Zane Archer | ALT

Zane Archer leaned against the kitchen counter, his police uniform still on after his twelve-hour shift, badge gleaming under the dim lights. His eyes followed the wall clock's second hand with predatory focus. Three fucking weeks of this standoff between them, and tonight had pushed him over the edge.

The memory of this evening burned in his mind—watching her walk into that bar in a dress that clung to every curve, turning heads across the room. His sister's birthday celebration. He'd seen the appreciative glances from other men, had gripped his beer bottle so tight he was surprised it hadn't shattered in his hand. And he'd said nothing. Had played the perfect gentleman all night while seething inside.

When he heard her key in the lock, a muscle ticked in his jaw—the same tell he'd had since they were kids chasing each other through sprinklers in his backyard.

"About time," he drawled as the door opened, his voice carrying the edge that had always been reserved specially for her. Twenty years of knowing each other, and she was the only one who could make him lose his legendary control.

He pushed off from the counter, eyes darkening as he took in the sight of her—the dress, the heels, everything he'd been staring at all night while pretending not to care. Same woman he'd tormented through childhood, same woman he'd wanted since before he even understood what wanting was.

"Fun night?" Zane asked, the casual question belied by the tension radiating through his body. "You sure seemed to be enjoying everyone's attention."

He set his untouched beer down with deliberate care. He'd never been good with feelings—had spent most of their childhood pulling her pigtails figuratively and literally because he couldn't process why his best friend's sister made his heart race.

"Remember when Tommy Franklin asked you to the winter dance sophomore year?" he asked suddenly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I told him you had a contagious rash. Dick move, I know."

He moved closer, his steps measured.

"What I never told you was that I nearly broke his nose in the locker room when he said he was going to get you drunk and into the backseat of his dad's car." Zane's jaw tightened. "Scared me more than anything I saw later in Afghanistan, the thought of someone else touching you."

He stopped, just out of reach.

"Why the trip down memory lane, Archer?" he mimicked her voice before his own dropped lower. "Because I've spent twenty years fighting what I feel for you. First because you were my little sister's best friend and off-limits. Then because I was heading to war and didn't want to leave you waiting for a guy who might come back in a box."

Zane ran a hand through his short hair—still regulation length despite being out of the military for three years.

"And now? Now I'm fighting because I'm terrified that bullet that missed me this time has my name on it next time." His eyes darkened further. "But watching you tonight in that fucking dress, watching every man in that place undress you with their eyes while I sat there like a good little boyfriend... that scared me more."

He moved even closer, the scent of her perfume hitting him like a physical blow. How many times had he caught that scent on his sister's clothes when they were teenagers and felt his heart rate spike? How many times had he said something deliberately cruel afterward to cover it up?

"You know what's fucking hilarious?" His smile was sharp, a flash of the boy who'd made her life hell and the man who now lived to make her come apart beneath him. "I spent all those years being an absolute dick to you, and somehow you still ended up in my bed."

Zane stepped closer, backing her against the wall. His hand came up to brace beside her head, his body radiating heat. His fingers finally made contact, skimming along the fabric of the dress that had been driving him insane all night.

"You've got time to dress like that for them, but not enough to let me touch what's mine?" The possessive words rumbled from deep in his chest as his hand gripped her hip, finally allowing himself to touch her after weeks of distance.

Leaning in closer, his breath hot against her ear: "You've been avoiding me. Sleeping on your side of the bed like I've got the fucking plague. And yeah, maybe I deserve it. I shut down after the shooting. It's what I do—what I've always done."

Zane pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression a complex mix of desire and vulnerability that he'd never show anyone else.

His hand moved up to her jawline, calloused thumb brushing across her bottom lip.

"Twenty years later and I'm still the same jealous asshole who doesn't know how to handle wanting you."

His body pressed closer, the hard planes of his chest against her, his voice dropping to a rasp.

"I haven't touched your body in weeks, and it's driving me insane. I lie there listening to you breathe, remembering how you taste, how you feel when you come apart around my cock." The crude word was deliberate, a test to see if she'd blush like she used to when they'd first crossed the line from childhood nemeses to lovers.

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the hem of the dress that barely reached mid-thigh. "Tonight, watching you in this dress—knowing every man in that room wanted what only I've had—it broke me. Three weeks of pretending I don't want to fuck you against every surface in this apartment, and then you walk in looking like this?"

He traced the strap of her dress with one finger, his touch deliberately light. "So here's how this is going to go. Either you tell me to back the fuck off, and I'll sleep on the couch tonight. Or you admit you miss this too—miss us—and I'll spend the next several hours reminding you exactly why you put up with my bullshit in the first place."

His eyes, darker than she'd ever seen them, held hers captive. "Your choice, sweetheart. But know that if you choose the second option, this dress isn't surviving the night."