by Melody Anne
“I see,” Joseph replied, all traces of tears now erased from his voice.
“I will let you digest this and then wait for your call,” Bryson said.
“You won’t be kept waiting long, Bryson. What you’ve done for our family shows what a great man you are. I’ll happily welcome you into the fold.”
What? Welcome him into the fold? Bryson wasn’t calling about himself; he was calling about Misty. He had nothing to do with her family other than as a friend to the boys.
When he hung up the phone, he had no idea that his future was already mapped out in Joseph’s head. The old man was shrewd and he’d just found another match.
And there was nothing that made Joseph Anderson happier than matching up his family members and seeing future generations brought into the world for him to rightfully spoil.
Although Bryson wasn’t ready to tell Misty yet what he’d found out, he had to hear her voice, had to assure himself that she was hanging in there. It had been a few days since their return from Montana, and walking away from her had just about killed him.
He knew he’d made the right decision, but he still regretted leaving her that day. She’d wanted him as desperately as he’d wanted her, and he was beginning to think it wouldn’t be so bad if the two of them spent some…uh…intimate time together. Yes, she was a witness, and, yes, he was responsible for her, but keeping each other warm on a cold night — what was so wrong with that?
Because it was against the rules.
Hell, the rules were meant to be broken.
He dialed her, and then he waited what felt like another eternity for her to pick up her phone.
Her hello came out breathless, and Bryson’s groin instantly tightened. Criminy! First he felt like a disobedient child while speaking with Joseph, and now he felt like a creeper, getting a hard-on like a damn teenager from just the sound of her voice over the phone. What was his problem? He was in his mid-thirties!
“Hi, Misty,” he said, his voice coming out deep and lustful. Yeah, that shouldn’t frighten her. Why not cut straight to the heavy breathing?
She took a breath. “Hi, Bryson. What are you doing?”
“I just needed to speak to you,” he said somewhat lamely.
“Is everything okay?” The instant fear in her voice sucked some of the magic of the moment right out of him. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live the way she did — always afraid, always worried the next knock on her door or the next phone call was going to throw her into a life-and-death situation. And she had no one to turn to. No. That wasn’t true — she had him now.
“Everything is fine. I just…I don’t know. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Oh,” she sighed, and he didn’t think she was unhappy to hear what he’d said.
“What are your plans tonight?” Why should he even ask? It wasn’t as if he could just go over there, lift her in his arms and drag her into bed. Could he? No. No, he couldn’t. He needed to stage an intervention, force his thoughts to permanently renounce the gutters they’d taken up residence in.
“Well, since I have the night off work, I have a smorgasbord of thrilling activities planned. While watching old romantic comedies, I’m going to attempt to make progress on that cross-stitch I bought, and then, if I feel real ambitious, I’m going to draw myself a nice warm bath and read the newest Dean Koontz book — because my life isn’t scary enough on its own.”
“Mmm, do you use bubbles or just clear water?” Now why in the hell had he focused on that one part of her sentence? Was he trying to cause himself more pain?
He was pleased and incredulous when she played along.
“I like lots of bubbles,” she said, her voice low and throaty. “I stay in there so long, though, that they all begin popping and I don’t have to rinse them away.”
Hot damn! He found himself digging in his pockets for his keys and stepping toward his front door before he managed to stop himself. This was a very dangerous game they were playing, but he was too competitive to call a foul.
“I know a few places on a woman’s back that are hard to reach. Need some help?” He didn’t know how he wanted her to answer that question. But he knew how he needed her to answer it — needed her to answer so he could stay professional, that is. Because he was so close to saying to hell with ethics and to head right on over to wash her beautiful and surely silky back.
“I think I have it covered. I have one of those long-handled brushes,” she said, but her breathing had deepened. Their little wordplay was affecting her as much as it was him.
“One word is all it will take, and I’ll be at your door in less than ten minutes.” Bryson wanted to kick himself for his weakness, but he was unable to take his offer back.
As he heard her breath whoosh in loudly on the other end of the line, his heart thundered. What would she decide? If he went there, he had no doubt they’d end up in her bed.
He’d worked long enough — early retirement was good, wasn’t it? That’s how badly he wanted her. Badly enough to risk the career he’d been building. Badly enough to throw it all away for one night with her.
Bryson somehow knew it wouldn’t only be one night, though — he knew that once he sank inside her hot folds, he wouldn’t be the same ever again. Even if he was thinking with his hormones, even though his brain was trying to put the brakes on, none of that mattered.
Logic wasn’t possible in this situation.
He didn’t know how long the silence stretched out, but he eventually heard a sigh, and his groin jumped.
“It wouldn’t be wise, Bryson. There’s just…too much in the way,” she said, but he heard clear regret in her voice.
His body was going to be aching for another night, at least. Sure, he could talk her out of this — could change her mind. If he showed up, he knew she’d let him in. But then she might hate him the next day and assign him to the same miserable category as Jesse. A night of pleasure wasn’t worth that.
“Goodnight, Misty,” he whispered, thinking it was time for a ten-mile jog. Maybe he’d just extend that to a marathon.
“Goodnight, Bryson.”
He held the phone for several moments after she hung up, his fingers clasped so tightly around the device, it was a wonder it didn’t break.
Finally he set it down, then went to his bedroom and changed. He was just going to run until he passed out. That seemed the only logical solution.
Chapter Thirteen
A car stopped outside her house, and Misty’s knuckles turned white as she clutched the sides of the kitchen chair. Who would be out in this weather? She’d pulled the blinds down — storms made her even jumpier than she usually was — so when she heard footsteps outside her window, she had no idea who it might be. It couldn’t be Bryson. He was gone, out of town. And though she knew it was silly, she felt vulnerable, unprotected.
The steps stopped and there was a knock on her door.
She was frozen to her seat, barely able to move.
This could be it. Why had she been so stupid? Her cell phone was sitting there useless, completely out of juice, and the storm had knocked out the landlines. She had no way of dialing emergency services — no way of asking for help.
Calm down. It was probably the guy down the street with the little dog. He’d come by once before to ask if she had dog food. He’d run out and wasn’t going to make it to the store till the next day. Why would he have thought she’d have dog food when she didn’t have a dog? Maybe this time, he needed some milk for his cats.
“Misty? Misty Elton?”
Her head snapped upward. It wasn’t the guy down the street. And this wasn’t an FBI agent or a U.S. marshal. They wouldn’t have used her real name. With a thundering heart, she grabbed a large kitchen knife and approached the door. There was no more running — she was through with it.
*****
“How in the hell did he get her address!” Bryson was nearly panicked as he yelled into his cellular phone. “No one has
that authorization!”
“Listen, I’m just telling you what I know,” Axel said, for once somewhat subdued. They’d been blindsided. “The man has connections. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Does she know yet?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid she does. She’s been told.”
“She must be a total wreck! I want to be there for her right this minute, but I’m at least an hour away,” he shouted again, almost feeling bad about taking his mood out on Axel.
“Just get there,” Axel told him.
“I will!” He hung up and pushed his car up to a hundred miles an hour. If something happened to Misty, it would be all his fault, and he would never forgive himself. Never!
Going as fast as he could in the storm that was brewing from Misty’s direction, he drove frantically down the dark freeway. Every mile he came closer to her, the wind picked up.
The road stretched on endlessly, and forty-five minutes later, his heart thundering, Bryson pulled up to Misty’s house and jumped from his vehicle when it had barely come to a stop. After rushing up the walkway, he hesitated when he reached the door, listening for any sounds.
The power was out and he could see only the flicker of candlelight through the windows. Hearing no sound was more worrisome than if he’d heard something.
The curtain fluttered and he knew someone had peeked out at him. He waited, his body tense. How was she? What was her reaction?
His heart raced as he waited. It had been a week since he’d seen her last, a few days since he’d learned about her family. Then Joseph, it seemed, had decided he’d spent enough time not knowing her, and he wanted to call on her, needed to speak to her. Joseph hadn’t even asked him first; the old man just rushed ahead, interfering — his characteristic modus operandi.
The door opened and Misty stood before him, her face pale, her eyes red from crying. This was worse than he’d thought.
“May I come in?” he asked warily, not sure what Joseph had told her — not sure if he was the last person she’d want to speak to again.
She opened the door wider without saying a word, and he stepped over the threshold, careful not to touch her yet. She looked fragile enough that one single movement might shatter her.
Following behind her as she walked into the kitchen and lit the burner on her stove top, he waited to see what she would say. At least the gas stove worked even during a power failure. It seemed to give her some form of reassurance to be doing something other than staring back at him in the semidarkness.
“This is a nasty storm,” he said, needing to break the silence.
“Yes. I lost power a little over an hour ago. When you pulled up, I’d just gotten the candles all lit so I can see around the house, now that it’s dark outside. Do you want tea? I need tea,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion as she set the kettle on top of the flame.
“Sure. I’ll have a cup.” He didn’t know what to say — this was a first for him. This woman had already been put through so much trauma, and she’d been all alone today when she’d found out the biggest news of her life. Because of him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you.”
“You didn’t have to make the trip in this weather.”
The kettle began to whistle and she removed it from the burner, then poured hot water over the tea bags.
“Yes I did.” That was the truth. He’d needed to be with her all week. “I…I’m done trying to stay away.”
She reached into the cupboard and pulled out cookies, then leaned against the counter and, picking up her cup, took a sip of the hot liquid. She seemed so close to breaking apart that he couldn’t keep his distance any longer.
Moving next to her, he lifted a hand, placing it on her shoulder. “Tell me what happened.” If she didn’t trust him any longer, she wouldn’t say a word. He held his breath.
“I…I have no one in my life…or, at least, I’ve never had anyone all my life. I don’t…” She tried to gain control over her emotions. “I think you’re the only person in the world I trust, Bryson. I…want to talk to you, but I shouldn’t burden you.” A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
He lifted his hand from her shoulder and ran his finger along the track that the tear had left, then cupped her cheek in his palm. His insides were twisted in knots as he watched her try to maintain control of herself. He wanted to take her agony away, bear the burden for her. “You can tell me anything, Misty. I want to listen. I want to be there for you.”
“You know I grew up in the foster-care system, that I was bounced around and around and around. The only clue to my identity was one little note that was left with me, the note that said I needed to find my brother. I never followed up on it. What was the point? I’m sure there are millions of Damiens in the world, and I didn’t even know a city for him, or a last name. I knew nothing.” Her voice was clear, almost as if she’d rehearsed her lines.
She most likely had in the time she’d had to think since her visit with Joseph had ended. This is where he should tell her the truth, Bryson thought, tell her of his involvement in all of this. But he couldn’t get the words past his throat. They just wouldn’t come. He was too afraid she’d hate him, make him go away.
“Go on,” he said instead.
“Tonight, when he showed up here, I was so frightened, afraid to answer the doorbell. But I made a promise to not run from anything anymore, so I didn’t just ignore it. I faced it,” she said, a gleam entering in her eyes during the last few words.
He broke in. “You are so strong and brave.”
She went on without acknowledging his praise. “We just stood there facing each other in silence for a moment. I almost asked if Santa was in town. He was the largest man I’ve ever run into, but with the white hair and beard and practically sparkling eyes, I wasn’t afraid. I was just in shock.”
Bryson was too tense to say anything as she paused to take a breath.
“He tells me his name is Joseph Anderson, that he’s my…cousin,” she said with disbelief. “He couldn’t be. He’s too old, for one, and how would he know I exist, for two? Or that’s what I thought until he explained it all to me. Apparently his uncle got involved with a much younger woman and then died, estranged from the family. They know my brother — Damien is real,” she said with wonder.
“Are you going to meet your brother?” Bryson now caressed her hair, both to offer comfort and to fulfill his need to touch her.
“I’m scared,” she admitted. “What if it all turns out to not be true? What if this is all just some sort of sick joke? What if this Damien is my brother but he hates me?”
“No one who meets you can hate you, Misty. I can guarantee that.”
He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to hold her. Removing the cup from her hand, he set it aside and wrapped her in his arms, her head leaning against his chest, his hands stroking her back.
“That’s not true!” she sobbed. “My foster parents hated me, the other kids hated me, and Jesse really hated me.”
“Oh, Misty, they were all fools. Don’t you see that you were thrust into a life that wasn’t supposed to be yours? You were supposed to have it all, a loving family, a beautiful life, with all the advantages in the world. Even though you didn’t grow up with what you deserved, you have still managed to stay above water. So many would use a terrible childhood as an excuse to use drugs, or live a life of crime, but not you. Though times were hard, you trudged ahead.”
“But I ended up with Jesse,” she reminded him.
“Not by your choosing. He took all choice away, didn’t give you options. He forced your hand, and even then you managed to escape. Not all his victims have managed to get away from him…alive.”
She shuddered in his arms and took in deep breaths, trying to pull herself together. “I’m still afraid. Doesn’t that make me weak? I’m afraid to take the hand Joseph is holding out to me. I’m afraid of meeting my brother.” She paused before admitting
what frightened her even more. “I’m afraid of letting you go right now.”
She pressed her body more tightly against his.
He was the lowest and most disgusting of scum. She trusted him, was seeking comfort and reassurance from him, and his body was firing up, his brain focused on the curves pressed against him, his caressing hands well aware of her derrière only inches below them. He would burn in hell — and he’d deserve it.
“I need you, Bryson,” she whispered, the words barely audible. “Please.”
His entire body snapped into action mode. Though he nearly shook in his attempt to do the right thing, he was hard in a second. But she was vulnerable, hurting, alone. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t make love to her right now.
It was wrong on so many levels, and there wasn’t a punishment severe enough for him if he went through with this. She would hate him afterward. And she’d hate him even more when she found out he’d known about her brother and told her nothing.
He was trying to persuade himself to let her go, to lead her into the living room, where he could hold her until she felt better, when her hand slid across his backside, making him clench his teeth.
It looked as if hell was going to take him. Because there was no more turning back.
Chapter Fourteen
Misty’s stomach was doing handsprings, her emotions were all over the place, and her whole world had been flipped upside down, but one thing was certain: being pressed up against Bryson, with his strong hands kneading the taut muscles up and down her back, felt so right.
