Wildfire (Fire 3)

“I wondered where you two had gotten off to,” he said cheerfully, his dark eyes glittering. “I was thinking . . . oh, my!” He stopped midsentence, staring at them. Sophie reached for her coffee again, not because she wanted any, but for something to do. Her hand shook slightly and Mal reached over and caught her other one. Archer would be sure to notice.

“Did you solve your problem up-island?” Mal asked lazily, leaning back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his hand drifting over hers, his fingers touching, stroking, caressing. Beautiful hands, Sophie thought, closing her eyes behind the mirrored sunglasses.

Archer’s eyes were bright with malicious delight. “Looks like all my problems were solved.” He reached over Sophie’s shoulder to take the untouched half of her sandwich, and he deliberately brushed his body against hers. She could smell his sweat, and her stomach roiled.

Archer moved around the table, watching them both closely, biting into the sandwich with his strong white teeth. “I can see you two have been busy,” he said cheerfully. “Is that a love bite I see on your neck, Sophie, baby?”

Before she could stop herself, Sophie reached up to touch her neck, instinctively knowing just where the mark lay, where Mal’s mouth had been, where she’d felt the sting of his teeth as he’d thrust into her. She couldn’t help it—color flooded her face. “I’m feeling tired, Archer. I think I’d like to go back to my room.”

Archer looked at her, then to Mal, then back to her again, and there was no wiping the self-satisfied smirk on his face. “I’ll call Joe. It looks as if you’ve had quite the workout, my darling. Get some rest. I’ll be up later to check on you.”

At that point she almost threw up. She put the empty coffee mug down, careful not to look at Mal. “Don’t worry about me, Archer. I’ll be fine in time for dinner.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. You wouldn’t want to wear yourself out with all this . . . socializing. You spend the evening in your room, having a quiet dinner, and don’t let any of us bother you.”

Don’t let Archer bother her? That was an unlikely scenario—she couldn’t fight back if she didn’t want him to know that she wasn’t crippled.

“I’ll bring her back down if she wants to come,” Mal said, essentially countermanding Archer’s order. Sophie held her breath, waiting for the explosion, and Archer’s eyes were suspiciously hard.

But Mal wasn’t budging. She was a chew toy caught between two attack dogs, and neither of them really wanted her. They would simply rip her apart before they let the other one have her. She could already feel her insides begin to tear.

“Ready to go upstairs, Miss Sophie?” Joe said, appearing at her side.

Archer and Mal were watching her, and she had no idea what they expected her to say. The least she could do was confound them. “A nap is an excellent idea, Archer. Thank you. And there’s no need for you to join me—Joe can bring me back down. Or Mal.” She said his name deliberately, to gauge Archer’s reaction.

“We’ll see,” Archer said pleasantly, but it didn’t sound promising.

Chapter Fourteen

“So you fucked my wife,” Archer said.

He’d waited until Sophie was gone—Mal could give him that much. Not that he’d done so out of regard for Sophie. There was little doubt he had plans for his wife, and they wouldn’t be pleasant.

Mal shrugged, glancing out over the swimming pool to the sea beyond. He should leave well enough alone—he’d done what Archer had wanted. The episode should be over.

He heard the drag of the chair as Archer sat down across from him, the sound scraping across his nerves. “I’m glad you followed my suggestion,” Archer said. “Now tell me all about it.”

He could still feel her warm, supple skin, her arms around his neck, hear the quiet, choked sounds she made. He could still see the tears on her face. “I thought it was an order, no

t a suggestion.”

“Oh, hell no! You mistook me—I wouldn’t think of ordering a guest to do anything. I merely thought it might provide some distraction. From the look of that mark on her neck, it looks like it did the job.”

“What can I say? She likes it rough.” He was the world’s biggest shit, worse than Archer MacDonald, because he liked thinking of his mark on her body. He wished she’d left her mark on him.

No, I’m not worse than Archer MacDonald, he thought, as Archer’s face lit up in avid delight. But I’m no fucking hero.

“That’s something new,” Archer said cheerfully, finishing Sophie’s sandwich with gusto. “It might almost make up for her lack of movement downstairs. Tell me, how did you handle it? Did you . . . ?”

“I think I’ll go for a swim,” Mal said calmly. Yes, he was supposed to kill Archer MacDonald, and he’d take untold pleasure in it, but he had to get to the source of RU48 first. Only then could he take his time. He’d never enjoyed killing—he’d simply done what he had to do without thinking about moral consequences. Everyone he’d killed had been some kind of monster, or the henchman of a monster, and there had been no room for emotion.

For the first time there was going to be emotion, a savage pleasure, in ending a man’s life. He didn’t like his sudden, furious need. It was a slippery slope, and he didn’t want to go there, no matter how much he hated the man across from him.

It didn’t matter, though—it was too late. He’d crossed a line somewhere, and Archer was no longer just a job. Mal was going to make it hurt.

“You disappoint me,” Archer said petulantly. “I at least expected some juicy details, man to man.”

What he’d expected was surveillance film, but he was going to be disappointed. “Sorry,” Mal said, making it clear he wasn’t feeling the slightest bit sorry. He rose, pulling off his shirt.