Unexpected Lovers Box Set by J.B. Heller

Archer has spentevery night this week in my bed, and we still haven’t had sex.

We’ve come together plenty of times, but we haven’t actually done the deed. It’s weird, but I kind of like it. Sex has always been a no-brainer for me. I use it as a stress reliever. I’ve been so focused on my career that I’ve never let myself develop feelings for any of the men I’ve been with.

This thing with Archer, though. . . I’m actually enjoying taking it slow—if that’s even what you would call it. He sneaks in after Bates goes to bed each night, we fool around, get off, go to sleep, then he slips out sometime in the early hours of dawn.

Falling asleep in his arms fills me with this weird sensation, like the world could be burning down around us and I wouldn’t even care.

That’s not something I’ve ever had before, and I’m not quite sure what to do with it.

Drumming my nails on the edge of my desk, I stare out the window, letting my thoughts run wild. I have work I should be doing, but I can’t focus for shit. Every time I try, I end up back at him. Archer-freaking-Austin has turned my orderly world upside down.

My cell rings, startling me. I shuffle the papers around on my desk until I find it. Archer’s name scrolls across the display, and I answer it immediately. “Hey,” I say, an uncharacteristic smile curving my lips.

“Uh, spitfire, we’ve got a problem,” he says in a serious tone that has the smile melting off my face.

“What kind of problem?” I instantly assume he’s referring to us. Cue the internal freak-out. Here I am, mooning over him, and meanwhile, he’s about to tell me it’s over and this has all been a sick joke.

“I was under the impression I’d be modeling athletic wear at today’s shoot for Primal,” Archer says.

I frown, my brain taking a second to catch up with the change in direction. “Umm, it is . . .”

He scoffs. “Then why am I looking at a rack of jockstraps?”

“What?”

“I’m in the dressing room, and the only thing in here is a bunch of jockstraps.” He chuckles. “These are more Bates’ style than mine. I’m not wearing these, Lenny.”

“I’ll be there in twenty,” I tell him as I stand, grabbing my purse.

When I arrive at the studio, I’m met by a pissed-off representative from Primal. Her face is flushed, and she launches her attack the second I’m within range.

“Your client is in his dressing room, refusing to come out. You assured us he was not only easy to work with but also extremely professional,” she spits.

“He is. Mr. Austin is having some issues with the wardrobe. Today’s shoot is for the new athletic wear line, yes?” I say in a calm, hopefully soothing tone.

She nods. “It is.”

Okay, clearly there’s been some epic miscommunication here. “Right, I’ll just go talk to him, and I’ll have this all sorted out in no time.”

“We don’t have all day to wait on him. We’ve got three other athletes to shoot. We’re on the clock, Miss Handler, and your client is holding us up.”

Nodding, I give her my best smile while internally flipping her off. “Just point me in the right direction,” I say, working to keep my tone as placative as possible.

She leads me to a bank of rooms, gesturing to the second one, then she storms off to go bitch at someone else.

I knock on the door and call, “Arch, it’s me.”

The sound of the lock disengaging comes through, and he opens it just wide enough for me to squeeze through. He flicks the lock again then stands before me wrapped in a terry cloth robe that stops at his knees, his hands braced on his hips as he glares at a rack against the far wall.

“This is a joke, right?” he says.

After wandering over to the rack, I flip through the hangers. And sure enough, a jockstrap hangs from each and every one. My brows furrow as a sudden surge of possessiveness washes through me. I wouldn’t mind seeing Arch in one of these, but there is no way in hell I’m okay with countless other women around the world eye-fucking him in this. I pick one up, glaring at the offending scrap of fabric.

I feel Arch at my back, the heat of his body soaking into me. His palms come to rest on my shoulders then slowly glide down my arms to my hands, interlocking our fingers. My breath hitches when his lips brush one, two, then three featherlight kisses to the back of my neck.

“I’m wearing one right now,” he murmurs, his words tickling my ear. “Wanna see?”

I turn on a dime, my hands going for the belt of his robe. Parting the fabric, I run my hands up his sculpted chest and over his muscular shoulders, pushing the robe off as I go. I lick my lips at the sight before me. He is so fucking sexy.

He waggles his brows. “Like what you see?” he taunts then steps back and does a slow turn, showing me the complete picture.

When he’s done, I step into him, wrapping my arms around his hips and cupping his tight ass. “I like these,” I tell him, giving his cheeks a squeeze. “But they’re for my eyes only. Over my dead body are you walking out there”—I gesture to the door with my chin—“in this.”

The look in his eyes darkens, his lips quirking to the side. “Don’t tell me Lennon Handler is . . . jealous.” He mock-gasps.

I shrug. “Stranger things have happened.”

He dips his head, bringing our mouths so close I can smell his minty-fresh breath. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and he dives in, caressing my tongue with his, drawing me into a hot, deep kiss.

A loud bang against the door startles us apart.

“Shit. I’m supposed to be in here convincing you to get your ass out there,” I say, chuckling. “Give me a minute to deal with this. Get dressed. I’ll have them reschedule. Oh, and don’t take that off.” I wink then slip out of the room, making sure nobody can snag a glimpse of Archer in all his masculine glory. How did I not know jockstraps were so hot?

Nancy, the rep from earlier, isn’t hard to find, seeing as she’s standing not two feet from the door, tapping her foot and scowling.

“We were led to believe today’s shoot would be for a line of athletic wear, not underwear,” I state, crossing my arms over my chest. “Either you deliberately misled me and my client, or there’s been a miscommunication with the wardrobe coordinator.”

She sputters, her face reddening. “I—that’s not what—jockstraps are athletic wear.”

“Right, that answers that question. Perhaps you should read through Mr. Austin’s contract more thoroughly. My client has an ironclad nudity clause.

Archer comes out of his dressing room covered in jeans, a white tee, and a pair of Nikes. Sunglasses are perched atop his head, and a brilliant smile graces his handsome face. “I’m out. Sorry, Nina, but I won’t be flashing my buns today or any other day. My girlfriend’s the jealous type,” he says to Nancy, who glowers at him.

We exit, side by side.

Once outside the building, I elbow him in the ribs. “Your girlfriend’s the jealous type?” I whisper-hiss.

“You made it pretty clear you’re not cool with me strutting my stuff in front of other women,” he says, shrugging. “Which, by the way, is super fucking hot.”

I gape at him. “No, it’s not.”

His lips rise in that stupid smile I like so much. I want to reach out and touch him—to hold his hand or smack him upside the head. I’m not sure which. But we haven’t talked about taking this thing between us public.

Archer isn’t like other men. I can’t just kiss him whenever I want. Not without it going viral. He made the list of the top fifty bachelors in the city earlier this year. Us being together will not go unnoticed. As much as I want to simply carry on as we are right now and avoid any and all conversations that make this any more real, I’m beginning to realize I can’t.

He’s looking at me as though he wants to kiss me, and I wish like hell it were that simple.

I avert my gaze, putting all my focus on my cell as I order an Uber. As luck would have it, there’s one not two blocks away, ETA less than a minute.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, moving closer to me as we wait on the sidewalk.

“Nothing to worry about right now,” I tell him. “We can talk about it later. It’s not a big deal.”

“Then talk to me now,” he presses.

My Uber pulls up at the curb, and I place my hand on Archer’s forearm. “Tonight, okay? I’ve gotta go. I’m meeting with Kins and the girls to sort out bridesmaid dresses.”

He sighs. “Fine. I’ll see you later.” His head dips toward mine, then he freezes, as if realizing he was about to kiss me in the middle of the sidewalk. He straightens, runs a hand through his hair, and shakes his head, his jaw clenching.

I squeeze his arm gently, trying to reassure him that we’re good. “Tonight,” I murmur then release him and get in the waiting car.

I text Kins that I’m on my way, then I flick Clay one, too, letting him know to expect to hear from Primal. Slipping my cell into my bag, I rest my head back and close my eyes, taking a beat to relax before diving headfirst into the madness of dress shopping with my girls.

Everyone is already there when I arrive at the Fiora seamstress’s office. Kins’ family owns one of the largest fashion houses in the country. It only makes sense that her gown would be a Fiora creation.

“Heeyyy,” I say, greeting the room. “Sorry I’m late. A work thing came up.”

Kinsley’s mother glowers at me from across the way. The woman hates me, but the feeling is mutual, so I ignore her sour ass. I don’t even know why she’s here.

Sidling over to Kins, I ask, “What’s the Wicked Witch of the West doing here?”

She widens her eyes at me. “I don’t know!” she whispers. “I haven’t even told her about the wedding.”

That’s not at all surprising, but her mother’s presence here is, and it’s upsetting Kins. I give her a wink and tell her, “I’ll deal with the shrew. You go about your business as if she’s not even here.”

She swallows, her gaze nervously darting toward her then back to me. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “I got this.” Leaving Kins behind me, I stride toward the she-devil that produced her. I often wonder how she managed to create such a kindhearted and gentle soul as Kinsley. The apple definitely fell far, far from the tree in this case.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Fiora,” I say coolly. “What brings you here today?”

“What do you think, Lennon?” she says, disdain dripping from her tone. “My daughter is having a wedding dress made. Do you honestly think I’d let that happen without my guidance?”

I shake my head then pat her arm. “Didn’t you get the memo? Atticus doesn’t want you or your poison anywhere near Kins. I suggest if you want to stay, you keep your guidance to yourself, or I’ll be forced to put in a call to your future son-in-law. And we both know that won’t go well for you . . .” I turn and rejoin the girls, catching sight of her stalking out of the room from the corner of my eye.

“She’s leaving,” Kins says, taking hold of my hand. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me—I used your man to scare her away.”

A brilliant, lovestruck smile lights up her whole face. She’s so in love—it’s disgusting.

Oh God, I better not look like that when I think about Archer . . .