contact.
“Dance?”
She sharply looked back at him, cocking a brow. “You’re seriously looking for trouble in here tonight, aren’t you?”
Archer gave her a half-shrug, eyes glittering with mischief. “Well, darlin’, maybe I want to see you blush some more.” He extended his hand across the table to her.
While she didn’t sense anyone in the bar looking at them right then, she knew they would the moment they stood to dance. Trouble was spelled all over Devin Archer’s face, but even then she had to remind herself she was only here to observe him because everyone thought he was a killer. Her stomach flipped at the thought, at remembering crime scene details and everything she’d read that day. He didn’t look like a killer, but then she supposed killers never did.
It likely wouldn’t be long until he figured out who she was, that she was friends with Adam. She might as well keep up the charade in the meantime.
Tash accepted his hand, her fingers lacing with his. Electricity seemed to rush through the skin-to-skin contact, a giddy thrill alighting her veins. On its heels was shame, knowing that no matter how she tried to keep a clear head, prior to learning who he was she’d felt a strong attraction to him.
They both rose and his grip on her hand remained firm, almost demanding. There wasn’t a formal place to dance in Eight’s; the few times she’d been in there, she’d never actually seen anyone take to the floor. It could’ve been that men outnumbered women in there, and it wasn’t the sort of place where a pair of guys got cuddly. With nowhere in particular to go, Archer merely took a few steps from the table and tugged her to him, simultaneously demanding and playful.
Her breath caught as his arm came around her and free hand settled low on her hip. Her other hand he raised, fingers still twined together, and rested it against his chest. She reached up, tentatively putting her other hand on his shoulder, and leaned close as they began to move.
His scent enveloped her, the spice of an aftershave mixed with a hint of tobacco. The weight of his hand on her hip kept her nearly pinned to him, trapped. And if she hadn’t heard his name yet, she would’ve welcomed it, yielded to him. But as it was, all eyes in the bar were on them again and there was no getting away from precisely who this man was.
Archer’s dark blue eyes were steady on hers, intense and difficult to look away from. Heat rushed through her cheeks again and his lips lifted slightly—he certainly did enjoy her blush, as promised. She struggled to find something to say, to break the silence between them and relieve the heated tension wrapping around their bodies, but came up with nothing.
His hand on her hip tightened, thumb tracing circles just above the waistband of her jeans, beneath her tank top. Warmth spread through her at the contact and she clamped her mouth closed to prevent a gasp from escaping. It was just built up hormones and sexual tension, that was all. She didn’t date anymore and wasn’t into one night stands; it was very, very rare anyone got this close to her. Especially looking at her the way Archer was, his eyes heavy-lidded and glassy with want. And all the rational thoughts she’d been pushing to the forefront of her mind faded completely.
A shadow cut across her peripheral vision. Tash looked up and to the right, as did Archer, at the burly man in a plaid shirt standing beside them. He had to be at least six-four and had arms like tree trunks.
Tash tensed, her grip tightening on Archer involuntarily.
Archer, however, was entirely relaxed, as if he either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the violence humming in the air around the intruder. “Can I help you?”
“You can get the hell out of here,” the guy growled.
Like the killer he supposedly was, Archer looked unfazed by the threat implicit in the other man’s voice. But he slowed their dancing and his jaw twitched, anger clearly
“Dance?”
She sharply looked back at him, cocking a brow. “You’re seriously looking for trouble in here tonight, aren’t you?”
Archer gave her a half-shrug, eyes glittering with mischief. “Well, darlin’, maybe I want to see you blush some more.” He extended his hand across the table to her.
While she didn’t sense anyone in the bar looking at them right then, she knew they would the moment they stood to dance. Trouble was spelled all over Devin Archer’s face, but even then she had to remind herself she was only here to observe him because everyone thought he was a killer. Her stomach flipped at the thought, at remembering crime scene details and everything she’d read that day. He didn’t look like a killer, but then she supposed killers never did.
It likely wouldn’t be long until he figured out who she was, that she was friends with Adam. She might as well keep up the charade in the meantime.
Tash accepted his hand, her fingers lacing with his. Electricity seemed to rush through the skin-to-skin contact, a giddy thrill alighting her veins. On its heels was shame, knowing that no matter how she tried to keep a clear head, prior to learning who he was she’d felt a strong attraction to him.
They both rose and his grip on her hand remained firm, almost demanding. There wasn’t a formal place to dance in Eight’s; the few times she’d been in there, she’d never actually seen anyone take to the floor. It could’ve been that men outnumbered women in there, and it wasn’t the sort of place where a pair of guys got cuddly. With nowhere in particular to go, Archer merely took a few steps from the table and tugged her to him, simultaneously demanding and playful.
Her breath caught as his arm came around her and free hand settled low on her hip. Her other hand he raised, fingers still twined together, and rested it against his chest. She reached up, tentatively putting her other hand on his shoulder, and leaned close as they began to move.
His scent enveloped her, the spice of an aftershave mixed with a hint of tobacco. The weight of his hand on her hip kept her nearly pinned to him, trapped. And if she hadn’t heard his name yet, she would’ve welcomed it, yielded to him. But as it was, all eyes in the bar were on them again and there was no getting away from precisely who this man was.
Archer’s dark blue eyes were steady on hers, intense and difficult to look away from. Heat rushed through her cheeks again and his lips lifted slightly—he certainly did enjoy her blush, as promised. She struggled to find something to say, to break the silence between them and relieve the heated tension wrapping around their bodies, but came up with nothing.
His hand on her hip tightened, thumb tracing circles just above the waistband of her jeans, beneath her tank top. Warmth spread through her at the contact and she clamped her mouth closed to prevent a gasp from escaping. It was just built up hormones and sexual tension, that was all. She didn’t date anymore and wasn’t into one night stands; it was very, very rare anyone got this close to her. Especially looking at her the way Archer was, his eyes heavy-lidded and glassy with want. And all the rational thoughts she’d been pushing to the forefront of her mind faded completely.
A shadow cut across her peripheral vision. Tash looked up and to the right, as did Archer, at the burly man in a plaid shirt standing beside them. He had to be at least six-four and had arms like tree trunks.
Tash tensed, her grip tightening on Archer involuntarily.
Archer, however, was entirely relaxed, as if he either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the violence humming in the air around the intruder. “Can I help you?”
“You can get the hell out of here,” the guy growled.
Like the killer he supposedly was, Archer looked unfazed by the threat implicit in the other man’s voice. But he slowed their dancing and his jaw twitched, anger clearly
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