I’m finishing sorting through most of my things when I hear a knock at my door. “It’s unlocked!” I call, glancing up as Archer strides through the door. He’s changed from his suit into tight jeans and an even tighter t-shirt, but it’s effect is spoiled by the frown on his face.

“What?” I ask.

“You should’ve checked to make sure it was me. And don’t leave your door unlocked!”

I raise my eyebrows. “I doubt a burglar would knock before robbing—or ravishing—me,” I add.

“Don’t joke about that,” Archer snaps. His eyes dart around the room and his frown deepens. “You’ve barely packed.”

Oh boy, here goes nothing…

I push myself off the floor. “I’ve decided to keep my apartment,” I say, “which means I won’t need to move everything to your place.”

He stares at me. “Why?”

“It was clear this morning that we don’t know long we’ll be engaged.”

“Quinn, don’t be ridiculous—”

“It’s the right choice,” I cut in.

“It’s not the right choice,” he says in a tense voice, “it’s the safe choice.”

“What do you expect me to do?” I demand.

“Move in with me,” he answers.

“I am!”

“Not half of you, all of you!” he yells.

We glare at each other for a moment, our chests heaving from each other’s words. This is the right decision. I knew that I had to keep my own place if I agreed to move in with him. I am already in way over my head with Archer. If I gave an inch, I’d fall in love with him—and into bed.

“See?” I say. “It hasn’t been more than a minute and we’re already at each other’s throats.”

“It’s not my fault you drive me up the goddamn wall,” he says, stalking to my kitchenette. He throws a takeout onto the counter and opens my fridge.

“What’s that?” I ask, inching toward the bag.

“I brought lunch,” he says over her shoulder. “I figured you probably worked right through it.”

I furrow my brow at his thoughtfulness. This isn’t the first time Archer’s surprised me like this.

I open the bag and take out a sandwich. “What did you get?”

Things shuffle together as Archer searches through my fridge. “Tuna melt for me, BLT with avocado for you.”

My favorite. I rip the wrapping open and dig in. “What are you looking for, anyway?”

“A beer. I’m going to need something to get through this afternoon.”

I roll my eyes at his back. “Second drawer on the bottom.”

He grunts, jerks open the drawer, and pulls out an IPA. “You keep your alcohol in the crisper?” he asks.

“Keeps it colder. This fridge has two settings: freeze or lukewarm.”

Archer plucks off the cap and takes a long swig. “Another reason to move in with me,” he points out.

“Archer…” I throw him a warning look.

“Fine,” he snaps. He digs his hand into his pocket and yanks out his phone. “I’ll let Kelsey know that all her work is going down the drain.”

I bite my lip. I’ll make it up to her somehow.

Archer sends the text and then grabs his sandwich. He avoids my eyes as he leans against the counter and chews. We stay like this for what I swear is an hour, but when I check the time, I realize only five minutes have passed.

Lordy. I swore off alcohol after Holly’s bachelorette, but a beer sounds pretty good about now.

“Holly’s wedding is this weekend,” I say. “Are you…um, still coming as my date?”

Archer looks at me. “Are you going to uninvite me again?”

“No!” I blush at that memory. That wasn’t one of my best moments.

“Good,” Archer grunts, “because I’m looking forward to it.”

He is?

Archer polishes off the last of his sandwich and tosses the wrapper back in the bag. “I’m at your disposal for the rest of the afternoon.”

I glance around the room. “I’ll keep sorting things, if you want to start packing my closet.” I motion to the overflowing disaster in the corner. I haven’t been able to shut the doors since last year.

“All of it?” he asks, having the same thought.

I shove the rest of my sandwich in my mouth. “You got it, sweet cheeks!”

“Alright. See you on the other side.” He throws back his shoulders and marches toward it. I hop off my stool, throw away the trash, and get back to sorting.

I’m almost through my book collection when Archer calls my name. I turn and see him pulling out a pile of canvases from the back of the closet. Oh no. I totally forgot they were in there.

“What are these?” he asks, setting them onto the floor.

I swing into action, jumping to my feet, rushing to snatch them away.

He blocks my path with his arm. “Hold on, East. What’s the hurry?”

“Those are—” I try to reach around him “—private. Give them back!”

“They look like paintings to me, not porn.”

“They’re my paintings, and I don’t want you to…”

“What?”

I sigh. “I don’t want you to make fun of them.”

“Why would I do that? I’m not cruel.”

“I know,” I say, a flush burning up my neck. “But art is very personal for me.”

Archer studies me for a moment, then sweeps a lock of hair behind my ear. My skin blazes from his touch. “I’m not going to make fun of you, East,” he says gently. “I’d like to see them, if that’s okay.”

I nod silently.

Archer turns around and settles on the floor. I join him a moment later. As he flips through canvas after canvas, I find myself remembering how I felt when I painted them. I always pour my feelings onto the canvas. Used to, that is. I haven’t picked up a brush in over a year.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you paint everything,” Archer says. He’s right; some are abstracts, others portraits, even more landscapes.

“Yeah, I love sampling, but I think my favorite are abstracts. This one—” I point to a vibrant red one with the splotches of hot orange “—was the day I got my job at The Met.”

“Cool. What about this one?” he asks, picking up a stormy blue one with jagged black lines.

“Oh—” I bite my lip.

Archer’s smile slips. “What is it?”

“That one…um, that was done on the fifth anniversary of my mom’s death.” I try to sound like it doesn’t bother me, but all the anger and sadness and frustration I had when painting it yanks me back to that rough day.

“Quinn—”

“No, don’t worry about it,” I say, shrugging off his sympathy. I didn’t need it. “It’s fine. Some days it hits me harder than others.”

After a few more pantings, Archer puts the pile down and stands up. He reaches his hands over his head in a stretch, giving me a nice view of his toned chest.

“Let’s finish this up and get out of here. Sound good, East?” He reaches out a hand to help me up.

I can’t move, though. I can’t rip my eyes away from him. He looks amazing standing there—hair slicked to the side, sweat droplets dotting his forehead, biceps popping out of that shirt…was it tighter than it’d been five minutes ago?

I scramble to my feet and try to ignore the familiar need pooling deep in my belly. I need to get hold of myself, but hell, it’s not my fault if Archer made dark jeans and a simple black t-shirt look so hot.

I bite down on my lip. Alright, maybe “hot” doesn’t cut it. Maybe Archer is more along the lines of a gorgeous, wet-your-panties, Greek god. And now, I get to call Adonis my roomie. Oh joy. I realize most girls would kill for this chance (who wouldn’t want to wake up to that every morning?!), but I’m not one of them. I’m the girl who’s going to keep her distance—emotionally and physically—from her fiancé, because I want to get out of this relationship alive…

With my heart and panties intact, thank you.

* * *

Two hours later, I’m standing in Archer’s living room, surrounded by boxes and suitcases. Archer walks out of the elevator and adds another box to the pile. He gives a satisfied sigh. “That’s the last of it. Are you sure you’re not really moving in? This is a lot of shit.”

“This isn’t shit,” I argue, smarting a little at the word. “I’m a girl. We have a lot of stuff.”

“I guess…” He picks up the box he set down and moves down the hall. “I’ll show you where you’ll be.”

He leads me to the guest bedroom that I stayed in before. Everything’s the same white and gray as before…but not for long. My head is filling with decorating ideas as I stand there.

Archer sets down the box at the foot of the bed. “Will that be enough space for all your books?” he asks, motioning to the bookcase in the corner.

I nod. “Thanks, and just keep the boxes out there. I’ll bring them in as I go.”

“You sure?” He gives me a once-over. “You’re not exactly jacked, and some of them are heavy.”

“I’ll be fine. If I need help, I’ll make sure you and your brawny arms lift it.”

Archer smirks at me. “You’ve been checking me out, East?”

“Oh my God!” I shout, shoving him out of, what is now, my room.

“Alright! Christ…” Archer turns and stalks down the hall. “I’ll be checking email if you need me.”

I get to work, starting with the box at the foot of the bed. When that’s unpacked, I go for another, then another, and sooner than I thought possible, the bookshelf is filled to the brim.

I look around sometime later and realize I’m almost done. Broken-down boxes litter the floor, a floral rug brightens up the white carpet, and my paintings lean against the wall. I sigh in satisfaction. The room now looks less like a BoConcept catalogue and more like me.

Archer pops his head in and whistles. “You’ve been busy.” He checks his watch. “It’s almost seven—you hungry?”

“Seven?” I repeat. When did that happen? “Yeah, I’m starving. Should we cook something?”

“Nah, I don’t have any food,” he says, taking out his phone. “I’ll order a pizza.”

“Am I going to starve while I’m here?” I ask.

Archer frowns. “I haven’t had time to get groceries. But don’t worry, Kelsey said she’d have our fridge stocked by Sunday.”

“Whoa, you’re not having your assistant do our shopping. We’ll go on Sunday.”

The look on Archer’s face says what he thought about that. “Fine,” he mumbles.

“Great. Now you order the pizza…” I glance down at my dust-covered clothes “… and I’ll clean myself up.” I hear him mutter “bossy” under his breath as I pass him on my way to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, I step out of the bathroom as Archer’s coming down the hallway. His eyes are glued to his phone. “East! Pizza’s—” he looks up, sees me standing there, and stops in his tracks “—here.”

Archer stares at me as his eyes rake over my glistening wet skin, and I become keenly aware that the only thing between my naked body and Archer Stratton’s roving eyes is a thin bath towel.

I dart my eyes around, trying to find something to draw away his attention. “What’s this door lead to?” I ask, pointing to the door on my left. It’s been closed both times I’ve been here.

Archer drags his eyes away from me. “That’s nothing. It’s not important.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s…well, it’s not ready yet,” he says.

“Why are you being so secretive?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Is it like some crazy S&M fantasy room like in Fifty—”

“Christ, no!” Archer cries, horrified. “Nothing like that.”

He walks toward me, shaking his head. “I might as well show you. You’re so stubborn you’ll look the minute I leave.” He grasps the door handle. “It’s not ready, though, so keep an open mind.”

Archer throws back the door and motions me through. I walk in slowly, expecting some kind of billionaire’s lair, but only see blank white walls and an empty room. On second glance, it’s not quite empty. A work table is pushed into one corner with piles of paper, colored pencils, and a fresh box of up-market watercolors that make me drool. An easel is at the other end of the room by the floor-to-ceiling windows. A stool and a small table sit to one side.

Holy shit. Is this a—

“Do you like it?” Archer asks, his voice low and tense. I turn and see him watching me. I shake my head, and Archer frowns. “Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” I cut in. “I mean I love it.”

“Good…because it’s yours.”

“What’s mine?”

“This studio. You said you never paint anymore, and that you did watercolors…”

He trails off with a shrug. “I never used this office, anyway.”

My eyes dart around the room, taking it all in. I frown. “Did you do all this today?”

Archer rocks back on his heels, ducking his head.

“Oh my God!” I cry. “You knew I was going to move in? I didn’t even know until today.”

“I figured it was going to happen sometime,” he admits with a smug grin.

“You’re infuriating.”

He scowls at me. “I just built you a frickin’ art studio! A ‘thank you, Archer, you’re amazing’ would go a long way.”

“Ha! I’m not going to go that far…” My eyes wander to the wall of windows. “What a view.”

“It’s the best view in this place,” Archer says after a moment. “You should paint it. I know you said abstracts are your favorite, but I thought you could try a landscape or two…”

That does it. You can’t stay mad at a guy when he says something that sweet and thoughtful.

I step forward and break my vow to keep my distance. I throw my free arm around his waist (the other one stays on the towel, as it should) and hug him. I lay my cheek on his chest as I let my body melt into his.

Archer stiffens under my touch, but only briefly. Then his arm is around my waist and the other is snaking through my hair, cupping my head with his strong hand. He pulls me closer, and my breasts press against his strong chest, straining against my towel. He leans down, and I feel the tantalizing prickle of his five o’clock shadow as his chin grazes my cheek.

“Quinn…” he breathes into my ear, sending a wild heat through my body. I groan as it pools between my legs. He’s teasing me, playing with me, and I like it.

Archer takes my chin in his hand and turns it toward him. I lick my lips, waiting for his kiss, but it never comes.

He lets me go, and I fall back against the wall as he steps back. “Don’t ever do that again unless you’re ready for the consequences,” he says gruffly.

“Consequences?” I whisper. I clutch at the wall with one hand, my towel with the other; both are vital to me getting through this conversation.

“Yes.” His lust-filled eyes devour mine. “You drive me fucking crazy, East.”

“I—I thought I drove you up the wall?”

He shakes his head, his chest heaving. “That changed a long time ago.”

“When?” I ask breathlessly.

“That night you wore that emerald-green gown…it matched your eyes—” Archer stops and rakes his gaze over me. “But it might have been as far back as you telling Zach off.”

My breath leaves me all at once. “That was months ago.”

“I know,” Archer says in a strangled voice. “I’ve been fighting it, but—” he crosses the space between us with one step “—I can’t fight it anymore.”

Archer plants one hand against the wall, boxing me in. He reaches up and caresses the side of my face with his fingertips, their trail tingling my soft skin. They move lower, until he hooks his finger under my chin and tilts up my head. He leans in, his lips so close to mine, and I vaguely feel myself lean forward, as if magnetized by Archer’s tall, strong frame.

The dam is about to break.

“No!” I whisper hoarsely, realizing what I’m about to do. A few hours in, and I’m in the exact situation I vowed to avoid.

I push away from the wall and slip under his arm, clutching my towel around me with my fist. “This…this can’t happen,” I pant.

Archer glares at me. “Why?”

“Because we’re fake!”

“Does it look like I’m faking to you?” Archer demands.

I don’t say anything; how could I to a declaration like that?

Archer draws himself up and takes a slow, deep breath. “I’ve said what I’ve said. You know where I stand.”

He walks toward me and I gasp, thinking we’re about to repeat what happened moments before, but he sidesteps me for the door. I hear his footsteps turn down the hall, stop, and then his bedroom door slams shut.

I whirl around and run for my room, locking my door when I’m safely inside. I collapse against it and sink down to the carpet, tugging the towel tightly around my knees to still my shaking form. My stomach grumbles, and I remember that fresh pizza sitting in the kitchen.

Looks like I’m going hungry tonight, because there’s no way in hell I’m opening my door again.