Page 19 of Beautiful Thing

I smash my lips together. I suck at lying.

His dark eyes catch fire. “I swear to god, if he touches you or Sky—”

“Archer, please,” I beg. “We’re okay. I promise.”

The big, growly man lets out a rough exhale. “Okay. I need to cool down. I’m gonna go take a quick shower.”

He sets the bags on the kitchen counter and disappears down the hall. It’s so quiet in the house, I swear I can hear the shower turn on a moment later.

My mind turns dark, giving me a play by play of what might be unfolding behind his bathroom wall.

I imagine Archer, muscles rippling as he strips out of that flannel shirt and those jeans that hug his perfect ass so well. I imagine him getting under the spray of the shower and I imagine the soap suds sluicing down his tan, muscle-cut body. I imagine him reaching down to wrap his massive hand around his long, hard—

Oh my god, Layla!

Needing to redirect my thoughts, I immediately abandon my rental search and I busy myself with washing all of the fresh produce and organizing it inside the fridge.

After cleaning up the kitchen, I collapse against the sink, feeling depleted and munching on the rest of Sky’s leftover snacks from the day. That’s when Archer comes back in, fresh from the shower.

I have to avoid breathing out of my nose to stop from smelling his delicious scent. He smells clean and wintery. Yup—pine cones and crisp mountain air.

He stands in front of the open fridge, peering inside. “What did you have for dinner?”

I stop mid-chew. “Um…grapes.”

He pins me with a glare over his wide back. “Grapes and what?”

I cringe. “Grapes and good intentions?”

Archer turns around and growls at me.Like a damn animal.

“Hey, I was really busy running around after Sky all day,” I argue in my own defense.

He ignores my excuses, taking me by the shoulders and gently steering me back into the living room.

“Sit,” he commands.

I do. I don’t even argue. I just drop down on the couch, letting the plush velour cushions absorb my sagging body.

I also don’t put up a fight when Archer takes my feet and lifts them up onto the coffee table. The big, scowly man then sets a crossword puzzle book and theTV remote into my hands.

“Don’t move,” he orders me.

Following him with my eyes, I lurch forward in my seat. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t. Move,” he repeats simply.

I roll my eyes, torn between fighting a smile and just being plain turned on.

When Archer disappears back into the kitchen, my mind wanders, fantasizing about the man and his protectiveness. It’s not just today. For years, he’s been vigilant about watching over me. He probably thought he was being subtle about it all this time. But I saw everything. I always see Archer.

Yet again, I’m tempted to consider what his actions mean. To read more into it than what it really is. But I cut those thoughts off immediately, because I know the guy is not interested in me. Not like that. It’s just his military background sneaking in and taking over.

Archer Brighton is protective of everyone in his circle. And I’m only in that circle because of my friendship with his little sister.

My gut sinks every time the reminder hits me. Archer only acts like this because he thinks ofmeas a sister, too.

With a sigh, I turn my attention to his puzzle book, slowly flipping through the dog-eared pages. I hear pots and cabinet doors banging around in the kitchen. I also catch an occasional swear word. But not even thirty minutes later, Archer is back, handing me a steaming plate of delicious-smelling beef and broccoli stir-fry.

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