Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Archer lay next to Scarlett and trailed his fingers over her velvet-soft skin. She had her hands tucked under the side of her face, and she looked at him with wide brown eyes. Her bedroom was as feminine as she was, filled with soft, pretty fabrics and countless knickknacks. Archer wanted time to inspect them all, as if her possessions would give him some kind of insight into who she really was.
Now they faced each other, lying on their sides, covered in her thick down comforter. It was patterned in turquoise and pink paisley, so different from the plain navy one Archer had at home. It felt decadent, somehow, to be in this bed with this woman. To be naked next to her and have the right to feel her skin beneath his fingertips.
Her lids fluttered closed as Archer ran his nails over her shoulder, her arm, then back again. She was a woman who deserved to be petted, caressed. His hand trailed down to the dip of her waist and over her hip, pushing the blanket down so he could watch the way her skin gave under the touch of his palm.
“You’re going to put me to sleep,” she told him, voice low.
“Good. You need the rest.” He brushed the smudge under her eye with a gentle thumb, then slid his hand back to her hip.
She huffed, one hand shifting to rest on his chest.
He was already in love with her. It had only taken a handful of moments just like this, a few glimpses of the woman beneath the confident, megawatt smile, and he’d been lost.
And now he knew exactly how she felt in his arms. He’d heard the sound of her cries when she came for him, had felt the way she shuddered. And beyond that, he’d seen her grit when she entered the police station. He’d watched her throw herself onto a tandem bike when she’d never done it before. He’d been right beside her when she had to recover from her embarrassment at Lucy’s wedding, hiding all that pain behind her unflappable mask.
She was brave and strong and intelligent and sexy and beautiful and funny and vivacious and perfect. No one—not one person—would ever come close to meaning what Scarlett meant to him.
Oh, hell.
She was the love of his life. She was the one that wouldn’t get away—not if he could do anything about it.
“Thank you for saving me,” she said sleepily, shifting so her head was on his shoulder.
Archer wrapped his arms around and pulled her closer, so the naked length of her was pressed against his side. He kissed the top of her head. “Always, Scarlett.”
In this intimate cocoon, Archer let himself touch her, admire her, cherish her. He let himself wonder how it would be to sleep next to her every night, to get used to her hair tickling his nose when she nuzzled into his chest. He knew, of course, that she’d come to her senses eventually. She’d realize he was too stupid to keep up with her. She’d get bored. How could it be any other way, when she was everything, and Archer was just the village idiot who happened to get lucky in business?
He held her close, breathed in her scent, and decided he didn’t care. She would always be too good for him, but he still wanted her for himself.
Archer woke up alone. He squinted at the light streaming through the crack in the curtains and guessed it was past seven o’clock. He’d slept late. His clothing was dry and folded—they’d put them in the wash but hadn’t gotten them out of the dryer before falling asleep—so he got out of bed and dressed himself. After a quick stop in the bathroom, where he saw a new toothbrush laid out on the vanity for him, he went out in search of Scarlett.
Following the sounds of dishes clattering, he found the kitchen.
Scarlett glanced over her shoulder, coffee pot in hand, and smiled. Once again, Archer’s ribs constricted. What would he give to wake up just like this every morning?
“Morning,” she said. “Coffee?”
“Sure.”
“Milk? Sugar? I haven’t got any cream, sorry.” She wore a pink floral robe that swished around her knees as she walked to the fridge. The darkness under her eyes had disappeared overnight, which eased at least one of Archer’s worries.
“Splash of milk for me.” He grabbed the jug from the counter and put a dash of milk in his coffee, then wandered over to the round table where they’d eaten chicken and rice a couple of nights before.
There was a fruit bowl made of painted ceramic holding an avocado, a bunch of brown-spotted bananas, and a few mandarins. Next to the fruit bowl was a Ziplock bag, this one containing both their phones and a bunch of packets that looked like the ones that came in shoeboxes. Silica packets.
In front of the Ziplock bag was his wallet, with all its contents pulled out. Scarlett’s own wallet had gotten the same treatment, along with four different lip glosses, a travel-sized brush, and a small bottle of hand sanitizer. They were resting on a neatly folded towel.
She’d emptied her purse out to dry and done the same to his things.
Scarlett joined him as he studied the items on the table. “I hope you don’t mind; I put your phone in with the silica packets. Mine wasn’t turning on, so I tried yours. Completely dead. Drowned.”
“Does that actually work?” He pointed to the bag with the packets in it.
“The internet seemed to think so,” she replied, shrugging. “Otherwise, we’re both in need of new phones.” She reached down and picked up his driver’s license. Her eyes twinkled as she met his gaze. “Nice photo.”
“The woman at the DMV wouldn’t let me retake it,” he grumbled, taking the license from her.
She cackled. “For such a handsome guy, you’re not exactly photogenic.”
“I think she did it on purpose.” He grabbed his wallet, but the leather was still damp. The cash he’d been carrying looked about ready to fall apart. Archer sighed. “Thanks for doing all this.”
“No problem,” she replied, and Archer could no longer resist the pull of her presence. He set his mug down, put an arm around her waist, and dragged her closer.
Had anyone ever fit so perfectly against his body? Had anyone’s smile ever made his heart thump the way hers did?
Stupid questions. Of course not.
He kissed her slowly, letting his hands slide down the silky fabric of her robe. Groaning, Archer pulled away to lean his forehead against hers. “I love the taste of you.”
Her cheeks reddened. She was adorable. “You don’t…regret what happened last night?”
Pulling away, Archer frowned. His hands remained right where they were, holding her tight against him. “No. Do you?”
She shook her head.
“Good,” Archer replied, touching the tip of her nose with his own.
When she turned to look at the table, he followed the movement. She slid into one of the chairs. Scarlett set her mug down and held it with both hands, frowning at their possessions on the table. “I was thinking about that guy, the one who was snooping around my shop yesterday. I didn’t recognize him.”
“Neither did I,” Archer said, taking a seat across from her. He sipped his coffee. “What are you thinking? You think he’s the murderer?”
“Maybe.” She bit her lip. “Maybe he was just curious, and he got spooked.”
“Hmm.” Archer was distracted; Scarlett’s robe had gaped open at the chest, and he could see that she wasn’t wearing a top underneath.
“Let’s back up,” she said, and Archer blinked. Scarlett pushed her mug aside, then got up and grabbed a pad of paper. When she sat back down, she had a wrinkle between her brows and a hot, determined look on her face. “Let’s take this whole thing from the top. Saturday evening, around six o’clock, Ethel Brown is murdered in my shop. With a wrench stolen from your truck.”
Archer nodded, trying not to stare at the expanse of creamy skin on display. He shifted his gaze to his mug. “Right. We find her only minutes after the murderer—or murderers—flee the scene.”
“There was the silver car.”
“Which was too far away for us to identify, but it’s possible the murderer was inside.”
“So the questions are, why was she in my shop, and who killed her?”
“She had a lot of enemies. She attempted to steal from Frank Goodhew not once but twice. Her sister is in prison because they got caught, so they could have turned on each other. Her son hired those two idiots. The ones that tried to attack Cormac and blew up Lucy’s car.”
“The Wendell brothers. I saw on the news that one of them is out of jail already.” Scarlett jotted down their names.
“He could be looking for payback.”
“What about the person that was buying all that counterfeit cash she was producing?” She tapped the end of her pen on the pad of paper, frowning. “Could she have threatened to expose them, so they killed her?”
“Maybe.” Archer shrugged. “But we don’t even know who they are.”
“Hmm.” She put another bullet point down and said, “The black Mercedes. The one I saw it outside Quick-N-EZ loans. It could have been the same one that drove by the scene on the night of the murder, and the one that took the perp away last night.”
Archer nodded. “A black sedan isn’t exactly rare, though. All three of those could be different cars, for all we know.”
“True.”
Archer forced himself to say the name he didn’t want to speak aloud: “Ralph was seen on the street an hour before the murder happened, but he has an alibi.”
Scarlett met his gaze and nodded. “Except for the few minutes he went out to have a smoke.”
Archer’s chest tightened. “Write it down. We can’t eliminate him completely.”
Scarlett’s pen scratched against the paper as she did what Archer asked, and then she reached over and squeezed his forearm. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’s a murderer.”
“Unless you have an affair with his wife,” Archer said, grimacing.
“Hey,” Scarlett said, “two fingers lopped off with an axe do not a murder make.”
Archer huffed, a knot in his chest easing. “I can almost understand him, you know,” he said. “If—” His teeth clicked shut as he realized what was in his mind.
He’d been about to tell Scarlett that if she slept with another man, he’d want to chop off a lot more than the guy’s fingers.
That was…insane. He’d gone insane.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway. We can’t cross him off entirely. What have we got so far as suspects?”
“Ethel’s sister, Meredith, who’s still in prison. The Wendell brothers, who just got out. Frank Smith. Ralph. That’s it.” Scarlett arched her brows.
“We could take this to the detective,” Archer said. “But it’s not much.”
Scarlett nodded, her eyes on the pad of paper. She looked so forlorn and small and lost that Archer couldn’t stand it. He stood and extended a hand. She looked up, surprised, but put her hand in his.
It was a tiny act of trust that made Archer’s heart swell. He hauled her up to her feet and wrapped her in his arms where she belonged. Holding her close, Archer inhaled the scent of her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple. They swayed slightly, wrapped up in each other, and their problems seemed a little bit lighter.
When he nudged her chin up with a gentle finger, she let out a sigh like she’d been waiting for him to kiss her. Her mouth opened at the first touch of his tongue, and Archer was lost.
This woman would be the death of him. She was everything he wanted, everything he couldn’t have. But he was taking it anyway.
Scarlett moaned softly and wrapped her arms around his neck. That was all the invitation Archer needed; he hauled her onto the kitchen counter and notched himself between her spread legs. He tore at the tie of her robe and let his hands roam over her bare skin. She let out a soft noise as he kissed her neck, his hand on her breast. She was utter perfection.
She’d put underwear on, which was in the way. Archer tugged her to the edge of the counter and shoved the gusset aside. His mind splintered. He was being too rough, but she was making noises like she loved it, and her fingers were clawing at his shirt. He’d be inside her as soon as he could get their clothes out of the way. His breaths sawed out of his lungs when he felt her warm wetness. She gasped at the intrusion of his fingers, and he smiled against her lips.
Then the doorbell rang.
Growling like a rabid animal, Archer looked over his shoulder to the hallway, his fingers still inside Scarlett’s body.
“Ignore it,” she said, breathless. Her hand slid down to his crotch, cupping him where he was hardest.
Exhaling, Archer closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of her hand against him. She stroked him, and Archer groaned. He’d spill in his pants if she did that much longer. He needed to kiss her. Needed to push her down and splay her across this counter so he could taste the honey between her legs.
And the doorbell rang again. They froze.
This time, whoever was there began to pound on the door.
Scarlett slumped, taking her hand away as Archer did the same. Archer gritted his teeth and stomped to the front door. Whoever was there would be dispatched as fast as possible, and then he’d eat Scarlett out until her voice was hoarse from screaming his name.
Readjusting himself to hide the hardness pressing against the fabric of his pants, Archer threw the lock and nearly ripped the door off its hinges as he opened it.
On the other side stood Detective Rick Holden, his arms crossed, his brow arching as he took in Archer’s mussed hair, his disarrayed clothes.
“Am I interrupting?” the detective asked, knowing full well he was.
Archer gritted his teeth and tried to smile. “What can I do for you?”
“I was looking for Ms. Westbrook. Ah,” he said, looking over Archer’s shoulder. “Scarlett. We’re done with your flower shop.” He extended his hand, where a set of keys dangled. “Thank you both for your patience.”
“Have you got any leads?” Scarlett asked, wrapping her hand around the keys. She clutched them to her chest and let out a long breath. Archer curled an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.
The detective’s gaze flicked to Archer’s arm, then to Scarlett’s head as it rested against his shoulder. Archer narrowed his eyes, daring the detective to say something. Did he think Scarlett was slumming it with Archer? Was that look in his eyes judgment—or pity?
The detective’s voice was entirely neutral when he said, “It’s an ongoing investigation, and we’re following a number of leads. I can’t go into any more detail than that. But I did want to get more information from you about what happened last night.” He arched his brows and gestured inside. “May I?”
Archer wanted to refuse, slam the door in Rick’s face, take Scarlett to bed, and stay there until the world ended. Instead, he glanced at Scarlett, who nodded. She disappeared into her room while Archer led the detective to the kitchen to offer him a cup of coffee, which Rick accepted with polite thanks.
“I hadn’t realized you and Scarlett were involved,” the detective noted quietly.
“Is that a problem?”
“Of course not.”
Scarlett reappeared wearing a long-sleeved top and jeans. Her hair was up in a ballerina bun on the crown of her head. The sunlight from the kitchen windows hit her so her skin glowed, and Archer’s breath stuttered. She had to stop being that beautiful when he least expected it. It was bad for his heart.
Seemingly oblivious to her effect on Archer, Scarlett faced the detective and gave him a businesslike nod. “What would you like to know?”