Chapter 7
SEVEN
Archer knew the second he stepped out of the war room and saw Jolie that this was going to happen, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. He didn’t want to.
Now she was in his arms, and the last thread of control he’d been clinging to snapped.
The moment her mouth crashed into his, he took over. He pinned her against the door with a force that made her gasp into his mouth. He swallowed the sound, angled his head and deepened the kiss, pushing past her lips like it was his next mission.
Operation Claim Her Before She’s Gone.
Her fingers tangled in his hair and she rocked her body into his, the movement so primal and hungry that it hit him low in the gut.
A rough sound surged up his throat, and he pressed closer to her, giving her absolutely no question of what she did to him.
His stiff cock dug into the V of her legs, and the heat of her drove him mad.
He flattened his palms across her warm, bare skin. His jaw clenched as he dragged the fabric up and off her in one impatient motion, barely breaking contact before his mouth was back on her, dropping from her lips to her throat.
He took his time bathing heat along her skin with his tongue, learning the exact places that made her breathing uneven.
He felt the need in the way she explored him.
And it went straight to his head.
She ducked her head and kissed his neck. Something dark and possessive welled inside him, and he nudged her face up to his with a knuckle beneath her delicate jaw.
Her eyes were wild with want, her lips swollen. Her chest rose and fell in fast pants, and he held her there to drive her as crazy as she was driving him.
Watching her face, he slipped his hand between them and cupped her pussy. The denim of her vintage jeans was thin enough he could feel her heat.
She let out a whimper. “Archer…”
He let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor. She reached for him, but he pressed her wrists to the door.
Instead she rocked into him, moaning out when he ground his cock into her pussy through their clothes.
“You feel that? You feel what you do to me?”
Her head fell back against the door, need rippling across her beautiful face. Christ, he couldn’t take it another minute.
He whipped open her fly and shoved her jeans down to puddle around her boots. Then he dropped to his knees, thumbed her pussy lips apart and delved his tongue into her slick heat.
“Oh…god!” She grasped at his head, moving with him as he licked and sucked, coating his tongue and lips in her juices and making him need so much more.
He might be obsessed with her body. Might be obsessed with making her scream.
There were a lot of “ifs” in this scenario. If they had more time. If she belonged in his world.
If he weren’t a dead man walking.
He lapped at her clit, and she gasped. He plunged his tongue into her channel, and she sagged against the door.
Every reaction she had pushed him closer to the edge right along with her.
“Don’t stop.” Her nails bit into his shoulders. “I’m…so…close!”
He didn’t. Couldn’t.
He drove her harder, faster, then backed off enough to keep her teetering on the edge until he finally gave her what she needed.
The second her body went rigid in his hold, a sharp cry tore out of her. Her pussy pulsated, and he trapped her clit under his tongue, forcing another cry from her.
He pinned her to the door with one hand on her hip, and she found it with her own, her fingers tensing on the back of his as she rode every wave until she went soft and breathless.
He was just rising to his feet when the jarring noise cracked through his brain, wiping it clean of the sexual haze.
Dammit to hell. The alarm.
She clutched at him, one hand on his jaw. “Archer…”
He looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry to leave you in this state, baby.” He took her hand and moved it to his hard cock. “At least one of us got relief.”
“You’re going now?” Her warm brown eyes were blurry with the last remnants of her orgasm.
“Have to. I’ll be back.” He leaned in and kissed her.
Before he could pull back, she threw her arms around him and crushed him against her with surprising strength.
“Be safe.”
He held her a beat longer while the alarm continued to blare.
“I will.”
She drew away to search his face, and God help him, his heart squeezed at the way she looked at him like she was memorizing his face in case things broke bad.
He forced himself to step away. When he opened the door, she trailed her fingers along his arm.
Each stride he took toward the lockers to grab his gear reminded him of what was waiting for him back in his room. A woman, warm and needy and wet for him.
With eyes that could look too deep and make a man want to stay.
* * * * *
For a long, suspended moment Jolie lingered near the door of Archer’s room where he left her, her body still humming with the aftermath of what he’d done to her.
The alarm echoed down the hallway even after he was gone, urgency vibrating through the concrete and into her bones. But it felt distant compared to the way her pulse still raced and her skin felt too tight.
It wasn’t until the alarm cut off that she realized she was still standing there in her bra with her pants pooled around her feet.
Quickly, she righted her jeans and dragged on her sweater. She peeked out the open door and found the hallway empty, the base silent. She rushed into her room and closed the door, leaning against it.
She glanced around the room, at her own snow jacket hanging on the back of the chair and the clothes she’d been wearing when Archer rescued her neatly folded on the desk.
She should put them on, since she’d be leaving tonight.
Would she be leaving tonight? The team could be gone hours. Days. Weeks, even. She had no idea how the military operated, and she didn’t know what branch they even were, only that they were out of the ordinary.
And her lover was definitely above average.
She bit down on her bottom lip, drowning in memories of the way he looked at her before he walked out.
Not to mention the state of lust he was in when that alarm sounded. She might laugh at the poor man if she didn’t still want him so badly.
“Okay. Time to get it together.” Her personal pep talks weren’t new—she talked to herself a hundred times a day.
When she was talking herself through a trip to the grocery store with the change she found in the couch cushions.
When her brothers were in a rough stage of their teen years and argued incessantly.
And when Lara’s nightmares about their parents kept Jolie awake so many nights that she felt like a zombie.
She gathered her own clothes and made her way to the shower. The pipes rattled faintly behind the walls, but there was plenty of hot water. She let it pour over her, releasing a slow breath and closing her eyes.
Washing away the lingering heat of her encounter with Archer only made her think about it again.
She replayed every single breath they’d shared and had a feeling that she’d be reliving these moments over and over again after she got back home.
She’d been on her own for so long. While her friends had social lives and boyfriends and weekends away, Jolie had been holding her world together, making hard decisions and carrying the weight.
There hadn’t been space in her life for someone like Archer, even if another amazingly hot bad-boy rescuer existed.
A man who stepped in and took over and made her feel safe and seen.
She huffed out a quiet breath that hovered between a laugh and a much more vulnerable sound she wouldn’t name.
When she finally stepped out, the chill of the air hit her skin. She toweled off and glanced at her own clothes. In the end, she turned to the ones Archer brought her instead.
She rummaged through the clothing options and finally pulled on a pair of sweats.
They were too big, the waistband hanging low, but she fixed that by rolling it once.
The thermal she found next was even worse—thick, oversized and clearly not designed for a person of her build.
When she tugged it over her head, the sleeves swallowed her hands and the hem fell well past her hips.
She glanced around in search of a mirror, but there wasn’t a full-length one anywhere in sight.
Tugging at her sleeves, she muttered to herself, “I probably look like a lumberjack.”
Who cared? She was warm.
Running her fingers through her damp hair, she stepped out of the bathroom and was faced with the open door of Archer’s room. The sight of his bed and belongings hit her hard—a reminder of just how fast everything between them had escalated.
And how fast it was about to end.
She forced attention back on her own room and set about tidying up. She picked up her discarded clothing and smoothed the bed.
In a matter of hours, she’d be on her way back to the motel, and she didn’t want the guys thinking their first guest on base had been a slob.
Her motions slowed as the thought of leaving settled in. A quiet ache slipped in under her ribs.
She’d be leaving behind the hottest sex of her life. That part was undeniable.
But her stolen moments with Archer meant more to her than that.
She paused, hands resting on the edge of the bed as she stared down at the blanket she’d pulled tight. The last look he gave her before walking out to face the threat was the look of a man who wanted to stay.
Straightening, she brushed her hands down the front of the oversized thermal. Enough. She needed to stay busy.
She moved across the hallway through his open door. Quickly, she smoothed his bed too and neatly folded the shirt she’d stripped off him and set it on the foot of the bed. He didn’t own many possessions. No knickknacks or tchotchkes. He didn’t have weapons out in the open to gather dust.
His room made her a little sad. It revealed so little about its occupant, and she wanted to know so much more about Archer.
For a brief second, the idea of searching for a phone tugged at her. Now that she knew the layout of the base better, it would be easy to try.
But the thought sat wrong in her chest. It felt like a violation of whatever fragile trust existed between her—a stranger—and the group of men who formed a brotherhood.
She let go of the idea and retraced her steps through the maze of hallways, trailing her hand lightly along the concrete as she walked. Left, right, then another turn. The layout made more sense now.
She wasn’t sure why she was memorizing the base. After all, she wouldn’t be here to use that knowledge.
Soon she’d be back in Chicago, in the house she’d fought tooth and nail to keep.
The place that still smelled faintly like her parents if she caught it just right, the place her siblings called home because she’d made sure they never had to lose that too.
Thank God the insurance money paid it off—it had been one less thing to fight for.
She stepped into the common room again, sweeping her gaze over the space with fresh eyes. It was cleaner than she’d expected. Lived in but not neglected. She paused at the coffee table, gathering some books and straightening them before stacking them neatly.
She brushed her fingertips over the scarred wood. No dust.
“Huh. You guys aren’t actually slobs.” The realization made her smile as she moved on.
The kitchen drew her next. She stepped inside and immediately had the itch to bake.
It was always a way to blow off steam, or distract her when she was worried, and the whole family got to benefit from her creations.
She walked to one of the refrigerators and opened the door. It was well-stocked—water bottles lined up in rows and cartons of juice and milk. The second fridge was barer, with a few condiments and some grated cheese but nothing that resembled fresh food.
Now the pantry—that was different. The shelves were packed with dry goods and canned items, enough supplies to feed a small army.
She darted a look at the labeled cupboards. Dry goods. Medical. Ammo.
Holding her breath, she cracked the door of the cupboard reading Ammo. Sure enough, boxes were stacked as neatly as everything else.
Most people had junk drawers. Apparently military teams had cupboards filled with bullets.
She stood there for a beat longer, knowing what would keep her busy.
She moved through the kitchen with purpose now.
She’d been in here enough times feeding herself while the team was away, that she knew where everything was.
She lined up ingredients on the stainless-steel countertops and mentally piecing together a meal with what was on hand.
It didn’t take long to settle on something simple and filling. Chili. Cornbread. Brownies.
Comfort food with shades of home.
She worked steadily through the next half hour, chopping, stirring, measuring. Finding a rhythm in the work that calmed her. But it didn’t take her mind off the fact she would be leaving soon—tonight, if possible.
She’d also be leaving the only man she’d been truly interested in, in…well, ever.
With the chili simmering on the range and the cornbread and brownies baking in the oven, Jolie walked around the table, pushing in the mismatched dining chairs. At the head of the table someone left a few books scattered there, as if they’d been in the middle of reading and been called away.
Cannon.
She flipped open a cover and stilled as she skimmed a stamp marking the inside cover.
Property of the Montclair.
The lettering was intricate, the font elegant, a decorative bookplate that felt completely out of place in an underground military base filled with concrete and steel.
She traced the corner of the stamp, her mind buzzing with mystery and intrigue.
“What is the Montclair?” The quiet question slipped into the empty room, unanswered—but loud enough that she knew she wouldn’t be able to let it go.