Chapter 11
eleven
Archer
B ailey refuses to speak on the way back to the winery. I pray she’ll give me the opportunity to explain who I really am. When I held her after she came and she sighed my brother’s name it felt like taking a bullet to my heart. She believes I’m the rock star playboy.
My mind roars with the words I never believed I’d say to my brother. Fuck you, Marcus. All the times I’ve pretended to be you have been just games to you, haven’t they? Through our childhood and teen years I played along. When you needed me to disappear into the background, I did. Willingly. The spotlight holds no allure for me.
But you continually call me back from my anonymity. Still need me to play the game to keep your good name. No more. I will no longer be a participant in your game. Because this time, my life, my future, hell possibly even my ability to write your damn music might be gone. Ruined because the woman I love believes I am you.
The woman I love believes I am you.
Fuck.
I shift focus. How do I explain this to Bailey? Make her understand and believe I’m not just giving her some line.
We could have done more at the pond. My body was—is—thrumming with need. I can’t, won’t make love with her unless she knows I’m Archer. Until it’s my name she sighs when I sink deep into her body. My name she screams when I make her come again and again. My name. Me. Archer.
I am so fucked.
At the winery she’s out of the ATV almost before the engine shuts down and reaching in the back for the plums. I scramble to grab the handles first. “Let me.”
She shrugs and walks toward the building and I follow like a lost puppy begging for scraps. I will beg if I need to. Whatever it takes to explain.
Inside I set the plums on one of the work tables and stand in her way. “Bailey, please. Won’t you listen?”
Fisting her hands at her waist, she glares at me. “To what? Obviously you had some fun and, before you ask, yes, it was an amazing orgasm. You can add a notch for me to your bedpost.”
Her misunderstanding is probably accurate for Mars, but not for me. “No notches. No bedpost. I need to tell you something.”
One of her feet actually starts tapping against the tile floor. This might be funny, if our happiness didn’t depend on it.
“Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“Not here. Upstairs? This needs to be a private conversation.”
Her eyebrows arch then lower as she studies me through narrowed eyes. After huffing out a breath, her hands fall to her sides. I wish I knew her thoughts. I’m pretty sure I understand the anger, but there’s an underlying sadness I need to address. “Fine.”
In her apartment she sits at one end of the couch, crosses her legs and her arms, effectively closing herself off. I sit on the middle cushion, brace my elbows on my knees and lean my face into my hands. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Then let me ask a question. Why did you stop? Why wouldn’t you allow me to give you pleasure? Is having me touch your cock that abhorrent?”
Dear god, is that what she thinks?
“Beautiful—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Bailey, I would like nothing more to than to receive your touch. Feel pleasure at your hands. In your body. But there’s something you need to know first.”
“You have a disease?”
“What? Oh hell, no. I’m clean. I’m careful.”
“There’s something wrong with your dick? I know you can get it up. Are you too quick in bed?”
“Bailey, please. Just let me talk.”
“Fine. Talk your way out of this one. If you can,” she finishes under her breath.
“I’m not Marcus Kane.”
“Give me a break, Mars. I’m not an idiot.”
“I’m his twin.”
“Sure you are. I’ve read up on you. Did internet searches. I’ve never seen anything about a brother. Twin or otherwise. Nice try.”
Damn Mars and his thorough team of publicists. For the first time I wish they hadn’t been able to keep me tucked away. “My name is Archer. I prefer to stay out of the public eye, so when Mars started his career, we decided I’d write his songs, but nothing else. No appearing in public with him. No interviews. I became a non-person.”
She points to her laptop on the coffee table. “With all the social media, all the cameras following you around, I find that difficult to believe.”
“They follow Marcus. Look, pull up Mars’ website.”
Arching one brow, she shifts to boot the computer and rests it on her thighs. “Okay, now what?”
With the seriousness of this moment, I have to hide my grin when her browser opens on that page. “Enlarge the picture on the about page and take a look at his ear.”
Shaking her head, she rolls her gaze to the ceiling then does as I ask. “It’s an ear. Looks pretty normal to me.”
I pull back the shorter strands covering my ear and turn my head. “Now look at my ear. See any difference?”
Her frown deepens as she flips her gaze from my ear to the screen and back again. “Your ear is different. There’s a crease, a tiny bend in the upper shell. It’s not smooth like in the photo.”
“We are, obviously, identical twins. There’s only a couple differences between us. My ear is one. I was born with the crease. It was the only way our folks could tell us apart.”
“The photo online could have been flipped to hide the imperfection.”
She’s not going to give me an inch. “Look at other photos. I think there’s a straight on one that shows both ears.”
Waiting while she studies the photos, I clasp my hands and let them hang between my knees. “I can’t show you my legal ID. When I’m pretending to be my brother, I carry a duplicate of his identification. Just in case.”
“You said there are two differences between you and Marcus?”
My heart leaps with hope and joy. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s made the distinction between my brother and me. Telling myself her belief isn’t a done deal and to remain calm I turn my face to her. “I can’t carry a tune.”
“What? No, that can’t be right. I know I haven’t heard any of the music you’ve written here, but when I gathered it together I saw enough of the notations to know you’re legit.”
“Thanks. But just because I hear the music in my head and can transpose that onto paper, doesn’t mean I can sing it. I sound like if a sea gull and a walrus had a baby.”
She chuckles then covers her mouth with her hand. “It can’t be that bad.”
“You asked for it. Pull up one of Mars’ songs and I’ll show you.”
The introduction to one of his older ballads plays from the laptop’s small speakers. I let the song play until the first chorus. Then I release the kraken that is my voice.
“Stop. Stop,” she says less than a minute later. “That is truly horrible.”
“I know. I don’t even sing Happy Birthday to anyone. I just mouth the words.”
“Mars is a good enough singer, he could conceivably pretend to be unable to sing.”
“Why would anyone want to pretend their singing is this bad?”
She closes the laptop. “To prove a point.”
This isn’t going well. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I lean against the back of the couch. Other than having Mars here standing next to me, I’m not sure what else I can do to convince Bailey.
“And your name is Archer?”
The soft question stills my breathing and I turn my face to her. “Yes. I have always been, and will always be, Archer Adam Kane.”
“What is Marcus’ middle name?”
“Michael.”
“Archer, what happened at the pond?”
I attempt to keep the hurt from my voice. “After you came you sighed his name.”
“Oh?” A second later her face falls. “Oohh. But I didn’t know.”
“How could you? After a lifetime of pretending, I’m pretty good at being my brother. Unless I’m asked to sing.” That got me the barest hint of a smile. “And I’ve never been with a woman while covering for Mars. I didn’t think. Had no idea… how much it would hurt.”
“Once, a guy used another woman’s name while we were making out. We never made it past that point. I wasn’t really invested in the relationship, so although it hurt I wasn’t the one the man was fantasizing about being with, it didn’t take long to get over it. Or him.”
“I’m invested,” I say softly and take her hand.
“Really?” Uncrossing her legs, she shifts to fully face me. “Because I am, too. I thought I’d done something wrong when you went cold. I tried to build my own walls so I wouldn’t show how much you confused me. I should be more confused now, but you know, I’m not.”
“You believe me?”
“Yes, Archer. Even as crazy and improbable as the story sounds, I do. And I’d like the opportunity to make up for that misused name.”
My cock catches on before my brain, firming to press against my zipper. Bailey rises and holds out her hand. “How about you make me sigh your name this time. Then…” She winks. “I’ll encourage you to shout mine.”
In her bedroom, she draws the curtains to shut out the bright light then moves to rummage through the bottom drawer of her dresser. She straightens holding a small box. “Thank goodness I packed these by accident when I moved.”
She tosses the condoms to the bed and I stare at how the crinkly packages spill across the comforter. Shit. I hadn’t thought about protection. Until we’re further into our relationship—until we actually have one, we need to play safe. Although, the thought of filling Bailey with our child increases the pressure in my jeans. Her beauty when pregnant would outshine the sun.
Wrapping her arms around my waist, she snuggles close. “What’s that silly grin for?”
“Do you want words, or shall I show you?”