The Secret Life Of Bryan. Lori Foster
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pen aside because otherwise he knew he’d break it. “She’s young and scared. Her pimp is not a nice guy, and he had control of her for far too long.” He shrugged, trying to relieve some of his own tension, then added, “She’s afraid. Of just about everyone and everything.”
How Bruce managed to keep his cool in this job amazed Bryan. When he’d seen the bruises on Amy, the utter dejection in her green eyes, he’d wanted to find the fucker who’d hurt her and pound him into the dirt.
But Bruce had been clear on what he could and couldn’t do, and mangling anyone was on the “couldn’t do” list.
Besides, for some reason he couldn’t understand, Amy blamed only herself. She’d thought she was special to the guy, thought he cared about her more than the others. Bryan wasn’t sure she’d given up on that fantasy.
If she were his daughter, he’d—
Shay made a small sound of distress. Bryan turned to her, saw she was rigid with anger, and in the next second, she exploded.
It was so unexpected, her previous manner so laidback, so relaxed, that he jumped in surprise at her ferociousness. She turned to the counter and slammed down a fist. “It’s so damned unfair.”
Her hand would be bruised, he thought as he rose from his seat.
With two long strides, he reached her. He grabbed her shoulders, trying to turn her. She might be tall, but he probably outweighed her by eighty pounds or more. She was no match for his strength.
Still, she tried to brush him off and Bryan hesitated, not wanting to hurt her but not wanting her to hurt herself, either. “Calm down, Shay.”
“No.”
She looked feral and dangerous, a woman to be reckoned with. Bryan raised a brow, admiring her temper despite himself. “It’ll be—”
She rounded on him in a fury. “Don’t you dare tell me it’ll be all right, that things’ll work out.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight, and in the meanest voice he’d ever heard, rasped, “I hope the guy who hurt her is miserable now, I hope he—”
“Rots in hell? Yeah, me too.”
Her eyes snapped open and she gaped at him.
Bryan’s hands were still on her shoulders, and somehow he was caressing her with his thumbs, soothing her without even meaning to. “Close enough. They couldn’t nail him for what he did to Amy, since she wouldn’t testify against him, but he got busted on a drug-related charge. He should be doing some jail time.”
“Good.”
Bryan grinned. “My thoughts exactly.”
She looked startled, then exasperated. “You are the oddest sort of preacher.”
Wondering if he’d ever survive this, Bryan said, “Yeah, I know.”
As he watched her, she pushed her hair away from her face. Her hands were shaking. “Sorry for losing it. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah?”
Her thoughts flitted across her face before she came to some decision. “I had a friend get hurt earlier. I’ve been edgy ever since.”
“A friend you work with?” He hoped like hell she’d open up a little. He detested mysteries. He detested secrets. He wanted everything laid out where he could examine it.
Her lips quivered, and he had to lock his knees to keep from pulling her against him. Holding her seemed like a real good idea, when he knew it’d be dumb as dirt.
She shook her head, but he didn’t know if that was an answer or a gesture of futility. “She was afraid to go to the police.”
“That’s tough.” He’d prefer her harassment over this show of emotion any time.
Taking Bryan by surprise, she leaned into him. Her hands fisted in his shirt and she tucked her face into his neck as if she’d done so a hundred times. Softness touched him everywhere, the softness of her body, her scent, her hair, her breath—and her compassion.
He stood there, stiff, appalled, incredibly turned on and feeling like a sick bastard because of it. “Shay.” He pressed her shoulders, intent on moving her away.
Her lips touched against his throat; he felt her mouth tremble, felt her breath become jerky, and then she slumped into him and began to cry in near silence.
“What the hell?” He was lousy with crying women. Hell, he ran away from women when they started blubbering. He couldn’t take it. But Shay had a death grip on him and wouldn’t turn him loose.
She even curled closer. “I’m…I’m sorry.”
Bryan’s cynicism melted on the spot.
The rest of his body was rock hard and throbbing.
She’d seemed so indomitable that her vulnerability was amplified. He stopped thinking about right and wrong, about his brother and propriety. He gathered her in and held her tight.
He didn’t know if it helped her any, but he sure as hell felt better.
His hands rubbed up and down her slender back as he attempted to offer reassurance. He wasn’t very good at it, and he felt awkward as hell. The nonsense he whispered to her brought his lips close to her ear. He breathed in her scent; his cock twitched in temptation.
Pressing his mouth to her hair, then her cheek, he tried to offer comfort, while at the same time wishing she was naked, wishing he was naked, too.
It didn’t make any sense. He was a damn good bounty hunter because, despite the sob stories he always heard, he could stay untouched. He had a keen sense of right and wrong, of his own terms of justice, and he never confused the issues.
At the moment, he was lost in confusion.
He knew only one way to make women feel better, but he doubted a screaming climax would work in this instance.
Then she turned her face up to him, drawing in a slow, shuddering breath. Her gaze was soft and liquid, her lips open.
And somehow, despite his intelligence and cynicism, despite his loyalty to his brother and everything he knew to be right and wrong, he let her kiss him.
And damn it, he even kissed her back.
Chapter Three
The shock of feeling him pressed against her body, the power in his arms, his warmth and caring, swept away all caution. Shay’s hands lifted and her fingers tangled in his silky, still-damp hair, holding him closer, refusing to let him escape when he tried to pull away. This was a revelation, a unique experience she didn’t want to give up.
A preacher. A man. A hunk. Her lips opened more, inviting, and his tongue came inside, slow, warm and wet. Nothing had ever felt so right. Nothing had ever made her so warm and alive and—
A raw groan escaped him, and he thrust himself away. He was breathing hard, and his face mirrored his struggle—a struggle he won. Holding her back the length of his arms, he rasped, “Damn it, no.”
“Yes.” Blindly, she reached for him.
With something close to a shove, he paced away from her, both hands thrust into his hair. He looked narrow-eyed and mean.
Not good.
“Bryan?”
Even though she still ached, Shay could feel the heat of his anger—at her or at himself?
She swallowed, and without even meaning to, whispered, “Please?” Not since her days in the last foster home had she ever begged for anything, but God, it felt like she’d been turned inside out, like she needed a man. This man.
He couldn’t say no.
But he did.
“Knock it off, Shay.”