Page 24 of Unlocked

She finally met his gaze, and he could see the calculation there. The weighing of options. The decision of whether or not to trust him.

Despite himself, he felt a flicker of irritation. He'd done nothing but protect her tonight. Nothing but treat her with respect, tonight and always. He'd earned at least a measure of trust. But he also understood what she'd just been through. The fear. The violation.

He could afford to give her grace. For the moment.

"Could I have a cup of tea?" she asked quietly.

"Of course." He glanced at her plate, still mostly full. "Are you finished? You didn't eat much."

She nodded. "I'm not that hungry anymore."

"How about dessert with your tea? I hear the meringue is excellent."

Her quick, hopeful smile loosened something in his chest.

She inclined her head. "I’ve heard that too."

Archer stood, picked up the phone, and dialed the kitchen. He ordered tea and meringue for Tatum, a coffee for himself, and asked for a container for the leftovers. When he glanced back at her, she was staring into the fire, her profile outlined in gold. The curve of her neck. The set of her shoulders. She looked fragile and fierce all at once.

Dangerous combination.

He'd just sat back down when there was a knock at the door. He rose and let the waiter in. Tatum moved toward the windows, putting distance between herself and the waiter as he began clearing the table. She wrapped her arms around herself, and Archer had to resist the urge to follow her. To stand close enough that she'd know she wasn't alone.

He had no idea why Tatum brought out these thoughts in him. He kept his private life completely separate from work. Always had. It was one of the few rules he'd never bent. But there was something about her that reached past the professional distance he'd spent years perfecting, something that brought out instincts he'd thought long buried.

He didn't examine it. He simply noted it, the way he noted everything, and filed it away.

"Here's your container, Mr. Gray."

"Thank you, Al."

Archer packed the pasta away, his movements efficient. "You can take everything else."

"I'll finish up," the waiter said, collecting the remaining dishes.

Archer placed the container in the refrigerator, then crossed back to stand beside Tatum. The clean, light floral scent of her perfume reached him as he stopped just behind her shoulder.

"I saved the pasta for you."

She glanced up at him, surprised, then smiled a little impishly. "Thanks. It was excellent. I love pasta for breakfast."

"I thought you might," Archer said, and returned the smile before he could stop himself.

The moment hung between them, warm and unexpected. Then Al finished arranging the tea, coffee, and meringue on the coffee table in front of the fire and quietly excused himself.

Once they were alone again, the air shifted. Became charged.

Archer gestured toward the sofa. "Shall we?"

"Yes."

Tatum curled one leg beneath her as she sat, the movement graceful and unselfconscious. She reached for the teapot, but Archer gently brushed her hand aside. The brief contact with her warm, soft skin sent a jolt through him.

He poured the tea himself, adding just a splash of milk. He was aware of how she liked it, just as he was aware of how every board member took their coffee, their tea, their preferences. It was part of his job to know these people. Still, the awareness felt different this time, and he noticed that too.

He handed her the cup and saucer, his fingers grazing hers again. She looked up at him, and for a split second, something sparked in her eyes. Awareness.

Then she took a sip and sighed softly. "Thank you. That hits the spot."