The Secret Life of Bryan Read online

  “That doesn’t mean you have to live in them.”

  Damn. He’d told Bruce that exact thing many times, and always gotten the same answer. “Maybe not, but it’s difficult to survive in both worlds, the tidy little communities and the crumbling ones. It scares people on both sides. They’re afraid you’ll carry something back with you, that you’ll somehow spread a disease they won’t be able to run away from.”

  Shay nibbled at her bottom lip before nodding. “I suppose you’re right. People fear things they don’t understand. Maybe if they were aware of how the problems originated, that no one chooses to be born into poverty, then maybe they wouldn’t fear it so much.”

  Her forthright speech threw him. She sounded just like Bruce. “Maybe,” he said, conceding the possibility of truth in her words.

  “It’s difficult to teach ethereal ideas like morality and pride when you have no electricity and no food on the table.”

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a lengthy, meaningful discussion with a woman. And damned if she didn’t have an uncanny insight into the obstacles Bruce faced every day.

  “An awareness program is real low on the list of priorities, with so many other things to be done.”

  “So what’s high on your list?”

  He tried a smile that fell flat. “Right now, you are.”

  Her eyes were big and soft, eating him up. Her hand slid up his wrist to his biceps. “Good.”

  Again, Bryan leaned out of her reach. “Damn it, stop that.” Pointing a finger at her, he growled, “You need to understand a few things, lady.”

  She 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, but she’s still a little wounded.”

  “Wounded how?” Shay’s voice had turned as cold as death. “What does that mean?”

  Bryan set the 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 sh
e’d been turned inside out, like she needed a man. This man.

  He couldn’t say no.

  But he did.

  “Knock it off, Shay.” He had resistance written in every line of his hard, rugged face. “This isn’t what you want, and it sure as hell isn’t what I want.”

  “But…”

  “You don’t even know me,” he accused. “You’re just confused.” His intensity was back, his gaze probing and hot, his voice thick.

  Her heart beat so hard, it shook her. “I’m not a child, Bryan,” she whispered. “I know what I want.”

  “A blind fool could see you’re not a kid.” The words were heavy with irritation. “But this is not going to happen. You’re here under my protection, and you’re my responsibility.”

  Shay drew a slow breath, feeling like a fool who’d dug a hole for herself and now couldn’t climb out. He wouldn’t touch her because of what he believed her to be, yet she’d repulse him if he knew who she really was. That left her with few alternatives, none of them to her liking.

  She straightened her spine and looked at him squarely. “I’m not a prostitute.”

  His disbelief scorched her. “This isn’t about what you do. You don’t have to lie to me.”

  Between rejecting her and insulting her, he batted a big fat zero. “Pay attention, Bryan, okay? I am not a prostitute.”

  His brows pulled down. “Is that right?”

  This part wouldn’t be easy, and she’d have to do a little verbal dancing, but she had to convince him. “You assumed I was a prostitute,” she said with a shrug, “so I let you believe it. But I’m not.”

  Folding his arms over his chest, he studied her. “Okay. Then what—I mean who—are you? A biochemist? A fighter pilot? What?”

  She winced. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Right.” A cynical smile curled one side of his mouth. It was obvious he still believed her to be a hooker, but for now, he’d play along. “So why’d you lie?”

  She lifted her chin with scathing disregard. “I didn’t exactly lie. I just let you believe what you wanted to believe.”

  “Uh-huh.” And then he reiterated, “Why?”