5

CHAPTER 4

It was Katy Winslow’s car.

The little twelve-year-old sedan had been sent over Callahan’s Peak, the sheer drop the Callahan grandparents and parents had gone over.

There was a message here, Archer could feel it as he drove the SUV down the rough track that led to the rocky valley below.

Katy’s car was a burned-out wreck. At the base of the cliff it still smoldered sullenly, giving a gloomy cast to the late afternoon sun.

Pulling his vehicle alongside Deputy Caine’s, Archer leveled a low, considering look at the other man.

John Caine had arrived in Corbin County just before the Callahans had returned. Just before the murdering duo dubbed the Slasher had struck for the first time in twelve years.

The deputy had found that first body and each one after that. He’d been the one to find each piece of evidence and uncover each clue. He was on Archer’s short list of suspects.

As Archer watched him, the deputy tipped his hat back on his head and stared back at him.

Stepping from the Tahoe, Archer moved across the distance to the little sedan and stared at the burned-out remains. Propping his hands on his hips he blew out a hard breath.

“Why?” he murmured as the acrid scent of the vehicle burning surrounded his senses.

“Why crash it here?” the deputy asked. “It’s connected to the Callahans obviously, just as her murder was,” he answered the question building in Archer’s mind.

It was the obvious answer.

“This is out of character,” Archer stated.

“Or the vehicle held prints or other evidence the Slasher doesn’t want found. What better way, in an amateur’s mind, to hide that evidence than to burn it.”

Not exactly what Archer expected from him.

Crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing at his jaw thoughtfully, he slid a look to his deputy once again. “Did you contact Callum?”

“He’s twenty minutes away.” The deputy nodded.

Archer glanced at him again, seeing the practiced expression of emotionlessness. He hated that fucking look on any man’s face. It made him instantly suspicious, instantly curious as to what he was hiding.

“What did she do to deserve his attention?” Archer murmured thoughtfully as he continued to stare at the smoldering car. “She wasn’t sleeping with a Callahan. She hadn’t slept with one in the past and she wasn’t helping them in any way. Like many of the women in town, she kept a very careful distance.”

“Then she saw something she wasn’t supposed to see?” the deputy asked. “That’s the only thing that makes sense, isn’t it?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense now,” Archer breathed out roughly. “But what? Or who?”

The deputy shook his head slowly as he crossed his arms over his chest before lifting a hand to rub at the side of his face. “The Callahans and their properties are the objective, though,” he murmured then.

“The objective in what?” It was a question neither Archer nor his father had been able to answer. “What makes it so damned important that one or more has cut a swath of blood through this County?”

The deputy gave a hard, sarcastic grunt.

“That one, Sheriff, is buried, and even I, the master of gossip, rumor, and shady deals, have yet to uncover it.”

“Master of gossip, rumor, and shady deals, huh?” Archer murmured as he glanced at the deputy once again.

Caine grinned with cool mockery. “We all have our talents, Sheriff, we all have our talents.”

Archer wondered if those talents could have led to murder.

Maybe someone else had those answers, though.

As the deputy walked away, Archer made a call.

“Hello?” John Corbin answered on the first ring.

“I want answers, John.” Archer stared around the canyon, the bleak stone walls, the hint of a pine struggling to anchor to a soft ledge above.

“Archer…”

“I said, I fucking want answers,” he snapped. “You’ll be at my place before dawn, or I’ll be there. You hearing me?”

Silence filled the line for long moments.

“I hear you.”

The line disconnected.

* * *

Anna awoke to the most incredible sensation.

It wasn’t sensual, hot, or filled with lust or sexual hunger. It wasn’t sensual or sexual at all.

It was like the softest silk—no, softer than silk. It was the softest touch rubbing against her shoulder, slow and easy, caressing down her arm. It was warm, comforting. It was a sensation of living warmth, accepting and vibrating—

A frown tugged at her brow, drawing her further from sleep.

It was vibrating against her shoulder.

No, it was purring.

Forcing her lashes to open she turned her head to stare into the slitted golden eyes that peered at her as Oscar rubbed the side of his face against the curve of her shoulder.

A peek at the clock on the living room wall assured her it was well after two in the morning. Archer had been gone all day and now most of the night.

A plaintive meow rumbled from the cat’s throat as he rubbed against her shoulder again.

“What do you want?” she mumbled. “Can’t believe you’re harassing me after stealing my bra and shirt. Those were damned expensive, you know.”

A rumble between a purr and a meow sounded again as Oscar stared back at her with such arrogant command that she couldn’t help but think of Archer.

“What do you want, anyway?” She really didn’t want to get out of bed. “Don’t you know I have to show up for work in like five hours? I need my beauty sleep.”

The feline growling purr sounded again. This time, instead of rubbing against her shoulder, Oscar pushed at it with his big head.

“Bossy.” Sitting up, she was prepared to push herself from the couch to get whatever the demanding fur ball wanted only to watch in surprise as he moved farther onto the couch and settled into the corner where her head had been resting.

His eyes closed, shoulders shifting as he perfected his position and settled into sleep as though he hadn’t awakened her to do so. As though he wasn’t even concerned with her presence after forcing her awake so he could take his favorite position.

“You ass,” she accused him, surprised by the animal’s audacity. “I was sleeping myself, you know.”

And he obviously didn’t care. He didn’t even twitch at the anger in her voice.

Shaking her head at the animal, Anna glanced at the front door, then at the clock again.

“Did he finally wake you?”

She swung around, nearly falling from the couch in surprise as Archer moved into the living room from the opposite doorway, obviously having come from upstairs and the shower.

Damp, darker than its normal sandy blond, his hair lay around his face, obviously having just been dried with little care as to style. The ends curled haphazardly as the heavy strands framed his darkly tanned face and made his golden brown eyes appear more like hammered gold than normal.

Broad, bare, his hard, darkly tanned chest, with a thin covering of male curls just lighter than the hair on his head, tempted her fingers. Tempted them with the need to touch him, to experience the feel of them against her sensitive fingertips.

“How long have you been back?” She frowned at him, surprised that he had managed to come into the house without waking her.

Surprised at how he had entered the living room.

Hell, she had been sleeping not ten feet from the damned door and he’d slipped right up on her.

It was all she could do to keep her gaze above his hard abs because she could see the muscles beneath the bronzed flesh tempting, drawing her gaze.

“A couple of hours.” He shrugged as though uncertain.

She bet he knew almost to the second exactly what time he had walked through the front door.

“You should have woken me.” She watched his face, seeing the heaviness in his gaze, in the somber expression on his face.

“You were sleeping too well.” His lips quirked with an almost gentle smile and his eyes seemed to warm as he watched her. “Besides, I knew Oscar would run you out of his corner eventually.”

Glancing at the monster cat who took up at least a cushion of the couch by himself, she sniffed at his presence.

“Damned fur ball,” she muttered. “The least he could have done was wake me when you arrived.”

“He likes you.” Leaning against the door frame, his lips kicked up at one corner. “Anyone else would have had at least a scratch by now. Oscar doesn’t really tolerate strangers in his home well.”

Anna pushed her hair back from her face, staring at him, at a complete loss for words.

Sweet heaven have mercy on her, he was aroused. Powerfully, unapologetically aroused.

Beneath the cotton pants he wore his cock raged, hard and heavy, pressing against the material with insistent demand. Lifting her gaze slowly, Anna encountered the lust-driven dark gold of his gaze.

It became hard to breathe.

Anna could feel her heart racing, beating between her breasts like fists rapping, hard and heavy. Lips parting, she fought to drag in oxygen, to make herself breathe through the adrenaline pounding through her.

Suddenly, she could feel parts of her body that she was only aware of whenever he was around.

Her lips—

God, she needed him to kiss her, she needed to kiss him.

Her nipples—

Between her thighs—

Need, deep in her womb.

Her knees were weak and she wasn’t even standing.

Suddenly the room was filled with such tension, with such an overwhelming air of hunger, that Anna could barely breathe for it. That hunger pounded through her, burned through her, and tore aside any veil of disinterest or screen of objection. There was only the wild, burning hunger, and her need for Archer.

Lifting her gaze, Anna wondered if it was normal to feel such constriction in her lungs; if she could actually live without air. Because she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

Especially when he moved toward her with that predatory look in his gaze.

“You can sleep in the guest room or you can sleep with me,” he stated as he stopped in front of her, the heavy proof of his arousal now at eye level.

Lifting her gaze again, Anna swallowed tightly. The fierce hunger swirling in his eyes warned her that the need was building just as high inside him as it had been in her.

“If I choose your bed?” she asked.

“Then it’s without promises, Anna,” he warned her, his gaze darkening. “Don’t make that mistake, for both our sakes. I won’t tell you I love you, and there’s no wedding ring waiting when it’s over.”

“Have I ever asked for a wedding ring, Archer?”

Yet she couldn’t deny that dream was there. It was a fantasy she’d had since she was a teenager. The white dress, the veil—and Archer.

“It’s in your eyes.” His jaw tensed, fire blazing in the golden brown gaze watching her. “It’s been there since the night you turned eighteen.”

“Are you sure the desire you saw was for a ring, or something a little less—” She let her lashes lower to half-mast. “—acceptable, perhaps?”

Before common sense, embarrassment, or any other sterling qualities her mother had no doubt tried to teach her could kick in, Anna reached for what she had hungered for most. Before inexperience, uncertainty, or fear could overcome six years of fantasy and hunger, she reached out for what she’d always seen as hers alone.

Archer.

Still staring into those wild eyes, Anna reached out with both hands, her nails rasping down his hips as she leaned forward. Her lips pressed against the hard-packed muscles of his flexing abs, her tongue peeking out to take him.

Archer’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his side as she tasted his flesh.

Licking over the indent of his navel she was forced to hold back a moan, one of pure, desperate desire. Slightly salty, heated, clean, and intently male. His flesh was warm beneath her tongue, the hard muscles flexing with innate power.

“Fuck! Anna!” One hand moved, strong fingers threading through the hair at the side of her head. Clenching, his fingers tightened as his expression became darker, more brooding with sensual, sexual heat that burned through her senses.

She’d had years to prepare for this night. Years to ensure he never forgot her touch once she had the chance to touch him.

Years to make damned sure he never forgot being with her.

Fingers bending and hooking in the elastic band of the pants, she slowly eased the material over the thick, heavy length of his cock. Thickly erect, blood throbbing through heavy veins, the impressive stalk of male flesh caused her to swallow tightly as she fought back her trepidation.

Fear thundered just beneath the adrenaline rushing through her system. A fear she refused to pay heed to. Fear of failure. Fear of being unable to measure up to past lovers, no matter the research she’d put into the subject of giving a man a blow job he would never forget.

Watching him from beneath the veil of her lashes, Anna flicked her tongue around the shallow indent of his navel again, teasing it with tasting licks as she pushed the material of his pants to his ankles. Standing still and silent before her, he just watched her, his body as stiff as his cock, his expression sensually brooding.

Stepping from the light cotton at his feet, Archer continued to watch her, as though certain she would stop. Certain that the intimate caress would not be forthcoming.

Oh, he definitely had a surprise coming if that was what he thought.

Easing back, watching his gaze darken, his jaw tighten, Anna let a small smile tug at her lips.

“I was waiting for you when I fell asleep,” she said softly, her nails rasping down the outside of his thighs.

“Were you?” The heavy rasp of his voice sent a shudder of hunger clenching her womb and nipping at the sensitive bud of her clit. “Why is that?”

“Because a girl can only wait so long to live a fantasy, Sheriff,” she said, her hands sliding to the insides of his thighs where she made a U with the fingers and thumb of one hand and tucked them beneath the taut sac that held his testicles.

A sharp, indrawn breath assured her Archer’s attention was fully centered on her now.

Lowering her head, pursing her lips, she blew a soft breath against the surprisingly curl-free male flesh, luxuriating in his response. His hand tightened in her hair, the other gripping her shoulder with a firm hold.

“Anna, be sure about this,” he growled.

Oh, she was sure.

Leaning forward, her head bending, she tasted the male flesh, first with her tongue. Licking over the tight sac, probing at the base of his cock, then parting her lips and drawing it inside.

She was going to orgasm from excitement alone.

Both of his hands were in her hair now, his legs shifting, spreading further as she sucked one side of his ball sac into her mouth and laved it with her tongue before moving to the other.

She’d never done this, but he loved it. She could feel him loving it. The iron-hard thickness her fingers had no hope of circling, the rush of blood beneath the silky flesh, the tautness of the sac she caressed, all proved he was loving it.

And if she had any doubts—

“Fuck! Damn you, Anna.” His back arched as the rasping curse tore past his lips.

His fingers tightened in her hair, then kneaded her scalp as his thighs parted further, giving her tongue, her lips, room to play.

And how she did enjoy playing there.

Lavishing attention on first one side of his testicles, then the other, she lived the first fantasy. Shuddering, a groan rumbled from him. With his cock throbbing in both hands now, she stroked it with firm caresses before another drawing of his flesh into her mouth and suckling at the sphere contained there.

Feeling the heavy throb of blood through the thick veins, Anna licked, laved, tasted the hard, heated flesh before releasing it with reluctance.

“Anna.” The rasp of his voice was a sensual stroke of eroticism against her senses.

“My fantasy,” she whispered.

Pressing her hand into his chest she eased him back a step and came slowly to her feet.

“Waiting until I lose control is the wrong time to change your mind,” he warned her, his expression, his voice, dark and filled with hunger.

“Change my mind?” Anna lifted her hand to the tiny silk tie that held the white robe over her breasts and pulled it free, slowly. “Archer, the last thing I intend to do is change my mind.”

* * *

Archer had to clench his teeth to hold back a demand that she hurry. That she wrap her lips around his dick and give him the blow job she was promising.

“Ah, hell, Anna.” The words felt ripped from his throat as he fought to hold back the pleasure and the unfamiliar demands rising inside him. “Ah, baby, that sweet, sweet mouth.”

She was destroying him with it.

Keeping his teeth clenched tight, he held the demand back. His arms were stiff at his side. His gaze narrowed, he stared down at her, fighting to deny what he saw in her gaze.

Feminine hunger was tempered by love. Confidence was tempered by inexperience. Need was fueled by all the above—the sight of it was enough to terrify him.

He wasn’t terrified enough to pull away from her, though. He didn’t dare. His cock would probably send agony streaking through his body at the slightest attempt.

As he watched, she rose slowly to her feet and dropped the robe she wore.

That gown was a fucking wet dream.

No—

A wet dream dressed in breast-hugging silk and spandex—in a gown so fucking romantic, so damned bridal, despite the color, it had his chest tightening with some emotion he could make no sense of.

From the soft lace that cupped her breasts and lovingly conformed to the gentle curves of her slender waist, to the silk that flowed to the floor in sweeping abundance, it was a bride’s gown pretending to be a wicked temptress.

A seductress going to her knees.

“Anna, you don’t have to…” The offer cut off in a hoarse groan as her fingers gripped the thick flesh, stroking it in slow, even strokes as she brought the heavily flared crest to her parted lips.

Sweet heaven have mercy on him, she was actually going to do it.

Perfect, sweet lips parted.

Free of makeup, pretty green eyes staring up at him with slumberous passion through sooty lashes. Her heated, damp tongue peeked out, lashed at the crown, then began tonguing it with pure wicked pleasure as her eyes closed and her attention became completely devoted to pleasuring his dick.

Tonguing the satiny head, sweet lips taking heated kisses, and silken hands stroking the thick shaft, she destroyed any doubt that might have flashed through his mind.

Parting her lips further and sucking the head inside, she then set out to destroy his control, which she did far quicker than he could have ever expected.

With lips, tongue, and heated suckling of the too-sensitive crest, she swept his misgivings to the side and convinced him—even as he knew better—that no virgin could ever embrace the sweet, wicked moves she used on his throbbing cock.

Tucking beneath the head of the fierce erection, her tongue licked, stroked, tasted, then swirled in intimate abandon around the flared edge. Sucking him back inside the heated depths of her mouth, the vibration of her moans had his thighs tightening, his hands clenching in her hair.

Kneading his fingers against her scalp, Archer bit back a hoarse groan, fighting to contain the wild impulse to push her to the floor, hike her gown above her hips, and fuck her until they were both screaming in orgasm.

Pleasure exploded through his senses, tore across his nerve endings, and laid waste to any preconceived notions of the pleasure she could give him.

Staring down at her as he watched her lips redden, watched his cock fuck past them in shallow thrusts, Archer knew the thin threads of his control were unraveling by the second.

There was no way to hold back the response or the pleasure erupting inside him.

She pulled back, surprising him by releasing the head of his cock, her tongue flattening, her head tilting to the side as her tongue tasted the broad length of his flesh.

Pulsing, tightening, his cock throbbed in painful pleasure.

“So fucking good. That sweet, hot mouth is so fucking good.”

Heat unfurled inside him. It blazed across his nerve endings, shot through his senses and—fuck!

His knees were weak.

Catching his breath, watching as her head moved lower, that sensual little tongue dancing over his cock like an erotic flame, she all but destroyed him. Pleasure burned over his flesh, sank into his pores, and pulsed through his blood like a fever raging out of control.

“Ah, baby, that’s fucking good.” Threading his fingers through her hair, letting her lips, her sweet tongue, and mouth have their way, Archer luxuriated in the pleasure. “That tongue’s a fucking wet dream come true.”

Even his fantasies about her hadn’t been this damned good.

Moving those sweet lips over the head of his cock once again, sensation shot through his system. Pure, fiery, pleasure like nothing he’d known before whipped through him.

Flattening her tongue, she licked and laved that ultrasensitive spot beneath the crest. Flicking against it, nudging at it, stroking it with hungry heat until he was certain he was going to go mad with the need to fuck her.

He was losing the ability to withstand the sensations building in his balls and whipping through his cock. Every muscle in his body was tightened to a point that he felt locked in place, unable to stop the agonizing pleasure. He was unable to stop it and unable to give in to it.

To give in to it meant to take far more from her than he knew her innocence was ready for. Confidence and preparation were two different things. She might be hiding her innocence well, but he could see it in her eyes. In her actions.

She wanted, and she hungered—and her need for him was possibly as great as his need for her. But that need couldn’t possibly prepare her for what he wanted from her.

What he needed from her, what he wanted from her, went far beyond what she could possibly be prepared for.