“You won’t sit with me?” She made a perfectly believable moue of disappointment.
“Can’t do it. But Mal will join you—give you two time to get to know each other.”
Mal could see her open her mouth to protest, but she saved her breath. He allowed Archer to maneuver him, push him down on the overstuffed sofa next to Sophie. The cushions were so soft she fell forward against him, and he could smell the faint gardenia scent of her skin, her hair.
“Be careful with the man, baby,” Archer said with a hearty laugh that Mal wanted to cram down his throat. “He had a rough night, and he’s got a gash on his arm from falling on a shard of glass. Don’t be too energetic—we don’t want it to start bleeding again.”
She raised her eyebrows, looking at Mal. “You cut yourself?” It was a limpid question—she knew perfectly well she had bitten him like a rabid bitch, drawing blood.
He shrugged casually, leaning back into the octopus-like hold of the soft couch, feeling her settle against him. “Serves me right for drinking too much. Elena, the woman in the kitchen, stitched me up.”
He could see the color bleach from her face, and he deliberately knocked one knee against hers in silent warning. She must have gotten the message, and she threw her head back and laughed. It was entirely feigned, of course, and he wondered what she’d look like if she really laughed. “You poor thing! It just goes to show how thick the walls are in this house, though. I never heard anything.”
“Oh, I was crashing around like an elephant,” he said easily, shifting a little, and he felt her body come to rest against his again, hip to hip. She couldn’t push away—she wasn’t supposed to have the strength, and he wasn’t about to help her. “I ended up falling on a broken glass and slicing my arm open. Bled like a stuck pig.”
She’d gotten over the shock, and she smiled brightly at him. “Well, I’m glad you learned your lesson. You need to be more careful.”
“Being careful is for wimps.”
Archer was beaming fondly at both of them, as if viewing a perfect arrangement of flowers. “You two are so cute together,” he said. “I bet Sophie can give you a run for your money, Mal. She’s a very bright girl.” It would have been easy to miss the malice in his voice. “I’m heading out to the south end of the island—Joe told me there’s been some erosion near the old sugar mill that I need to check on. You can carry her up to the bedroom if she gets tired, can’t you, Mal? I’m afraid Joe and I won’t be back for several hours.”
Okay, if that’s how you want to play it, Mal thought. “And where’s your harem?”
If there was a slight annoyance in Archer’s eyes, it passed quickly. “They’re off-island on a shopping trip. I told them to pick up something for you, baby, but we couldn’t decide what. You don’t like jewelry and you hardly need shoes.”
“I don’t need anything, Archer,” she said quietly, making no attempt to move away from Mal. “Just you.” She looked up at her husband, practically batting her eyes, and for some reason it annoyed Mal.
Archer’s solicitous smile irritated Mal even more. “We should be back in two or three hours. Remember your promise, Malcolm. I’m counting on you to entertain my wife. And Sophie, baby, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Of course, that’s asking for trouble, isn’t it?”
Archer didn’t wait for a reply and headed out the door. Sophie sat in silence next to Mal, and Mal could feel the warmth of her body through his thin cotton shirt, could even sense her slightly elevated pulse. He said nothing either, waiting, until they heard the sound of the four-wheeler revving up and then fading into the distance as it moved up-island.
Sophie put her strong hands on him and shoved, hard, but the billowing sofa only made him fall back against her. “Would you mind sitting somewhere else?” she hissed in a low voice.
“Archer and company may be gone, but I doubt he’s turned off the surveillance equipment,” he said in an audible voice.
There was a faint stain of color across her cheeks, but she nodded. “I want you to know I love my husband, Mr. Gunnison,” she said loudly, her eyes boring into his.
“Don’t you think we’ve come far enough that you can call me Mal? And yes, I know you love your husband. He’s a formidable man.” It wouldn’t do any harm to pass on a little flattery in the surveillance tapes. “But I’m getting the impression that he wouldn’t mind.”
“Wouldn’t mind what?” she said, deliberately baiting him. They were playing a scene for the camera and they both knew it, but she seemed determined to throw him off his lines.
“Wouldn’t mind if I fucked you,” he said flatly.
She blinked, her only reaction to the word. “Don’t I get a say in the matter?”
“I haven’t made up my mind.”
“My husband loves me.” He could see the disgust in her eyes while she kept her voice soft.
“I’m sure he does. And he wants you to be happy. That’s why he’s offering me up on a silver platter.”
“And you’re the Thanksgiving turkey?” she snapped.
He couldn’t help it—he laughed. “I think you’re the one who’s supposed to get stuffed.”
She made a choking sound, which might even have been laughter. “You’re a pig,” she said.
“On occasion. Sometimes there’s a lot to be said for getting down and dirty.”