Three Reckless Words: Chapter 15

So I’ve always been an active participant in bed.

Let’s just say I’ve always known what I want from sex, and usually it’s something my partner can’t deliver.

It’s not like I’m enormously demanding.

I don’t expect him to be Mr. Hour Long Pound or Sir Jackhammer, or even to carry me from room to room like I don’t weigh anything. I’m not expecting a man with a ribbed and dotted dick hot off the assembly line for my pleasure.

But I do expect enjoyment.

To come just once, even if there’s no guarantee.

To feel wanted.

I think Archer Rory just set a new gold standard.

He makes me feel like the only woman in the entire universe. When he’s looking at me, he can’t see anything else.

There could be supermodels dancing naked around me and he wouldn’t notice.

And he toys with my body. All of me.

Not just the usual parts—although he worships them plenty too—but other things as well.

He nips at my earlobes and kisses my neck and the back of my knees, my sides, my feet, everything he thinks I might like.

He knows when to give and take.

Just like he knows when to ask and when to surprise me.

Honestly, that’s a freaking miracle in and of itself. A lot of younger dudes don’t have the ego to ask, much less improvise.

Not just ‘do you like this, babe?’ but ‘do you like it when I touch you here, or here?’ He’s mastered the art without words.

And holy hell, do I like it.

This scary, sexy, slightly deranged man makes me come like I never knew I could. I’m pretty sure my soul has transcended matter into pure orgasmic light.

I may have seen whole lifetimes flash before my eyes.

Right now, I perch on the counter, just like I did when he licked me so good, as he picks up making the pancakes he started before Rina butted in.

Rina, the ex-wife with a severe case of resting bitch face.

That’s almost enough to pierce my happy afterglow. Almost.

I don’t know if I have the courage to bring that up now—he mentioned bad sex etiquette before—so I just nod to the expert pancake flipping going on.

“I bet you could hire a whole team of chefs.”

Just like my parents did. My mom probably hasn’t made anything more complex than toast in years.

Archer glances at me. “You didn’t like having a cook growing up, huh?”

“I—” At his knowing look, I stop. “How did you know?”

“Call it intuition.” He grins at me when I purse my lips. “Also, you wrinkled your nose.”

“The food was always good, I mean. It wasn’t horrible.”

“But?”

“But they were paid to feed me. Every meal was made with precision, not love. But that doesn’t make it bad.” I shrug because I don’t mean to sound bitter about my upbringing all the time, especially to a man who’s probably richer than my father. I’m guessing Archer also grew up ten times as privileged. “And say you’re ill—it’s not your mom bringing you homemade chicken soup and ice cream. It’s the happy chef who plates it up with a smile and doesn’t stick around for story time.”

“That’s why I learned to make pancakes.”

I laugh. “Is that Colt’s sick food?”

“No, I want him to feel like I’m invested. I’m always his dad, even when I’m busy with work.” He winks then, and it’s so different from the uptight grouch I first met that it strips my voice away. “I’ll admit I’m a sucker for takeout, though. The damn apps make it too easy these days and it saves us time some nights.”

“Me too,” I admit, like we’ve just shared a dirty secret. “I had an apartment in Springfield. Mostly because I wanted to escape my family. I’m pretty basic with cooking. I just haven’t had much time to practice.”

“You’re never too old to learn, Winnie. Making food isn’t air traffic control.” He slides some pancakes onto a plate. It’s beautifully weird that such a big man gets so tender and gentle with cooking. And, on occasion, with me. “Want to flip the next one?”

“Hmm. I think I like watching you do it better.”

I lean up to kiss his cheek. Then I stiffen, because even though it felt right in the moment, was it really?

Oh, God.

Yes, we’re having amazing sex, but I don’t know if I’m overstepping boundaries.

How does a gentle peck on the cheek somehow feel more intimate than sucking his dick?

But if Archer notices, he doesn’t comment. He just flips another pancake.

Once, twice, three times in the air before he catches it again.

“Show-off.” I laugh, but Rina flashes in my mind, and my smile dies.

We haven’t known each other long. I still haven’t asked him much about his ex-wife. Every time I’ve touched it with the longest pole, he’s dodged the subject.

I get it.

She was a mistake.

She hasn’t been around a lot.

She isn’t important to him anymore but he lets her see Colt because that’s what divorced parents do.

It’s kinda endearing.

Really, everything about this man is, from knowing he used to be an army medic to the way he makes pizza and pancakes to die for like it’s a daily occurrence.

But the fact that Rina was here, and my first instinct was to claim Archer right in front of her, to make it clear he’s mine, feels worrying. Especially considering I don’t know anything about their relationship or why it didn’t work.

I don’t even know why they fell in love in the first place.

At a glance, they couldn’t be more different. Maybe that’s part of it.

The whole opposites attract thing isn’t always as glamorous in real life as it is in romance novels.

…but aren’t we basically the same? Opposites?

He’s a certified grump, older and wiser than I’ll ever be, and a no-nonsense money-driven suit by day.

I’m just—Winnie.

And Just Winnie doesn’t seem destined to be more than a fleeting love interest in the long, winding line of women falling at his feet. I’m sure they exist.

But as he piles pancakes on a plate and drizzles maple syrup over them, I wonder.

I need to keep my craziest thoughts to myself.

For now, brunch is enough.

It has to be when the rest of this situationship is too precious, far too fragile to be mowed down by hard truths.

We’re not in a relationship—not explicitly—but if we were, it couldn’t be going more smoothly.

I’ve semi moved in, although we’ve both stressed it’s a temporary thing. A quick fix to keep unwanted company at bay.

What we’re not saying is how good it feels.

Spending time with Archer feels natural. Too easy.

It’s the same for his son. Colt might be one of the easiest kids ever to get along with.

And the sex—oh my flipping God.

We take advantage of every second Colt leaves to defile new surfaces of his spectacular house.

The library, the dining room, the living room (again), the hallway, the shower…

He’s insatiable. So am I.

It’s like being together taps into this secret well of rabid need that’s been building for years.

But unfortunately, real life also happens, duties and doubts waiting to disrupt paradise.

I wish it didn’t, but no matter how explosive we are in bed, time keeps ticking by.

I promised him a beekeeper for free rent. I’m not skimping on my end of the deal. That’s why we return to the cabin together.

Solitude.

It’s such a perfect name for this tranquil place. Without my woes seeping in, it’s an oasis in the woods where all worldly cares melt away.

We’ve been back a few times since I started staying with Archer. Every time, he accompanies me with this protective edge in his voice.

I’m afraid he’ll wreck Holden’s face if my dumb, selfish ex is stupid enough to show up again.

But the bees are doing well.

At first, I was concerned, like leaving the place vacant could open them to some shocking disaster. But no, they’re thriving.

The honey looks just as royal purple as always, and it seems like there’s more of it every visit as the summer wears on.

“Can you pass me the hammer please?” I hold my hand out behind me. I feel something cool and metallic settle in my palm a second later and I wrap my fingers around it.

“You sure you’ve got this?” Archer asks.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve built more than a few of these over the years.” With the back of my hand, I wipe sweat from my forehead.

It’s already August with the late summer sun blazing, but the effort is worth it. This extra box will give the bees plenty of space to expand before the season ends and into next year.

My phone buzzes again and I push my hat back as I stare at the screen.

Another missed call from Mom.

Sigh.

I listened to her last voicemail in the bathroom so Archer wouldn’t hear it, and it was predictably needy as hell.

We’ve reached the begging stage of her manic guilt trip. The part where her world starts imploding with a huge Winnie-sized piece of it missing.

Mom pleaded with me to come home.

She needs me, she says.

Dad needs me, she promises, even if he won’t admit it to her face.

Without me, their dutiful and loving daughter, the family isn’t complete.

Same old manipulative crap I’ve put up with my whole life, whenever I was on the verge of striking out on my own and cutting ties.

Seriously, why listen to another word?

My answer is the same no matter how much her voice breaks, no matter how much she goes to tears at the end and gurgles, “Winnie, we love you so much… you don’t even know.”

“Everything okay?” Archer asks, laying a hand on my shoulder.

I blink at him.

“Sure.” I stick my phone back in my pocket. “Just a few funny TikToks from Lyssie.” Which isn’t a lie when she’s been spamming me since this morning. Wedding fails worse than mine mixed with the usual antics of crazy cats.

“The best friend?”

I nod. “She’s the only best thing in Springfield.”

He hums and I go back to assembling the new box.

It’s quick work since his maintenance crew left some spare wood lying around in the shed and he figured we could use the boards. I definitely don’t mind.

Especially when he looks like this, staring on in silent approval and catching the way I twist while I work.

The man’s eyes are always so hungry it makes me blush.

But I kinda like it.

I finish hammering two more planks together and then let him take over when he pushes past me, signaling me to take a break.

For a rich guy with a real estate empire, he’s insanely good with his hands. And he’s really rocking the lumbersexual vibe today with a saw and a checkered shirt he’s rolled up at the sleeves to reveal his forearms.

God, I could watch him work all day, his brow glistening with sweat.

A bee zooms around his head, but instead of swiping at it, he slows down and lets it check him out before flying away.

“Nice and calm. You’re learning,” I tell him approvingly. “You’ll be a beemaster yet.”

“Don’t hold your breath. Getting this close without swatting the damn things is about all I’m good for.”

“You’re very good at it.”

Although he doesn’t look at me, a tiny grin quirks his lips.

I smile down at my hammer and the pile of nails in a small plastic container. As soon as this box is finished, I might just jump his bones right here.

But my phone buzzes again with persistent notifications, shattering my temporary peace, and my smile melts.

Okay, don’t panic.

It’s either Lyssie calling to remind me my life could be worse with shark attacks and hot dog eating competitions held at gunpoint and asking me more questions about Archer, or Mom.

Or it could be Holden.

I have a bad feeling when I finally cave and glance at the screen.

This is a mistake, he tells me. Just hear me out?

When can we talk?

Winnie, please.

This is the third message he’s sent ever since Archer practically catapulted him off the property.

The first two messages were angrier, long walls of text chewing me out for having the audacity not to welcome him back with open arms, and standing by while a brute assaulted him.

He still doesn’t get he’s half the reason I fled.

The man isn’t the brightest, no matter what his pedigree and fancy degrees say.

I guess now that he knows it didn’t work, he’s going for the whole soft apology route. An ugly good cop-bad cop routine packaged into the same person.

I delete the message, wincing sourly.

There’s no way I’m falling for that song and dance.

Besides, reality doesn’t look so nasty with a sweaty, dirt-smudged Archer stripping off his shirt in front of me.

That’s a welcome distraction that means I can push it aside for a little longer.

“Don’t you have some work?” He catches me staring and grins.

“I’m doing plenty.” Um, I’m pretty sure thirsting after the hottest billionaire daddy in Kansas City is a valid job.

Like always, I trace his dark tattoos with my eyes. They hug his massive body like ornamental war paint, giving him this feral look that electrifies the most primitive parts of my brain.

Before Archer, I never indulged in ink-dipped men.

The educated, affluent boys at college and the cute dorks I’d find in DC kept their tattoos small and discreet.

Last night, I worshipped Archer’s chest with my tongue, wondering how it still feels like skin. They’re so dark and detailed it gives me this optical illusion, like I should be able to sense the texture.

“Do you ever miss it?” I blurt out. “The army, I mean.”

“What brought that up?” He pauses what he’s doing and lowers the saw.

“Just wondering.”

“It was a different life. I was a different Archer,” he says eventually, meeting my gaze. “There are parts I miss, sure, but life’s better now. I’m not spinning along like I was those days. Losing my dad in a plane crash really fucked me up for a while. Happened not long after I left the service.”

My eyes widen. I stretch up and put my hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently.

“I’m so sorry, that must have been hard. Was it a big accident? Like, a passenger plane?”

“Nah.” He snorts. “Dad had two hobbies—reading bad poetry and flying. One got him into trouble. He had a pilot’s license and everything after deciding it was something he wanted later in life. He had a grandfather who grew up in Seattle, always told him stories about the early days at Boeing, and I guess they stuck. Most guys settle for a flashy sports car or a woman half their age when they go full midlife crisis, but not Dad.”

I smile wryly.

“He just had to get his own wings as soon as he had his lessons down. He kept at it while everybody else told him he was out of his mind. Mom was always on edge every time she knew he was going up. It got better with time, the more flights he put in—until one day, he never came home.” He chuckles bitterly.

“That’s so sad.”

“That’s life, Sugarbee. Shifting sands, light and dark, and you either find your footing or you sink. These days, that’s a lot easier. I have Colt, my brothers, my business. The army gave me discipline I wouldn’t have picked up anywhere else. Plus, I had a chance to put my country first. There’s value there, getting invested enough in your people to give up your life if duty calls. You serve a higher cause, even when damn near everything goes against you.”

The man he couldn’t save, he means. Big Frank from Chicago.

I bet Archer would’ve traded places with him in a heartbeat.

Maybe he tried and it was all in vain.

God, maybe Frank traded places for him.

Heavy stuff.

The thought makes it a little hard to breathe.

“Hey!” A loud voice comes from behind Archer.

I switch my gaze to a tall man in a burgundy shirt and tan slacks, hands in his pockets. He’s standing by the house, watching us both with an amused expression.

At first glance, this guy could be Archer’s twin, minus the thinner dark shadow around his jaw that isn’t quite a beard. He’s handsome enough and younger, with nearly identical piercing blue eyes that shine out from a distance.

He’s also just as well-dressed as Archer usually is.

Archer also turns, giving me a view of his sculpted back.

I’ve seen him naked plenty of times, but I swear I will never get over how good this man looks shirtless.

“What are you doing here?” Archer grumbles, his face darkening.

The stranger approaches, pausing to give me a wicked smile before shifting his attention to Archer. Now, he’s closer, and I see his hair looks a tad more rusty and he’s certainly younger. “Is that any way to greet your favorite brother?”

Archer snorts. “I can’t believe you think that’s you.”

“Well, we both know it isn’t Dex. Mrs. Potter said you’d be here.” The man’s posture doesn’t change, unaffected by the snarl in Archer’s voice. It’s amazing how he flips from warm and teasing to hard and tense in a heartbeat.

A muscle jumps in Archer’s jaw. “What’s the point of having a receptionist again if she gives away my location to every asshole who asks?”

“Manners, for one. They never hurt anyone, Arch. And you know the office would suck without her.”

“Like you’d know. What’re you doing here, Pat?” Archer folds his arms, flexing his biceps. I snap my jaw shut before I get caught in a dogfight between brothers.

“Two things. First, I wanted to see the place for myself. You said there were bees, but I didn’t know how many.” His gaze lands on me again. I get the feeling I’m what he wanted to check out the most. “Also, I wanted to talk about the St. Louis numbers. You’ve been avoiding my calls.”

For the first time, Archer glances back at me. “This is my brother and business partner, Patton Rory. He’s a complete jackass, so you won’t be seeing him long.”

“Pot and kettle,” Patton says, totally unruffled. He strides forward on his long legs and offers me a hand. “Nice to meet you. Wynne, is it?”

“Winnie or just Win,” I correct. Wynne is my birth name, but I’ve always hated it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Right back at ya.” He gives me another once-over, smirking.

“Leave her alone, Pat. She’s working,” Archer growls.

“Yeah, okay. So, if she’s busy playing beekeeper, do you have a minute to talk about the figures? You pulled the report at least, right?”

The way Archer flexes again tells me he doesn’t want to waste another second on this.

But he also has no choice.

I bite back a smile. There’s something adorable seeing the two brothers interact.

There’s a wedding ring on Patton’s hand, too, so I shouldn’t have to worry that his interest is anything but curiosity.

“I skimmed. Regrettably, I haven’t had time to give it a full read-through,” Archer admits.

“Wait, what? You? You haven’t had time to read a business report?” Patton rubs his eyes in disbelief.

“Did I fucking stutter? You heard me,” Archer throws back.

“Man, are you feeling okay?” Patton presses his hand against Archer’s forehead before Archer jerks away. “You got a fever or something? Replaced by an AI clone to simulate what it would be like if you were nice?”

“Fuck off, Pat.”

“I’m serious. It must be bad for you to stop working. Is Colt sick? Where is he? Like, what the hell else could break your focus?” Patton looks at me with a knowing smile. “He’s a workaholic freak. This just isn’t him.”

“Prick,” Archer spits.

“Your favorite prick, yes. Well, second favorite.” He looks pointedly at Archer’s crotch as Archer curses him roundly. I press a hand against my mouth as I watch, trying not to giggle.

“You didn’t have to come all this way to talk, you know. You could’ve sent an email.”

“Is that how brothers talk? Like we’re stuck in 2004?” Patton tilts his head. “You weren’t answering my calls. What was I supposed to do?”

Archer scratches the back of his head. “Leave me the hell alone?”

“Too easy, big bro. And turning in your homework late, you don’t get rewarded.”

“If you must know, I’ve been busy here,” Archer says, gesturing at the box we’re constructing and all the other bees flying around. “They take up a lot of time.”

“Right, right.” Patton laughs. “The sacred bees. I forgot you wanted this place to have culty vibes.”

“The honey’s really rare,” I cut in, feeling like I should help. Patton clearly doesn’t know Archer and I are—together. Which is already a complicated label. “I don’t know if you’ve looked into it, but it might give you guys some unique opportunities.”

“Opportunities, huh?” Patton snorts, looking like he’s just been handed a big one. “I think I can imagine what sort of opportunities you guys have been getting up to. When’s the wedding?”

“Patton, enough. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have that report read, and it’ll happen a lot quicker without you standing here, running your mouth,” Archer says, pointing to the front of the cabin sternly. “Leave.”

“Ah-ah. It’s cool, Arch, I get it. You had good reason for playing hooky from work. So many things you could get up to here in this beautiful place,” Patton muses. “So many… opportunities. With honey, too. I wonder how it tastes when you lick it off someone’s skin?”

“Patton.” His blue eyes flare like gas flames.

“It’s amazing stuff, if you’d stop being so buttoned down and—”

Archer takes a swing.

Patton ducks so smoothly I almost gasp, not even taking his hands out of his pockets. It’s rare to see Archer so flustered, and I watch as he glowers at his brother.

“Why are you still here spreading misery, you fuck?” Archer growls.

“Because. I wanted to see you, dear brother.”

“You have proof of life. Now get your ass moving.”

Patton winks at me. “Have you seen his ugly side? If not, I’m doing you a favor. Run while you can.”

“Patton, I will beat your ass.”

Laughter spills out of me as I brush my unruly hair back from my face. “It was nice to meet one of his brothers, Patton.”

“Wow, she remembers my name. None of the Mr. Rory crap most people go with. I like her,” Patton says, chuckling at how Archer grits his teeth audibly. “By the way, Arch, you better clear some space in your very busy calendar for Mom. Because when she finds out you’re dating a beekeeper, you won’t live it down.”

I’m actually worried.

Archer looks like he’s about to blow a blood vessel in his head.

So with another smile and a wave—Patton is almost offensively charming and so different from Archer it’s weird how similar they look—the younger brother leaves.

“Sorry you had to suffer his crap.” Archer grabs his shirt and mops his red face with it. “Pat never learned how to pick up on subtlety. Or a brick to the face.”

“Lucky he has you,” I tease, “seeing as you’re so good at subtl—I mean, bricks to the face.”

He smiles, but his gaze lingers on Patton walking away, and I know he’s thinking about what his brother said.

Dating.

Holy Mother of God, he said dating.

And I’m not sure if we’ll ever live it down, if he even decides to acknowledge the insane truth at all.