Finally, I allowed myself to look at him.
I thought maybe he’d be staring at the dog, or avoiding my gaze after what had happened in front of his friends, but no, the man was looking directly at me. The broad stretch of his chest rose and fell beneath his plain T-shirt, and under the harsh light of the kennel room, the veins mapping his forearms stood out against his tanned, golden skin.
Everything about him screamed strength. In all his features and limbs. In the graceful way he moved and the ease in which he interacted with the world around him, like it bent to his will simply because it was easier that way.
I don’t want Archer Evans.
The thought didn’t come quite as easily now that I was faced with him. If I didn’t want Archer, I never would’ve reacted that way outside. It was the wanting that turned me into a basket case. Emotion, a big wall of it, twisted my ability to speak clearly, so I kept my attention on the dog while Archer carefully extended his hand in my direction.
“Can I have a few of those?”
Absently, I nodded, digging into the bag to give him a few pieces. My fingertips brushed the rough skin of his palm as I released the treats into his hand. The weight of his gaze was heavy on my face, but like an absolute chickenshit, I stared at Bandit.
The dog was watching the exchange with subdued interest. Archer tossed him a couple pieces, waiting patiently while Bandit eased forward to eat those too.
“Try from your hand,” I suggested.
“It’s not too soon?”
Briefly, I allowed my eyes to meet his. “I guess we’ll see.”
Archer’s chest expanded on a deep inhale, and he refused to drop my gaze. Almost like the steady eye contact fortified him. The thought caused a trembling deep, deep inside, tugging on a chord attached to my heart that hadn’t been tugged ... ever.
I broke first, but only when it became hard to breathe.
Archer kept his movements slow, holding two pieces on the tips of his fingers as he rested his hand on the floor just out of reach. Bandit glanced up at him, then back down at the treats.
For a moment, no one moved. Not me, not Archer, and definitely not the dog. Even the other animals in the kennel room seemed to quiet.
Then Bandit, staying on his belly, inched forward. He sniffed the treats, lifting his gaze to Archer, who was staying unnaturally still. I wasn’t even sure he was breathing.
Another inch. Another look.
Then another.
With each shift forward, my heart picked up speed, until Bandit finally sniffed Archer’s fingertips.
Instead of inching forward on his belly, Bandit got up off the floor and stood, lowering his face to Archer’s prone hand, delicately eating the treats from his fingers.
I breathed out a small laugh. “You did it.”
Then I made the absolute, utter mistake of lifting my gaze to Archer’s.
He was smiling.
Wide and happy, deep grooves on either side of his mouth, straight white teeth, and the gleam in his eyes made my pulse skip erratically.
I don’t want Archer Evans,I thought with frantic urgency.I don’t want Archer Evans.
Icouldn’twant Archer Evans.
He added more treats to his hand, and Bandit ate them more easily this time. When they were gone, he slowly raised his hand to scratch the side of Bandit’s neck.
My chest cracked wide open, watching the care he was taking. The slow movements, the incredible patience he’d shown.
“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” he whispered. “I bet you haven’t heard that enough before you got here.”
Oh no. This would not do.