CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KELSEY
ARCHER WAS GONE WHEN I WOKE the next morning. He hadn’t left a note or even made a pot of coffee, a fact for which I was inordinately grateful. I didn’t want any thoughtful little gestures. I just wanted some time to get my head together, and it was a relief to be left alone.
I was sore, of course, the pulsing between my legs reminding me of him with every step. I took a bath and scrubbed our mingled scents off my skin. Because I didn’t have to be on campus until my late-afternoon office hours, I spent the morning lounging around in a dreamy sort of haze. I logged in to my computer and tried to get some work done, but my brain was so fuzzy that all my thoughts kept slipping away.
The only work I did was changing a light bulb on my computer desk. I went to the basement to retrieve a box of new bulbs, which were stamped with a corporate logo and the words Edison Power Company.
Something tickled the back of my mind. Edison. Archer had used Thomas Edison’s invention of the light bulb to shut down my condescending colleagues.
Feeling a sudden kinship with old Mr. Edison and his string of failures, I changed the bulb and returned the box to the basement. I went online again and looked up Edison Power, curious about the structure and programs of the corporation.
Grant-Funding Opportunities.
I clicked the link on the menu bar and read about the grants and proposals Edison Power had recently funded. Nothing meteorological. I knew power companies were heavily invested in improved weather forecasting, as sudden storms, hurricanes, and tornados could damage electrical grids and impact power in urban areas.
Edison Power hadn’t funded anything weather-related, though that didn’t necessarily mean they wouldn’t. Maybe.
Somewhat heartened, I got dressed and walked to the Wonderland Café. It was past two, so I’d missed the lunch crowd, and the place was relatively quiet.
I sat in an empty seat at the counter just as Liv came out of the kitchen with a tray of edible teacups and ice-cream sandwiches.
“Oh, hey, Kels,” she said. “Hold on a sec. Let me drop these off.” She hurried past to distribute the food, then returned to the counter and poured me a glass of water. “What’s going on?”
“Just thought I’d drop by for lunch.”
“Oh.” She looked vaguely disappointed. “I thought you were here to meet Archer.”
My heart did a ridiculous sort of twirl that irritated me. “Why would I come here to meet Archer?”
Liv blinked at my annoyed tone. “He’s upstairs. Said he wanted lunch too, so I thought you were meeting him.”
Heart twirl. Again.
“Archer is here?” I asked.
“Upstairs.” Liv nodded to the stairs, eyeing me with speculation.
“Liv, we got the new birthday party brochures in.” Allie Lyons came through the kitchen doors, her red hair swinging in a ponytail. “Hi, Kelsey.”
“Hey, Allie.”
“Check them out.” She handed the brochures to me and Liv, then turned to the cash register.
I opened a brochure and pretended to study it. Liv glanced at me, leaning her elbows on the counter. I sensed what was coming.
“So if you’re not here to meet him, tell me… how was the date?” she whispered, all brown-eyed curiosity.
“Date?” Allie turned from the register. “Kelsey went on a date? With who?”
“Whom,” I corrected. I guessed Liv’s question meant that Dean hadn’t told her about finding Archer at my house.
“Archer West,” Liv told Allie, ignoring my death glare. “That’s whom.”
“Really?” Allie looked at me with awe. “You went out with Professor Hottie’s brother?”
“And he wore a suit and tie,” Liv added.
“Oh, wow.” Allie shook her head, as if that image was too much to bear. “Where did you go? What did you do? Did he kiss you?”
“Answer that last one first,” Liv suggested.
I took a sip of water and tried to keep glaring at both of them, which wasn’t easy in the onslaught of their unbearably cute eagerness.
“He came with me to a university dinner because Dean couldn’t go,” I told Allie. “There was nothing romantic about it.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “You know he’s here, right? Archer, I mean. The girls almost got into a catfight over who’d get to serve him. What room is he in, Liv?”
“Castle Room.” Liv was looking at me with way too much perceptiveness. “Hey, Allie, could you get Kelsey her usual?”
“Sure thing.” Allie turned and went back into the kitchen.
Liv leaned closer to me. “What’s going on with Archer?”
“Dean didn’t tell you?”
“He said Archer was at your place the morning after your date.”
It was just like Liv not to have called me immediately, demanding to know all the details. She knew some things were private.
“Dean wasn’t all that happy about it,” I admitted.
“He has reason not to be,” Liv said. “But he also knows you, and he knows when to back off.”
I rubbed my finger across a crack in the counter. Though I’d told myself a hundred times that I was making up my own mind about Archer West, I was still on very shaky ground after last night. And Liv was one of the few people I trusted most in the world.
“What do you think of Archer?” I asked.
She was quiet for a minute.
“I think he got a raw deal,” she said. “That he was blamed for something that wasn’t his fault and that he’s probably made a lot of bad choices because of it. And I think he got stuck in a downward spiral he didn’t know how to get out of. But I also think he’s a good guy at heart. He’s Dean’s brother. I think he just got lost somewhere along the way.”
I knew all about getting lost.
I stared at my glass. A drop of water ran down the side.
“So… um, if I were to start something with Archer… you know, theoretically…” My mind flashed with images of me spread out on the bed with him. I cleared my throat. “…you wouldn’t tell me I was making a mistake?”
Amusement flashed in Liv’s eyes. “I would never presume to tell Kelsey March she was making a mistake.”
“But you’d never lie to me, either.”
“True.” She leaned her elbows on the counter, looking directly at me. “I love you, Kelsey. I don’t know if Archer is worthy of you. I don’t know what kind of future you could ever have with him, if you even wanted one. I don’t want to see you get hurt. But God knows I’ve learned some lessons in life, and one of them is that nothing ever changes if you don’t trust your instincts and take risks.”
Not until that moment did I realize how badly I’d needed her reassurance. The band around my heart eased.
“Can we hug now?” Liv asked.
“Only if you don’t tell anyone.”
She grinned, and we exchanged a quick, tight hug. Then Liv nodded to the stairs again.
“Castle Room,” she said. “I’ll bring your lunch up if you want me to.”
She picked up the birthday-party brochures and headed back to the kitchen.
Trying not to overthink it again, I slid off the stool and went upstairs. I was going to have to face Archer sooner or later, and the Wonderland Café with its tea parties and birthday balloons was about the safest place I could find. Not to mention I looked totally frumpy in old jeans and a T-shirt with minimal makeup on.
The Wicked Witch’s Castle room was at the front of the second floor, with windows providing a view of the distant mountains. An ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling, a twilight-colored mural of the mountains and castle spanned one wall, and the black-draped tables were topped with crystal ball lamps.
All the tables were empty, except for one by the window where Archer sat alone, half slouched in the high-backed chair. His worn notebook was open on the table in front of him, and his head was bent as he wrote something on the pages.
I looked at his profile, the strength of his jaw dusted with whiskers, the ridge of his nose with the slight bump, the way his hair curled around his ears and the back of his neck.
I couldn’t believe what I’d done last night. With him. For a second, it seemed hazy, distant, surreal.
Then he turned and looked at me, like a radar homing in on its target. All the breath escaped my lungs. I stopped, running my hands over my thighs.
“Hi,” I finally said.
In response, he pushed the chair opposite him away from the table with his foot. I went to sit down.
He closed the notebook and looked at me, his expression shuttered but his eyes glittering in the light coming through the window.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded. “What are you doing here?”
“I hadn’t seen the place yet, so I stopped by,” he said. “It’s nice. Liv offered to bring me lunch. I never turn down a free meal.”
“Who said it’s free?” Liv came into the room, bearing a tray with roast-beef-and-cheddar sandwiches and Scarecrow Straw fries.
“Oh, sorry—” Archer started.
“But you don’t have to worry about it.” Liv set one of the plates in front of Archer and winked at him. “I’ll put it on Dean’s credit card.”
She and Archer exchanged a fist-bump.
Liv put the second plate in front of me. “Whoops, sorry. I forgot your drinks. Be right back.”
She hurried back out. Archer watched her go.
“I don’t know why, but she doesn’t seem to hate me,” he remarked.
“Liv sees the good in everyone,” I said. “Unless you’re a total shit. Then she gets her ninja on.”
“Huh.” He picked up his sandwich. “Guess I’d better stay on her good side, then.”
“I’d recommend it.” It occurred to me that even if Archer were using me to get to Dean, he wouldn’t do anything to upset Liv. And he knew that using me would piss her off to no end. The thought eased my wariness.
Liv returned with a glass of lemonade for me and a glass of chocolate milk for Archer.
“Enjoy,” she said, putting the glasses on the table. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
She patted my shoulder and bustled out. I eyed Archer’s drink.
“What’s with the chocolate milk obsession?” I asked.
“When I was a kid I hated school,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Never could keep up,” Archer continued. “Didn’t like sitting at a desk. Acted out a lot. Teachers thought I had ADD or whatever. Elementary school was pretty bad. But every day we had what they called ‘milk break’ when you’d get a snack and some milk. For twenty minutes, you could do whatever you wanted. So I’d always get out a bin of Legos or whatever construction toys they had in the classroom. And I’d sit there drinking chocolate milk and building something. Best part of the day.”
My heart tightened a little. I could picture it, clear as day. I could picture him, a rough-and-tumble boy with a mop of black hair and snapping dark eyes.
Archer closed his lips around the straw and took a drink, then offered me the straw.
“Want some?” he asked. “It’s really good.”
I shook my head. Sometimes he was so cute, I couldn’t stand it.
Danger. Danger, Kelsey March.
I turned my attention to my food. “So you never learned to like school?”
“I always understood stuff when I was actually doing something,” he said. “Like in art or wood shop. Auto repair. Even computers. But I couldn’t get my brain around all the other stuff. I dropped out of high school my junior year.”
I felt his glance, like he was gauging my reaction to that revelation. I tried not to have a reaction at all, but it was impossible not to. No wonder the guy had major issues with his brilliant and successful older brother.
And Archer and me… He was a high-school dropout who repaired motorcycles, and I was a university professor who’d graduated with honors. The chasm between us was huge.
Which I’d known from the beginning. Which was just one of the reasons this was a temporary, very hot fling.
I nodded toward his notebook. “So if you didn’t like school, what’s in that?”
“Poetry.”
I caught my surprised “Really?” before it escaped my throat. Archer clearly sensed what I was about to say because he grinned.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” I said instead.
“Oh, my pants are definitely on fire, baby.”
I chuckled and let my gaze wander over him—the sunlight flickering on his strong features and glinting off his dark hair. His T-shirt was old, stretching over his chest and shoulders, a faded San Francisco Giants logo on the front. I wanted to slide my hands beneath the ragged hem and find the warm, hard muscles of his abdomen.
I hadn’t touched him much last night. I’d been so overwhelmed, so taken, that I hadn’t had a chance to take any initiative at all, to explore all the slopes and planes of his body…
I shivered. I felt him watching me.
“What?” I asked defensively, even as my brain suddenly flooded with worries that he was comparing the frumpy me of today with the… uh, fiery me of last night.
“You look good,” he said.
“Liar.”
“Not lying.”
I shot him a glower. “I’m not even wearing sexy underwear.”
“You are up here.” He tapped his finger against his temple and smiled.
I might have melted. Just a little.
“So, Kelsey…” Archer lowered his voice to that deep purr that resounded in my blood. “When was the last time you were fucked real good?”
Heat bloomed through me. A noise came out of my mouth that I didn’t recognize. Did I just giggle?
“Um…” I made a show of looking at my watch. “About nineteen hours ago.”
“Hmm.” He frowned with concern. “Long time.”
“By some standards, I guess.”
“Including yours?”
My heart thumped. I was already all in. I wasn’t going to spend the next couple of weeks wondering what the hell I was doing. I was just going to… do it. I held Archer’s gaze and nodded.
“It’s been a very long time by my standards,” I said, aware that my voice had gotten a little husky.
“We’ll have to change that soon.”
I could hardly wait.
“Hey, you guys okay?” Liv came into the room, a pitcher of water in one hand. “Need anything else?”
“No, we’re done,” I told her. “Thanks.”
Archer stood, digging into his pocket for his wallet despite Liv’s protests.
“Are you going up to the house?” she asked him. “I’m going to stop by before dinner to finish priming the bedroom. I’ll drop off some drapery and tile samples later this week.”
He nodded, and they had a short discussion of the week’s plans. He handed her a few bills then turned to me.
“And I’ll see you later, Kelsey,” he said, his eyes dark with undeniable promise.
Heart twirl. Third time in the past hour. It was becoming a bad habit. I managed to nod and keep my voice casual.
“Sure. See you.”
I watched him go, admiring the view from behind as he left the room.
“I think he likes you,” Liv whispered.
I gave her a look of mock surprise. “You mean he likes me likes me?”
She grinned and nudged her elbow into my side. “Actually, it appears he more than likes you likes you.”
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t get into this. Even so, my mind made an undeniable noise of excitement, kind of a happy cheer.
That, I thought, not without embarrassment, must be what my students referred to as a squee.
“Mr. Clement is expecting you, Dr. March.” The receptionist at the satellite office of Edison Power rose from behind her desk.
I followed her down the carpeted hallway, my gaze scanning the historic photos on the walls that illustrated the history of Edison Power Company. We entered a corner office, and a bearded, gray-haired man with glasses and a tie patterned with light bulbs stepped forward.
“Professor March, I’m Harold Clement, Vice President of Energy Supply at Edison Power.” He extended his hand, and I shook it.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I replied. “I like your tie.”
He grinned and adjusted the knot. “I have a Christmas tie that flashes with red and green lights when you press a button. It’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen, but I wear it every year.”
I smiled, liking him instinctively. “That’s dedication.”
“I’ll say.” He gestured to a small conference table by the windows. “Thanks for being available on such short notice. Our grant department forwarded me your email from the main office. I’m going out of town for a few days, but I didn’t want to miss the chance to talk to you before I leave.”
“I appreciate that.”
Though that was true, I was still guarded. Just two days ago, I’d emailed a query to the Edison grant department, asking if they would consider funding a meteorological project.
This morning, the receptionist of the Forest Grove office called asking if I could meet with Harold Clement. I’d brought all the Spiral Project documentation just in case, but one meeting wasn’t going to get me any funding.
“I brought you a copy of the full proposal.” I passed the binder to him. “The intention is to learn more about tornado formation so that we can increase forecast accuracy at longer lead times.”
I explained in detail about the project, admitting both the inconclusive evidence of the first phase and SciTech’s pulling of funds. Then I focused on the necessity of high-intensity data collection to revolutionize tornado forecasting.
“This is a project with measureable results,” I said, easily launching into the presentation I’d given countless times before. “Results that will lead us to understand a great deal more about tornado formation and structure. Though that sounds like a simple question, the answer itself is incredibly complex. And that’s where the Spiral Project comes in.
“If we can increase the lead time of tornado warnings, possibly even up to a full hour, first responders—including power companies—will be far better prepared to effectively carry out the phases of disaster management. And of course the economic, social, and governmental implications of disaster preparedness are immeasurable.”
Harold Clement was an excellent audience. He listened attentively, looked at all the documentation, asked questions, and solicited my opinion about how the Spiral Project could fit with Edison Power’s mission statement.
“It’s fascinating, Professor March,” he said, as we wrapped up the discussion. “I admit I’m concerned that SciTech killed their funding, but the concept of the study is remarkable.”
“Do you think Edison would consider funding it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Harold admitted. “We’ve been looking for a program to increase our visibility in the community while also improving our business structure and practices. That’s why your project caught my interest. At the same time, we’ve never funded a meteorology program before.”
“I’d be happy to come to your corporate office for a presentation, if necessary.”
“I’ll have to take this up with the board and let you know.” He stood, indicating our meeting was over. “I do personally find it very interesting, but I can’t promise any of my colleagues will feel the same way. I’ll be in touch.”
I’d heard those words before. And even though I’d been ready for rejection again, I couldn’t hold back my disappointment as I returned to King’s University.
Archer might believe I’d find another way to fund the Spiral Project, but research grants were a two-way street. Agencies gave you money, and you proved your hypotheses had merit. I hadn’t yet done that with the Spiral Project.
I went into my office and tried to forget about Edison Power as I worked on the coursework syllabi for my classes next year.
My cell phone rang a short time later. I looked at the caller ID. Anticipation flickered through me, banishing my earlier disappointment as I pressed the button to accept the call.
“What are you wearing?” I asked.
“A hard-on,” Archer said.
I laughed. “I hope you’re not in public.”
“I’m at your house. You really shouldn’t hide your spare key under a flowerpot on the front porch.”
“Oh. Well, this is Mirror Lake, not Gotham City.” I paused. “So, um, where are you in my house?”
“On your bed.”
My heart gave a little leap at the thought of him stretched out on my bed with an erection pushing at the front of his jeans.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Well, I was looking through your underwear drawer,” he said. “Thinking of you in all that flimsy silk and lace is what gave me this boner.”
“You broke into my house and pawed through my underwear drawer?” I asked. “That is seriously creepy.”
“I was picking out something for you to put on tonight before you suck my cock.”
Heat jolted through me. I struggled for a breath.
“Um… wow?” I managed to say.
He chuckled. “When are you getting home?”
“Not for a few hours.” I glanced at the clock with regret. “I have a couple of meetings and a seminar this afternoon.”
He groaned. “Okay. I can wait.”
“You could get yourself off in the meantime.”
“Yes, I could,” he agreed. “But I’m not into flying solo these days.” His voice dropped an octave. “What are you wearing, Professor March?”
My skin tingled as his deep voice washed over me. Since this conversation was heading in a very welcome and specific direction, I found a thread of common sense and locked my office door.
“I’m wearing a gray linen skirt and white silk blouse,” I told Archer as I returned to my desk. “White silk camisole underneath. Three-inch pumps.”
“Nice. I like that you’re wearing a skirt. Shows off your pretty legs.”
“What are you wearing?” I asked again. “Besides the hard-on.”
“I was wearing jeans. But I had to take my dick out.”
I sank into my chair, my knees weakening at the thought of him lying on my bed with his cock sticking straight up like a sundial, indicating it was time for Kelsey March to have a meltdown orgasm.
“Are you doing anything with it?” I asked.
“Stroking it, yeah. Wishing I could plunge it into your sweet, warm pussy.”
God in heaven. My heart was pounding. I pressed my thighs together.
“Does that make you wet?” he murmured.
“What do you think?” I retorted.
He laughed. “Are you in your office?”
“Yes.”
“Pull your skirt up.”
I squirmed. “Archer, I’m at work.”
“So pull your skirt up at work.”
With a groan, I edged the hem of my skirt up over my knees.
“All the way,” he prodded.
I wiggled until my skirt was bunched up around my thighs.
“What’ve you got on under there?” he asked.
“Bikini panties. White silk.”
“Touch them. Tell me how wet they are.”
I eased my hand between my thighs and touched my damp panties.
“So wet,” I breathed, slipping a finger beneath the material to my clit. “How the hell do you do this to me?”
“I know what you like, storm girl. Hold on a sec.” The phone went silent for a second before he came back on the line.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Got some of your underwear. Pink satin. I haven’t seen you in pink yet.”
“What are you doing with my underwear?”
“Rubbing it all over my cock.”
“Archer!” Shock flooded my chest.
“Mmm. Soft.”
I choked out a laugh. “That is so perverted.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“You’re jerking off with my panties.”
“Uh huh. Feels good too, but not nearly as good as your pussy.”
“Oh my god, you are killing me.”
“Take yours off.” A husky note of command edged his voice. “Now.”
Holy crap. I was totally going to do it. I didn’t even have to think. I wedged my phone against my shoulder and stood to wiggle out of my panties. I kicked them to the side, shivering as a rush of cooler air tickled my sex.
“Are they off?” Archer asked.
“They’re off,” I said breathlessly.
“Pull your skirt all the way up to your waist.”
I did it. “Okay.”
“Now put one foot on your desk and touch yourself.”
I sank into my office chair again and rested my foot on the edge of my desk. Before I could second-guess the utter inappropriateness of what I was doing, I spread my hand over my sex and rubbed. I knew what was coming. And I could hardly wait.
“Imagine I’m watching you,” Archer murmured in my ear. “Spread open that pretty, pink slit and slide your finger inside. Feel how tight you are? You grip my cock like a fist. It’s so fucking incredible when I thrust inside you. Put your other hand under your shirt and play with your tits. Your nipples are hard, aren’t they? Is that why you like wearing sexy lingerie, so it rubs against your breasts and pussy?”
Heat filled my throat. My veins sizzled as Archer’s deep voice poured a ribbon of dirty talk into my ear. I closed my eyes and imagined his body lined with tension, his hand sliding over his thick erection—aided and abetted by a pair of my panties—the tautness of his muscles.
“I’m already about to come,” I confessed, sliding my thumb over my slippery clit.
“Not yet. Tell me what you want.”
I gripped the phone harder. I couldn’t tell him everything I wanted. Too much of it had never been part of the deal.
“You,” I whispered. I want you. I want you with me, in my house, in my bed, in my body, in my life.
My pulse pounded. I pressed the heel of my hand against my clit.
“I want you inside me,” I said, pressure coiling through my lower body. “I want you pounding into me, hot and hard. I wish I was there right now, wish I could spread my legs for you… oh, I’m so ready…”
“Fuck yourself with your fingers,” Archer ordered, his voice hoarse. “Like you do when you’re alone at night.”
I slipped two fingers into my opening and squeezed my muscles around them with a gasp.
“Feels good?” Archer asked.
“As a substitute, yes,” I whispered, stroking my inner flesh. “But I want you.”
“I want you too. Want to plunge into you balls-deep and hear you beg for more. Want to feel your sweet cunt tightening around my cock.”
I worked my fingers faster, letting my legs open wider, picturing his hot gaze on the juncture of my thighs. Shivers rolled through me as the tension coiled harder.
“I need you to fuck me,” I murmured.
“Soon,” he promised, his voice a throaty growl. “Soon I will. Get yourself off now. I want to hear you come.”
My breathing became faster, quick little pants in rhythm with the rush of my blood. A trickle of perspiration dripped between my breasts. I rubbed my clit harder, gasping as explosions burst through my veins. I closed my eyes and pictured Archer on my bed, his muscular body tensing as he worked toward his own release. And then his deep groan slid through the airwaves and into my heart.
Right where I was beginning to want him. And right where he scared me the most.