He didn’t give me a chance, which is fine, because really, chemistry is everything. If I don’t feel a spark with a kiss, then the guy is clearly not right for me.
If I’m going to consider a relationship with a guy, that’s what I want. What I need. A spark. Chemistry. A few stolen kisses, wandering hands, whispered words in a quiet corner where someone might catch us. He’d press me up against a wall, cradle my face in his hands, and kiss me like he means it . . .
I frown. I’m sitting alone contemplating a wild wedding reception hookup with a faceless guy. Since when did I become so desperate?
“What’s wrong, chicken?” a familiar voice asks from behind me and I stiffen my shoulders. Great. I’d know that deep, velvety voice anywhere. Archer Bancroft. The absolute last guy I want to deal with tonight.
Talk about a Humpty Dumpty type. Archer knows he’s broken and damaged. And he definitely doesn’t want to be put back together again. The twisted part? He likes being that way. He revels in his brokenness.
No thanks. Even I know my limits. Despite how freaking gorgeous he is, because oh my God, Archer is beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall and broad with a body that’s hard and muscular without being over the top; he’s downright swoon-worthy.
And he’s my brother’s best friend. I’ve known Archer since I was twelve and he moved in next door with his cold-as-ice parents. I’d developed an immediate crush, because back then he was the most exotic thing I’d ever seen in my never-changing, no-one-ever-moves neighborhood.
The crush died a swift death when I realized what a player he was. Even at twelve, I could see the ugly truth.
Smart girls don’t mess around with Archer.
He trails his finger across my bare shoulder, knocking me from my memories, making me shiver. “You’re looking awfully down during this happy occasion, chicken.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I find him flashing that trademark panty-melting smile at me. I absolutely refuse to let my panties dissolve for even a fraction of a second. “I really wish you wouldn’t call me that,” I say irritably, scowling at him. Calling me chicken twice in as many minutes is a sign he’s trying to drive me crazy.
What else is new?
Chuckling, his dark brown eyes flash. It’s not fair how pretty he is. He has that strong jaw and lush mouth. The dimple that makes such a rare appearance that whenever I see it, I immediately want to kiss it. Lick it.
My frown deepens. I should not be thinking about licking Archer’s face. What the hell is wrong with me? Too much champagne or what?
More like too much dreaming about being pulled into a dark corner and kissed until you can’t breathe.
“No, ‘Hi, Archer, how are you?’” He shakes his head, resting his hand on the back of my chair. His knuckles brush against my bare skin and I try to repress the shiver that overtakes me at his casual touch. “And you’re usually so polite.”
“Archer, cut the shit.” I meet his gaze, watch with satisfaction as the smile falls from his face. Have I ever talked to him like this? Probably not, but I can’t deal. Not tonight. “I’m not in the mood. I’ve had a bad week.”
“Yeah, I heard,” he says quietly, his eyes full of sympathy. “Sorry about the guy.”
I’m going to kill my brother for blabbing. Now I feel extra pitiful. Archer probably came over because he felt sorry for me. I saw him talking with Gage and Matthew DeLuca a few minutes ago, though they didn’t notice me. Were they laughing at my yet again failed attempt at finding a decent guy? Probably. Those three have mocked me for years. It’s become habit now. “It’s no big deal. He was a total jerk.”
“I’d say, for letting you go so easily.”
Did he really just say that? What did he mean? “Is there something you wanted to talk about?” I’m eager to get rid of him. For whatever reason, with only a few words he’s confusing me tonight and I don’t like it. I’m confused enough, what with my secret wishes for random hookups with hot guys.
Hot like Archer . . .
“Yeah, there is.” The smile returns, gentler now, not full of the usual bravado. “Want to dance?”
“With you?” I’m incredulous. And I want to laugh when I see he’s obviously offended by my question.
“Yeah, with me. Come on.” He holds out his hand. “Be my shield before some crazy woman tries to drag me out onto the dance floor. They’re circling, chicken. They’re about to jump me if I don’t watch it.”
He’s right. I can see a few women starting to approach us. Suddenly overcome with the need to let them know that he’s not available, I let him take my hand, his long fingers clasping around mine as he pulls me to my feet. He blatantly checks me out, his gaze running down the length of my body, lingering on my chest, and I simultaneously want to punch him and ask if he likes what he sees.
Yeah, definitely confusing.
A woman appears before us, her smile so wide I wonder if it hurts her face. “Hey, you’re Archer Bancroft, right? From Bancroft Hotels? The Hush Resort and Spa?” she asks, her voice falsely bright.
“I am.” He pulls me closer, releasing my hand so he can wrap his arm around my shoulders in a proprietary way, like he’s claiming me. His thumb rubs circles against my skin, making my breaths come a little faster, and I drop my gaze to the floor, trying to gather my composure. “Have we met before?”
“Once. Long ago, but I’m sure you don’t remember me.” I glance up and watch as her smile grows. How is that even possible? “I’ve always wanted to go there. To Hush.”