Page 86 of Archer

“Like magic,” he finished.

The crackle of attraction between us returned. “I’m so glad I met you.”

His eyes searched mine. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Very. Very glad,” I whispered.

Archer leaned in, and I met him halfway. Our lips touched, and my arms curved around him. He kissed me with a tenderness that made me light and dizzy.

I shifted closer, curling my fingers into his hair.

Archer’s hands traveled down the curves of my waist to my hips. He pulled me across his lap again, and my thighs parted to straddle him. His fingers found the hem of my sleep shirt, and the gentle scrape of his palms against my bare skin sent sparks through my body.

“Is this okay?” he murmured against my mouth.

“Wait.”

He stilled, immediately frozen as I pulled back.

I lifted my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. “Better.”

His eyes darkened as he took me in. “Are you even real?”

I smiled as I kissed him again, deeper this time. His hands mapped every inch of me. My back and sides. My hips and waist. Gripping and caressing. Alternating pressure and raising my temperature.

I tugged at his shirt, and he helped me remove it.

Skin against skin. His heartbeat hammered beneath my palm, and I delighted in the knowledge that I had this effect on him too.

We moved together then, a tangle of limbs and breathless sounds as he turned and lowered me onto the quilt. His weight settled over me, perfect and right.

My head lolled as his mouth found my neck, and his teeth grazed my collarbone. I arched against him, fingers curling against the nape of his neck.

“Archer.” His name was a plea.

I wanted more. I wanted everything he would give me.

His eyes met mine, dark with desire and filled with promise. “I’ve got you.”

His hands slid lower, finding the waistband of my sleep shorts and sliding inside. My breath hitched at the brush of his fingers beneath my panties, at the sweet anticipation of what was to come.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Our phones sounded in near unison, and he removed his hand.

I turned my head to glare at the nightstand where my phone continued to complain.

Archer rolled away, grabbing his phone. He checked the screen then moved to the window, staying to one side of the curtain as he peeked.

“What is it?”

He looked over his shoulder in my direction. “Boat.”

“Is it Webb?” I asked.

“I don’t know. He would’ve had to get another boat. They took the last one in as evidence. I can’t read the numbers on the hull.” He turned back. “Might be nothing.”

My phone buzzed again, and I grabbed it with trembling hands. Thankful for the false alarm, overrun with adrenaline that didn’t understand things were fine.