by Lori Foster
“We’ve got a real crowd tonight,” she crowed, sounding a little breathless but pleased with the action. “Keep cooking, sugar!”
What did she think he would do? Abandon his station? Giving a theatrical sigh, he said, “Chained to my grill. A man’s work is never done.”
She crossed her arms and cocked a shapely hip against the wall. “There are ladies out front, gossiping about you.”
Hogan quirked a brow while basting sauce over a slab of meat. “All compliments, I hope?”
“Suggestions, actually.”
He waited.
“These ladies want to see you grilling...shirtless.”
The smile came easily. Had her voice sounded a bit hoarse? No doubt from speaking over the rambunctious crowd. “Not sure that’s allowed, is it? There has to be a code or something?”
Her eyes flared. “You would consider it otherwise?”
Shrugging, he said, “I’m not selfish. I’ll do what I can to help your business thrive.”
Violet snorted. “Not selfish, not modest...” Her nose wrinkled. “You have a hairy chest.”
“True enough.” Slanting her a look, he added, “Hairy thighs, too. And on my stomach, there’s this line of—”
“It’s enough that you don’t wear a net on your head. I don’t want to have to worry about chest hair in the sauce.”
She definitely sounded hoarse. “I don’t exactly shed, you know.” He frowned at her and saw she appeared distracted, leaning a hand against a table and drawing a slow breath.
“You okay?” he asked, wondering if the waitress was right about her being ill.
“Exhilarated.” Quickly she straightened, patted his shoulder and took off again, her hands loaded with platters of meat.
For a little while, Hogan wondered about her. But they were too busy for him to dwell on anything but his job. The night droned on, and during small respites, Hogan prepared more ribs for the following day. His process required hours of precooking before the meat ever touched the grill. He worked alone, guarding his secret recipe—what a joke—which required him to hustle back and forth between the rear kitchen area and where the grills were set up.
Colt and his friends sat at a picnic table nearby, drinking tea and devouring burgers. The new girl was indeed cute, and if Hogan was a judge, his son had already won her over.
When Colt introduced him, Hogan felt a familiar, unmistakable pride. Despite the not-too-distant-past turmoil of their lives, Colt was a remarkable young man, and not just physically. He did well in school and he enjoyed helping others. Hogan knew he couldn’t take all the credit for that, but he didn’t want to think about his wife.
Before long, he saw that Colt had his arm around the girl and she rested her head on his shoulder. Hiding his smile, Hogan repeatedly glanced their way.
The move had been tough on Colt, but things were looking up for both of them.
The lingering crowds grew mellow as they neared the midnight hour. It was a few minutes to closing time when Kristy, a waitress, found him cleaning the grills.
“Hey, Hogan, got a minute?”
He glanced at her. She was young, cute and exceptionally friendly. Tonight, though, she looked worried. Aware of Colt watching him, Hogan said, “What’s up?”
“I wasn’t sure who to talk to.”
He closed the grill and cleaned his hands on a dish towel. “Something’s wrong?”
“It’s Violet. I think she’s really sick.”
An unfamiliar emotion tightened in his chest. Worry, he decided. Only worry for the boss. He wouldn’t allow it to be anything else. Not since his wife...
He shook his head. “Where is she?”
“In her office. But she’s been in there awhile and it’s time to shut down. You know Violet always oversees things.”
Colt appeared at his side. “Anything you want me to do?”
Now see? How could he not beam with pride?
“Maybe.” Often when Hogan worked at the restaurant, Colt was around. He probably knew the routine better than the actual employees. “Where’s Beth?” She was Violet’s assistant manager, and one of them was always around.
“She had her baby, so she’s on maternity leave. Violet’s in charge tonight.”
Well, hell. He turned to his son. “You mind giving Kristy a hand?”
The way Kristy smiled at Colt made Hogan want to growl. He said, “You’re not eighteen yet, so don’t touch any alcohol, all right?”
Kristy laughed. “That’s his way of telling me you’re off-limits.” She patted Hogan’s shoulder. “I’m already aware, Dad.” Then she added to Colt, “You do look a lot older, though.”
Colt grinned, not in the least embarrassed. “Let me say ’bye to my friends, and then I’m all yours.”
Kristy watched him walk away, a hand to her heart.
Hogan rolled his eyes, hooked his arm through Kristy’s and hauled her back into the restaurant, giving directions along the way.
It never occurred to him that he might be overstepping.
Since he could still be considered relatively new with only a month under his belt, there were others at the restaurant probably more qualified, but they all seemed relieved to have him take charge.
After setting things in motion, he peeked in on Violet. She was asleep at her desk. For only a moment he looked down at her. Those damned strange feelings stirred again; this time he ignored them.
He wanted to immediately wake her and suggest she go home, but instead he slipped back out of the office without making a sound. Far as he could tell, the restaurant was Violet’s number one priority. If he woke her before everything was done, she’d probably start pitching in when clearly she needed some rest.
The employees knew their jobs, but still welcomed his reminders of how Violet preferred things done. He, himself, did her usual duties, running the end-of-day reports, balancing the books and closing out the cash drawer. He locked the remaining money in the safe and left the register open.
After Colt and Kristy left, Hogan did a final sweep of the building, set the security alarms on all but the back door and finally went to Violet’s office. Before he could open the door, he heard a rasping cough. Again, he opened it and stepped in.
Violet, looking messier than he’d ever seen her, leaned over the papers again scattered across her desk.
“Violet?”
Slowly she turned her face toward him.
Her bloodshot eyes surprised him. Sick. He stepped in farther. “Hey, you okay?”
She looked from him to the paperwork. “I don’t know.” More coughs racked her.
Hogan strode forward and put a hand to her forehead. “Shit. You’re burning up.”
“What time is it?”
“A few minutes after midnight.”
“Oh.” She pushed back from the desk but didn’t make it far. “The restaurant,” she gasped in between strained breaths.
“I took care of it.” Holding her elbow, he helped to support her as she stood. His most pressing thought was getting her home and in bed. No, not the way he’d like, but definitely the way she needed. “Where are your car keys?”
Unsteady on her feet, she frowned. “What do you mean, you took care of it?”
“You have good employees—you know that. They’re aware of the routine. Colt pitched in, too. Everything is done.”
“But...”
“I double-checked. I’m not incompetent, so trust me.”
Her frown darkened.
“You can thank me, Violet.”
She tried to look stern, coughed again and gave up. “Thank you.” Still she kept one hand on the desk. “I’m just so blasted tired.”
“I know.” He eased her into his side, his arm around her. “Come on. Let me
drive you home.”
Giving him a lost look, she said, “I can’t be sick. I don’t have time to be sick. Beth’s gone for at least four weeks. I have to—”
“You don’t have to do anything, not right now.” Hogan remembered once when Meg, his wife, had gotten pneumonia. Her cough had sounded the same and she, too, had been tired and run a fever. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be here for the weekend. I can handle things.”
“It’s not your restaurant!” Soon as she rasped the words, she began to cough.
Worried, Hogan set her against the desk. “Stay put.” Then he found her purse and, without a qualm, dug through it for her keys.
He found them. He also found two condoms. His gaze flashed to hers, but her eyes were closed and she looked asleep on her feet, her body utterly boneless as she drew in shallow, strained breaths.
“Come on.” With an arm around her, her purse and keys held in his free hand, he led her out the back way to the employee lot, securing the door behind her. Her yellow Mustang shone bright beneath security lights.
His bike would be okay. Or at least, it better be.
* * *
Violet tried to get herself together but it wasn’t easy. She honestly felt like she could close her eyes and nod right off. “The trash—”
“Was taken out.” He opened the passenger door and helped her in.
“If you left on even one fan—”
“It would set off the security sensors. I know. They’re all off.” He fastened her seat belt around her and closed her door.
As soon as he slid behind the wheel, she said, “But the end-of-day reports—”
“Are done.” He started her car. “Try not to worry, okay?”
Easier said than done.
Because the town was so small, Hogan seemed to know where she lived even though she’d never had him over. She hadn’t dared.
Hogan in her home? Nope. Not a good idea.
Even feeling miserable, her head pounding and her chest aching, she was acutely aware of him beside her in the enclosed car, and the way he kept glancing at her. He tempted her, always had, from the first day she’d met him.
He was also a major runaround. Supposedly a reformed runaround, but she didn’t trust in that. Things had happened with his late wife, things that had made him bitter and unpredictable.
Yet no less appealing.
She wasn’t one to pry; otherwise she might have gotten all the details from Honor, his sister-in-law, already. She figured if he ever wanted to, Hogan himself would tell her. Not that there was any reason, since she would not get involved with him.
Hogan was fun to tease, like watching the flames in a bonfire. You watched, you enjoyed, but you did not jump in the fire.
More coughs racked her and she wheezed for breath.
“You know what?” he said, veering away from the direction of her house. “I’m taking you to the ER instead. You need some meds. Tonight.”
She wanted to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t his decision, but she wasn’t stupid. Tomorrow was Saturday, so finding a doctor would be no easier then. She couldn’t even imagine how much worse she might feel in the morning, given that she felt more wretched by the minute.
“Yes,” she said, her head back and her eyes closed—not that he’d waited for her agreement. “I think you’re right.”
Three hours later, after a long visit in a crowded waiting room where he’d held her against him, a few tests that had shown she had pneumonia and a script for antibiotics that he’d filled for her at an all-night pharmacy, Violet finally slogged through her house for the bedroom.
Her throat was so dry; she desperately needed a bottle of water. And she’d dearly love to lose her bra.
She managed only to drop facedown into her bed, on top of the comforter. She missed the pillow.
It didn’t matter. For someone who never got sick, she’d gone all out. Pneumonia. They should call it “debilitating weakness” instead.
Hogan stood over her. She pulled together enough energy to say, “Thank you. Lock the door on your way out.”
Instead she felt him tugging off her sneakers.
Her eyes popped open; she was sick, not dead. “What are you doing?”
“I won’t steal your shorts, so relax.” After removing her shoes, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Holding her with one arm—something she couldn’t help but notice—he turned down her bed and tucked her in.
When he walked away, she felt like crying.
She, who cried about as often as she got sick, which was never.
But instead of leaving, he came right back with the coveted bottle of water. “Here, let me help you.” Sitting on the side of the bed, he slipped an arm beneath her and levered her up, put the bottle in her hand and supported her while she drank. “Better?”
“You know,” she whispered, “since we’re doing this, I may as well go all in.”
“All in?”
She was in a bed—her bed—with Hogan Guthrie right next to her. Not ideal circumstances, but still... “Help me out of my shorts.”
Across her back, his arm tightened until she thought she could make out every lean, hard muscle.
Maybe it was lack of oxygen caused by the pneumonia, but she heard herself say, “Unhook my bra, too—I’ll take care of the rest. And thanks in advance.”
“Um...”
“It’s uncomfortable. I usually sleep naked, so—”
Letting her recline again, he quickly stood, then stared down at her with a gaze so intent she would have blushed if she’d had the energy.
After struggling over onto her stomach, she waited. Silence ticked by, and then the bed shifted and Hogan’s hands, so incredibly large and warm, slipped up her back. She felt a brief tug and the bra cups loosened.
Heaven. She muttered, “You’re pretty good at that. Guess you’ve had lots of practice.”
“Don’t try baiting me right now. You’re not up to it.” One by one he slid his hand up her arms, beneath each short sleeve of her T-shirt, and pulled the straps down and over her elbows, freeing her arms.
He turned her to her back, gave her a long look with his incendiary blue eyes and said softly, “I believe in finishing the job.”
She could barely keep her eyes open, but awareness burned through the lethargy as he reached under her shirt, hooked a finger in the front of her bra and tugged it out and away.
All the while, those hot blue eyes of his stared at her body.
Through a hazy gaze, Violet watched him look at her now-freed bra. It was beige with black lace and tiny polka dots, making him smile slightly before he tossed it onto her rocking chair. He wasn’t above copping a feel—this was Hogan, after all—so his palm coasted across her ribs, her waist and over her stomach.
He drew in a breath, held it and opened the top snap of her shorts.
As he slowly tugged down the zipper, she said, “If I wasn’t sick—”
He growled. “I know.”
“—we wouldn’t be doing this.”
That made him laugh. “I think you enjoy torturing me.”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. And why not? His presence tortured her plenty.
He finished stripping off her shorts, then took his time looking at her in great detail. “Your panties match your bra.”
“I’m aware.”
He pulled the sheet up and over her, and when she shivered, he layered on the comforter. Now more detached, he said, “They’re sexy.”
Yup, she knew that, too. Since, by necessity, she was forced to be more celibate than not, wearing sexy underthings was her balm, her way of reminding herself that she was still an attractive, healthy woman.
Bracing one hand on the nightstand, the other on the back of the headboard, Hogan l
oomed over her. “You’re sexy.” He kissed her forehead in a most sexless way. “Do you need more ibuprofen? A cough drop? Anything else?”
She needed to get well. She needed a man.
She needed Hogan Guthrie, but she wasn’t a stupid woman, so she tried to never court trouble. “No, and thank you again.”
“Try to get some rest.” He turned out the light and left the room, pulling the door behind him until it almost closed.
Violet turned onto her side, snuggled tight and faded into sleep.
2
HOGAN STEPPED OUTSIDE the front door, but didn’t secure the door behind him.
He had no intention of leaving.
God, the sight of her in nothing more than a snug T-shirt and boner-inspiring panties will be forever burned on my brain.
Her nipples had been visible through the thin cotton of the top, making his damned mouth water. And her skin, especially over the gentle curve of her belly, had felt like silk. Warm silk.
The urge to brush his mouth over her, to inhale her scent, had been nearly impossible to ignore. But despite his more recent lacks, he wasn’t completely lost to civility, so he’d tucked her up and escaped.
No, he definitely wouldn’t leave her.
Sitting on the front step of her porch, he called Colt first.
Without a single sign of sleepiness, Colt answered, “What’s up? She okay?”
It was the middle of the damned night, practically morning, so Hogan asked, “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I was, but I was also waiting to hear from you.”
“You’re there alone?”
“No, I sneaked in three girls. Make it four. Uncle Jason and Honor never noticed. I mean, there’s what? Thirty feet separating the houses? And Honor called twice to check on me, but I completely fooled her. I hid all the girls under my bed.”
“Smart-ass.” Hogan grinned. Colt was, by far, the best part of him.
