A Candidate For The Kiss Page 6

  Archer reached up into his back pocket and pulled out the handcuff key, then freed her wrists. Leaving the metal bracelets still lashed to the canopy, Dana lowered her stiffened arms with a groan.

  "You okay?" He lifted her hands in both of his to examine her wrists anxiously. "They're bruised. I'm sorry, I didn't think I had them that tight."

  "You didn't." She felt herself blush. "I seem to remember pulling on them pretty hard, there at the end."

  Archer ducked down to bring one arm up under her thighs, sweeping her into his arms.

  Dana giggled as he stepped around the bed with her. "What is this thing you've got with carrying me?"

  "It's all part of the service." He bent down, caught the navy coverlet with the hand under her knees, and flipped it back out of the way before laying her down on the cool cream sheets. "Masterful Vampires 'R' Us."

  Sitting down beside her, he went to work massaging her aching arms. Dana sighed under his strong fingers. "God, I'm tired. You wore me out."

  "You've had a busy night—spying on white supremacists, getting busted by a vampire federal agent, then driving him right up the wall with lust. Anybody'd be tired."

  She grinned and let her eyes slip closed. Just for a minute. It was the last thing she knew for hours.

  Archer woke curled possessively around Dana's lush little body. He lay there for a moment, allowing himself to savor the sensation of her warm curves nestled against him. From the sound of her breathing and heartbeat, she was still asleep. He lifted his head to

  look into her profile, at the long fan of her lashes against her cheek, that silly nose, the full, rosy lips slightly parted.

  He had a sudden mental image of sliding his cock into that carnal mouth, maybe while she was on her knees with her hands bound between her legs, her fingers stroking her hard little clit...

  Jesus, Archer thought as his erection stiffened into a spike, where had that come from? He didn't even have bondage fantasies anymore, not after all the times he'd played those scenes in reality.

  But only one of them had been with Dana. And he wanted more of her. Much more. Every way he could think of.

  Right now.

  Archer started to reach for Dana, then hesitated. He'd taken her pretty hard last night. She'd probably be sore. Despite his rapacious hunger, he didn't want to hurt her.

  He wondered how long they'd been asleep, and threw a calculating look at the window. The curtains were heavy navy velvet, but there was enough light creeping around the edges to tell him the sun was up. Well up, judging from the clock on the bureau and the "3:45 p.m." glowing on its face.

  Archer glanced back at Dana. His gaze caught on her long, slim back as she lay on her side, and followed the curve of her spine down to the tempting mounds of her ass. He thought of another way to take her—draped belly down over a mound of pillows, her wrists tied together at the small of her back...

  Breakfast. It was time to fix her breakfast, or she'd be breakfast.

  Archer flipped the covers aside and rolled to his feet before stalking, naked, in search of a clean pair of jeans. No shirt, she liked him without a shirt. Almost as much as he liked her wearing nothing at all.

  Archer had started work on a batch of crepes when the phone rang. He let go of the whisk to scoop the handset to his ear. "Hello"

  "What's this about some new vampire?" Richard Fleming had never been one for pleasantries.

  Sandwiching the phone between his head and shoulder, Archer went back to whipping the batter. "Her name is Dana Ivory, Fleming, and she's not a vampire. She's a candidate for the Kiss, that's all. I've put Fitz to doing a background check on her."

  Fleming snorted. "Who gives a damn about a fucking background check? I want to know what you think. A background check can be fooled, but nobody lies successfully to Gabriel Archer—and God knows, I've tried."

  He had, too. Fleming was a dyed in the wool ex-Cold War spook who firmly believed in not telling anybody a damn thing they didn't have good reason to know. It had taken Archer years to break his superior of the habit of automatically lying to him about anything and everything. But the effort had been worth it. Fleming was damn good at covert ops, and after his years in the intelligence community, he was an invaluable resource. Which was why Archer had recruited him away from the CIA to begin with.

  "So what do you think of this girl?" Fleming demanded.

  I think she's hot as hell and I want to keep her tied to the bed for at least a decade. Instead Archer said, "She's intelligent, and she's got nerve..."

  "Huh. Yeah, setting up in that treehouse to spy on those assholes took either nerve or no sense of self-preservation. Which ain't necessarily a bad thing in an agent."

  "It's practically a requirement," Archer, agreed, grinning. "But other than that, I don't know enough about her yet to make a decision. I need to find out more."

  Fleming cracked out a nasty laugh. "And judging from the photos on my desk, I'll bet research is a ball. God, what tits."

  "And which photos are these?" Archer inquired in his best tone of silky menace.

  "Jesus, Arch, you're paranoid. No, we didn't put a guy outside your house with a telephoto lens—not that I'm not tempted. It's just a couple of Polaroids Fitz got from one of her old boyfriends. Ivory at the beach in a bikini." He whistled. "Speaking professionally, that's some package of intelligence assets. If you do make her a vampire, tell her she can bite me anywhere, anytime."

  Archer was surprised at the flare of jealousy he felt. Fleming was a good-looking bastard, Marlboro-man handsome. It was far too easy to imagine that Dana might find him a tempting meal. "She has better taste."

  "And if anybody'd know how she tastes, I'm sure it'd be you," Fleming said, with another annoying laugh. "Whatever you decide, keep me posted."

  "It's not just my decision," Archer told him, still frowning at the strength of his own jealousy. "She gets a say in this, too"

  "No, she doesn't." His voice went completely flat, with that cold, deadly tone Archer knew well. "If Ivory's a good prospect, recruit her. She can get used to it later."

  "Fleming..."

  "I mean it, Archer. I've never liked the fact that we have only one of you. Your abilities are too goddamned invaluable to this country. Hell, if not for you, Manhattan would be glowing in the dark and half the eastern seaboard would still be coughing up blood. We need another vampire agent in case somebody puts a stake in your heart."

  He snorted. "Nobody's killed me yet. And believe me, it's not for lack of trying."

  "We've been lucky," Fleming snapped. "I'll make it a direct order—if you decide she's trustworthy, bite her."

  "Betrayal's a hell of a reward for being worthy of trust."

  "You're a fucking secret agent, Archer. It's what we do"

  Dana awoke to the feeling of soft lips brushing hers, a tongue slipping sweetly between her teeth. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead. There's a nice, hearty breakfast downstairs with your name on it."

  She blinked up at Archer's handsome face as he leaned over her. He'd opened the curtains, and sunlight poured into the room, painting his delectable torso with light.

  "I gather the whole bursting-into-flames-at-dawn thing is a myth, huh?" Rubbing her eyes, she sat up.

  "Mostly, though you won't catch me sunbathing in the nude anytime soon. Second degree burns in half an hour. I'm okay with overcast days, though."

  "Hmmm." Dana yawned and stretched, then stopped in mid-gesture, remembering her would-be exclusive. "Have you seen the news? Has the story broken yet?"

  Archer raised an arrogant eyebrow. "That story won't break until I'm good and ready for it to break. And I've made sure everybody who knows anything will keep their mouths shut"

  "Somebody could check the jail logs, find out that way." It would kill her if another reporter beat her to the punch.

  "Isn't the Trib the only paper in town?" Archer moved to the mahogany armoire, pulled open the door, and contemplated the contents. "Who checks police records for
you?"

  Dana gave him a sheepish smile. "Me"

  "And right now, the only thing you'll be reporting on is how mouth-watering my crepes are." She was about to launch an indignant protest when he pulled out something long, black and gleaming and brought it to her. It turned out to be a silk robe.

  "Here, put this on," Archer said. "All that naked Dana makes my blood supply head south. Hard to have an intelligent conversation when my cock keeps interrupting."

  The mention of his cock—and the thought of what he could do with it—deflated her interest in argument. "You do say the nicest things."

  He watched with lecherous interest as she rolled out of bed and shrugged into the robe. "The things I do are even nicer. Like letting you eat instead of ravishing you right now."

  Dana licked suddenly dry lips. "You could serve me breakfast in bed."

  "True, but I thought we could do something really radical—try to hold an actual conversation like people who aren't compelled to couple like crazed mink." Archer caught up her hand and folded it into the crook of his muscular arm. "Come on. I don't know how long this burst of self-control will last."

  "But I like coupling like crazed mink," Dana said, trying to make

  it sound like a joke as he towed her out of the bedroom and down the sweeping staircase.

  "Couple later. Talk now."

  "I thought it was the woman who always wants conversation instead of sex. Men are supposed to be the insatiable ones"

  Archer raised a brow, a humorously dangerous gleam flaring in his eyes. "Are you suggesting I have a weak sex drive?"

  "Who me?" Dana squeaked. "Never. I would never do that"

  "Good," he purred. "Because my fragile male ego would be compelled to prove you wrong."

  "That's not necessary," she assured him. "I like being able to walk." He laughed. "Beauty and brains. What more could a vampire ask?" Five minutes later Dana was watching from the breakfast nook as Archer poured crepe batter into an electric skillet with the same graceful skill he'd used in combat.

  "How can you cook when you don't eat?" She plucked a ripe strawberry from the bowl of sliced fruit at her elbow.

  "I can taste" Archer popped a forefinger into his mouth to suck off the batter. "Besides, I've always thought if a woman feeds me, it's only polite to feed her. Would you like some eggs? Bacon?"

  "No, crepes and fruit are fine."

  For a moment they were silent as he flipped the crepes, then transferred the finished product to a plate. "I actually enjoy cooking. It's relaxing. Nobody dies, nobody gets screwed. If you mess up, you throw it in the trash." He carried the plate to her, then sat down to watch her eat.

  Dana cut off a forkful and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes widened at the burst of delicate flavor as the crepe simply dissolved on her tongue. "God, that's good!" She took another bite and closed her eyes to savor the sensation. "You're an incredible cook"

  "Thanks. It's a useful skill," Archer said, smiling slightly as he watched her devour her breakfast. "Chef is one of my favorite covers. You can find out all sorts of interesting things about a household in its kitchen."

  "How did you become a spy, anyway?" Dana took a sip of her orange juice. Fresh squeezed, judging from the juicer and pile of orange halves on the cabinet.

  "Ah, well. That's a long story."

  "I'm not going anywhere." She lifted a brow at him. "Give."

  "I'd rather talk about you."

  "I'm not nearly as interesting as you are."

  "But I know my story, and I don't know yours." Archer's lips curved into the charming smile that had probably been the downfall of many a female spy. "Tell you what, we'll trade. All my evil secrets for yours. How about it?"

  It was a tempting proposition. "Okay. But I want to hear about all the spy stuff."

  "I'll even show you my secret collection of espionage toys." She grinned. "I'll just bet you will."

  So as they cleaned up the kitchen, Dana told him about herself and her work. She related the challenges of putting out a weekly newspaper: the stories she'd done, the people she'd interviewed, the Byzantine machinations of small town politics—who was sleeping with whom, who was cheating whom, and why.

  "You're good at this, aren't you?" Archer asked thoughtfully, as he led the way to the library when they were done with the cleanup. "Sounds like you found out where all the bodies were buried pretty fast."

  Dana shrugged. "It's just a matter of listening, getting people to open up to you. You can pick up a lot chatting at the neighborhood diner. Then you hit town hall and start researching the records, and you find out whether there's any truth to the gossip."

  "Why bother? Why go to all that effort?" He flung himself into a massive leather wing chair as she settled onto the matching couch. "You work for a weekly. You could be doing stories about the county fair and school kids winning essay contests."

  "I have done those stories." She shrugged. "But I have a responsibility to the community. If somebody's using public money to advance his own agenda, people should know it."

  He eyed her thoughtfully. "I imagine that goes over real well with the powers that be"

  Dana smiled in reluctant amusement at his cynical tone. "Oh, I'm considered a huge pain in the butt. And the public isn't always

  pleased when I drag things out in the open. At one time or another, the whole town's been furious at me" She tucked her legs beneath her and settled back in a corner of the couch. "But once they calm down, they always wind up doing something about whatever set me off, so I figure I did my job."

  "What do your parents think about what you do?"

  Dana looked away. "They died just after I got out of college. Car accident."

  His eyes darkened in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

  "They were strict, but they loved me," she said, staring out the window over the rolling lawn. "They were evangelists. Had a syndicated radio show that was aired around the country in a hundred and twenty markets."

  Archer lifted a brow. "Somehow you don't strike me as the daughter of a minister."

  Dana laughed. "Oh, I'm the stereotypical P.K." Catching his questioning look, she explained, "Preacher's kid. Rebelling against my upbringing, fighting authority, the whole bit."

  "I thought you liked authority." He smiled slowly. "At least the handcuffs."

  She glowered at him. "Cheap shot."

  "Sorry." He sobered. "Seriously, what was it like for you growing up?"

  Dana found herself telling him everything: the frustration, the guilt of never being good enough to meet her parents' high standards, the sense of suffocation under their strictures. And the love she'd felt for the mother and father who always acted out of love and a desire to do what was right.

  It was only later that Dana realized how skillfully Archer interrogated her. Before long he had her telling him things she'd never told anyone, seduced by his interest and humor.

  She even told him about Mark's collection of erotica.

  "I don't know what it is about all that stuff that gets to me," Dana told him, studying her bare toes as a blush heated her face. "I don't believe in women being submissive. God knows I'm don't submit to anybody or anything in my daily life. I'm a dedicated feminist."

  "Oh, I know exactly why you like bondage" Archer gave her such a teasing, masculine grin that she lost her discomfort and grinned back.

  "Oh? And why is that?"

  "You don't have to do any of the work. You can just lie back while the guy licks and nibbles and thrusts in a desperate attempt to please you."

  Glad to have the conversation back on a comfortable footing, Dana sat back in her chair and eyed him. "Are you saying I'm lazy?"

  He smirked. "If the handcuffs fit."

  "For your information, there's a lot a woman can do with both hands tied behind her back."

  Archer reached into his back pocket and pulled out his handcuffs, let them dangle by a thumb. "Prove it."

  "You're on" Dana stood up and shrugged off the black robe.
It landed in a silken pool around her ankles, leaving her wearing nothing but a smile. "Take off those pants, Double-O-Fang, and we'll see who's lazy."

  Grinning, he skimmed his jeans and briefs down his hips in one, smooth motion, then stepped out of them. It was the first time she'd seen him totally naked, and for a moment Dana just stopped and stared. His legs were long, roped with muscle, and his cock was a thick, aggressive thrust over the tight, furry pouch of his testicles. He lifted a brow at her. "Well?"

  Dana marched over to him and held up both wrists.

  "Nope" He gestured for her to turn. "Both hands behind your hack, remember?"

  She spun around and crossed her wrists at her spine. A moment later she felt the cool caress of metal, heard a double click. Dana turned back around to find him grinning down at her.

  "So what are you going to do now, Gloria Steinem?"

  Chapter Five

  "The possibilities are endless," Dana shot back, grinning. But as she let her eyes play over his face, across his bare, powerful shoulders and down his brawny torso, she felt her amusement fade, replaced by something more urgent. She wanted to touch him, to see how all that male strength felt under her fingers. But her hands were bound behind her.

  Inhaling sharply, she caught his scent—dark, spicy. She leaned forward, wanting to draw that tempting Archer smell more deeply into her lungs. The froth of hair covering his chest tickled her nose.

  Impulsively, Dana leaned even closer, put out her tongue, licked at a ridge of muscle. He rumbled in approval. She eyed his chest, the swell of a pectoral muscle, the tiny dark bead of his nipple. Testing, she bent her head and flicked her tongue over it. He stiffened, catching his breath.

  Encouraged, Dana edged closer until the tips of her breasts brushed his chest, the sensation sending a flare of pleasure through her. She sighed and licked him again, a long pass of her tongue over the hard bulge of his pecs. Intrigued by the sensation, she caught his nipple between her teeth, gave it a slow, gentle bite. His breathing roughened, his chest rising and falling more quickly against her face.