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  “What’s wrong, chicken?” a familiar voice asks from behind me and I stiffen my shoulders. Great. I’d know that deep, velvety voice anywhere. Archer Bancroft. The absolute last guy I want to deal with tonight.

  Talk about a Humpty Dumpty type. Archer knows he’s broken and damaged. And he definitely doesn’t want to be put back together again. The twisted part? He likes being that way. He revels in his brokenness.

  No thanks. Even I know my limits. Despite how freaking gorgeous he is, because oh my God, Archer is beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall and broad with a body that’s hard and muscular without being over the top; he’s downright swoon-worthy.

  And he’s my brother’s best friend. I’ve known Archer since I was twelve and he moved in next door with his cold-as-ice parents. I’d developed an immediate crush, because back then he was the most exotic thing I’d ever seen in my never-changing, no-one-ever-moves neighborhood.

  The crush died a swift death when I realized what a player he was. Even at twelve, I could see the ugly truth.

  Smart girls don’t mess around with Archer.

  He trails his finger across my bare shoulder, knocking me from my memories, making me shiver. “You’re looking awfully down during this happy occasion, chicken.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I find him flashing that trademark panty-melting smile at me. I absolutely refuse to let my panties dissolve for even a fraction of a second. “I really wish you wouldn’t call me that,” I say irritably, scowling at him. Calling me chicken twice in as many minutes is a sign he’s trying to drive me crazy.

  What else is new?

  Chuckling, his dark brown eyes flash. It’s not fair how pretty he is. He has that strong jaw and lush mouth. The dimple that makes such a rare appearance that whenever I see it, I immediately want to kiss it. Lick it.

  My frown deepens. I should not be thinking about licking Archer’s face. What the hell is wrong with me? Too much champagne or what?

  More like too much dreaming about being pulled into a dark corner and kissed until you can’t breathe.

  “No, ‘Hi, Archer, how are you?’” He shakes his head, resting his hand on the back of my chair. His knuckles brush against my bare skin and I try to repress the shiver that overtakes me at his casual touch. “And you’re usually so polite.”

  “Archer, cut the shit.” I meet his gaze, watch with satisfaction as the smile falls from his face. Have I ever talked to him like this? Probably not, but I can’t deal. Not tonight. “I’m not in the mood. I’ve had a bad week.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” he says quietly, his eyes full of sympathy. “Sorry about the guy.”

  I’m going to kill my brother for blabbing. Now I feel extra pitiful. Archer probably came over because he felt sorry for me. I saw him talking with Gage and Matthew DeLuca a few minutes ago, though they didn’t notice me. Were they laughing at my yet again failed attempt at finding a decent guy? Probably. Those three have mocked me for years. It’s become habit now. “It’s no big deal. He was a total jerk.”

  “I’d say, for letting you go so easily.”

  Did he really just say that? What did he mean? “Is there something you wanted to talk about?” I’m eager to get rid of him. For whatever reason, with only a few words he’s confusing me tonight and I don’t like it. I’m confused enough, what with my secret wishes for random hookups with hot guys.

  Hot like Archer . . .

  “Yeah, there is.” The smile returns, gentler now, not full of the usual bravado. “Want to dance?”

  “With you?” I’m incredulous. And I want to laugh when I see he’s obviously offended by my question.

  “Yeah, with me. Come on.” He holds out his hand. “Be my shield before some crazy woman tries to drag me out onto the dance floor. They’re circling, chicken. They’re about to jump me if I don’t watch it.”

  He’s right. I can see a few women starting to approach us. Suddenly overcome with the need to let them know that he’s not available, I let him take my hand, his long fingers clasping around mine as he pulls me to my feet. He blatantly checks me out, his gaze running down the length of my body, lingering on my chest, and I simultaneously want to punch him and ask if he likes what he sees.

  Yeah, definitely confusing.

  A woman appears before us, her smile so wide I wonder if it hurts her face. “Hey, you’re Archer Bancroft, right? From Bancroft Hotels? The Hush Resort and Spa?” she asks, her voice falsely bright.

  “I am.” He pulls me closer, releasing my hand so he can wrap his arm around my shoulders in a proprietary way, like he’s claiming me. His thumb rubs circles against my skin, making my breaths come a little faster, and I drop my gaze to the floor, trying to gather my composure. “Have we met before?”

  “Once. Long ago, but I’m sure you don’t remember me.” I glance up and watch as her smile grows. How is that even possible? “I’ve always wanted to go there. To Hush.”

  Hush Resort and Spa. The hotel Archer’s father gave him as some sort of punishment after he barely graduated college. He turned it into one of the most exclusive and successful couples-only resorts in all the country, if not the world. He became white-hot in an instant, in demand. Gorgeous and sexy, intelligent and ruthless, women wanted to do him, men wanted to be him. And the arrogant jackass knew it.

  “I suggest you make a reservation.” His voice is full of irritation. He’s trying to steer us around her but she’s not budging.

  “I can’t. I’m not part of a couple.” She literally bats her eyelashes. “Maybe you could help with that?”

  “I’m sure we could find one of your friends to hook her up with, don’t you think, baby?” I smile up at Archer, sending him a meaningful look so he gets what I’m trying to do. He blinks down at me, no doubt startled by being called baby, which is fun. He’s sort of hot when he’s confused, and it’s hard to frazzle Archer. So I decide to do it some more.

  Leaning up, I nuzzle his neck, inhaling his unique spicy scent. God, he smells amazing. Why have I never noticed this before? Not that we’re ever standing this close together, but I’m tempted to rub against him like a cat.

  I wonder if she’s bought we’re a couple yet. If I have to keep this up I might do something crazy. Like . . . bite him. “I’m sure that could be arranged,” he says, his voice rough as his arm tightens around my shoulders.

  I slip my arm around his back. He’s as solid as a rock. Makes me wonder what he looks like beneath all the finery. I haven’t seen him shirtless since I was in high school, and he’s filled out since then considerably. “If you’ll excuse us,” I tell Miss Persistent with a sickeningly sweet smile before I turn it on Archer. “Let’s go dance, baby.”

  He leads me out onto the dance floor wordlessly, pulling me into his arms just as another slow song starts. His hand rests on the small of my back as we begin to move to the music and my entire body tingles at his nearness. Which is odd because 1. I have no desire to be with Archer like that and 2. I’ve been immune to his charm for years.

  Weird.

  “You’re good, with the ‘baby’ bit and rubbing your nose against my neck,” he murmurs close to my ear. His hot breath makes me shiver and I wonder if he felt it. He had to.

  And I don’t really care. I’m hyperaware of him, of his size and his warmth and the sheer strength of him. His big hand shifts lower on my back, his fingertips grazing my backside, and I inhale sharply. I bet he knows just how to use those hands, too.

  Oh my God, this is Archer you’re drooling over. Stop it!

  “Think she bought our act?” I ask breathlessly.

  “Not sure.” He hesitates for the slightest moment, causing me to look up at him. I’m struck dumb by his smoldering gaze, the way he’s staring at me like he wants to gobble me up. I wonder if I’m returning the same look, because I have the sudden urge to kiss him. For hours, if possible. “But I know I did.”

  Chapter Two

  * * *

  Archer

  WELL, THAT WAS totally
unexpected.

  I’m still reeling, though I’m trying my damnedest to act like she doesn’t affect me whatsoever. All that “It’s just Ivy” talk flew right out the window when I saw the glint of determination in her gaze as she realized she could help me get rid of the clingy woman. How she draped herself all over me and called me baby. Flashing me a sexy, secretive smile as if she knew exactly what I looked like naked and liked it.

  Then she went and nuzzled my neck with her nose, making me so hard I’m still aching with the memory just before she moved away.

  Talk about torture. No wonder I avoid her. Within a few minutes of being near her, I’m sporting wood and plotting how I can get her out of here so I can strip her naked and have my way with her. All night long.

  “You’re teasing me,” she chastises, her pretty hazel eyes watching me carefully as we dance. There aren’t many couples on the floor but the bride and groom are nearby, the lights are dimmed low, and the atmosphere is scarily romantic. “You so didn’t buy into that act. Come on.”

  Fuck, she’s the tease. I’m not sure she gets just how much she affects me. I know she doesn’t. I wonder if she ever thinks of me. Her brother’s best friend, the jerk wad who does nothing but give her a bunch of crap. Knowing her since I was sixteen seems to translate me into my idiot teenage self every time I’m around her. It’s like I can’t help it.

  I’m a grown-ass man worth billions who runs one of the most successful, exclusive resorts in the country and this is what Ivy Emerson reduces me to.

  “I pretty much did buy into it,” I offer with a shrug. Going for nonchalant. “I’m surprised you didn’t take it to the next level. Grab my dick and claim it as yours.”

  A dark brow rose, her lips quirked to the side. Damn, she’s hot, even when she’s irritated. Especially when she’s irritated. “You are so crude.”

  If only she knew the extent of my so-called crudeness. I want her.

  Having her in my arms is not helping my plight, but she’s soft and she smells so damn good I can’t resist her. Her dark hair shines beneath the golden lights and the top of her strapless dress appears fairly easy to tug down if I wanted to do such a thing.

  Not that I do. Not really.

  Liar.

  It’s not just her beauty that does me in though. There’s so much more to Ivy. How she listens to me, how proud she seems to be when I tell her what I’m doing in my career. It’s like she really cares.

  “You’ve always appreciated my blunt honesty,” I assure her, pulling her in just the slightest bit closer as I twirl her around the dance floor. Her breasts brush against my chest, her hand slides over my shoulder, and her touch burns me. Through my suit jacket and shirt, like she’s touching bare flesh, branding me.

  And I want to be branded by her. Despite my reluctance of ever becoming involved with a woman, Ivy’s the only one who I both want to be with and want to run away from.

  Yeah. I make no damn sense.

  “Really? According to whom? When was the last time we had a scintillating conversation, hmm?” She smiles. It’s faint but there, and the sight of it encourages me.

  Plus, she just made the word scintillating sound hot. The woman is either some sort of sex goddess or I’ve turned into a complete pervert. “Maybe we need to renew our friendship. Get to know each other again,” I suggest, trying my best to sound nonchalant.

  “Like you care about getting to know me again.” She rolls her eyes. “We’ve known each other for years. It’s not like you’ve ever shown any sort of interest in me before.”

  “I’ve always been interested, you just never noticed.” I pause, taking in the way her eyes widen the slightest bit. I bet my revelation surprises her. “Every time I see you, Ivy, I remember what you looked like when you were twelve, the first time I met you. All gangly and skinny with braces.” Look at her now. She’s filled out in all the right places and she’s the sexiest woman at this stupid reception.

  “Great. So you see me as an eternal twelve-year-old,” she mutters, curling her lip.

  Shit. I’ve somehow stepped in it with a few choice words. Could I be more of an idiot?

  “I definitely don’t see you as a twelve-year-old,” I murmur, tightening my hold on her hand. “You have to realize that, right?”

  She meets my gaze, her eyes full of wariness, her pouty lips curved in the tiniest frown. “What do you see me as, Archer? Gage’s pain-in-the-ass little sister? The girl you made fun of her freshman year when you were a mighty senior? Remember how you did that?”

  Well hell, is she going to list all of my faults or what? I’m not proud of the way I acted when I was younger. I’d been a self-centered bastard. Some say I still am. “I was a jackass back then,” I mutter.

  “From what I’ve observed, you’re still holding on to some of those jackass tendencies.” Her hazel eyes flash as she lifts her chin in subtle defiance.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Damn, maybe I avoid her because we tend to argue every time we’re around each other. Yet I want her. I’ve wanted her for what feels like forever. But she acts like she despises me. Like my very presence fills her with disgust. No other woman has reacted to me like this—ever. I don’t get it.

  I don’t get her. And I definitely don’t get my attraction to her.

  Glutton for punishment maybe?

  Yeah. I shove that nagging little voice straight to the back of my brain.

  “Forget it.” Her gaze cuts away from mine.

  “Tell me what you’re talking about, Ivy.”

  “Nothing.” She meets my gaze once more. “Drop it, okay?”

  I let her drop it and we dance quietly, the sharks still circling. I can spot at least three women who are contemplating me standing on the edge of the dance floor. Ready to jump on me the moment the song is over.

  I gotta get out of here.

  “Let’s go outside,” I tell Ivy, my gaze trained on one woman in particular who’s vaguely familiar. I swear the groom tried to set me up with her once. We went out to some dinner when Jeff and Cecily were first dating.

  “Are you serious? No way will I go outside with you. You’ll probably try to maul me.”

  That sounds like a fantastic idea but I know she won’t go for it. “Maybe you need a good mauling to get that stick out of your ass.”

  “What did you just say?” She stops dancing so abruptly she nearly trips over my feet, what with those fuck-me high heels she’s wearing.

  Tightening my arm around her waist, I save her from sprawling. “I speak the truth and you know it. You need to loosen up, chicken. No wonder the last guy didn’t stick, what with how uptight you are.” Her eyes widen and her jaw drops open. She looks ready to tear into me and I immediately regret what I said. “Ivy, I’m sorry,” I start, but she cuts me off.

  “Fuck you,” she whispers harshly, shoving at me so I have no choice but to let go of her and watch as she escapes the dance floor.

  A woman swoops in within seconds, the same one Jeff tried to hook me up with long ago. I remember she had stalkerish qualities, what with the way she Googled me prior to going out to dinner. I know it’s the norm nowadays but her admission turned me off. “Archer. It’s so good to see you again. Want to dance?”

  I glance toward the open doors that lead onto the giant terrace. Ivy’s headed straight toward them, her hips swaying, her legs looking incredibly long. She’s gorgeous and sexy as fuck and I said she needed to get the stick out of her ass.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Archer?”

  I turn my attention to the woman who’s looking at me expectantly. I don’t even remember her name. Ivy’s right. I still have plenty of assholeish tendencies and I just unleashed them all over her. “Sorry, I’m going to have to pass. I need to go apologize to a woman.”

  Ivy

  THE MOMENT I’M outside, I take a deep, gulping breath, the cold air filling my lungs, kissing my skin, and making me shiver. I’m angry, but thankfully the air cools m
y heated emotions and I lean against the railing that overlooks the golf course, happy no one else is around. Considering I’m in the farthest corner of the terrace from the open doors of the ballroom, that’s no surprise.

  I still can’t believe what Archer said to me. He is the biggest jerk on the planet, I swear to God. He actually said I have a stick up my ass. I mean, what the hell? Could he hurl any more insults at me? Oh wait, I’m sure he can.

  No wonder I always avoid him. This is what usually happens between Archer and me whenever we spend any time together. I try to be nice. He’s his usual jerky self. I get defensive. He insults me. We argue. We then avoid each other until for whatever reason we’re forced to see each other again.

  We’re like a broken record. No matter what, we can’t get along. He is the most frustrating person I’ve ever met. He drives me crazy. And that I’m in his territory tonight, in Napa Valley where his resort is located—not too far, as a matter of fact—also makes me uneasy. Why, I’m not sure.

  I wish I were back home in San Francisco, in my comfort zone. At my little apartment, where I’d watch a movie while contemplating going to bed early on another exciting Saturday night.

  Frowning, I sigh heavily and hang my head. I’ve turned into this pitiful, dateless creature all in a matter of hours. What confuses me more? That despite our arguing and the constant animosity that brews between Archer and me, I felt something else between us earlier? Something I would never dare contemplate before?

  Sexual attraction.

  Tilting my head back, I drink in the night sky. Away from the city lights, I can actually see the stars and there are a bazillion of them stretched across the night’s velvety blackness. They twinkle at me, full of mystery and hope and opportunity.

  My life is good. I shouldn’t let guys hang it up and make me miserable. Marc is a jerk who happened to be a bad kisser. Archer is an asshole who could probably kiss the pants off of me, but I won’t go there.

  Damn it, I should be happy. I’m working my dream job as an interior designer under one of the best designers in all of San Francisco. I have my own apartment—no more living with my parents, and thankfully no more college roommates. I have great friends and a supportive family. I shouldn’t let this sort of thing bother me.