Page 101 of Grumpy Billionaire Bad Boy

After the very dysfunctional yet entertaining family meal with Archer's siblings, Archer has busied himself on his computer, and has left the apartment a few times, being cryptic in his reasoning for leaving, something no doubt to do with our date tonight.

It's cute to watch him get nervous, and under any other circumstances, I would dive pussy-first right into him, but I can't get past the truth—that I'm the reason the love of his life is dead.

I want to tell him, I really do, I just can't. Not when so many things are uncertain, and I don't have another place to live yet. I can't imagine he'll want me to stay, or even remain in his life at all. I wouldn't.

I shouldn't have given in when he asked me on a date, but Archer is persistent, and a week of him asking me out finally wore me down, along with the speech he gave me earlier. It made me feel things I've never felt, and I hate myself for not being able to control my desires.

I like Archer. He's sexy, intelligent, protective, and incredibly entertaining to annoy. He's loyal to his family, and despite them not being able to get through a meal without fighting, I admirewhat they share. I've never known what family meant, not when my sperm donor did nothing but torture me my entire life, starting with killing my mom. I've never really had close friends, either. It was dangerous, not just for them, but for me, too. My dad hated anyone and everyone, trusted no one, and destroyed every good thing that came near me, because by extension, it could hurt him in some way. He was paranoid, and that paranoia consumed all the good things.

Even in death, I hate him endlessly.

But what worries me more is that someday I might turn out just like him.

I stare in the mirror, applying one final layer of lipstick, and pinch my cheeks for some color. Butterflies stir in my stomach, a strange nervousness consuming me unexpectedly. I live with Archer, and I've spent every day for over a month with him, so why am I anxious all of a sudden?

A soft knock thuds against the door to Archer's bedroom, the same room I've spent all but one night in since I arrived here. Archer has made a home on the couch even though his bed is plenty big enough for us to share. For being a hardened criminal, he sure is a gentleman.

I stand from the vanity Archer had built for me a week ago and smooth out the dress I'm wearing. It's a little black thing I picked up a couple of days back, not knowing where I'd wear it, but once Archer asked me out, I knew exactly why it called to me. The top half is a corset style with beautiful lace, and the bottom is a short, tightly fitted mix of spandex and nylon. It hugs all my curves and is surprisingly comfortable, which is hard to find in women's clothing.

Walking to the door, I swallow down my nerves and hope I don't puke on him when I open the door. I'm not one to get worked up over a date, or a man, and yet here I am, my palmssweating. But the second I lay my sights on him, everything settles, and my heart skips a beat.

"Hi," he says, his eyes lit up unlike any other time I've seen him.

"Hi." I take him in, his black slacks, his short-sleeved black button-up, a few of them undone at the top, revealing his tattooed chest. I would jump him right now if I lacked self-control, but unfortunately, I'm a bit more reserved than that. "You clean up nice," I tell him.

"And you look radiant as always." Archer holds out his hand. "Shall we?"

I slip my fingers into his palm, ignoring the heat of our touch and letting him guide me out of the room. I don't bring my purse, or my phone, because tonight is about him, about us, and I don't want any distractions, especially knowing this might be our only time together. I can't let things go past tonight; I have to draw the line there. I'll make up some excuse as to why things can't work and insist we have to go back to being friends, no matter how difficult that may be. If he knew the truth, he'd never want to date me, and since I'm not willing to confess, I must put that boundary in place for both of us.

Archer leads me to the front door, opens it, and motions for me to step out. He places his hand on my lower back and I remind myself to keep my fucking cool. Ever since we hooked up at the restaurant, I haven't been able to get the thought of his hands on my body out of my mind. I want him, all of him, so badly it hurts.

We walk in silence, my heels clicking on the hallway floor, on our way to the elevator. He pushes the button, it dings a long second later, and we step inside, the space around us pulsing with tension.

“What happened to you not trusting elevators?” I ask him.

“It didn’t change, but I’m trying to be romantic, and making you walk up a few flights of stairs isn’t exactly romantic.”

The doors close and I fight the urge to be closer to him than I already am.

"It's taking everything in me not to kiss you right now." He stares forward, his eyes meeting mine in the reflection on the elevator door.

"Why don't you?"

"Because this is our first date. I'm supposed to wait until the end to kiss you."

"Such a rule follower…" I tug my bottom lip into my mouth. "Tell me what you would do."

Archer's jaw tenses before he turns toward me, his hand on my waist as he moves me back, against the wall of the elevator. "First, I'd touch you here." He skims his fingers along my cheek, not quite making contact. Archer leans in close. "I'd pull your body toward me, like this." Swiftly, he tugs me into him, our bodies melting into one another, the desire palpable. "I'd run my nose over yours." He does exactly what he says, his mouth just a breath away from mine. He whispers, our lips almost touching, "And I'd kiss you until you went weak in the knees."

The elevator dings, and neither of us moves as the door opens. Our eyes dart back and forth, daring the other to make the move, to do everything he just said.

But instead, Archer softly kisses my cheek and steps back, air filling the space between us. "Something like that, maybe." He winks at me and I die a little inside at knowing this is temporary, that it can't last. Why does this have to feel like more than a visceral attraction? Why do I want the one man that I can't have? And why does he have to be so fucking hot?

"Yeah, something like that would work." I kick off from where I was leaning and exit the elevator.

Archer takes my hand, my fingers fitting perfectly in his, and escorts me down the hall, to a doorway for stairs. We go up those and are met by a solid door that leads onto the rooftop of his apartment complex.

My eyes go wide as I take in the string lights covering the entire space and the candlelit table with an ice bucket and a bottle in it.

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