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Chapter 631
Chapter 631:
“You’re late,” he said. His voice was different here — rougher, less polished, stripped of the European elegance he had cultivated at the riding club. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind p>
Susan’s mouth was dry. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She thought of Richard, upstairs, desperately trying to network with men who wouldn’t remember his name tomorrow. She thought of the bankruptcy, the humiliation, the life crumbling around her. Then she thought of Archer’s hands, his eyes in the riding ring, the way he had looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world.
“I came,” she whispered.
She pulled open the door and climbed inside.
The interior was warm, scented with leather and the particular heat of a man who had been waiting. The door closed behind her with a solid, final sound. In the confined space, Archer seemed larger, more present, his shoulders filling her vision. He reached out and took her hand — her left hand, the one with the wedding ring — and brought it slowly to his lips.
“Tell me,” he murmured. “Tell me what you want p>
Susan’s breath shuddered. She didn’t know how to say it. She wanted to forget. She wanted to feel powerful. She wanted to be someone else, somewhere else — someone worth wanting.
Archer seemed to understand. He always understood.
𝖲𝘢𝘃𝘦 𝘆o𝗎r 𝘧𝗮𝘃о𝗋𝗂𝗍е 𝗻𝘰𝘃els 𝗈ո.с𝗈m
She did not notice how carefully he had positioned her — her back to the driver’s side door, her body angled to present the maximum profile to the open space beyond the car. She did not notice that his own movements kept him near the center console, near the passenger door, near escape. She noticed only the warmth of him, and the way he made her feel young and wanted and alive.
The windows fogged. The distant sounds of the garage — the elevator, the occasional footsteps — faded into irrelevance. Susan closed her eyes and let herself drown.
Archer watched the clock.
It was a tactical watch, military-grade, the face lit by a soft phosphorescence invisible from more than six inches away. He had positioned his wrist where he could read it without breaking the illusion. Three minutes. He shifted his weight. Susan gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Two minutes. One.
He heard it — the sound he had been waiting for. A low, throaty growl that began as a vibration in the concrete floor and rose to a full-throated roar as the vehicle descended the ramp.
The Aston Martin.
Susan heard nothing. She was lost in sensation, in the illusion of passion and power that Archer had constructed so carefully, her eyes closed, her breath ragged, entirely unaware of what was coming.
Archer braced himself.
The engine sound peaked. Tires screamed against concrete.
Impact.
The message on June’s watch was three words.
“Target secured p>
She lowered her arm. She did not smile — she had stopped smiling twenty minutes ago, when the mask of social grace had been replaced by something harder, more focused. She simply nodded, once, and turned toward the ballroom’s side entrance.
Easton was already there, blocking her path.