Accidentally on Purpose Read online

  “What are you smiling about?”

  Shit, the man moved like smoke. She jerked and opened her eyes to find him crouched in front of her. He set a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table.

  “You’re not wearing an apron,” she murmured.

  With a frown, he palmed her forehead.

  “I’m not sick,” she managed with a low laugh and pushed his hand—the one that felt far too good on her skin—away from her.

  He didn’t budge. “Talk to me, Elle.”

  She blew out a breath. “I’m not ready to talk to you.” She picked up the remote on the coffee table and aimed it at the biggest TV she’d ever seen.

  It came on, the volume up high, the screen flashing through channels so fast it made her dizzy. “I think I just launched a lunar module, but I’m not sure.”

  He reached over and turned it off. “You’re exhausted. You need sleep but there’s no sense in trying to go to bed when you’re this pissed off. Let it all out, Elle. You’re . . . late?”

  “Only a single day. It’s nothing.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off her. “So you’ve been late before?”

  “No,” she admitted. Normally she was so regular she could be a calendar. “It’s probably stress.”

  His gaze held hers. “But maybe not.”

  “I’m on the pill,” she reminded him.

  “Not foolproof.”

  “It’s too early to worry,” she said, “it’s highly unlikely I’m . . .” She couldn’t even say the word.

  He put his hand over one of hers and linked their fingers. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.”

  We. At that one single word, her throat went tight. Not a you. Or an I. They were a we. They couldn’t get along to save their lives, he was bossy and manipulating and controlling and alpha, and he drove her crazy.

  But that we . . . That we definitely staggered her.

  “You hear me past that stubborn, beautiful brain of yours, right?” He squeezed her fingers. “You’re not alone in this, Elle.”

  She couldn’t speak. She was completely undone.

  He gave her a minute. Or hell, maybe he needed a minute too. Finally she found her voice. “I’m not pregnant.”

  “You mean you don’t want to be pregnant.”

  Right. That.

  Chapter 18

  #ThereIsntAnEmojiForThis

  Archer watched Elle rise to her feet and pace his living room a few times, muttering to herself, something with a lot of pronouns like you and me and we. She was making no sense at all but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Which was easy enough to do because he was completely thrown for a loop.

  She could be pregnant with his baby. He needed to sit down more than a little but instead he locked his legs into place and waited her out.

  Finally she turned to him. “What did you mean, we’ll deal with it? You don’t want children any more than I do.”

  “Things change.”

  She stared at him and then turned to continue her pacing. Then suddenly she stopped, standing in the middle of his living room, body language tense, blonde hair pulled back from her face, twisted in some fancy do that made her look like a goddess.

  One pissed-off goddess who he absolutely wouldn’t mind having his baby.

  “Are you actually telling me you’d want kids?” she asked in disbelief. “And be careful here, Archer, because you’ve very purposely perpetuated the image of impenetrable badass. You’re an island and you don’t need anyone, you never have. In fact, it’s taken you by my calculations eleven years to want . . .”

  “A relationship,” he supplied helpfully.

  “Yes,” she said. “That. Eleven years, Archer. So I’m not sure how I’m supposed to believe that you see yourself with a white picket fence, the same woman every night, and . . .” She appeared to struggle for what might be worse than a white picket fence and the same woman every night. “And a tricycle in the front yard!” she came up with triumphantly. “Because honestly, you just don’t fit the profile.”

  He realized he was going to have to give her something to get anything in return. “I agree,” he said. “I’ve led the life I’ve wanted and it’s been a selfish lifestyle, not leaving much room for a relationship.”

  “Convenient.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “It has been. When I left the force, I did so with the knowledge that I’d be walking the line between right and legal. I also knew I’d be cutting myself off from a family who wouldn’t understand what I was doing, or why. I did it knowing I’d be alone because I couldn’t ask anyone else to get on board with it all, and I was good with that.”

  She stared at him. “But . . . ? Because I sense a big one.”

  “But,” he said, “although I would’ve sworn that everything in my life was just as I wanted it . . . something’s been missing.”

  She hadn’t blinked. Hell, he wasn’t sure she was breathing. “I’m not ready for this conversation. I’m still mad at you. If you want to discuss that, I’m totally game.”

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  “You’ve been meddling in my life this whole time, keeping tabs on me like I was your responsibility.”

  “The college thing doesn’t count,” he said.

  She stilled and the room temperature dropped twenty degrees. “What?” she asked very quietly.

  Oh shit. “What?” he repeated, taking a step back, both mentally and physically. “You know what? It’s late. You’re tired. So am I. We’ll just circle back to this another time—”

  She picked up a pillow from the couch and chucked it at his head with deadly accuracy.

  His own fault. He’d been teaching her all year how to play darts in the pub and she was a quick learner.

  “You got me my job and into college?” she asked in an outside voice.

  Note to self: never speak first. “I wrote a letter of recommendation,” he said. “That’s all. I knew someone on the admission committee.”

  She stared at him for a full minute and then backed to the couch and sat. She blindly reached out for another pillow and he stepped toward her, intending to grab it and ward off another attack but she pressed it to her stomach and huddled into herself a little.

  Blowing out a breath, he sank next to her. “You weren’t given any breaks growing up. I hated that for you. Everything I did, I only wanted to help.”

  “Helping would have been calling me and asking if I wanted the assist,” she said. “Instead you’ve been acting like a puppet master, directing my life. I hate that, Archer.”

  He took the pillow from her and put his hands on her arms, turning her to face him. “I’m not a puppet master. I didn’t direct you in any way. I just . . .” He shook his head. “Gave you a helping hand when you needed one.”

  “But it wasn’t help I wanted from you. I wanted—”

  “What?” he asked when she broke off. “You wanted what from me?” Say it . . .

  But she only shook her head.

  He sighed. “Look, you didn’t need my help. But you had no one else. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. And protected.”

  “Because that’s what you do, right?” she asked. “You keep people safe and protected.”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, not sure they were having the same conversation.

  She shook her head. “See, that makes me a job to you. And that’s the one thing I never wanted to be, Archer.”

  He stepped into her path, pulling her in until they were toe-to-toe. “I need you to listen to me,” he said. “Can you do that?”

  “Depends on the level of bullshit you’re going to try and feed me.”

  A rough laugh escaped him and he dropped his forehead to hers, taking it as a very good sign when she didn’t try to knee him in the ’nads or gouge his eyes out. “No bullshit,” he said quietly, willing her to really hear him. Risking his life, he stepped even closer because the only thing he had going for him was their sheer physical chemistry. And yeah, he w