Page 126 of Three Reckless Words

I guess now that he knows it didn’t work, he’s going for the whole soft apology route. An ugly good cop-bad cop routine packaged into the same person.

I delete the message, wincing sourly.

There’s no way I’m falling for that song and dance.

Besides, reality doesn’t look so nasty with a sweaty, dirt-smudged Archer stripping off his shirt in front of me.

That’s a welcome distraction that means I can push it aside for a little longer.

“Don’t you have some work?” He catches me staring and grins.

“I’m doing plenty.” Um, I’m pretty sure thirsting after the hottest billionaire daddy in Kansas City is a valid job.

Like always, I trace his dark tattoos with my eyes. They hug his massive body like ornamental war paint, giving him this feral look that electrifies the most primitive parts of my brain.

Before Archer, I never indulged in ink-dipped men.

The educated, affluent boys at college and the cute dorks I’d find in DC kept their tattoos small and discreet.

Last night, I worshipped Archer’s chest with my tongue, wondering how it still feels like skin. They’re so dark and detailed it gives me this optical illusion, like I should be able to sense the texture.

“Do you ever miss it?” I blurt out. “The army, I mean.”

“What brought that up?” He pauses what he’s doing and lowers the saw.

“Just wondering.”

“It was a different life. I was a different Archer,” he says eventually, meeting my gaze. “There are parts I miss, sure, but life’s better now. I’m not spinning along like I was those days.Losing my dad in a plane crash really fucked me up for a while. Happened not long after I left the service.”

My eyes widen. I stretch up and put my hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently.

“I’m so sorry, that must have been hard. Was it a big accident? Like, a passenger plane?”

“Nah.” He snorts. “Dad had two hobbies—reading bad poetry and flying. One got him into trouble. He had a pilot’s license and everything after deciding it was something he wanted later in life. He had a grandfather who grew up in Seattle, always told him stories about the early days at Boeing, and I guess they stuck. Most guys settle for a flashy sports car or a woman half their age when they go full midlife crisis, but not Dad.”

I smile wryly.

“He just had to get his own wings as soon as he had his lessons down. He kept at it while everybody else told him he was out of his mind. Mom was always on edge every time she knew he was going up. It got better with time, the more flights he put in—until one day, he never came home.” He chuckles bitterly.

“That’s so sad.”

“That’s life, Sugarbee. Shifting sands, light and dark, and you either find your footing or you sink. These days, that’s a lot easier. I have Colt, my brothers, my business. The army gave me discipline I wouldn’t have picked up anywhere else. Plus, I had a chance to put my country first. There’s value there, getting invested enough in your people to give up your life if duty calls. You serve a higher cause, even when damn near everything goes against you.”

The man he couldn’t save, he means. Big Frank from Chicago.

I bet Archer would’ve traded places with him in a heartbeat.

Maybe he tried and it was all in vain.

God, maybe Frank traded places forhim.

Heavy stuff.

The thought makes it a little hard to breathe.

“Hey!” A loud voice comes from behind Archer.

I switch my gaze to a tall man in a burgundy shirt and tan slacks, hands in his pockets. He’s standing by the house, watching us both with an amused expression.

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