But when Nell buttoned the first button, it fastened easily. And so did the next. And the next.
She wished she had a mirror. But even without one, she knew the front of the dress was too low cut for her plain beige bra, so she quickly pulled that off, too. She yanked the elastic band out of her hair and raked her fingers through it with one hand while she began the task of rebuttoning with the other.
She heard the door open behind her and automatically took a few steps away so Delia could enter. “I can’t believe it fits.” She was bent forward a little in order to reach the bottom buttons near the thigh-length hem. “When you said you’re never wrong, you meant it.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
She whirled, then nearly tripped herself on the unfamiliarly high heels.
“Whoa there, Nelly.” Archer’s eyes were glinting as he caught her shoulders, steadying her before she landed against him. His green gaze ran over her from head to toe, leaving her feeling extremely flushed in all the parts in between. “Whoa there, Nelly,” he repeated, a lot more softly.
Her breath felt so uneven, she might well have just run up and down a few flights of stairs. With the additional height of the heels came a brand-new vantage point on Archer’s face. Her eyes were almost level with his. “I thought you were Delia.”
His fingers tightened against her shoulders. “As you can see—” his gaze dropped for a moment and her lips tingled “—not so much. I recognize her influence, though. You look...different.”
A warmth centered somewhere in her midriff began spreading. Upward. Downward. The lining of the dress felt cool and slick against her skin. Her bare breasts. It wasn’t a familiar sensation. But it was one worth savoring. Particularly when he was looking at her the way he was.
She moistened her lips, knowing the answer even before she asked, but wanting to hear him say it anyway. “Good different or bad different?”
“What do you think?”
She thought that not sleeping on the cleanest sheets in his house the night before was one of the biggest mistakes she’d ever made. Bigger than any mistake she’d feared she’d make by doing so.
She leaned two inches closer and pressed her mouth to his.
She felt the fast breath he drew. Felt his hands go from her shoulders, down her arms, then up her hips to her waist. Pulling her closer while memories and sensation exploded inside her cells and he angled his head, deepening the kiss that went on and on and on.
She felt his hair sliding through her fingers. Cool. Slick. Felt the brush of his cheek against hers as his head dipped and he kissed her jaw. Warm. Rasping. Felt the linen weave of his shirt when she ran her palms down his chest. Crisp. Hot.
Her head was heavy on her neck and her fingers found purchase in one of his denim belt loops as she lowered her head over him and his head dipped even farther.
He kissed the pulse raging in her throat, the valley of skin just above the low-cut first button of her borrowed dress. His hands cupped her breasts through the fabric and she couldn’t stop the moan rising in her throat. A moan that was his name. “Archer.”
His mouth trailed fire up to her mouth again. “Cornelia,” he whispered and kissed her again and she felt his fingers tangling in her hair and her mind simply blanked out anything other than him. Other than the warmth of him. The taste. The scent. The wonderful, wonderful feel of him. Again when it had been so, so very long—
Then she felt the hard, cold surface of her desk beneath her and sanity reared its head.
Vivian’s cocktail party was waiting.
She couldn’t be doing this with Vivian’s grandson! Not when there were probably guests already driving up to the house. When Montrose was hopefully putting aside his arrogant sneer as he showed the guests to the patio and the not-quite-ostentatious flowers and maybe, maybe some food—
“Wait, wait.” Gasping, she grabbed for Archer’s hands.
And realized with a start that was fueled far more by thrill than dismay that those hands were on her skin.
Her bare skin.
Her borrowed dress was gone altogether. His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging loosely off his broad shoulders, his jeans undone.
When had that happened?
“Archer,” she tried again. And then gasped because his hand was sliding over her, finding her center right through her panties. She was so wet and so empty and had been for so long, that instead of reason, she embraced the insanity. She held his hand even tighter against her as she shuddered and tried to bite back her cry while his breath sounded even rougher against her ear as he urged her on.
But even as pleasure racked her, it wasn’t enough.
Not giving a thought to anything else, she kicked off her panties and slid her legs along his hips, dragging him closer, wrapping her hand around him. Thrilling at the hard, pulsing heat of him.
“Now,” she managed throatily. Begging. Demanding.
Either way it didn’t matter, because he was there, there where she needed, pressing, filling, and she surrounded him with her legs and her arms. His mouth was open against her throat, his breath just as ragged as hers, her name just as much a groan on his lips.
“So long.” His voice was a deep growl that stroked over her nerves as surely as he stroked her so deeply inside. “Too long.”
Then she was beyond hearing anything because he was at the core of the world tightening inside her, tightening until there was no more room to give and every cell she possessed exploded outward in shimmering, brilliant perfection.
Afterward, she didn’t know how long she lay there on her desk, Archer’s head against her breast while their panting breaths finally quieted. While the bells inside
