The Secret Life Of Bryan. Lori Foster
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She extorted those people regularly with her many charity functions and benefits. She understood them, how to squeeze sizeable donations out of them, but she didn’t really like them any more than Bryan did.
On the other hand, she knew people like herself, people with money who wanted to make a difference, likable people who cared. Her brother-in-law Sebastian was that way, but she didn’t tell Bryan that. He had his own prejudices to overcome.
Thoughts of her sister and brother-in-law naturally led a trail to other questions, and before she could consider the impropriety of it, she asked, “Have you ever married? Are you married now?”
Incredulous, he said, “That’s—”
“None of my business, I know. But will you tell me anyway?”
He leaned closer, saying succinctly, “No.”
“But…”
He caught her chin between his thumb and fingertips. “Listen up, sweetheart. Wife or no, you’ve got no reason to fear me. I only want to help you.”
Right. And next he’d sell her a bridge. She’d seen his reaction to her body, to her. Even now, he had a hard time keeping his visual attention elevated above her neckline. He might not want to be interested in any other way, but as a man, some things were unavoidable.
Her silence had him sighing and dropping his hand. “It’d help if you called me Preacher, like everyone else does.”
“No,” she answered softly. “I don’t want to be like everyone else.”
He shook his head. “Stubborn.”
“And I don’t want to think of you as a preacher.” She saw he was ready to walk away, so she rushed through her explanation. “I prefer to think of you as a man, an extremely appealing man. And when you stop making assumptions, maybe you’ll start to think of me as a woman.”
For someone who made compassion his stock in trade, he sure seemed uncomfortable with it, as if he’d rather be raising hell than serving heaven.
“Trust me, I know you’re a woman.”
Shay shivered again, this time because of the sensual threat in his tone, the masculine appreciation.
“But—”
She didn’t want to hear his “buts.” Smiling, she interrupted him to say, “I like you, Bruce Bryan Kelly. Maybe, once we know each other better, you’ll start to like me a little, too.”
She wanted to stay and talk to him more, but she took pity on the poor man. He’d had a rough day saving a prostitute who wasn’t, trying to ignore his own natural inclinations, and now trying to ignore hers as well.
Besides, she needed to call Dawn, to check on Leigh and make sure she got settled in. She left nothing to chance these days, not since that awful debacle with the pregnant girl. She trusted Dawn implicitly, but she still checked and double-checked everything, to make certain nothing like that ever happened again.
She also needed to tell Dawn that she’d be staying in the safe house. The thought had occurred to her that it might be easier to get to know the women, to gain their trust, and for them to give her assistance if they thought she was one of them. And what better way to do that than with the ideal solution the preacher had unwittingly offered her?
With Dawn on the outside carrying out her wishes and Shay on the inside spending time with the women, learning of their needs, she could make real headway. And since no one would know her, the recent taint on her name couldn’t affect her efforts.
If Bryan Kelly wanted to shelter a prostitute, she’d be a prostitute.
She thought again of Bryan’s reaction when he’d looked at her body and seen her as close to naked as possible. He wasn’t indifferent to her. He just needed to remember that, first and foremost, he was a man.
And then maybe he’d be able to help her start being a woman.
When he finally learned that she was rich, that she had more money than any three women could spend in a lifetime, that she was in truth the very same society lady he strongly disdained, it would be too late for him. He’d know that even though she was rich, she did care. And hopefully he’d want her as much, maybe more, than she wanted him.
With a barely suppressed anger common to his temperament, Bryan Kelly entered his brother’s small office and quietly closed the door. This room was the only spare room on the ground floor of the house, the only place where he could be himself for a minute.
He leaned back against the door, brooding, annoyed. Surprised. Damn, but hookers were looking mighty good these days.
The plan had seemed so simple, until now. Who could have guessed that playing a preacher would be so tough? Did his twin put up with this crap all the time?
He was a damn saint if he did.
His brother, Bruce, had warned him about a lot of situations.
Sexy bombshells with killer bods weren’t included.
Shay was hot enough to set his blood to boiling, and she was as taboo as a dame could be.
Bruce would have had a conniption if he knew Bryan’s thoughts. Preachers weren’t supposed to view women—definitely not prostitutes—with lust.
He half laughed. He’d always admired what his brother did, the life he led, but never more so than now.
As a bounty hunter, the only prostitutes Bryan ever met were the ones vying for his money. They’d put on a lot of miles and looked equal parts desperate and hard. Walking away from them had been no problem at all.
Hell, he was picky about the females he invited to his bed. For the most part, he didn’t trust people, especially women. They were clever and manipulative and while he felt pity for the women Bruce helped, he sure as hell didn’t want to bed them.
But then, none of the others he’d met had looked or acted like Shay.
When he’d started this harebrained plan, he’d known that being surrounded by needy, sex-driven women who were totally off limits would be culture shock. But Shay? No, he couldn’t have imagined her if he’d tried.
He’d gone out on patrol, as Bruce often did, because breaking his brother’s routine would give them away. People would realize that it was Bruce’s twin filling in, not Bruce himself. And that would ruin the plan.
The night was so shitty, Bryan sure as hell hadn’t expected to see any working girls. Most anyone with a brain had enough sense to be indoors, out of the vicious storm.
But there she’d been, tall, supersexy, with pale hair hanging in wet tangles to shield part of her lowered face. Her dress, a snug, miniscule white concoction totally unsuitable to the area and any purpose other than advertising her body, left her endlessly long legs on display.
The upper part of her dress had become transparent in the rain, displaying round breasts and nipples stiff from the cold wind. He’d forced his gaze down the length of her body and stalled on her flat dress shoes. They didn’t really jive with what most of the prostitutes wore, but then, few prostitutes were as tall as this one.
In the three-inch heels most the hookers favored, she’d be taller than him. Maybe that’s why she wore the flats; it probably wouldn’t do for her to tower over her johns.
He hadn’t wanted to approach her. She’d screamed “Trouble” with a capital T. But damn it, his brother wouldn’t have hesitated. Bruce would have seen it as his duty, and he’d have willingly gone to her. So Bryan did what he had to, and made the effort to “save” her.
He snorted. Yeah, right. She was so damn cocky, so self-assured, she’d probably only come along because she thought she might be able to rip him off somehow. He’d keep a close watch on his wallet.
And that nonsense about liking him? Prostitutes liked any guy with money to spend. For fifty