“Special forces training included basic medical knowledge. Pressure points, circulation, muscle groups.”
“They taught you to give foot massages in the military?” she asked skeptically, eyes still closed.
“Not exactly,” he admitted. “But the principles are transferable.”
Within minutes, Morgan was boneless and half-asleep, her body completely relaxed under his care. Archer continued his gentle ministrations until her breathing deepened into the even rhythm of sleep.
He carefully shifted from beneath her, then gathered her into his arms. She stirred slightly, nestling her face against his chest as he carried her toward the bedroom.
“Mmm, what’re you doing?” she mumbled against his skin.
“Taking you to bed,” he answered softly. “You’re falling asleep.”
“You could stay,” she suggested, her voice thick with sleep.
Archer’s steps faltered momentarily as desire coursed through him. But the very intensity of that desire was a warning sign. This was moving too fast, becoming too important. He couldn’t afford to blur the lines, not when most of his world came with pressure, secrets, and expectations that could crush even the strongest connection. The last thing he wanted was to make her collateral damage in a life she didn’t ask for.
“Not tonight,” he said, making his way to her bedroom and gently maneuvering her to pull down the covers and lay her on the bed. “I have an early meeting tomorrow. But I’d like to see you tomorrow evening, if you’re free.”
“I’ll be free,” she promised, eyes still closed as he pulled the covers over her.
As he tucked her in, Morgan’s eyes fluttered open briefly, focusing on his helmeted head with sleepy affection. She reached up, grabbing his arms and pulling him down into a hug, and he could feel her lips pressing firmly into his chest, directly over his heart before she turned her head and crushed her cheek to his chest, squeezing him tight.
“Thank you for today, for everything. Goodnight, Bullet.”
As he pulled her in tight to his chest, he couldn’t stop the words if he tried. “My first name’s Archer.”
She squeezed tighter, “Goodnight, Archer,” she murmured as she let go and curled under the blankets.
His name on her lips, her kiss burning like a brand over his heart—the combination nearly undid his resolve to leave. “Goodnight, Morgan,” he managed, his voice rougher than intended.
Archer stood watching her for a moment as she drifted back to sleep, her features peaceful in the dim light spilling from the hallway. Then he quietly retrieved and donned his discarded clothing, before letting himself out of the apartment with the practiced silence of his military days, locking the door handle behind him.
As he rode through the darkened city streets toward his penthouse, he felt the phantom warmth of her lips on his chest, as tangible as any of his tattoos. Something was happening between them—something he hadn’t planned for and couldn’t easily categorize.
His business phone vibrated in his pocket. A reminder that tomorrow morning he’d be back in the boardroom, back to being the CEO, back to meetings and decisions and the weight of an empire on his shoulders.
But for now, with the wind rushing past his helmet and the memory of Morgan curled trustingly against him, Archer allowed himself to simply exist in the moment—not quite Bullet, not quite Archer Sullivan, but perhaps something closer to his authentic self than he’d been in years.
That thought was both comforting and terrifying.
In the penthouse elevator, Archer finally checked the message that had interrupted his thoughts. It was from his VP of Operations:
Complete analysis of the last batch of companies came back clear, one of them, Vertex Creative, had a few bidders already. Do we want to move forward with their acquisition or let it go? The decision timeline is accelerated for Vertex as their board meets Thursday to discuss acquisition offers. Your instructions?
The real world, intruding as it always did. Archer stepped into his silent penthouse, the space feeling emptier than usual after the warmth of Morgan’s apartment. He removed his helmet at last, running a hand through his hair as he considered the implications.
Vertex Creative—Morgan’s increasingly frustrating workplace—was apparently in play. Which meant he had decisions to make, and soon. Decisions that would inevitably impact Morgan, whether she knew it or not.
Apparently Vertex had already been on their radar, Kane’s deeper search probably helped find out about the other bidders and earlier deadline before it was scooped out from under them on Thursday.
That was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, as he stood under the hot spray of his shower, he allowed himself to remember the feeling of her fingers tracing his tattoos, her body fitting perfectly in his arms, her lips pressed to his chest in sleepy gratitude.
Whatever complications awaited, Archer knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would see Morgan tomorrow. Everything else was negotiable.
10
Morgan
