Unexpected Lovers Box Set by J.B. Heller

DAY OF THE WEDDING. . .

A knock at my hotel room door has me frowning into my whiskey. The knock sounds again, and I drag my ass out of the armchair in the corner of the room. I don’t bother looking through the peephole. Bates is the only one who knows I’m staying here.

Swinging the door open, I quirk a brow. He’s looking all dapper and shit in a tailored suit. His diamond stud twinkles in his ear, and his brow bar is in, too. “You didn’t have to get all dressed up just for me.” I smirk then drain the last of the amber liquid from the tumbler in my hand, leaning against the doorframe.

He arches a brow. “You drunk?”

I scoff. “Uh, nooo.”

“Walk in a straight line for me, then,” he says, jutting his chin inside my room.

“I could if I wanted to,” I retort, staying right where I am.

“Aha,” he mutters, then out of fucking nowhere, he shoves me.

I stumble, losing my already precarious balance, and fall flat on my ass.

“That’s what I thought,” he grumbles, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

I roll to my feet, a wave of dizziness rocking through me as I do. My hand shoots out, steadying myself on the wall. “What was that for, asshole?”

“Get your ass in a cold shower—we got places to be,” he says, tossing a garment bag on the end of my bed.

“What’s in the bag?” I ask, choosing to ignore his shower comment.

He turns to face me, hands on his hips as he shakes his head. “Pathetic,” he mutters. Then he heaves a sigh, removes his suit jacket, carefully lays it over the back of the armchair, and begins rolling the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt as he steps toward me. “Are you going to get in the shower, or am I going to put you in there myself?”

“What are you even doing here, man?”

“Right, so I’m doing it for you,” he says, entering my personal space.

I shove him. “Fuck you. What the hell’s going on right now?”

My shove was pitiful at best, and he steps right into me, dropping a shoulder into my stomach and heaving my body in the air in a fireman hold as he strides for the bathroom.

“Bates, put me the fuck down,” I groan, nausea roiling in my gut.

He drops me—completely clothed—into the tub then turns the cold faucet on full blast. The shock of the freezing spray has my nausea running for the hills and shivers wracking through my body. “Wh-at the fu-ck?” I sputter through chattering teeth.

Bates leans against the vanity, crossing his ankles then his arms over his chest as he glares at me. “I’m done with this shit. You and Lennon are doin’ my head in. So, you’re going to sober your drunk ass up, put on that suit I brought you”—he points toward the garment bag back in the room—“and you two are going to kiss and make up.”

I snort. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

His passive expression morphs into a borderline psychotic glare. “Yes, Arch, it fucking is. Now get up, wash off, and get your ass dressed. We’ve got a wedding to attend.”

That’s today?I scrub a hand over my unshaven jaw and right myself in the tub. “I’m not going,” I tell him.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Arch. Lennon has been moping around for two fucking weeks, and you’ve been avoiding my questions. I don’t care what happened between you two—although I’m guessing it had something to do with the picture of you practically eating her face off.” He pauses, eyeing me.

I frown and avert my gaze.

“Thought so,” he mutters. “Anyway, I’m done with both your shit. You’re coming with me, and you’re going to fix it. If I have to hear her crying herself to sleep one more night, I’m going to rip your fucking balls off and stuff them down your throat.”

My eyes dart to him. “She’s been crying?”

“Yeah, motherfucker, she has, and it’s your fucking fault. I’ve only put up with it this long because I thought you were sorting your shit out. But it’s been long enough,” he declares, his gaze narrowed and his stance rigid.

I swallow then nod. My gut churns again, but not because of the alcohol. I broke my spitfire. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known, and I made her cry. That fact sobers me more than the freezing cold shower.

After pushing to my feet, I rip my clothes off, tossing them on the floor, then I get to scrubbing.

Bates nods once then turns his back and leaves me to it.

The sun hoverson the horizon as Emory, Hannah, and I fluff the tulle skirts of Kins’ stunning, one-of-a-kind, total-princess wedding dress. The smile on my friend’s face is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, even more than her incredible gown.

“You look absolutely perfect,” I say, giving her manicured fingers a quick squeeze before sliding into place to walk down the aisle ahead of her.

Hannah goes first, keeping her steps in time with an acoustic rendition of “Latch” by Sam Smith. The song couldn’t be more perfect for Kinsley and Atticus. I’m swept up in the magic of the moment as twinkling lights come to life among the candles hanging from the huge tree Atticus stands beneath, awaiting his bride.

I scan the small crowd gathered to share this day with the most incredible couple I know, my gaze snagging on the back of a tall figure seated next to Bates . . .

Before I realize, it’s my turn. I didn’t even see Emory waddling off ahead of me. She’s now standing by Atticus’s cousin, Tom, and I’ve missed my cue. I wait a beat until the melody is right, take a deep breath, then move one foot in front of the other, keeping my eyes locked on my target—Arlo.

Candles flicker on either side of the aisle, leading my way. Arlo extends his hand to me as I approach. I take it, stepping to his side where he wraps my hand around his elbow. My gaze veers toward my brother then slides to the man seated beside him.

My heart constricts as Archer sits stock-still in a navy-blue suit, staring. Right. At. Me.

I’m about swallow my tongue, confusion and elation crashing into me in equal parts. I want to ask him what he’s doing here, where he’s been, why he hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts . . . But now is most definitely not the time to be thinking about my love life.

Kins walks down the aisle, and I don’t even notice.

The entire ceremony passes without me catching a word of it.

Archer is all I see.

Archer is my Atticus.

And I need to tell him that. No, I need to show him.

I can’t takemy eyes off her.

The second she stepped into my line of sight, the weight that had been getting heavier by the day lifted from my chest. My pulse thunders in my ears as her gaze meets mine, and she holds it for the entirety of the ceremony.

So many unspoken words pass between us.

I love you.

I miss you.

I want you.

I need you.

Just fucking love me, please . . .

A loud round of enthusiastic applause draws my attention, my eyes flicking to the newlyweds as Atticus dips Kinsley and lays one hell of a kiss on her. When my gaze finds Lennon again, she’s staring at her friend, a single tear sliding over her cheek.

My heart squeezes.

I want that with Len. I want to claim her in front of all our friends and family. The whole goddamn world be damned.

Thank God for Bates being a pushy bastard. Lennon is mine. And I’m done being an oversensitive asshole. If she needs more time, so be it. I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as I have to as long as it means she’s mine.

Immediately after the ceremony,we are dragged off for photos with the setting sun as the backdrop. I try to keep my mind in the moment, on the present, but it keeps drifting back to Archer.

What is he doing here?

“Lenny, I’m beginning to think I’ve lost my touch,” Arlo says, clapping his hands in front of my face.

I jerk, blinking a few times until he comes into focus. “What?”

He smirks. “I’ve been trying to make you smile for the last ten minutes. You’re off in freakin’ la-la land, babe. What’s up?”

“Oh, my bad, kid. Just a lot on my mind.”

Arlo arches a brow and crosses his arms over his ridiculously-broad-for-a-seventeen-year-old chest. “You haven’t been your snarky self lately. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. It’s man troubles, isn’t it? Hit me with it—this is my jam. Just ask the old man. I’d like to think I’m primarily responsible for him and Kins getting freaky.” As if realizing what he just said, he cringes. “Ugh, fuck. That’s gross. But you know what I mean. Let me have it.”

With a snort, I pat his shoulder. “Kid, you’d have to be a fucking miracle worker to solve my relationship woes.”

“Try me,” he says, a confident gleam in his eyes.

I shrug. What the hell. It couldn’t hurt. “Okay, I’ve worked my ass off my whole life, striving to achieve one goal: being the best agent in the city. It required certain sacrifices that I had no problem making. But now. . .” I swallow. “Now things have changed. My goals have shifted somewhat.”

Arlo nods, seemingly following along so far.

Licking my lips, I glance at Kins as Atticus slides one hand around her neck, into her hair, tipping her head back and dropping his lips to hers in a possessive, protective, passionate kiss. It’s beautiful and everything I thought I’d never want or need. How wrong I was . . .

“And . . .” Arlo prompts.

I return my gaze to him, a sad smile tipping my lips. “I messed it up—in a big way. And I don’t know if I can fix it.”

His brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “Seriously? That’s it?”

I nod. “Uh, yeah.”

“Babe, if you love this dude, and he’s part of your ‘new goal,’” he says with air quotes, “then why aren’t you working your ass off for him the same way you did to become the kick-ass agent you are?”

It’s my turn to frown. “I tried,” I murmur.

He steps to my side, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Lenny, you didn’t try. If you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’re Lennon Handler—ball-busting queen of the sports world. You want something, you make it happen. This is no different.”

I twist my neck, looking up into his serious gaze.

Then, the little shit smirks. “So, drop the bullshit excuses. ‘Cause that’s what they are—bullshit,” he says then plants a kiss on the top of my head. “And go get your man.”

Freaking hell. The kid is right. A genuine smile curves my lips. The kid is fucking right. I have never let anyone stand in the way of something I want. Yet, here I am, standing in my own damn way.

“Thanks, kid,” I say, pushing onto my tiptoes. I press a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re the shit.”

He waggles his brows. “Don’t I know it.”

“And modest, too,” I joke, hip-checking him.

We laugh as we’re called to pose for a couple more group photos before walking over to the large white tent in the middle of the field where the reception is being held.

As soon as I step through the opening to the tent, I scan the small crowd in search of my man. My eyes are drawn to the bar where they meet with his penetrating stare. An electrical current sweeps through me, and just like two magnets, we’re drawn toward each other.

We stop in the middle of the empty dance floor, a mere foot of space separating us. “You came,” I murmur, unsure of what else to say.

He swallows then nods. “I told you I would.”

The gravelly tone of his voice after two weeks without it is a balm to my soul. It gives me the strength to extend my hand to him and ask, “Can we talk?”

His hand engulfs mine, then he steps into me. Dipping his head, he murmurs, “Please,” his breath feathering over my lips with the word.

I want to bask in his nearness, relish the warmth of his body so close to mine. And without a second thought, I do. I brush my lips over his in a soft, barely there kiss. Wrapping my arms around his middle, I whisper, “I’ll do better. I promise. I love you.”

His shoulders sag, his eyes close, and his forehead rolls against mine as his hands rise to cup either side of my face. “No, baby, I’m sorry. So. Fucking. Sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

My mouth curls into a grin. “You already have. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Hope blooms inside of me—hope and love and joy and gratitude. All the mushy emotions I normally avoid. My eyes well, but this time, I don’t fight the slow trickle of warm tears that coast down my cheeks. They’re happy tears, and I need to let Archer see and feel them with me.

His hands glide to my jaw, over my shoulders, and down my sides until he’s holding my waist in his big palms as he kisses away my tears. “Don’t cry, spitfire,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’ve got you, and I’ll never walk away again.”

I sag into him, letting him hold me like this in front of everyone. Letting them see this exchange between us. Now every soul here knows I belong to this man, and instead of panic, I’m filled with exhilaration.

The next two hours feel like an eternity as meals are served, speeches are made, and the cake is cut. Then, it’s finally time for the dancing. Atticus leads Kins to the dance floor as the opening notes of Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect”trickle through the tent.

And Jesus H. Christ, I’m crying again.

These two fit so seamlessly. It takes my breath away just watching them together. Their gazes remain locked with one another, their love radiating from them as they move and sway as one.

Warmth hits my back, and Archer’s hands slide around my sides, clasping in front of me. I place mine atop his and relax into his strong chest. He rests his chin on my shoulder and murmurs, “That’ll be us one day.”

My go-to reaction would be to scoff and tell him he’s lost his mind. But I don’t. Because I want that. I want what my friends have, and with Arch by my side, I’ve got it.

* * *

Arch,Bates, and I share a ride home, but the second we walk through the apartment door, Archer grabs my hand, tugging me toward his room.

Bates eyes us, a weird look on his face. Then, he shakes his head, claps his hands together, and declares, “I’m out! I don’t want to hear you two fucking.”

I pause in the hallway and grin at him. “You might want to invest in noise-cancelling headphones, big brother.”

“Ugh, fuck that. I’m moving back to my place soon as I can,” he says with a shudder.

“Don’t be like that, man,” Arch chuckles.

Bates scoffs then turns around, striding down the hall and away from us. “Toodle-oo, motherfuckers. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

My man wastes no time gripping my hips and lifting me off my feet. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he stalks inside his room before kicking the door closed behind us.

Heat fills his gaze as he deposits me on his bed, then the bastard sinks his teeth into that plump bottom lip of his and shakes his head.

His fingers make quick work of the buttons of his dress shirt, discarding it on the floor then kicking out of his shoes as he unfastens his suit pants. His eyes never leave me.

My skin prickles with anticipation, and I squirm beneath his intense focus.

Left in only his boxer briefs, he looms above me, his head tipping to the side as he asks, “Why aren’t you naked yet?”

Faster than I’ve ever moved before, I strip, throwing my clothes God knows where.

A satisfied smile lifts his perfect lips as he crawls from the end of the bed, coming to a stop between my parted thighs. A sexy-as-fuck smirk curves his mouth, and he drops on his back beside me then reaches for me.

I, of course, go willingly.

Once I’m straddling his hips, he says, “Sit on my face, Lennon.”

My eyes widen, and I swear to God, I get wet at the thought of it.

When I don’t move straight away, he quirks a brow. “Did I stutter?”

I grin, shaking my head.

“Then move your ass,” he demands, his hands snaking around my hips and dragging my body up his torso then depositing my pussy right over his awaiting mouth. “I’ve missed the way you taste,” he groans, gliding his tongue through my folds and circling my clit.

His strong arms come around me, holding me in place as he takes his time licking and kissing until I’m quivering above him. My back bows, lifting my hips. His large, rough palms flatten over my thighs, forcing my body down again.

“Arch,” I whimper as a powerful orgasm sweeps through me. I collapse forward, my cheek smooshed against the mattress.

He chuckles, slaps my ass, and rolls me off of him.

“I’m dead,” I mumble. “You killed me dead with cunnilingus.”

His nose nudges mine, and when I pry an eye open, he’s grinning proudly. “Aww, come on, spitfire. You can take more than that. I know it.”

For some weird reason, Hannah and her Starfish Method come to mind, giving me a brilliant idea. “I’m tapping out,” I tell him. “I’m star-fishing it from here.”

He frowns. “The fuck does that mean?”

I spread my arms and legs wide and say, “Have at it, big man. I’m yours to do what you will with. Just don’t expect me to move from this position.”

His head tips back, and he laughs. “Uh, no. I’ll wait for you to recover, thank you very much.”

I chuckle and roll into his side, curling around him. He wraps an arm behind my back, tugging me closer, and I sigh contentedly. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” I murmur sleepily then close my eyes, drifting into a deep, peaceful sleep.