The Secret Life Of Bryan. Lori Foster
Читать онлайн книгу.
he wouldn’t reach for her hips, thinking how it’d feel to hold her as she sank down onto him, lifted, sank…Damn it.
Okay, he had it. Bruce would realize that she not only looked sexy enough to eat, but also sweet and innocent and carefree. She may have been just that once long ago, but not anymore. Now she sold herself to any slimy bastard with enough money in his hand, probably out of sheer desperation. Right.
She was desperate and needy.
He pitied her.
He felt sorry for her….
Until he looked beyond her and saw her dress, bra, and wispy little panties draped over the kitchen chairs to dry.
Ah, shit. Not her panties.
She’d definitely done that on purpose. Left those lacy little bits of nothing out just to provoke him. And that had to mean she wasn’t wearing any underclothes now at all.
All women knew how to draw men in. Hookers would be especially good at it.
But it wouldn’t work on Bryan. He was here for his brother, and no woman, regardless of her appeal or lack of underwear, would make him blow that.
Bringing his attention back to her smiling face, he said, “Sure, sweetheart. Tea’d be great. Thanks.” Tea. Just thinking about it almost made his stomach turn. He’d rather have a beer, but Bruce didn’t drink, so there wouldn’t be any around even if he dared deviate from his brother’s habits.
As he stepped into the small confines of the kitchen, she didn’t move. So, she wanted to tease? Fine. Two could play that game.
He skimmed past her, holding her gaze, letting his chest brush her breasts oh so slowly until her breath caught and she moved back.
He contained his smile of triumph. “Where’s Barb?” Barb he could handle. Barb was surly most of the time, outrageous the rest. Barb didn’t make him hot.
Flushed, Shay leaned against the counter. “She said she had a slight headache. I sent her to put a cool cloth on her forehead. I hope that helps.”
Apparently Shay took charge with ease. That didn’t surprise him. “Barb suffers from migraines.” Bryan lightly tossed the items from Bruce’s office onto the Formica table. The spare key made a clinking sound as it landed. The notepad and pen fell beside it. “She has a prescription but hates to use it since it makes her sleepy.”
Shay’s gaze flickered to the table and back to his face. “She told me. She said she had to stay alert to fix you something to eat and to finish cleaning up afterward. But I told her I’d take care of it.”
Giving her a direct, hard stare, Bryan said, “I’m thirty-five and I haven’t starved yet. I know how to feed myself.” And he wasn’t masochistic enough to want to spend his dinner with her.
“But Barb said she cooks all your meals.”
“Barb just likes to stay busy. It’s in her nature.”
“She said you brought her here when she had nowhere else to go.”
Bryan couldn’t hide his surprise. Bruce had told him all about Barb’s situation, but Barb wasn’t a person given to sharing confidences. So far, she’d commented on his body, told him it was a shame he didn’t share his “sweet self,” and she sneered or complained. She set out food, picked up around the place, joked and flattered, or insulted with glee. But she didn’t confide.
Bruce said it was all a front, that Barb didn’t warm to people easily. Yet Shay had only been in the kitchen a few minutes and already she had Barb talking.
As if Shay knew exactly what he was thinking, she smiled. “Barb’s been with you a little over a year now. Unlike the other women here, you pay her wages as a manager.”
He propped his hands on his hips, annoyed. “She told you all that?”
“Yes. She feels indebted. Let her do her part to pay you back, Bryan. It would injure her pride to make her think she wasn’t needed.” As she spoke, the teapot began to whistle and Shay turned her back on him, preparing two cups of tea.
Bryan stared at her ass.
Bruce, or God, or both would probably strike him down for it. But…it was a really fine ass. And he wasn’t a preacher, automatically immune to such things.
No, he was a bounty hunter, and he’d always been partial to a nice heart-shaped derriere. Hers was of special interest, though, because he could see the small rectangular outline of plastic cards in her back pocket—no doubt the IDs that were missing from her wallet.
Nope, nothing dumb about her.
After carrying the cups to the table, she pulled out a chair and sat. Or more like she sprawled, her body going boneless as she slumped in the seat, stretching out those neverending legs. And still she managed to look elegant and sexy.
Bryan had never seen a woman so comfortable with herself and her surroundings, whatever her surroundings might be. He was already used to the hookers being immodest to the point of being lewd, almost unaware of their bodies, as if they no longer thought of them as their own or as private. Their attitudes carried over to him, and he was able to see them the same way. Not sexy, just very used to showing skin.
But Shay was impossible to ignore. She just didn’t behave like he’d expected, like Bruce had predicted.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think she had no idea how sexy she looked. But as a hooker, that wasn’t possible.
He took his own seat. “This house wouldn’t run smoothly without Barb.”
“I hope you tell her that. Often.”
Her chiding tone grated on his nerves. His brother did what he could. Sometimes, to his own mind, it wasn’t enough, but Bryan knew that Bruce was as honorable and considerate as they came.
He didn’t like anyone, especially this pushy bimbo, judging his brother. “Shay…”
Teasing, whisper-soft, she replied, “Bryan?”
The reprimand died on his tongue. I’m a preacher. I’m a preacher. Bruce would reassure her, not set her straight. Bruce would make her feel welcome. “You’re not like the other women here.”
That made her laugh, but she quickly stifled the sound. “Sorry.” She rubbed away her smile. “How am I different, do you think?”
She said it like a challenge, but then everything about her, from her smile to her openness, challenged him. You don’t seem wounded. You seem much too confident and sure of your actions. You’re too damned bossy. He couldn’t say it, of course. Bruce wouldn’t say it.
“Well?”
He had to tell her something, so he said, “You’re more relaxed than most of the women.” Then a thought struck him. “You haven’t been working long, have you?”
“Since I was fourteen.”
An invisible fist squeezed his larynx. He choked, wheezed in a breath, and choked some more. Fourteen! Holy shit.
Brows raised at his reaction, she said, tongue in cheek, “Oh, you mean prostituting.”
Feeling duped, he pondered the pleasure of putting her over his knee. She deserved it. But of course, his brother would have a cow if he did something so outrageous. Through his teeth, Bryan said, “Most of the women prefer to call it working.”
“Really? I prefer to call it what it is.” Her eyes were serious, but her soft mouth still sported that teasing smile.
He wanted to lick it away. When this damn switcheroo was over, he just might. “Have you been prostituting long?”
“Actually, I’m fairly new.”
He hadn’t realized how tight his stomach felt until she answered. He’d dealt with a lot of ugly shit in his life, most recently in Visitation,