Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Before I can properly process that, I hear a loud murmur of voices from the other side of the door, followed by the clomping of footsteps.
I look upward. “Must be coming up on midnight. Everyone’s headed up for the countdown.”
He glances at his watch. “Nine minutes.”
I nod, fully intending to join the group. To join Christian.
But my feet don’t move.
Archer must feel the same, because instead of suggesting we go see the fireworks, he gestures with his empty glass at the Paris piece in front of us. “What do you think of this, Randy?”
I shift my attention to the art, startled by the subject change, but also sensing he needs the subject change.
“I think it’s beautiful,” I say honestly. He’s painted the famous pyramid in front of the Louvre, but he’s taken liberties with colors and perspective. There are none of the soft colors and delicate silhouettes that one associates with Paris. It looks like an alternate-universe version, one that begs to be explored.
He nods. “Yeah. It is.”
I look up at his tense profile. “You don’t sound happy.”
“I don’t know,” he says, sounding frustrated. “The Paris series isn’t consuming me the way that I’d hoped.”
“That’s how you want to feel? Consumed?”
“When it comes to my art, yes. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“Hmm.” I scratch my cheek. “Well. Is there anything that does consume you lately? Perhaps that’s what you’re meant to work on.”
“Yes.” He’s distracted. “But it’s nothing like my Tokyo series. And that’s what people want. Expect.”
I smile. “Take it from someone who abandoned the world of logic and science to detour to astrology. Sometimes eschewing expectations opens unexpected doors.”
He doesn’t smile back. “Unexpected doors. Like the one that led you to Christian.”
I hesitate.
Now doesn’t seem the moment to explain that I plan to end things with Christian. Or maybe it’s exactly the moment, and that terrifies me, because I say nothing.
Archer turns to face me, giving me a slow once-over. “Same dress as the other night.”
I glance down. “It makes the rounds during the holiday season.”
“Same undergarments as well?”
My brain scrambles for a witty retort, something to ease the tension, but the memory of his fingers on my skin when he’d zipped my dress the other night, when he’d seen said underwear, seems to overwhelm my every thought, and all I manage is a nod.
Neither of us says anything for a long moment. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but there’s a new tension that seems to crackle between us.
It’s broken only by a series of sharp popping noises, so unexpected that I jump, putting a hand over my heart, which is racing for two reasons now.
“Fireworks,” Archer says a bit tersely, not breaking eye contact.
I swallow. “It must be midnight. Should we… sing ‘Auld Lang Syne,’ or something?”
His mouth twitches in the corner, his gaze flashing with something that is probably amusement, but for a moment looks an awful lot like affection.
“Come on, Randy,” he says softly, taking the glass from my hand and setting it aside with his own. “That’s no way to ring in the New Year.”
Before I can register his meaning, he lowers his face to mine. He pauses a heartbeat before the kiss, his eyes holding my own, burning with an emotion I don’t recognize.
Archer’s lips brush over mine.
And every cell in my body seems to wake up from a lifelong sleep.
Objectively, it resembles a standard-issue New Year’s Eve kiss. A friendly peck much like the ones being exchanged all over the eastern time zone right now. Like the meaningless kisses likely being exchanged on our own roof this very moment.
Subjectively?
There is nothing standard about the kiss.
Not the way his lips linger a moment longer than they should.
Not the way it robs me of my breath.
Or the way I ache with the urge to pull him back. To kiss him again. To never stop.
Slowly I force my eyes open, finding Archer’s face still mere inches from my own, his dark blue gaze reflecting my same frustrated want back to me.
“Happy New Year, Randy,” he says, his voice a gruff whisper.
“Happy New Year,” I whisper back. My gaze drops back to his mouth.
Lean into what scares you, as your greatest adventure begins with a leap into the unknown…
This. This is what scares me. Because whatever it is feels too big to fit into the temporariness of what this experimental, sabbatical year is supposed to be.
Lean into what scares you…
Lifting to my toes, I press my mouth to his.
Archer’s response is immediate, as though he’s been waiting for this moment. Wanting it.
His other hand comes up so he’s cupping my face, fingers sliding into my hair as he tilts my head and deepens the kiss. His lips nudge mine apart, hungry and purposeful. My tongue shyly touches his and he lets out a masculine, gratified groan that I feel down to my very core.