Vickie York - The Eyes Of Derek Archer

“I’ll have the operator connect you,” said the clerk. His voice sounded like that of the young man she’d talked to earlier.

“Just a minute,” Susan said. “When I tried to reach Mr. Archer at seven o’clock this morning, you told me he hadn’t checked in. Did you make a mistake?”

There was a short pause. Then a congenial chuckle. “I make a mistake now and then, but this wasn’t one of those times.”

“Can you tell me when he signed in?”

The clerk hesitated. “I can’t say exactly, but I think it was sometime around eight-thirty,” he replied finally. “I’ll ring his room.”

Susan hung up before Derek Archer answered. She spent the time until lunch wondering why he’d tried to give her the impression, early this morning, that he was calling from the hotel when he obviously wasn’t.

She’d test him, she decided. If he lied again, she’d know he was up to something.

Hesitating, Susan glanced around the hotel lobby, searching for a middle-aged man with a red handkerchief in his pocket. The faint smell of woodsmoke from the stone fireplace, along with the subtle fragrance of fresh flowers, enveloped her. A vaseful of yellow roses stood on a rough-hewn table near the door, another sat on the registration counter.

She couldn’t help staring when she spotted the red handkerchief. The man wearing it looked years younger than she’d expected after talking to Archer on the phone. Though deep frown lines between his dark brows gave him the disturbing, faintly ominous air of someone on a life-or-death mission, he couldn’t be much older than Brian. But in spite of her odd first impression, Susan had to admit he was attractive, in a rugged sort of way.

For an instant she felt an unwelcome tug of interest. He’s been an officer in the service, she thought, eyeing the sharp creases in his pants, the shine on his black loafers. In his gray business suit, he carried himself with the self-confidence that came with military command.

Though he looked tough and lean, she could see his shoulders straining against the confining fabric of his suit, as if he’d gained muscle recently. A couple of unruly strands of curly black hair drooped over his forehead. His eyes, such a dark blue they were almost indigo, clung to hers with an intensity that made her catch her breath. They were the eyes of a dangerous man, so penetrating they seemed almost as though they’d glow in the dark.

Watch it, Lieutenant, she told herself, surprised at her sudden breathlessness. She was a new widow. She couldn’t let herself react to the first interesting man she’d met since Brian’s death. And he did look appealing, she had to admit, in the frightening way a free-roaming black panther looked alluring. What had happened to give him that tough, predatory look? she wondered.

Starting toward him, she forced herself to remember her plan to trap him into telling another lie. Derek Archer was probably a con artist out to swindle her out of her inheritance. No matter how attractive he was, the sooner she found out what he was up to, the better.

He came up to her with a half smile.

“Mrs. Wade?” He extended his hand.

Susan recognized the smooth baritone voice she’d heard on the telephone. “Yes, I’m Susan Wade.” She took his hand. It was surprisingly rough for an insurance agent. His square jaw was thrust forward, as if he expected a confrontation.

Almost without realizing it, she checked for a wedding band. He wore none. She was irritated with herself for feeling relieved.

“Thanks for coming, Mrs. Wade.” His voice, deep and sensual, seemed years younger than when she’d heard it on the phone.

He stared frankly into her eyes. When her gaze didn’t waver, he cleared his throat and glanced away.

“Excuse me for staring,” he said. “When I was in the army, I never ran into any lieutenants as attractive as you.”

Susan didn’t let herself get distracted by his compliment, despite an unexpected sense of warmth coursing through her. Salesmen were good at buttering people up. If he was working some kind of con on her, this was how he’d start.

“When were you in the army, Mr. Archer?” Her words were quick and sharp. She hoped to catch him off guard.

He took her arm, urging her toward the dining room. “After I graduated from college, I put in my six years to pay off my ROTC commitment.”

His reply was so glib, Susan suspected he’d prepared an answer to fit into whatever swindle he was planning. Not until they arrived at the table did she realize that he’d never answered her question.

ARCHER EYED SUSAN WADE, seated opposite him in the Riverfront Hotel’s Crown Room. After his months on the run, he was good at sizing people up without their knowledge.

Studying Susan, he decided a picture of her he’d clipped from the local paper didn’t do her justice. Instead of looking merely healthy and sturdy, the way she did in the newspaper, she glowed with a kind of inner vitality. Maybe it was the combination of tanned skin, golden hair and brown eyes that gave her such an earthy, vibrant quality. And, close up, she wasn’t what he’d call sturdy, not in the usual sense. Rather, his experienced eye detected a firm, well-rounded figure beneath the confines of her uniform.

Watching her, an unexpected surge of pure desire washed over him. He wanted to do more than have a meal with this woman, he realized to his chagrin. He wanted to unloosen the hair at the back of her neck so it streamed down her bare back. And he wanted to hold her tight against his naked chest while he was doing it.

Archer recognized his feelings for what they were: simple, unadulterated lust. As he studied his menu, he told himself to back off. For his plan to work, he had to keep his distance from this woman. But he couldn’t help stealing another glance, only to find her brown eyes staring back at him. She glanced down, but not before Archer caught what he thought was a gleam of interest. To his dismay, this time his body responded. Heat surged through him, tightening his muscles.

Damn. He’d have to watch his step. The last thing he wanted right now was an unwelcome attraction to Brian Wade’s widow, something that would only interfere with his need to get even with the men who’d betrayed him.

“Tell me about this policy you say my husband took out,” she said. “How much is it for?”

Her voice was low and musical, more appealing than it sounded on the phone. But her question made her appear mercenary, like he’d expect a husband-killer to sound. Yes, she might have done it, he decided, eyeing her tempting mouth with its full lower lip. Incredibly, his suspicion made her seem even more attractive, perhaps because it gave them something in common. They were quite a pair: the convicted killer and the grieving widow who might have murdered her husband. For a moment he let himself picture the two of them locked in a lusty embrace, his hands warm on her full breasts.

“It’s an accidental death or dismemberment policy for fifty thousand dollars,” he said, reluctantly letting the fantasy go. He hadn’t had a woman in months and knew the feelings were normal. But why at such an inappropriate time?

He handed her the packet of insurance papers he’d had printed, and she leafed through them.

“Industrial Indemnity doesn’t sound like the name of an insurance company that handles this type of policy,” she commented, without looking up from the page in front of her. Her lashes, several shades darker than her gold-blond hair, shadowed her high cheekbones.

He shrugged. “Our company’s been in business for more than sixty years. We started out with heavy industries where accidents were a big problem. Then, twenty years ago, we began accepting individuals. Your husband said he wanted a sound accident policy that would cover him in war or other violence connected with the military service. Industrial Indemnity is one of the few companies to offer that type of coverage.”