Love in Fantasy (Skeleton Key) (14 page)

The Yeti sets about making her an omelet and her mouth waters. At the food. Not at the very fine ass encased in well-worn jeans. He finishes the meal and sets it on the large kitchen table, then picks her up and puts her in a chair in front of it. “I can walk, you know,” she mutters. “I don’t even know your name, and you’re hauling me around like a rag doll.”

“Archer, and it’s simply easier to put you where I want you.” He shrugs. Even his name is sexy? Luck needs a spectacular bitch slap.

Iris decides to ignore him and digs right into the fluffiest, most scrumptious omelet she’s ever had; she moans in delight. The sound of a chair flying backward and crashing into a wall has her head whipping up in alarm. Archer is standing at the end of the table taking in deep, quick breaths, the chair he’d apparently been sitting in, now in pieces behind him.

“Stay in here,” he growls before marching over to the door. He throws her one last warning glance before he disappears.

Iris leans back in her chair, bewildered by what is happening. There is still some food on her plate, however, and not willing to waste it, she goes back to eating, humming a Disney tune that suddenly popped into her head. When she finishes, Archer still hasn’t returned, so she takes her dish to the sink and washes it, setting it on the counter to dry.

Finding this whole situation unsettling, she decides to disobey Mr. Sexy McGrowl and return to the library. As she leaves the kitchen, she could swear she hears a low murmur of voices conversing behind her but when she looks, it stops and she doesn’t see anyone. She lectures herself about getting more sleep and not imagining things as she walks through the castle. She’d tried to pay attention when wandering before and only makes two wrong turns before she arrives at her destination. Before her hand can touch the knob, she’s hauled backwards, spun around, and thrown over a shoulder, her face suddenly staring at a familiar, very tight derriere.

“What the fuck?” she screeches, for which she gets a smack on her ass.

“Watch your language, Iris,” Archer warns. “It’s not befitting of a queen.”

“Since I wouldn’t wish to lose any of my sisters, I assure—oomph—will you stop bouncing me around so much?” she snaps. Pacified when he slows his steps, she starts to thank him until he chooses to hold her steady with his big palm on her butt. Flustered, she runs through what she was attempting to talk about. Right. “As I was saying, I’m not likely to be queen.”

Archer mumbles something almost unintelligible, but it sounds like it might have been, “We’ll just see about that.”

He comes to a set of stairs and swings her down to be cradled in his arms while he jogs up to the next floor. She should probably be focusing on what the hell is happening, but at the moment, she can’t do anything but stare, open-mouthed, speechless at the beauty of the face attached to the strong body she is nestled against. Archer had shaved and is now only sporting a slight darkening of scruff, and his hair is pulled back into man-bun-type-thing. Every chiseled feature is on display; his angular jaw, full lips, patrician nose, and those unbelievably blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes, despite his blond hair. A long, corded neck leads to strong shoulders, and reeeeeally nice biceps. He’s, to put it bluntly, fucking gorgeous.

He enters a room and the next thing she knows; Iris finds herself dropped onto the mattress of a massive bed. She glances around quickly, and it clicks that she is most likely in his bedroom. He’s standing over her, hands on his hips, studying her with clear indecision. Behind him, her eye is drawn to a large painting of a rose. Her mind starts to play tricks on her again because . . .
is that rose wilting
?! She begins to crawl backwards on the bed, intending to climb off on the other side, but Archer snatches her ankle and keeps her from going anywhere.

“You’re mine, beauty.” The words have a ring of finality to them, as though there is no question; it simply is.

“I don’t think so,” she replies crisply. Staring up at him, she knows she should be freaking out, screaming bloody murder or something but . . . ugh, why does he have to be so magnetically attractive? She feels a pull to him she’s never felt with another person before. Archer leans over her, his eyes probing, searching for something.

“I don’t have the fucking time to court or woo you, Iris,” he says abruptly. “Besides, it will have the same result. There is no fucking way I’m letting you go.”

“You can’t just . . . keep me here,” she declares. To her mortification, her voice is more puzzled than seething. She can’t possibly be considering—this is crazy—there’s no way. A persistent little voice in her head would like to know why. She does a mental head shake. The voice must be connected to her hormones because he is lighting up every fucking nerve ending like fireworks.

He opens his mouth and by the obstinate gleam in his eye, she’s pretty sure he is going to flatly disagree. Then his mouth closes and his face turns cunning. “I’ll tell you what, beauty,” he drawls, “if you can resist me, I’ll leave you alone and let you walk right out the door in the morning.”

If it were anyone else, this would be a no-brainer, but Iris is well aware of the pitfalls in making this deal, namely the fact that he isn’t even touching her and she’s practically panting like a bitch in heat. Finally, she decides to let her inhibitions go and just give in. Let’s not pretend that his whole alpha “You’re mine” attitude isn’t sexy as fuck.

She grasps his shirt with both hands and tugs sharply, throwing him off balance so his big body falls onto her. “You win,” she purrs. His eyes light up as though he’s won the lottery. Although, judging by his castle and his amazing library of priceless books, he doesn’t need it. But, you get the point. He smiles and any sign of the Yeti disappears, except in his eyes. They are the same piercing blue, gazing deep into her soul.

Lifting himself onto his elbows, he runs a finger down her cheek, her neck, collar bone, and over her breast, tweaking the nipple and making her catch her breath. “You are so fucking beautiful. My beauty,” he groans before his mouth crashes down on hers.

His kisses are drugging and consume every part of her, making her forget everything except him. He tastes like peppermint and something she instinctively knows is just
him
. He takes him time, taking her clothes off piece by piece, kissing, licking, and biting each uncovered spot with a growl. By the time she’s naked and he sits back with a satisfied expression, she’s a quivering mass of want.

Stripping, he joins her on the bed, scooting down and shouldering her legs open to wedge between them. His hot breath bathes her pussy and she moans, her hips lifting involuntarily. Archer turns his head and licks the delicate skin of her inner thigh, then bites gently, leaving a mark of possession. Without warning, he puts his mouth on her, his mouth wide, taking as much of her pussy as he can and sucking. Iris cries out and bucks up, whimpering when Archer uses his hands on her hips to keep her anchored to the bed. His tongue laps at her, long, slow licks from top to bottom, interspersed with plunges of his stiffened tongue inside her. He drives her up and when she’s sitting high atop the pinnacle, he licks torturously around her clit without touching it. “You have the prettiest pussy, beauty. So wet, pink, and plump.” His voice is dark and deep, saturated with need. “Do you want to come?”

Iris shouts a garbled agreement, her head thrashing on the pillow. “Whose name are you going to be screaming when you come, beauty?”

“Yo—yours,” she pants.

“Damn fucking straight.” He wraps his lips around her little bundle of nerves and sucks it hard. She screams his name as her body splinters apart, like a firecracker, each little electrified piece of her raining from the peak.

Archer climbs her body and revels in the sight of his woman as she feels such ultimate pleasure, all because of him. It’s a primitive, primal thing, the need to be everything to your mate, as much as the need to breed. He grabs Iris’s chin and holds her head so they are visually connected. “I’m fucking you bare, beauty. You’re going to give me a son. I need an heir.”

“An heir?”

“I have to take a wife in the next few days or I won’t be allowed to ascend to the throne. I’d resigned myself to it, then you came along, and I knew you were going to be mine. You deserve everything I have, Iris. You deserve to be my queen.”

“I don’t need anything, but . . . you.” She looks shocked at the revelation. “I need you?”

Archer winks. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure that is always true.”

Archer puts two plates with omelets on a tray with bowls of fruit, muffins, and a couple glasses of orange juice. He sternly tells himself to calm the fuck down and stop acting like a teenager. Except, he feels like one, unable to control his physical response to even the thought of Iris St. Claire.

The first time he spoke to her, there was something in her voice that called to him, he’d been so flustered, his voice had gotten gruff he’d struggled for words, so his responses were clipped one word answers. He knew he’d come across like a real bastard, and he’d had every intention of rectifying it during their next conversation. He’d gotten off of the phone and researched her, learning as much as he could, before calling up a friend and having him run an in-depth check on her. He didn’t care what people would say about it; he was determined to know as much about her as possible so he’d have the best advantage when convincing her she was his.

Unfortunately, they’d only had one more phone call, and it hadn’t gone much better because she’d been asking to push the job off a few weeks. Apparently, she’d found a stash of antique books and first editions in a hidden spot of the castle she’d been working in at the time. Archer was already impatient to have her, the delay irritated the fuck out of him. He tried to agree graciously, but once again, he was sure he’d given her the impression he was a beast.

Last night, he’d dreamed of them together. It had been incredible and he was sure the real thing would be a million times more so. This morning he seen her car parked out front and was surprised she would be here so early, but when he popped into the library, he’d found her slumped over a table, her head pillowed in her arms, and fast asleep. He knew she was passionate about her job and he was willing to be she’d fallen asleep while working late and had been there all night.

He’d decided to wake her with breakfast. This was his chance to undo some of the damage he’d done. Carefully balancing the tray, he makes his way to the library, pushing on the door he’d left partially open and backing his way in. She is sitting up, but she looks dazed as though she is just waking. The dishes clink and she whips around at the sound, her light green eyes much more alert. They widen as they drink in the sight of him and he is immensely grateful for the tray hiding the evidence of his desire for her.

He smiles and takes the tray to her table, setting it down gently. She looks at it and then back up at Archer with raised brows. “Omelets?” she asks with a little dreaminess in her tone.

He nods and goes to her, squatting in front of her. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Iris.” He lifts her hand to his lips and brushes a soft kiss across the tender skin. When he looks up again, her face is soft and almost shy as she returns his smile. “I want to apologize for acting like such a jackass the two times we spoke. My only excuse is that you tie me in knots and I—” He stops, unsure how forward he should be.
Oh, fuck it.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I first heard your voice, Iris. I knew, in that moment, I knew you were meant to be mine.”

A blinding smile breaks across her face and she throws her arms around Archer, nearly knocking him to the ground. “You’re right, Archer. I’m all yours, as much as you’re mine.” She leans back and looks at him warily. “Right?”

Archer uses a hand on the back of her neck to pull her forward and seal their mouths together. Against her lips, he mumbles, “Completely yours, beauty.”

Eventually, they break apart in need of oxygen. Archer runs a finger from her cheek down to her breast, over her nipple, circling it, before going back up. He cups her face between his large palms, gazing deeply into her eyes. “I have to return home in two months,” he tells her. “My father wants to step down, and we’ll have the coronation shortly after.”

Iris looks adorably confused when she clarifies, “Wait, you’re a prince?”

Archer shrugs sheepishly. “You know how it is. I’d rather meet people without their preconceived notions of royalty, or worse, be on the receiving end of their ploys to use me.”

Not able to argue with his logic, Iris nods.

“I want you to come with me, beauty.” He watches for signs she might be freaking out, when he sees none, he forges ahead. “As my wife, Iris. I want you to be my queen, to give me an heir and a spare, and couple little girls to spoil, who look just like their mother.” He grins.

“You want four?” Iris asks thoughtfully.

“At least,” he admits.

Iris grins and pecks him on the lips. “We’d better get started on those right away then.”

Archer laughs and reaches for her but she bats his arms away and pulls over the tray of food. “First, you feed me.”