The Secret Life Of Bryan. Lori Foster
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light inside the safe house was bright, and not only could he see through her dress, but the rain had soaked through to her white lace panties and bra, too, rendering them transparent as well. She could actually see the pink circles of her nipples, the shadowing of hair between her thighs.
She slapped her hands over herself, but she still felt naked, and she still had his attention. His expression hadn’t changed, except that his eyes were black and fathomless.
He wasn’t embarrassed. No, he was interested. He was a man, looking at a woman.
Though Shay felt uncertain of herself, she also felt daring. She wanted, for some reason, to hear him admit that he found her attractive. Turning slightly away, she held out the jacket again. “Here you go. Thank you.”
Unlike her, he suffered no nervousness or reserve. He accepted the coat. “There’re donated clothes folded in the pantry in the kitchen. Down the hall and to your left. Take whatever you need. Use the mudroom to wash up and change into dry clothes.”
Shay licked her lips. She was thirty years old, and no one in the last twenty of those years had ever accused her of being timid. She wanted him and the first step in that direction would have to be honesty.
She drew a slow breath, shored up her nerve, and said, “I’m curious about something, Bryan.”
He hung the coat on a peg by the door. “And that is?”
“What would you say if I told you I wasn’t actually a prostitute after all?”
Chapter Two
His disbelief couldn’t have been more plain. “Not a hooker, huh? So why else would you be here, in this neighborhood, dressed like that?” He nodded toward her clothes.
Shay stiffened. Her dress was expensive, stylish, and entirely appropriate—when dry. Now…She looked down at herself again and had to admit he had a point.
“Were you slumming? Spying for the rich biddies who want to take away every ounce of assistance these people have so they can pretend they don’t exist?” He moved closer to her, deliberately trying to intimidate her with his size and strength. “You want me to believe you’re here to visit relatives? To do a little shopping?”
Shay shook her head. “No.”
“It doesn’t matter to me, all right? No need to be ashamed and no need to lie. Hell, as long as you’re not one of those society women or part of that damned WAM group, we’ll get along just fine.”
Fascinated by these new disclosures, Shay asked, “You think all society women are like that? Mean-spirited and unconcerned about others?”
“Aren’t they? You heard about that rich lady who organizes all the charities, the one the papers call the Crown Princess? She thinks she’s so benevolent, yet when a young girl went to one of her shelters for help, she was turned away. It’s been the talk of the year, in every damn paper you pick up.”
Shay felt a chill of pain slice up her back. She said cautiously, “The papers rarely tell the whole or accurate truth.”
Bryan snorted. “The truth is that the girl almost died not forty-eight hours later, alone. If a truck driver hadn’t found her, she’d probably be dead right now. But the shelter had refused to help her.”
Breathing became difficult, from both his censure and her own smothering guilt. “The papers also said that the manager of that shelter was fired, that the lady who’d founded it didn’t know anything about the incident…”
“Yeah, right.” His rude tone ripped apart her excuses. “She set up the foundation, making herself look like a generous god to all her society friends, then didn’t bother to make certain things were run the right way. She was probably off shopping somewhere, or having a dinner party while that girl almost died trying to give birth alone.”
Shay felt herself shaking in the face of his disgust. She hadn’t known, she wanted to scream. Excuses choked in her throat: the number of shelters she was responsible for, the number of projects she established, all demanding her time and attention. There were holes in every organization.
But she knew he was right. There was no excuse. And she’d never forgive herself, so how could she expect others to forgive her?
As she turned her face away, Bryan cursed. “Shit, I upset you and I didn’t mean to.”
Even feeling so horrid, she had to laugh. “You have a terrible potty mouth for a preacher.”
He rolled his eyes over that observation.
“And you didn’t upset me,” she lied. “I’m just surprised at your…vehemence. I mean, it’s not like you know her personally.”
“I know her kind well enough and I know I can trust the desperation that forces a person to make a decision, good or bad, over cold apathy any day.”
It hadn’t been cold apathy, far from it. She just couldn’t convince the papers of that. What the public thought no longer bothered her, not when her own guilt was so heavy.
But…what Bryan thought did matter. He was a good man, doing what he could to help others.
Thank God she hadn’t told him her last name. She could only imagine what he’d do if he knew the truth. She was Shay Sommers, the very woman he despised. Dubbed the Crown Princess, a woman accused of living a charmed life, using her charity functions as nothing more than tax write-offs and society showmanship. If Bryan had known her real identity, he probably would have thrown her into the rioting mob rather than trying to save her from it. And he’d be especially angry when he learned how she’d misled him.
“Christ, how’d we get off on this anyway? Look, how I feel about wealth and all the prejudice that comes with it won’t affect you.” He gave a halfhearted, feigned smile, trying to reassure her. She’d already guessed that he wasn’t a man given to smiles; he looked more at ease snarling than smiling.
“It’s all right.”
“No it’s not. You’re shivering. Go get changed and then we’ll talk. I’ll introduce you to everyone else.”
His sudden conversational switch threw her. “Everyone else?”
For the most part, he kept his gaze on her face. But every so often he skimmed her body, lingering in select places. “Barb’s the cook and housekeeper. Besides her, three other women are staying here now, but more might come—or they might go.” He shrugged. “It changes off and on.”
“Three other prostitutes?”
His brows lowered at her blunt question. “They’re trying to start new lives for themselves. It can be done, you know.”
He didn’t have to convince her. She already hoped to start a new project, based on the success of helping these women start over. But she herself planned to stay a prostitute for a while longer. Bryan would forcibly boot her out if he knew she wasn’t what he assumed her to be.
And she wanted to stay.
She had enough reasons to justify the deception, at least to herself. She wanted to know how Bryan maintained the shelter, where his donations came from, details on how he worked the safe house. She could use those details in setting up her own shelters.
She also wanted to know all about him, the past that had molded him, the future he saw for himself, and why he had such a deep hatred for money.
But most of all, she wanted him to know her, to give her a chance to prove she wasn’t the malicious, uncaring bitch portrayed in the papers. She wanted him to know she wasn’t a Crown Princess at all, regardless of what biased truths were told. She was just a woman who wanted, needed, to help others. But telling him wouldn’t do it. She had to show him.
It was odd, but the very thing that had made her so appealing to other men—her wealth—was the one thing that would make this man despise her,