“Don’t turn around,” he whispered against her skin, one hand sliding down her arm to find her hand again.
“I won’t,” she promised, her voice unsteady.
Archer continued his careful exploration, kisses trailing along the edge of her jaw, her shoulder, the sensitive spot where her neck met her collarbone. Always maintaining the angle that kept his face hidden from her view, even if she were to turn.
Morgan’s breathing quickened, her head tilting to give him better access. “This isn’t fair,” she murmured. “I can’t touch you back.”
“You can,” he said, guiding her hand up and behind her to the back of his neck. “Just keep facing forward.”
Her fingers trailed over his shoulders, only to come back to grasp the back of his head, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Archer..."
The way she said his name—breathless, wanting—nearly undid his resolve. It would be so easy to turn her around, to let her see him, to take this further. But that would mean crossing a line he wasn’t sure they were ready to cross. If she knew who he was, got involved with him without knowing what it would look like day to day to keep her safe, she could feel stifled, and he never wanted that for her.
With a groan of frustration that surprised them both, Archer rested his head on her shoulder so he could regain his composure. “I should put my helmet back on.”
Morgan remained facing forward, her shoulders rising and falling with each unsteady breath. “Okay.”
He quickly secured the helmet in place. “You can turn around now.”
When she did, her eyes were darker than usual, her cheeks flushed. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, the tension between them nearly tangible.
“That was..." she began.
“A mistake?” he offered, suddenly uncertain.
“No,” Morgan said firmly. “That was the most erotic experience of my life, and we still have our clothes on.”
A laugh escaped him, releasing some of the tension. “You have a way of making even the most awkward situations feel... right.”
“Is that what this is to you?” she asked. “An awkward situation?”
“No,” Archer said, reaching for her hand again. “This is the most real thing in my life right now.”
The admission cost him something to make, but her smile was worth it.
“Stay?” she asked. “Just to sleep. I’m not... I mean, I don’t expect..."
“I know,” he assured her. “And I want to. But I can’t. Not tonight.”
Disappointment flickered across her face, quickly masked. “Early meeting tomorrow?”
“Something like that.” In truth, spending the night would mean either sleeping in his helmet—ridiculous and uncomfortable—or risking her seeing his face while he slept. Neither was an option.
“Another time, maybe,” she said, squeezing his hand in understanding.
“Definitely.”
As the evening wound down, Archer found himself reluctant to leave. This small apartment with its mismatched furniture and personal touches felt more like home than his luxury penthouse ever had.
At the door, Morgan wrapped him in a hug he eagerly returned before she rose on tiptoes to press a kiss to where his lips would be behind the helmet. “Thank you for coming tonight.”
“Thank you for cooking,” he replied, fighting the urge to take her in his arms again. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“I’d like that.”
As he made his way back to his bike and rode home through the city streets, Archer was struck by the absurdity of his situation. He was one of the most powerful men in the business world, with resources and influence beyond most people’s comprehension. Yet he was skulking around in a motorcycle helmet, hiding his face from a woman he was increasingly certain he was falling for.
And to complicate matters further, her employer was now the subject of what his VP had called “urgent findings”—findings that might affect her livelihood and their relationship.
