CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
KELSEY
AN INTIMIDATING PORTRAIT OF VICTOR KING, the founder of King’s University, glowered down at me from the wall of the chancellor’s office reception area. Steel-haired and frowning, old Victor looked as if he’d never laughed once in his life.
I nudged Stan with my elbow and nodded toward the portrait.
“Think he’s constipated?” I asked under my breath.
Stan chuckled. “He must be. He’s been stuck on that wall since I started working at King’s over thirty years ago.”
I tried to imagine working at King’s for thirty years.
“Why did you start studying meteorology?” I asked Stan, somewhat surprised I didn’t already know.
“I loved the Ben Franklin story when I was a kid,” he replied. “Thought it was so cool that electricity came from the sky. I always remembered that.”
“It’s funny that meteorologists love weather and nature, but so many of us end up in a classroom or sitting in front of a computer.”
Stan looked at me. “You’re still thinking about that reality show?”
“A little.” I shrugged. I’d told him about the Explorer Channel’s offer in case they contacted him at some point. I’d also told him that I’d turned the offer down.
“It’s not really the show itself,” I admitted. “I mean, sure it sounds fun, but can you imagine what that kind of exposure would do for tornado research? For the Spiral Project?”
Stan gave me a weary smile. “You know, when you applied for a position at King’s, I was one of the professors who didn’t want to hire you.”
“Really? Why not?”
“I knew you’d rock the boat. Maybe even tip it over.”
“I’m a meteorologist, right? I like waves.”
Stan chuckled again. “More than any other meteorologist I’ve known.”
“So are you so sorry I was hired, then?” I asked.
“No, because you’re damn good. I wasn’t wrong, though. You’re a spitfire. Sorry if that sounds sexist, but I’m old school.” He shook his head. “And I admit I’ve been impressed with how relentlessly you go after what you want.”
“I don’t always get what I want, though.”
“But you take no prisoners in your attempt.”
Unease pricked the back of my mind. “Stan, did you really mean it the other day when you said my conduct could hurt the Meteorology department’s standing with the administration? Like with expanding the faculty or getting money for an upgraded lab?”
Stan shrugged. “You wouldn’t be solely responsible, no. But everything we do reflects on our department. That’s just the way it is.”
He glanced at me again. “So why did you become a meteorologist instead of a fighter pilot?”
I smiled. “My father. He loved weather. So do I.”
I looked at my watch. Ten more minutes before our meeting with Chancellor Radcliffe, when I would learn my fate at King’s University. My cell buzzed with a text. I pulled up the screen.
The sky is blue, storm girl.
The tightness around my heart eased. I still hadn’t seen Archer since we’d come back to Mirror Lake. Five days now. I’d promised to call him after our meeting. I slipped the phone back into my bag and exhaled slowly.
This day had been looming for a very long time, but I hadn’t wanted to think about it. Because no matter what the outcome, the first person I’d have called would have been my mother.
“Professors March and Baxter, Chancellor Radcliffe is ready to see you,” the receptionist said.
Tension knotted my stomach as we walked into the office. The chancellor greeted us, and we sat in the chairs in front of his massive, oak desk.
“Professor March, I’ve reviewed your tenure file and the board’s recommendation,” Radcliffe said, settling back in his leather chair. “You have an impressive CV and have been an excellent asset to this university for the past seven years.”
“Thank you.” I folded my hands to stop them from shaking.
“And I would like to reiterate the importance of tenure to this university,” Radcliffe continued. “By giving you a permanent position here, we expect that you will conduct yourself according to the regulations and contractual duties we set forth.”
I nodded. I understood that I was receiving a warning, and for a moment I faltered in my belief that Radcliffe had approved my tenure.
The thought didn’t trouble me as much as it should have. Since receiving that call from the Explorer Channel, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about running off to chase tornados.
It was a stupid thought, of course. If I were fired from King’s, I’d really lose all hope of future funding for the Spiral Project. And I’d told Tess the truth—I’d be devastated if I lost the support and help of my graduate students.
Even more, I’d miss them. They had always been the best part of my professorial career.
But that didn’t stop a tiny part of me from wondering what it would be like to be on the road again, chasing storms. With Archer.
Which I couldn’t do as a tenured professor.
I took a deep breath and focused on the chancellor, who was still rambling on about my duties. Finally he wound down the lecture and pushed to his feet.
“Congratulations, Professor March.” Radcliffe extended his hand with a smile. “Based on the unanimous recommendation of your department and the board, I’ve approved your appointment for tenure.”
All the breath escaped my lungs. Relief bloomed inside me, the unraveling of months of tension and pressure.
Kelsey March, tenured professor in the Meteorology department of King’s University. Exactly what my parents wanted. Exactly what I’d worked so hard for over the last twelve years.
“Thank you, sir.” I shook the chancellor’s hand, and turned to accept Stan’s congratulations.
I barely heard anything else as Radcliffe went on about the prestige of tenure before he walked us to the door. After we said goodbye, Stan and I walked out into the spring sunshine. My heart was racing, my stomach still tight with nerves.
“So, do you want to come back to the department?” Stan asked. For the first time since I’d known him, he looked faintly uncertain. “I know everyone will want to congratulate you.”
“Thank you. If you could…” Something stuck in my throat. I started backing away from him. “Um, if you could just let people know I’m heading home for a while, I’d appreciate it.”
“Okay. Congratulations, Kelsey. You really do deserve it.”
“Thank you.”
I turned and hurried toward the parking lot, digging into my bag for my keys. Without thinking too much or too hard, I drove to the Butterfly House. Archer’s Harley was parked in the front, but there were no other cars, which meant he was alone.
As I walked to the house, the trailer door opened and Archer started down the steps. He caught sight of me and stopped. I fought the urge to run toward him.
“The meeting just ended.” I started to shake in a delayed reaction as I approached. “Chancellor Radcliffe and everyone else approved my tenure.”
“Of course they did.” He extended his arms.
I walked right into them. Buried my face against his chest. Swallowed the lump in my throat. His T-shirt smelled like sawdust and sweat.
He pressed his lips against my hair. He didn’t say anything else. Tenure was the brass ring every professor wanted. But Archer knew I’d grabbed it while falling, tipping forward into darkness.
“Come in,” he said. “You deserve a toast.”
I followed him into the trailer and sat at the table while he poured two glasses of chocolate milk. He clinked his glass against mine.
“Congratulations,” he said. “Have you called Liv and Dean yet?”
I shook my head. “I just heard before coming here.”
If he thought it was weird that I’d come to him first, he didn’t show it. It certainly didn’t feel weird—not to me, at least. It felt right.
We drank the milk in silence. I looked past him out the window to where the Butterfly House stood in its gorgeous splendor.
I couldn’t find the courage to ask Archer when he would be leaving. Couldn’t stand the thought of being here alone, locked into my permanent, tenured position, struggling to find enthusiasm for classroom teaching when my heart was out in the wildness of nature.
Oh, stop it.
I’d been granted tenure, for god’s sake. I’d worked my ass off for it. I wasn’t going to whine about achieving a distinction few people did. One that guaranteed I’d be set for life.
But oh my god, would I miss Archer. I’d miss his recklessness, his commands, his bad jokes, the heat that sizzled between us. I’d miss his unpredictability, his flashes of darkness. I’d miss the way he made me feel so alive. So wanted. So—
“Well.” I stood to put my empty glass in the sink. “I just wanted to stop by and tell you the news.”
“I’m glad you did. You deserve this.”
I nodded. He was close to me. I gave over to the urge to lean against him one more time. Felt his arms enclose me, and the heat of his muscles through the cotton of his T-shirt. His warmth spread through me, melting the hard, icy ball that had been stuck in my chest ever since I got the phone call about my mother.
Holy hell. A month had passed since I’d walked into Dean’s office and smacked Archer upside the head with a door. In that short time span, my life had both veered wildly off course and stayed unwaveringly on the same narrow path I’d constructed years ago.
A wave of dizziness washed over me. I slipped my hands under Archer’s T-shirt to touch the planes of his abdomen. He flinched slightly at my touch.
“Sorry,” I whispered against his chest. “My hands are cold.”
I was cold. Everywhere. I needed him to warm me from the inside out.
No. I needed him to make me burn.
I lifted my head, saw the darkness of his eyes before he slowly lowered his head and captured my mouth in a kiss.
I sighed, sinking against him. I slipped my arms around his waist to touch his smooth, muscular back.
My tension shifted into urgency and the drive to obliterate everything else with pure, carnal pleasure. I opened my mouth to deepen the kiss, moving one hand around to trail along the front of his jeans.
“Kelsey…” Tension laced his arms.
I pressed the length of my body against his, squirming against the burgeoning hardness of his erection. My nipples budded against my bra.
I suddenly wanted us both naked, skin sliding against skin, my breasts bared to his touch, his muscles flexing beneath my hands. I wanted to hear his deep voice issuing orders. I wanted him to tell me what to do. I wanted him to control me. I wanted to be controlled.
I slid my tongue into Archer’s mouth and fumbled for the buttons of his fly. My heart pounded with anticipation as I unfastened one button, longing for the sensation of his warm, hard shaft in my palm.
“Stop.” His hoarse command broke through my fog of pleasure.
A hint of fear rose in me. I spread my hands over his chest.
“Come on, Archer,” I whispered, pressing my mouth to his again. “I want you to fuck me.”
A shudder coursed through him. I trailed my fingers over the line of hair leading to his fly. God, he felt so good. My nerves sizzled with anticipation.
“Kelsey, I…”
“I want you to fuck me hard and rough,” I continued, nipping his lower lip between my teeth. “I want you to spank me. I want to spread my legs for you, and I want you to pound into me over and over, so hard that my whole body shakes. I want to tighten my pussy around you, cream all over your cock, and—”
“Kelsey, stop.” Archer grabbed my wrists, halting my increasing exploration.
Shocked, I stumbled back and yanked my arms from his grip. Our breathing rasped through the air. I shoved a swath of hair away from my face and stared at him.
“What?” I snapped.
“You don’t want that. Not now.”
“The hell I don’t.” A rising humiliation scorched my chest. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”
His mouth compressed with regret, but he looked me in the eye and shook his head. A column of heat rose up my spine. I bit out a curse and shoved him in the chest.
“Bastard.”
I turned to stalk out the door. He grabbed me around the waist before I could escape, pulling me back against him, his arms wrapping around me in an unbreakable hold. Anger shot through me.
“Let go,” I snapped.
“No.” He locked his arms around mine, trapping them against my sides.
His chest was a solid wall against my back, and I knew even as I struggled that there was no escape. My throat constricted.
“To hell with you if you don’t want me.” I hated that my voice wavered.
“I want you,” Archer said. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone. But I won’t let you run. Not from me. Not from yourself.”
An upwelling of emotion, hot and painful, boiled into my chest. Before I knew it, before I could stop it, tears flooded my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. My breath was choppy, too fast. The room tilted off balance. Archer tightened his grip. The only solid element in my world.
“Let me go,” I hissed.
“No.” He lowered his head to my ear. “I won’t let you go, my kotyenok.”
I think I broke. I felt a snap inside me, like the crack of a tree branch, something that could never be put back together in the same way again.
Sobs crowded my throat. I tried to swallow them back down, but with Archer holding me so tightly in his powerful arms, like he’d be there throughout the entire storm, no matter how long it took or how destructive it was, I surrendered and cried. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, my whole body weakening under the force of the onslaught.
Archer sank into an easy chair, pulling me on top of him, his arms never loosening their grip on me.
I buried my face in my hands and let the tears fall, acute grief and pain whipping like wind through me. I cried until my throat was scraped raw, until the sobs left me shuddering and exhausted.
“I did everything right,” I whispered, pressing my palms to my hot face, the confession tumbling out of me. “Everything.”
“I know you did. So did she.”
“Then why, Archer?” I was hollowed out. Aching. I pulled away from him and paced to kitchen, as if movement would ease the pain. “Why the hell did she die?”
“Kelsey, whether you did everything right or wrong makes no difference. There’s only so much you can control.”
Intellectually, of course, I knew that. But emotions were not ruled by intellect. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a fist.
“I had a girlfriend,” Archer said behind me. “She died, too.”
My fingernails dug into my palms. “How?”
“Car accident. She was pregnant.”
I turned to face him, my chest so tight it hurt. He unfolded himself from the chair and rose to his feet, his presence so potent that I took a step back.
“What happened?” I whispered.
“You called me a fuck-up when we met,” he said, and I tried not to wince at the reminder.
“Archer—”
“You were right,” he said. “I was much worse than you ever were or ever could have been. After I dropped out of high school and left the West family’s perfect life, I did it all—drugs, fighting, stealing, jail time. Stayed away from my parents. Didn’t want a goddamned thing to do with Dean. Especially didn’t want to hear about all his achievements. Even as a kid, I knew he was destined for success. I was hell-bent to go in the opposite direction.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I was living with Sarah outside of Vegas. She’d also had a messed-up life, but she was trying to get her act together. Good person. Worked as a waitress. For some reason, she put up with me. We were living together for a couple of months when she got pregnant.”
I sank onto the edge of the bed and buried my face in my hands. I didn’t want to hear this, but I didn’t want him to stop telling me. Didn’t want him to stop giving me a piece of himself.
“After we found out, she convinced me to straighten up, get clean, try to do right by this kid we were going to have,” he said. “I went into rehab, got my head together. We talked about getting married. A Social Services woman helped Sarah with prenatal stuff. I found a job with a construction company. The owner had a lead on a house that was going into foreclosure, and I asked him if I could help work on it. I had this…”
He paused and cleared his throat. “I had this idea that if I helped fix up the house, maybe I had a shot at getting some kind of mortgage so Sarah and I could live there one day. If nothing else, at least it would prove I could work. It was a little two-bedroom place.”
He’d never had a chance to work on the house. I knew that already. My chest ached. I couldn’t tell if my heart hurt so badly because it was so empty or because it was getting so full.
“Sarah was working at a restaurant,” Archer said. “She was late coming home one night. The cops…” He paused again. “The cops said she’d gone off the road. The car hit a tree. They said she died on impact.”
“Oh, Archer.”
I couldn’t stand it. My eyes filled with fresh tears. I felt his presence, felt him go down on his knees in front of me, pulling my hands away from my face.
I stared at him through blurred vision, seeing my own pain reflected in his dark eyes, the shared intensity of it seeming to steady the world again.
“Kelsey, I’m telling you because I did everything right.” He tightened his hands on mine. “Sarah and I both did. Everything we were supposed to do, we did. And she still died. It’s fate, you know? A lousy toss of the coin.”
I buried my head in my arms again. Aching for what he’d gone through, for a girl’s life lost too early, and a baby who’d never had a chance.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He brushed his hand through my hair. “You take on too much, storm girl. Pain happens. Sometimes like tornados out of nowhere.”
Tornados that I still loved for all their fury and destruction.
After a few minutes of quiet, Archer lifted me into his arms and eased me onto the bed. He stretched out beside me, curving his body against mine.
A perfect fit. His chest pressed to my back, my rear against his groin, his knees tucked into the backs of mine. I buried my face in his pillow. He rested his hand on my hip. His breath stirred my hair. I fell asleep in the shelter of him.
I woke before Archer did and untangled myself from him to use the bathroom. I still wore my suit and trousers from yesterday, everything now completely wrinkled.
I borrowed Archer’s toothbrush to brush my teeth, and his comb to pull the knots out of my hair. I looked tired, with dark circles under my eyes and my skin like parchment, but I was calmer. The worst of the storm had passed.
But I’d been an atmospheric scientist long enough to know that there was always another storm front on the horizon.
Always.
He was still sleeping when I came out of the bathroom. This time, I tucked my body against his from behind and slid my arms around his waist. I must have fallen asleep again because I woke when the bed dipped. Archer sat on the side of the bed, pulling his jeans off.
He looked over his shoulder at me when I stirred. He didn’t ask me how I felt. He didn’t mention the previous night. He just reached out to brush a lock of blue hair away from my face.
I pushed to one elbow and fumbled for my glasses, which I’d left on the bedside table. I closed my hand around the frames, then dropped them. Archer was still watching me.
Aside from his boxer briefs, he was naked. With his black hair rumpled, his sculpted torso bare, and that raven’s wing tattoo skimming over his right arm, he looked like a magnificent, otherworldly creature about to take flight.
I leaned forward. He met me halfway, our lips colliding in a warm kiss that tasted of mint. He shifted, moving to brace his arms on either side of me, probing deeper but unhurried.
I let myself sink against the pillows, let him inside my mouth. I smoothed my hands over his arms and up to his strong shoulders.
He unfastened the buttons of my blouse, parting the folds to reveal my white lace bra. When he undid the front clasp and bared my breasts, I gave over. I knew I didn’t have to do anything but fall into the cascade. I knew that wherever he took me, it would be a place of pure bliss. All I needed to do was surrender.
I watched him kiss his way down my body, rubbing the taut peaks of my nipples. He dipped his tongue into my belly button before pulling off my pants and the skimpy panties between my legs. His hot murmurs vibrated through my skin, creating a pool of warmth in my core.
I stretched and arched against him. We shed the rest of our clothes slowly, peeling them away like snakeskins. He moved over me, fitting his body against mine. He pushed. I yielded. He gave. I took. He captured. I surrendered.
The world rocked, like the rhythmic sway of a ship, the thunderclouds too far away now to be of concern. I shattered beneath him, a slow rise that unfurled in my veins before exploding into a thousand stars. As I was falling back down, I watched Archer above me, his chest muscles shifting, his face set and eyes dark with heat.
He lowered his mouth to mine again just as he plunged into me with his own release. I tightened my arms around him, wanting to feel every shudder coursing through his body, knowing he was feeling this bliss because of us.
When he rolled to the side, I sat up and did what I hadn’t yet had a chance to in the weeks we’d been together. I explored all the slopes and planes of his body, tracing his pecs down to the ridges of his abdomen and the V of muscles leading to his groin.
I ran my hands over his thighs, his flat, hard belly, and the corded length of his forearms. I flexed my hands on his powerful arms, smoothed my palm over his raven’s wing, the flowers spread across his shoulder.
The birds hovering over the flowers were both silhouettes with their wings outstretched. If you looked closely, you could see the threads of color woven through their wings—red, purple, blue, and gold.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, letting my fingers trace a flower petal. “So incredibly beautiful.”
His jaw stiffened as he looked at my hand on his skin. For a moment I expected him to refute what was so obvious and true. But instead he grasped my wrists and tugged me so I was lying half on top of him. He closed his arms around me.
Moonlight shone through the uncurtained window. I could still see the outline of the Butterfly House.
“Are you finished with it?” I asked.
“Almost.” He pressed a hand to my hair. “We’re doing the final touch-ups on the floors and trim. Lots of little things left to do, but the major work is done.”
Though I had known from the beginning he’d leave one day, pain stabbed through me at the realization that the day would soon be here.
“Oh,” I managed to say. “So when are you leaving?”
Tension rolled through him. “As soon as it’s done, I guess.”
“Okay.”
That was the biggest lie I’d ever told. It was not okay. Nothing was okay about Archer West swooping into my life like a beautiful, wild bird, sending my life into a tailspin, and then leaving.
Not just leaving. Leaving me. Leaving me alone.
“Okay,” I repeated, only because he was looking at me with his dark, haunted gaze and all I wanted to do was throw myself at him and never let go. But I couldn’t because he was leaving.
A knot formed in my throat. I could hardly remember my life before him. I didn’t want to imagine my life after him.
“I don’t want to go without you,” he said.
“Then don’t.” Though I had never been one to ask for anything, the plea came out as easily as thread slipping from a needle. “Stay here.”
His eyes darkened. I sensed the uncoiling of old pain in him, the regrets and sorrow we’d both felt for so long they had become part of us.
“Why not?” I whispered.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Square peg. Round hole.”
“That’s not true. You… you fit here, Archer.” With me.
Even as I stammered out the words, a black pit opened inside me because I’d come to know Archer as well as he knew me. He hadn’t come to Mirror Lake to stay. He didn’t fit here, not really, not with Liv and Dean’s life and Avalon Street and my tenured professor career.
Still, I tried to picture it. I so wanted to believe it could happen—that I could convince him to stay in Mirror Lake and that we would both be happy. He could find a construction or motorcycle repair job. I’d teach classes and write papers and do all the professor things I was supposed to do. We would go grocery shopping together. Visit the mall. Take a trip every now and then. Share chocolate milk.
And beneath the surface would run a river of unease as I waited for the day when Archer realized he was bored out of his skull living such a contained life. The day when my guilt over forcing him onto my safe, narrow path became too much to bear.
I didn’t think Archer would ever fit in anywhere. He couldn’t. He was too bold, too fierce, too powerful. The world had to accommodate him, not the other way around.
A tight feeling gripped my chest. “I’m not… I don’t mean that you should stay for good or anything. Maybe just a few weeks longer.”
He turned away from me, his expression shuttered. He shook his head.
The black pit inside me opened wider. But I had known. I had known from the beginning.
I had no tears left to cry. The combined weight of our pasts and uncertain future seemed too heavy to escape.
I stroked Archer’s tattoo down to the raven’s wing curled over his arm. I traced the feathers and wished above all else that I could take flight with him.