Archer moved a little closer to her, and she could smell his expensive cologne, feel his body heat, and the memory of sex came rushing back. She’d been celibate for more than two years now, and with Archer her only possibility, she intended to remain so. The thought of him touching her made her sick.
Every now and then some new, good-looking man would show up on the island on some sort of business, and Archer would make certain Sophie got to meet him. She knew their practiced attempts at flirtation were on her husband’s orders, but too bad for Archer. She had no idea why he played that particular game—when he’d been in love with her he’d been uncomfortably possessive. Maybe he simply wanted to watch as someone else fucked her limp body—he was perverse enough. Maybe he wanted to watch as they blew her brains out.
But all those handsome men left her cold. She’d learned her lesson: never again would she trust in some man, particularly in the high-stakes world she’d chosen for herself.
Archer was watching her with seemingly tender amusement. No, the amusement was real, but the tenderness was not. She knew Archer had discovered what had first brought her into his orbit, though he’d never admitted it, never questioned her directly. He’d simply ordered one of his men to shoot her.
She’d managed to survive, and instead of ordering a second attempt, Archer played the brokenhearted husband. For the first six or seven months she’d expected him to finish the job, but she’d been in too much pain to care. After that, once she started getting feeling back in her legs, she began to work on a way to stop him and his destructive plans.
He was her husband, and at first she’d had enthusiastic sex with him, thought she was in love with him—until she’d slowly begun to realize what a colossal idiot she’d been. In the beginning she’d berated herself, hated herself. Not any longer. She was going to finish her mission.
She wasn’t troubled by any qualms now. She’d shoot him and happily watch him die. She still hadn’t decided whether she’d make him suffer or not. She supposed it depended on the situation. If time was short, she’d shoot him in the head and have done with it. If she was alone with no imminent threat, then she might take her time, not just for her own sake but for the sake of all the people he’d destroyed over the years.
Joe handed them their glasses, and she raised hers, clinking against her husband’s shorter one. “Cheers.”
“Here’s to good health,” Archer responded, moving closer, the smell of the scotch outweighing the smell of
his cologne. “And a long life.”
She noticed he didn’t say whom he wanted to have good health and a long life. She smiled sweetly. “Amen,” she murmured.
“Mr. Gunnison,” Elena announced from the doorway, and Sophie turned her head at the same time Archer did, prepared to see another pretty boy offered up for her frustration. Suddenly, unbidden, came words from her favorite poet, Dorothy Parker. “What fresh hell is this?”
Chapter Three
He was a dangerous man. Sophie recognized it immediately, from his cool green eyes to the way he carried himself. He was tall, lean, with too-long dark hair brushing his shoulders, a narrow, clever face, and the sexiest mouth she’d ever seen. He wasn’t perfect—he had an imposing nose along with his high cheekbones, but overall he was mesmerizing, a far cry from the male catnip Archer usually dangled in front of her. She looked the stranger over, the black suit so well tailored that there was no way it could hide the bulge of a pistol, so he must be unarmed. That should have set her mind at ease, just a little bit, but her inner alarm kept blaring. Here was a man who was so dangerous he didn’t need a gun. Archer surrounded himself with lethal men, but this one was on a whole new level.
Archer rose, setting his drink on the table beside his laptop, and moved forward, offering his hand in greeting. “Malcolm Gunnison! I never thought this day would come!”
Sophie saw the tiniest hesitation before the man put his hand in Archer’s—not long enough for Archer to feel insulted, but just long enough to make it clear he wasn’t Archer’s patsy. Interesting, she thought, her wariness amping up.
“MacDonald,” he said in greeting, and another shiver ripped down her body. He had a faint British accent, an upper-class one, something she recognized from her training in London. For a moment it brought that time back, and she felt a stab of pain over everything she’d thrown away.
“Call me Archer,” her husband said jovially. “Joe, get a drink for our guest. He prefers his single-malt scotch straight up, no ice, no chaser.”
There was a glint in Gunnison’s green eyes. “You’ve done your homework, I see.”
“I have people who take care of that, and they don’t make mistakes,” Archer said. “It’s rare that I even let anyone on the island. This is my sanctuary, my sacred space, and I hate to let business intrude. You’re a special case, Malcolm.”
There was no missing the guest’s sardonic expression. “I’m honored.”
Archer was in a good mood and not easily offended. “You should be. Let me introduce you to my wife. Sophie, this is Malcolm Gunnison, from England in case you can’t tell. He’s here as a consultant.”
Consultant, Sophie thought derisively. That’s what he calls all of them. She smiled obediently as she raised her hand, but to her shock he took it and brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips against the back. She yanked it away before she could stop herself, then managed a shaky laugh.
Archer had a smug expression on his face. “Old-fashioned, are you, Malcolm? You know here in the colonies we don’t go around kissing hands anymore. In fact, I’m not very fond of anyone kissing my wife.”
“I can see why,” Mal said, his eyes still on her for a moment, and for the third time a shiver ran down her spine. Then he turned his attention to Archer. “As for the colonies, we lost them long ago. However, I wasn’t aware that this island is part of the United States. I’m afraid that might cause some legal problems for me . . .”
“It’s not,” Archer said. “It’s mine.”
“Some government must lay claim to it. You can’t have your own kingdom anymore.”
“You underestimate me,” Archer said pleasantly. “I can do anything I please. It’s all about exploiting weaknesses. As for governments laying claim, the problem and the blessing is that too many governments think it belongs to them, in particular Cuba and the United States. No one wants to make things difficult just as international relations between the two countries are getting back to normal, so they leave me completely alone, and Mexico has enough problems on its own without bothering about one tiny island.” He smiled at his guest, charming as always. “So you see, it works out very well.”
Malcolm nodded, accepting the drink Joe brought him. Sophie thought she could feel his eyes on her, but when she looked at him she found all his attention on Archer. “Are we going to talk business?” he said.
“There’s no hurry. Have a seat. No one takes their time anymore,” Archer lamented. “Let’s be civilized. My cook has outdone herself tonight, the air is cool, and we have the company of a beautiful woman. We’ll have plenty of time for business.”