Page 133 of Grumpy Billionaire Bad Boy

"It's fine," I say. "Archer's going in my direction anyway. Thanks, though." I reach toward Blake, patting his shoulder. "I appreciate it." It's not lost on me that Archer's jaw tenses at witnessing me touch Blake, but he maintains his composure, probably because I admitted I'd leave with him.

"Are you sure?" Blake asks me, his eyes staring into mine, something so dangerous and unsettling about his gaze.

"I'm sure," I lie, not being sure of anything at all, especially right now, with Archer hovering like he's going to kill anyone who even looks in my direction.

With a final sigh, Blake decides he doesn't want to take things further tonight and leaves me and Archer behind, my chest tightening at being this close, this alone with him. I rub my arms and avoid Archer as if he might disappear if I don't settle right on him.

He unzips his hoodie, sliding it off and revealing a black t-shirt and his tattooed arms. Archer doesn't even bother asking for my permission as he drapes it over my shoulders and shoves each of my hands through the sleeves.

I don't fight him because I am cold, and there's something about the way the fabric is still warm from his skin that does something to me.

Archer chuckles, almost to himself, but it’s enough I can hear it.

“What’s so funny?” I ask him.

“Nothing.”

“No, what is it? Share it with the class.”

Archer’s jaw tenses and he speaks, “You ruined my birthday.”

“What?”

“Today, it’s my birthday. I told you, you could ruin it, you know, since I ruined yours. And you did without even realizing it. It’s just kind of funny.”

“Oh,” I say. “I, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Archer pauses. "Come on," he tells me, putting his hand on my back, but not too low, and guiding me back in the direction we came.

I stop, his feet coming to a halt, too.

"What is it?" he asks, his tone the softest it's been all night.

"I don't want to go home with you," I admit.

"You're not going homewithme, London. I'm taking you home. There's a difference."

I continue walking, each of the photographers dropping their cameras upon our approach, Archer shooting each of them a threatening glance. We reach a motorcycle and that's when it hits me that Archer got here so quickly because he was on his stupid bike.

"I'm not getting on that thing, it's a deathtrap," I protest.

"You don't have a choice, London."

"I always have a choice, Archer."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Archer runs his hand through his long hair and grabs the helmet off the hook in the back, releasing it and spreading the straps wide. "I'm going to put this on your head, little tornado, and then I'm going to take you home. Okay?"

I motion at my dress. "Not in this. It'll get ruined."

"I'll buy you another one."

"There's only a few of them made."

"Five," Archer corrects me. "I'll buy the other four if it really matters to you."

"Fine. Put the damn helmet on." I stare at him as he does. "You should wear one of these, though. It's not fair that I have to and you don't."

"Would it make you feel better if I wore one?"

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