Читать книгу The Secret Life Of Bryan - Lori Foster - Страница 8

“Nasty, nasty weather.”

Shay Sommers sent her best friend, Dawn, an impatient look. She’d been commenting on the weather for the past ten minutes. Probably her idea of a subtle hint to go. The weather was furious, but then, so was Shay. And she wasn’t ready to leave. Not by a long shot.

Dawn pushed back her chipped coffee cup and got right to the point. “Come on, Shay. It’s getting dark outside. And I’m cold. There’s no point in hanging out here any longer. Leigh’s on her way to the clinic, and you know Dr. Martin will take good care of her.”

“Of course she will.”

“Shay,” she said, dragging her name out. “The guy is long gone.”

“Probably.” Shay drummed her fingers on the scarred countertop. “You should go. Make sure Leigh is taken care of. Tell Eve to send the bill to me. I’ll check in with you later.”

Dawn’s deep black eyes narrowed. “And what will you do in the meantime? Hang around here all night, terrorizing the neighborhood with your frowns? Plotting revenge?”

No answer was answer enough.

Dawn groaned. “Damn it, Shay. She’ll be all right now, thanks to you. At least she’ll be better than she would have been if you hadn’t decided to take up this project.”

Shay made a sound of disgust. “Project.” Her fingers continued to drum and her frown grew fierce. “It always seems like such a ridiculous word when it’s applied to real people.”

Dawn squeezed Shay’s hand, and her voice gentled. “I know you want to help, Shay. But you can only do so much.”

“It’s not enough.”

“And you’re not everyone’s mother!”

“I’ve been thinking…”

“Lord help us.” Dawn sighed and dropped her head into her hands. “Let me guess. You want to do more than set up a shelter. You want to get personally involved.”

Scowling, Shay said, “You know, you have an irritating habit of making my every plan sound stupid.”

“Gee, I wonder why that’s so easy to do?” Dawn said. Shay’s mouth opened and Dawn snapped, “Okay, okay, forget I said that.” She held up her hands in mock regret, which did little to relieve Shay’s forbidding expression. “But let’s face it, Shay, you don’t belong here. You’re already spread too thin.”

Shay shrugged that off. Somehow, she’d work it out. She had to.

Dawn leaned forward. “Find a manager, let him or her handle the details.”

“No way.” Shay knew only too well how difficult it was to find a good manager, someone sympathetic and understanding, someone honorable. “This is too touchy. I knew it existed, but…Leigh is so young. Even with the heavy eye makeup and that skimpy outfit she wore, I could tell she was little more than a kid.” She drew a deep, painful breath, and whispered, “But she’d been prostituting herself.”

Again, Dawn took her hand. “Just as I used to do. Until you saved me.”

Shay rolled her eyes. Dawn still suffered misplaced loyalty. Shay hadn’t saved her. Dawn had saved herself, and she’d turned into a best friend along the way. “Go on, Dawn. I’ll catch a cab home. Later. I want to hang out here awhile yet.” She wanted to see if there were any more young ladies like Leigh. If so, maybe she could reach them before they got hurt.

Dawn glanced around the dining room, then over to the bar. “I’m telling you, it’s not a good idea.”

“It’s an excellent idea.”

“Yeah. If you’re in the market to buy or sell sex.”

The place wasn’t rowdy, Shay noted, merely dark and severe. It suited her mood perfectly. There were a few men, a few women, and the rusty twang of a jukebox. But Shay detected no sense of a threat.

They’d used the phone here to make arrangements for Leigh, then sent her to the clinic. Eve Martin was a formidable doctor who could bully anyone into good health—and often did. She was also a valued friend who repeatedly helped Shay in her efforts.

The excitement was over now, but Shay remained too angry to move. She wanted to understand, to find ways to make things better. She wanted to see if any other young ladies ventured out on this miserably wet September night.

So she stayed, sipping coffee, trying to sort out what had to be done.

Besides, she didn’t want to be alone in her big lonely house with only her anger to keep her company. Even the company of strangers right now was preferable to that. “It’ll be safe enough.” Then she smiled. “I lead a charmed existence and you know it.”

“You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you?”

“If you mean, am I going to insist on having my own way, don’t I always?”

“Yes you do, and it’s damned annoying.”

Shay grinned. They made an odd team, with Dawn small, her skin as black as her eyes, and Shay tall with a pale, almost Nordic appearance. They bickered constantly, and no small wonder.

Where Shay often acted on impulse, driven by her emotions, Dawn was logic and reason personified. Shay trusted Dawn, and that was saying something, because other than family, Shay didn’t trust easily.

They balanced each other, and Dawn did a credible job of keeping Shay in line.

Most of the time.

Giving up, Dawn said, “Do your best to stay out of trouble, all right?” Her stern expression would have been daunting to someone who didn’t know her so well. Shay only grinned again.

“I mean it, Shay. Stay inside, but don’t linger in this place too long. If you run into any problems, call me. Or better yet, call the cops.”

“My own mother doesn’t carry on this much. Will you just go? And stop worrying. I’ll check with you later to see how the girl is doing.”

Dawn took one last disapproving look around, then shook her head and marched away. Shay watched her go, all the while thinking that if all the women she tried to help were half as wonderful as Dawn, she’d know her husband’s money had been put to good use.

Thoughts of her husband, now dead for a little over three years, only tightened the knot in her stomach. She missed him, as a friend, as a companion. But not as a husband. Not as she should have missed him.

That led her thoughts to a dead end, one she visited far too often, so Shay turned her thinking to the problems ahead, to deciding how to handle the situation with the prostitutes. She’d need supplies and a safe place to house the women. A mental checklist formed in her mind.

After an hour had passed and her anger had cooled—but not her determination—she dug through her purse for a few bills, paid her tab and left a generous tip. Her cell phone had long since gone dead, so with change in her hand, she started to the back of the room for the pay phone.

A woman was already there, her body slouched comfortably into the corner on the small bench. She seemed to have settled in for a lengthy chat. Conspicuously impatient, Shay waited several minutes, but the woman did a convincing job of ignoring her, and finally, Shay gave up. Now that she had a definite purpose in mind, she was anxious to get busy.

She left the bar and grill, thinking to search out another pay phone nearby. The rain continued to fall, the wind blowing it against the building fronts and leaving the narrow streets almost deserted. Earlier, when she’d arrived to get Leigh, she’d seen other women she suspected to be working the streets, too. She’d wanted to talk to them, but apparently, the weather had chased them all away.

Huddling under the faded, tattered overhang of the bar, Shay folded her arms around herself and debated what to do next.

That’s when she saw him.

And once seeing him, no way could she look away.

Oblivious to the raging storm, he stood in front of a small, gaudy barroom on the opposite side of the street. Blinking lights surrounded him, forming a soft glow, giving him the look of a dark, too-serious angel.

Despite the rain, his shoulders weren’t hunched, but were straight and wide, his posture confident, even arrogant. Long legs were fitted into snug, well-worn jeans, braced apart as if preparing for battle, though Shay doubted anyone would dare to oppose him.

She knew she wouldn’t.

He stood facing her, staring at her in intense concentration. Although she couldn’t see his eyes, she knew he looked directly at her, that somehow he could see her eyes. It was the oddest feeling, like comfortable familiarity, but with the excitement of the unknown.

Rain blew in her face and she thought to close her mouth before she drowned. She felt flushed from head to toe.

In an effort to see him more clearly, she wiped the rain from her cheeks and eyes—and belatedly remembered her makeup. She probably looked a fright now, but she wouldn’t turn tail and run because of it. She wasn’t sure she could leave.

There was no sense of danger, no alarm, only a thrill of awareness that ran bone deep, leaving her breathless and edgy as she instinctively responded to it. Her emotions had been rioting since the call had come in from Leigh. She’d suffered anxiety and urgency, then anger and remorse, all-powerful emotions, only now they were being transformed into something much more exhilarating.

Without changing expression, the man took a calm, measured step toward her, then another, straight into the storm. His movements were unhurried but resolute, and Shay had the feeling he didn’t want to spook her with his approach. Her stomach curled in response, her skin heated. She wasn’t afraid, but then, she rarely felt fear. Not anymore.

Once, long ago, when she’d been a small child, she’d lived in fear. But she’d gotten over that with a vengeance, and now she kept it at bay with bossiness and a will of iron.

At least, that’s what her parents claimed.

Shivering, Shay attempted to smooth her windblown hair, then walked out to meet him halfway. The second she left the protection of the rough-brick building, the rain soaked through to her bones.

At her approach, his step faltered, and when the neon lights flashed again, she finally saw his eyes. They were such a dark brown as to look almost black. They were narrowed and direct, scrutinizing her from head to toe in a most disturbing way. Their gazes met, and momentary confusion gripped her.

Shay stopped, staring back, breathless and uncertain. Again, his gaze dropped, skimming down the length of her body as she stood in a pool of reddish light, getting more sodden with every gust of wind.

When he looked up again, he seemed almost…angry. But why? Hadn’t he wanted her to greet him?

Intent on asking him, she scowled and again started forward. She didn’t get a chance to move far before a deafening crack rattled the air and a blinding burst of electrical light seared the dark night, lingering, sizzling in ominous threat until one entire side of the street—her side—fell into utter blackness. Shay knew the lightning must have struck a transformer. The darkness was absolute, the lights from across the street not quite penetrating so far, making it impossible to see, making her more aware of the noises around her, more aware of the man approaching the shadows with her.

The sounds of people leaving the many bars, the hush of excitement as darkness gave leave to wicked possibilities, was nearly drowned out by the raw severity of the storm. Shay turned to look behind her. She couldn’t see them, but the hushed rumblings of curiosity told her that men now hovered in the doorways.

Uh-oh.

Safe within a building was not the same as being outside in a violent storm during a blackout. Her skin prickled with dread. Because she hadn’t lost all common sense, she knew the situation could turn lethal. Crossing the street into the light became a priority, but as she jerked about to do just that, she managed only one step before she slammed into a solid wall of warm, unforgiving muscle.

Large, hard hands closed around her upper arms and held her steady when she would have staggered back. Her own hands lifted to brace against a wide chest. Muscles leaped beneath her fingertips, further immobilizing her.

A voice, so close she felt the warmth of breath and smelled the clean scent of damp male skin, whispered into her ear. “It’s not safe here. Come with me. Now.”

Wow. Not a question, but a command, and a very tempting one—if she was an idiot. Even before she lifted her gaze, her heart tripping with a mixture of anticipation and excitement, she knew it was him.

Across the street, one of the bars turned on floodlights, probably in the hope of scaring away looters. The illumination fanned out over the wet pavement and filtered onto the opposite sidewalk, providing a soft glow. Through the stinging rain, Shay stared at the man, able to make out his features for the first time. And Lord, was he incredible.

This close, she could see the golden specks in his dark eyes, and his thick, almost feminine lashes. Combined, they should have softened his features, but didn’t. He was too intense to be softened in any way.

Dark brows lowered in an expression of grim resolve. His cheekbones were high, his jaw lean with an edge of hardness. Tall, broad shouldered, clean and very commanding, he made a direct counterpoint to most of the men she’d seen in the area, men who skulked about, their postures either humbled or belligerent.

This man was enough to make a woman swoon—if she were the type inclined to such things. But Shay had no intention of closing her eyes for a single instant. He might very well disappear if she did.

His hands still held her arms, his grip firm but not restrictive. And he stood mere inches away, blocking part of the rain with his body. It was that proximity that stifled her usually outspoken manner.

Then another man appeared at her side and said in whining tones, “Aw, Preacher, you sure you want this one? She looks damn fine standing there, soaked to the skin, tall and snobbish.”

Shay stared at the little man in appalled fascination. He was wiry, about five-feet-five inches tall, and looked like a geek, complete with black framed glasses, an old-fashioned haircut parted on the side, and a white short-sleeved dress shirt with the top button undone. As he stared at her, looking her over in a sleazy, stomach-turning way, Shay saw the rainwater bead on his lenses.

He swiped it away and all but drooled at her. “Real wet,” he breathed.

There were too many possible connotations to what he said, so Shay concentrated on the one she did understand, trying to brazen out the situation, trying to maintain some aspect of control. Glaring, she said, “I may be tall, and I’m as soaked as everyone else, but I am never snobbish.”

Both men stared at her.

Shay prided herself on being open and friendly and approachable. That openness was the trick of her trade, what made her so successful in her efforts. Then something else the little man said hit her, and she stared back at the dark-eyed stranger.

Stunned, she managed to squeak out, “Preacher?”

He didn’t answer her, but instead ordered, “Get lost, Chili. Take your money home to your wife for a change.” He hadn’t looked away from Shay when he spoke. Evidently, he didn’t need to.

Whining, Chili accepted his dismissal and faded back into the shadows.

“Well.” Shay cleared her throat. “That was impressive. I gather you’re used to giving orders?”

Instead of answering, he scrutinized her. “I haven’t seen you here before.” His tone was low. Familiar. “So maybe you don’t know how dangerous this particular corner is to work.”

Shay cocked a brow. She knew. Hadn’t she just saved Leigh from working this corner? But…surely he didn’t mean what she thought he meant, at least in reference to her.

“On a night like this,” he continued, “men are more interested in raising hell than paying you for service. Come on. I’ll get you out of the damned rain.”

Her jaw loosened and her brows came down. He did. He thought she was a prostitute. Shay shook her head, but there was no denying his words. This positively gorgeous man with a voice that rubbed rough and raw up her spine and eyes that seemed to see to her soul thought she was a lady of the night. A hooker. A streetwalker.

No matter what term she used, it sounded the same.

But she didn’t think he meant to be insulting. In fact, she wasn’t altogether sure what he meant. “Are you offering to buy my services for the night?” If he said yes, she’d probably deck him, gorgeous eyes or not. But if he said no, then where did that leave her?

With a growl and a low, muttered curse, he shrugged out of his jacket. “Put this on.”

My, my, he was full of orders. “Why? Then you’ll just get wet.”

His gaze flicked over her body once more, quickly. He looked out over the surrounding area while leaning close, his nose nearly touching her hair. “You look more naked than not.” His voice was strained, annoyed. Deep and raw. “Believe me, the men here won’t wait for you to name a price before they take what they want. You’re wasting your time, and you could get hurt. Take the damn jacket and come with me.”

Shay blinked rapidly, thankful now for the darkness and the fact that she had her back to everyone—except the preacher. The floodlights would be against her front, leaving her visible to his view. The snowy whiteness of her dress served as a beacon in the darkness. She folded her arms over her chest and started to look down, but he caught her chin on the edge of his fist.

“Put…the jacket…on.” His expression was fierce, his tone abrupt. When she nodded, he held it out and she slipped her arms into the sleeves, rearranging the strap of her purse over her shoulder. Made of nylon and cotton, the jacket smelled of him, and her heartbeat fluttered, just as it had fluttered when she’d first noticed him watching her.

She held the front closed over her breasts with fingers gone numb from the cold rain and humiliation. She lifted her gaze to his face, but he was busy watching the men around them. He certainly wasn’t acting like a customer. Not that she knew how a customer would act. But somehow, she thought he’d be more…interested.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“There’s a safe house close by. You can get dry and wait out the storm. No one will bother you there.”

A safe house. So he wanted to help her? He’d just solved one of her problems, and her mind buzzed with possibilities. Maybe she could work with him; they could combine their efforts.

She certainly wouldn’t object to spending more time with him.

Explanations would have to wait. As he looked up and down the street, watching for danger, impatience throbbed off him in waves. Shay became aware of running feet, then someone broke a window behind her and loud, rather creative cursing was followed by shouts and laughter.

The preacher grabbed her, pulling her close to his chest and turning to move her farther away from the crowd, shielding her with his big body. Her face tucked into his neck and she breathed in his scent. Once again her stomach curled, then tightened. It was a delicious feeling, one she could get used to pretty quickly.

He said against her cheek, “We have to go.”

Shay nodded, her options limited as more breaking glass erupted around them. “Lead the way.”

He grabbed her hand. “Try to keep up,” he ordered, and hurried her along down the middle of the street. The rain stung her skin and the wind tried to tear her hair from her head before he darted back into the shadows again, away from the lights and the possibility of being noticed.

Glad of the fact she’d worn low-heeled shoes, Shay trotted along behind him, her steps slightly hampered by the narrow width of her skirt. She’d been at a fund-raising banquet and would have changed before coming here today if there’d been time. But she’d needed to reach Leigh, to get to her before she changed her mind.

She’d met Leigh at one of her women’s shelters a few months before. She’d known then that the girl had many problems, but she hadn’t known she was a hooker.

Shay had left the banquet in a rush, taking only enough time to grab Dawn on the way. When someone finally reached out, someone desperate, you didn’t ask her to wait while you changed into something more comfortable.

Lightning shattered the black sky in front of them, followed closely by the crashing of thunder. The preacher pulled Shay into the recessed door front of a small, seedy motel. “Wait here.” Still keeping her hand secured in his, he peered around the corner. “Anyone looking for you?”

“Excuse me?”

He glanced at her, gaze sharp, almost piercing. He repeated, “Do you have a…” He shook his head. “A keeper? A pimp.” He shifted against the building, growling the word in a way that Shay knew it bothered him even to say it.

It disturbed Shay a great deal more, especially after seeing what a pimp had done to Leigh. She leveled an indignant look on his profile. “No.”

“I can deal with it,” he told her, and his tone reeked of confidence. “I just don’t want any surprises.”

No one had ever accused Shay of needing a “keeper.” Lecturing the preacher here and now on the evils of assuming too much tempted her, but she settled for saying, “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

He turned to better face her, settling all that awesome attention on her until she felt like squirming. “Don’t get all huffy.”

She was indignant, not huffy, and there was a huge difference. Not that he seemed inclined to hear about it.

“I’m not judging you.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “I leave the judging and condemning to the society bitches who keep trying to have this area written off.”

Shay took a step back. “Society—?”

“Bitches. You haven’t heard of them? WAM. Women Aiming for Morality, or some such ridiculous crap. As if they even know what morality means.”

Shay knew them well. They were a group of righteous biddies who had been rather persistent in petitioning her offices, wanting her to back their cause. They considered her one of them: rich and elite and upper class, ready to rid the world of the more unseemly elements, especially the human elements.

But they hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that Shay had come by her money through marriage to a wonderful man, not by familial inheritance. She hadn’t been raised with it, so she had no inbred snobbery. Her own parents were happily middle class, and very supportive of any measure that might help the less fortunate.

She herself had been one of their efforts at helping where and how they could, which added to her determination to spread the goodwill.

When she was six years old, they’d taken her in and smothered her with affection and acceptance, making her a part of their family, giving her a little sister and safety and stability. Now they lovingly put up with her pushy, domineering, take-charge ways, and her unorthodox methods for giving back.

But even they would have difficulty accepting her pretense of being a prostitute.

She should probably tell him the truth. Instead, she said, “You don’t talk like any preacher I’ve ever known.”

That observation brought his frown back and flattened his mouth. His eyes looked like flint, his jaw like granite.

Unfazed by the show of hostility, Shay asked, “Is it just a nickname, or are you really a preacher?”

Leaning his head back against the crumbling face of the building, he released her hand to rub the bridge of his nose.

Shay immediately missed his warmth, his comfort.

After what seemed like forever, he growled, “Yeah, I’m a preacher.” He fell silent a few moments more, listening as the sounds of a police siren swelled and then faded. “But you don’t have to worry about constant sermons and advice at the safe house. You’ll get help, not lectures.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Intrigued, yes, but not worried. He had an edge of sharp competence to his manner that seemed more suitable to a gunslinger, not a man of God. Shay knew her own background, the motives that drove her to this neighborhood on such a miserable night, the overwhelming compulsion to help others as she had been helped.

But what motivated him?

She tucked her hands behind her back, resisting the temptation to touch him. “So you’ve given up on your religion?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He sounded so put out with her, Shay let that topic drop. “What’s your name?”

His gaze zeroed in on her again. “Everyone calls me Preacher.”

“So I’m not allowed to know it?”

“You don’t need to know. Besides, we have more important things to think about tonight.” He started away, but Shay didn’t budge.

Glancing over his shoulder, he ordered, “Get a move on.”

Shay countered, “Tell me your name.”

Impatience rose up, nearly making his dark blond hair stand on end. “This is no time for games.”

Oh, boy. And here she’d always thought preachers were supposed to be full of endless, unwavering forbearance. Such a contradiction. But Shay didn’t scare easily. “I’ll go with you. When I know your name.” And then, to soften her insistence: “You can’t expect me to just go traipsing off with a stranger.”

“And hearing my name is all the reassurance you need?”

His disbelief and suspicion made Shay grin. “Yeah.”

Rankled, he rubbed his jaw, dragged a hand over his damp hair. Then he stuck out his hand. “Bryan Kelly.” No sooner did he say it than he looked poleaxed, like he wanted to turn around and walk away from her, or curse, or punch the brick wall.

Instead, he just stood there, frozen, his hand extended.

“Bryan.” She tasted the name, watched him watching her, and closed her fingers around his. “I like it.”

“I meant to say Bruce.”

Shay blinked twice. “What?”

With her hand still held in his, he repeated, “I meant to say Bruce. Bryan’s…my middle name.”

“Bruce Bryan Kelly?” And she thought her own name was unique.

His scowl was back, blacker and meaner than ever. “I prefer you call me Preacher.”

“Why?”

He appeared to be grinding his teeth. “Because that’s what everyone calls me.”

“So?”

“I can’t show favoritism.” He seemed satisfied with that explanation, enough to expound on it. “You can imagine how that’d look, all things considered.”

It was difficult not to laugh. “Things being that I’m a prostitute and you’re offering to protect me?”

If looks could hurt…“Exactly.”

“I’ll call you Bryan—but only when we’re alone.”

Seconds passed while he stared at her, probably trying to intimidate her. “Will you, now?”

She met him stare for stare. “Yes.”

His eyes narrowed more, his lip curled, and he turned away. “Good thing we won’t be alone much, then.” He still had her hand caught in his, practically dragging her along, keeping close to the buildings and as far from the blowing rain as they could get.

Pulling the tiger’s tail, Shay asked sweetly, “Don’t you want to know my name?”

They walked another ten feet before he said in distraction, “What the hell? Go ahead and tell me.”

His absent tone was tempered by the protective way he led her down the deserted street. For a preacher, he had incredible instincts, staying alert, constantly scanning the area. Had he maybe served in the service before choosing this vocation? Or was his edgy, suspicious nature just a basic part of the man?

Whatever the reasons for his unique attitudes, Shay liked them. She liked him.

It was the first time since her husband that a man had bothered to show interest in her for any reason other than her money. She was well used to men fawning over her, trying to ingratiate themselves into her life. She had connections and wealth, which meant she had power. The combination served as quite an inducement to most guys.

But Bryan Kelly was unaware of her assets; for heaven’s sake, the man thought she was a common hooker in a dirty little neighborhood, desperate enough to be selling her wares on a night like this. It wasn’t the most complimentary assumption ever made.

But it was better than being wanted for her money.

And for the moment, she preferred he go on thinking it. Which meant she couldn’t give him her full name. “You can call me Shay.”

“Shea what?”

No way would she give him her last name. After recent events, she’d suffered some truly awful publicity and he’d probably read most of it. Knowing how he felt about WAM, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think he’d leave her standing in the street alone if he realized her identity. “Just Shay.”

After a furtive glance, he asked, “Just Shea, like the stadium?” Amusement lightened his eyes. “Or just Shea, like Cher, important enough that you only need one name?”

Was he laughing at her? It didn’t matter. Laughter was better than disdain any day. “Just Shay, as in short for Shaina.” She spelled out her name for him. No one in the papers had known her full name. No one had called her Shaina since she’d been adopted.

He nodded, then said, “No last name, huh?”

“I like to protect my privacy.”

After a look that could cut, he let it go, and for once, Shay was glad. If he didn’t ask any other questions, she wouldn’t have to outright lie to him.

He led her along until they came to a fully lit section, leaving the blackout behind. The buildings were close together, some rundown, some tidy, all of them showing signs of poverty.

He released her hand and pointed ahead. “See that tall, skinny building at the end of the street? That’s the safe house. You’re welcome there any time.”

“Thank you, Bryan.”

His piercing gaze locked on hers, while one side of his mouth curled. It wasn’t humor that put that half smile on his hard face. “You’re a pushy broad, aren’t you?”

Since Shay couldn’t deny that, she only shrugged an apology. It was a rhetorical question anyway, given how he turned his attention away.

She liked holding his hand and walking beside him in the rain, feeling his attentiveness to his surroundings and listening to his deep voice and breathing his scent.

She’d like to get to know him better, too, to maybe work with him, maybe be…intimate with him.

Okay, so she’d jumped ahead with giant leaps on that one. The timing couldn’t be more wrong, and considering that he was a preacher, those thoughts were even more inappropriate. But these things really didn’t wait for perfect timing, she supposed.

It had been a long time in coming, and now that desire was finally hitting her again, it did so in full force. She felt it everywhere, such wonderful feelings. And they were intensifying with each second they spent together.

Watching Bryan’s long-legged stride excited her. Hearing his deep-toned, rough voice made her insides swirl. Even his ears seemed sexy, and if that wasn’t lust, she didn’t know what to call it.

With his palm at the small of her back, he ushered her ahead of him. He was easily six feet tall, which left them nearly the same height. Bryan didn’t seem intimidated by that. In fact, he didn’t appear to notice. His inattention to her as a woman might be a problem, she decided.

He wrestled a set of keys out of a tight, damp jeans pocket and unlocked the door, then held it open for her. Lights were on inside, and though the room was shabby, it was clean and warm.

Furnished with multiple seating of mismatched couches and chairs and benches, it reminded her of a used furniture store. The scarred linoleum floor had a deep slope and was bare except for an occasional worn area rug. No dust collected in the corners, and no muddy tracks marred the floor. Somehow, the room appeared comfortably lived in, inviting and cozy.

As she slipped out of his now soaked jacket, she watched him. “Do you stay here, too, Bryan?”

“No.” He had his back to her, snapping the door shut and turning all the locks to secure the house. With the brighter lighting, she could study him in more detail. His thickly lashed, dark eyes were made for seduction. His dark blond hair, straight and a tad too long, had lighter sun streaks, making an interesting contrast with his eyes.

“Why not?”

“Staying here wouldn’t be appropriate, now would it? And you can just imagine how WAM would slant it. By the time they retold the circumstances, we’d all be involved in drunken orgies or worse.”

He ran his hands through his wet hair to push it out of his face, and turned toward her. Shay held out his jacket—and he froze.

With his hands still in his hair, his gaze zeroed in on her body. Slowly, very slowly, he lowered his arms. His attention was nearly tactile, heating her, making her heart beat fast.

Belatedly, Shay remembered what he’d told her, that the rain had made her tailored, white silk dress transparent. Oh, no. With dread, she looked down, and almost collapsed with embarrassment.

The 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?”