as well. “Ladies first.”

The others formed a semi-circle around the pole. Mad pulled out his phone and called up the stopwatch. Bridget found her first handholds and a foothold, pushed her weight into those so the big toe of her remaining foot merely brushed the stone.

“Ready,” Mad called. “Set. Go!”

Archer dropped his jacket to the ground and moved closer to catch her if she lost her hold at any point, but she lifted off like a freaking gymnast. Shit. He might actually be in trouble here. He stayed in place, under her, as she climbed steadily to the top, long skirt flapping back from her legs. Within seconds, she tapped the round eagle head and shimmied down. As soon as her foot touched the ground, Mad called the time. Eighteen seconds. Not just shit. Holy shit.

“New record!” Wing high fived her.

Archer snagged his jacket from the ground. When he straightened, she faced him, her teeth gleaming in the moonlight, her skin glowing with a sheen of sweat and a flush of success. “Think you can beat that, or do you prefer to save yourself a broken neck and admit defeat?”

“I appreciate your concern, but where I come from, a bet’s a bet.” Swinging his jacket around her shoulders like a cape, he added, “Hold this for me,” and stepped up to the pole.

Mad waited for him to select his initial hand and foot holds. Ford even gave him some tips on where to step on the frog portion, the man portion, and so on. Unlike Bridge, he kept his rubber-soled hiking boots on. He’d need bigger footholds, but the tread would ensure his toes stayed where he planted them. With a nod to Mad, he pulled himself up until his hanging foot barely touched the stone base.

“Aaand…go!”

He climbed, keeping a quick pace that put a satisfying burn in his muscles while he mentally ticked off the seconds. Trouble hit about eight feet up at the orca, whose smooth curves offered fewer notches to hold onto. While Bridget knew every crevice and crag on the pole, he had to feel his way. His fingers slipped off the rounded nose of the marine mammal. He had to regroup and reach up a second time to get a grasp on a tail fin. That cost him precious seconds. By the time he tapped the eagle’s head, he calculated he had about eight seconds to make it down, and he figured he could just let go at the halfway point, drop the last six feet, and win. A few seconds later, however, Mad started the countdown with “five…four”…the rest of the crowd chimed in…“three…”

Fuck it. Still slightly above the halfway point, he called, “Look out below,” and let go.