The Secret Life Of Bryan. Lori Foster
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held her hands up in the air. “I’ll behave. No reason to panic.”
A cynical smile curved his mouth. “Women don’t panic me, even pushy women like yourself. But I’ve got some questions for you, and we need to get started on them.”
“Sure. I’ll fix us something to eat while you grill me.”
He watched her rise from her seat, then became engrossed with the way her behind moved as she roamed the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers, as if she’d lived in the safe house for an eternity. “I don’t intend to grill you. I just need some information.”
She bent into the refrigerator. “There’s cold chicken and potato salad. That sound okay to you?”
Distracted by her stance, which he considered a real money-shot, he said, “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
“Good. It’ll be ready in a jiffy.” Then she peered over her shoulder. “Well? Fire away with the inquisition. I’m ready.”
She looked ready. He decided to get the most pertinent questions out of the way. “When was the last time you were examined?”
She straightened out of the fridge, a little appalled, her cheeks heating. “Examined?” she asked on a whisper of sound.
Was there a better way to ask? If so, he didn’t know it. He wasn’t cut out for this sentimental, heart-to-heart crap. “Yeah. By a doctor.”
She blinked, and looked away from him.
Bryan persisted. “You know, to make sure you’re…healthy.” He’d almost said clean, but caught himself in time.
Turning her back, she asked, “Do I look ill to you?” She was so tall, she didn’t have to tiptoe or use Barb’s stepstool to reach the top shelf of the cabinets.
Bryan sighed. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
She pulled down two plates, cleared her throat, and said, “It wasn’t that long ago. I don’t have anything contagious.”
Now he felt like an asshole for asking, like he’d insulted her as well as embarrassed her. But hell, Bruce had it on the list.
Clasping the ends of the pen in both hands, he attempted to clarify why he’d asked. “There’s a woman—a doctor—who works with us. Dr. Eve Martin, from the clinic. She gives free examinations to the women.”
Shay jerked around with renewed interest. “You said Dr. Martin?”
“That’s right.” He frowned at her. “You know her?” If she did, then that had to mean she was from the area after all. Maybe Shay was an alias. But why?
She ducked her head and turned away again, then plopped two heaping servings of potato salad onto the plates. Instead of answering, she asked another question. “Why would I need to see a doctor?”
She made it harder than it had to be. “You’re not dumb. You know there’re a lot of health risks these days.”
“No problem with me. I’m always, uh, careful.”
The pen threatened to snap in his hands. “Still,” he insisted, trying not to growl, “if it’s been a while since you’ve been checked, I’d feel better if you let Dr. Martin look you over.”
“No.”
He straightened in his chair. “What do you mean, no?” Few people dared to refuse him. In the normal course of things, he wouldn’t accept a refusal. “Why the hell not?”
“I don’t want to, that’s why.”
His hand curled into a fist and an uncertain dread began. His voice was even lower when he said, “If there’s a problem, you can tell me. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. And hiding it won’t help.”
She turned to face him, her eyes wide.
He stared back, unblinking.
“There’s not a problem.”
Then why didn’t she want a free checkup? “I can get you a private appointment with Dr. Martin. No one else would have to know.”
Shay looked from his eyes to his mouth, and damn it, he knew exactly what she was thinking. She made him think it, too.
She blinked, focusing on his eyes again. “This is totally unnecessary. I really am a responsible person.”
He gave one sharp nod. “Great. Then you’ll agree to see the doctor.”
That uncanny stare held him again, as if she could do battle with a look. But he wasn’t a pushover like his brother; he wouldn’t be budged. Finally, she rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Oh, all right. But I don’t need an appointment. I’ll just go to the clinic on Saturday.”
Dr. Martin would let him know if there were any problems, and Saturday was only three days away. “Does that mean you’ll be staying with me…with us?” Whoa, what a slip.
“If it won’t inconvenience anyone.”
When he’d started this sham, he hadn’t expected to really care about any of the day-to-day stuff. He’d figured on filling in, chatting when necessary, until he found the son of a bitch who was harassing his brother.
But he’d already developed an easy familiarity with the other women. They didn’t suspect him of being an impersonator, and he didn’t hassle them when they broke the minor rules his brother had set.
But this woman…it would be a mistake to get too close to her. He couldn’t treat her like he did the other ladies. Probably because she was so different, she got to him in a way no woman had since the death of his wife.
Actually, her effect was unique even beyond that. He’d loved Megan, and his grief, guilt and anger hadn’t abated enough with time. But never had he lusted after her like this. His need for Megan had been tempered with uncommon gentleness and an affection that had grown over time.
Shay, on the other hand, hit him like a tropical hurricane. Urgent. Instant. Even if her vocation didn’t put him off—and it did—he would never betray his brother’s trust by touching her.
“There’s plenty of room with six small bedrooms upstairs. Unfortunately, only two baths, one upstairs, and one down here.”
If anything, she looked intrigued by the idea of close company. “I don’t mind sharing.” She bit her bottom lip again. “What about you?”
He didn’t like it when she looked at him like that. Or rather, he liked it too much. “What about me?”
“How often will I get to see you?”
“I’ll be around. I use the room on the other side of the kitchen as an office when I’m here.”
“This is going to be fun.”
Like a lobotomy. “Ya think so?”
“Sure. I get along with everyone. It’ll be like a girls’ night out. When do I get to meet the other women?”
How the hell did he tell her that the other women weren’t like her? They were sarcastic, lusty, often raunchy and loud—and those were the nice ones. He shook his head. “You and Morganna will get along. She’s the redhead.” And he meant red, as in flaming red. “She’s…flamboyant.”
“You saying I’m flamboyant?”
“In a pushy, disrespectful way, yeah.”
She laughed.
“You’ve already met Barb. And Patti’s nice enough.” Just too damn grabby. She made him feel like raw meat set before a hungry pit bull. “But Amy is…different.”
“Different how?”
Bryan remembered his reaction when he’d first met Amy. He looked away. “She’ll be okay,