Sex On The Seats (Love After Midnight Book 4) by Elise Faber (most inspirational books .txt) 📗

the expression on his face, the way he’d wrapped his robe around me, how he’d cleaned up while I’d made a mess of the sundaes.

So, I’d . . . been weak.

So . . . I’d wanted more.

And now my car had been towed.

That was karma or the universe smacking me back into place, reminding me that I couldn’t have nice things—or nice men.

Because, for as dirty as Archer was in the bedroom, he was one of the nice ones.

And nice didn’t work in my life.

Never had. Never would.

Sighing, I walked closer to the sign, squinting up at the number on the bottom, so I could call and figure out how to get my car back. I was just tapping it into my cell when I felt my skin prickle, and I spun.

“Whatcha doing, Niki baby?”

Heat and tingles, my stomach filled with butterflies—no, with serpents, writhing motherfuckers that both turned me on and made me feel nauseated as fuck.

My breathing stalled, and I was stupidly frozen in place, studying the slight red hint in the brown of Archer’s hair. Then he smiled, soothing the vipers inside me like he was a snake charmer and my abdomen was the covered basket, its lid askew, the reptiles inside just waiting for him to play his flute.

“Going home,” I muttered, pulling up the Lyft app.

“In what?”

“A car.”

“Your car?”

Well, now, that was beside the point. Ignoring him, I strode down the street, trying to put some distance between us, but the infernal man followed me, keeping an easy pace beside me, even though I was taking as long of strides as I could manage.

“Did you want a ride?” A beat. “To wherever you’re going.”

I didn’t even know where I was going.

It wasn’t like I had loads of experience having my car towed. This was a once-in-a-lifetime thing for me.

“Streets look clean,” he murmured, strolling next to me, casual as can be.

I stopped. Sighed.

“You know, I happen to be on a first-name basis with the impound lot owner,” he said, still casual, but with enough humor in his tone that I was ready to rip out one of those fucking street sweeping signs and impale him with it.

“Why do I always think murderous thoughts when you’re around?” I muttered.

A shrug. “I bring out the best in people.”

I sniffed.

A grin. “It’s a gift.”

I kept walking, even though I had no reason to. I could call a Lyft from anywhere. But Archer didn’t question me, just kept pace beside me, though I could feel his amusement in the air between us.

“I was serious about knowing Paulie.”

Another sigh. “Who’s Paulie?”

He snapped his fingers. “Keep up, Niki baby.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I clipped out, shoving his hand away. “You’re going to snap at me?”

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Only the people who I cheerfully murdered.” I stomped down the sidewalk.

His lips twitched . . . which I saw . . . because I couldn’t keep my eyes off him for long, the motherfucker. “How many people is that?” he asked, picking up my hand and pressing a kiss to my palm.

I snatched it free. “One.”

“Including or excluding me?”

I glared at him.

He just lifted a brow.

“Including,” I admitted or rather, grumbled.

Laughter—his—and I tried to pretend it made me feel homicidal rather than amused, just the slightest bit. The fucker saw right through me, though he didn’t say anything to give voice to that fact. Instead, it was . . . something I just knew in my soul. The same voice that had driven me to stay last night, that had kept me in bed when the coffee had worn off and my eyes had grown heavier, when I’d let Archer put on another movie, even though I’d felt sleep closing in on me.

He snagged my hand. “Come back to my place. I’ll make you pancakes and call Paulie. Your car won’t be back to the impound lot yet anyway.”

I didn’t immediately tug my fingers loose again, though I should have.

Instead, I left my hand in that warm clasp and asked, “How do you know that?”

That brow lifted again. “How do you think I know Paulie?” he asked. “When the parking lot at my apartment was being renovated, I had to park my car here more than a few times.” He smiled. “And more than a few times, I forgot about the Tuesday/Thursday street-sweeping and didn’t move my car in time.” A shrug. “Which meant that I had to befriend Paulie.”

“How many is more than a few?”

“More than a few,” he said. “Fucker never gave me a break on fees, though.”

I laughed then sighed and slowed to a stop. “How good are your pancakes?”

He grinned, full-on and cocky, and my pussy throbbed in memory. “As good as your sundaes.”

And I knew I was so seriously fucked. I was going down. This was going to implode and go so, so bad.

But . . . I slid close to him.

If I was going down, I would at least embrace the ride.

Because I had the feeling it was going to be a hell of one.

“Pancakes,” I said and turned to lead him back to his apartment.

Chapter Thirteen

Archer

I hadn’t made enough pancakes.

Not nearly enough, I realized when I turned back from the griddle to find the plate was nearly empty.

“What?” she asked, her mouth full when I stared at her agog.

“That was six pancakes,” I said.

Six full-sized pancakes with chocolate chips and powdered sugar and syrup. The woman was going to be jittery from her sugar rush, or at least have a stomachache from the carbs alone.

“So?” she asked, the word muffled.

“So, that was supposed to be three each.”

She froze, the last bite of pancake hanging off the edge of her fork. Then chewed, swallowed. “Then why’d you put them on one plate?”

“I was making it look pretty.”

“Pretty?” She glanced at the table then back up at me, eyebrows arched. “But it’s food.”

I huffed, turned back to the bowl and started mixing more batter—a double batch this time.

“Where’d you