Veiled Seduction: Veiled, Book 2

by Alisha Rai

  Still, she’d pulled on her big-girl panties and gone to his room. Only to discover that he’d overridden his physician’s orders and discharged himself.

  Maira’s lips tightened in annoyance. The man was so damn headstrong. She’d worked through her shift on autopilot, grateful for the slow night, all the while alternately fuming and worrying. Even the status updates she’d gotten by phone from the hospital about his condition for the past couple of days and knowing that he was well on his way to recovery hadn’t made her feel better about the thought of him on his own.

  Work had been a blessing though, in that it had clarified some things in her mind in a way that a gallon of Breyers over the previous few days hadn’t come close to doing. Around four a.m., she’d finally realized that she just needed to man up.

  She should have factored in the development of the news crews outside Sasha’s home. Since the shooting, the national media had flooded their quiet little town. She herself had logged more than a few hours scrolling through the twenty-four-hour news stations. The nation was in love with Sasha. The grainy two-minute cell-phone footage of his heroics was played constantly. She saw it even when she closed her eyes.

  You could leave. Just go. Call him, tell him you tried, and come back in a week or two.

  She licked her lips. No. By God, she had to see him. Not just because it would look weird if she didn’t visit him, but also because she was dying to see him in the flesh despite the discomfort it would cause.

  With a shaking hand, Maira started her car. The rush of air conditioning over her skin was a welcome respite. She hadn’t realized how hot the car had gotten while she’d sat dithering. Hoping no one would see her, she raised her arm and did a quick smell check, relieved to note the lack of sweat. She’d worked hard to make sure she looked her best today, hoping it would give her self-confidence a boost.

  Maybe also hoping it might catch a certain man’s eye.

  She drove up the street with reckless disregard—well, five miles over the speed limit was pretty damn reckless to her—and made a sharp turn into Sasha’s driveway. After coming home from work this morning, she’d spent an hour tossing and turning in bed, and then started feverishly baking. The results of her work sat neatly next to her. Showing up at someone’s door with empty hands wasn’t proper. Plus, knowing the man, he was probably subsisting on potato chips and soda. Arguably, the nutritional content of baked goods was superior to that.

  She gathered the basket and pie she’d buckled into her passenger seat and awkwardly clambered out, her skirt making it difficult. The denim had been hanging at the back of her closet for a while now. On anyone else, it would have been perfectly modest, but her height tended to ruin cute skirts. She’d given them up long ago because it wasn’t normally practical for her to reveal the length of thigh they invariably did.

  No wonder drunk actresses are always having problems with this move. This takes more skill than I possess sober. She managed to make it out of her car without flashing anything indecent at the world and while juggling the food. The humidity hit her like a slap in the face—she could feel her straight hair starting to break free of its blow-dried submission.

  “Miss? Miss?” The muffled shout came from well behind her. Maira knew the reporters wouldn’t come past the property line, but she still tensed. She turned so she kept her head down and eyes averted as she took long strides up the walkway. She rang the little pineapple-shaped doorbell, straining to hear for heavy footsteps. His big black truck wasn’t in the driveway, but he had a large garage. The back of her neck prickled, along with the bare skin of her legs and arms. She absolutely hated attention. With her height and coloring, she should have gotten used to it long ago, but it had never happened.

  Panic made her heart flutter. So what was she doing here? In clothes that screamed for attention, hair and makeup done?

  She had to restrain herself from throwing the food on the doorstep and running back to her car.

  This is how much I love you, you big lug.

  She raised her hand to ring the doorbell again as the door swung open just wide enough to fit a body through. A strong hand reached out and seized her arm. With a jerk, she was pulled over the threshold. She stumbled over the doorjamb, but was caught up and tugged inside. The door slammed and suddenly her back was pressed up against the unyielding wood.

  Her front was pressed up against something even more unyielding.

  Her breath caught. Her hand released its grip on the basket to let it fall to the floor. “Sasha—”

  “Shh.” He shifted his head next to hers and she realized he was peering out the peephole. “They’re going back to their cars.”

  She could barely process what he had said. The pure, unadulterated pleasure of having his hard body pressed against hers, if only for a minute, made her forget about everything.

  Maira inhaled. God, she loved the smell of him. It was all spicy and clean and male. Since she was so tall, just a couple of inches below him, they fit perfectly from head to toe. If she turned her head the slightest bit, she could brush her lips against his cheek. His large arms, the white T-shirt he was wearing straining against the muscles of his biceps, bracketed her head. His loose sweatpants couldn’t hide his massive thighs or the way they felt cradling hers. His wide chest pressed against hers, flattening her warm, squishy breasts and—

  Wait, why were her breasts warm and squishy?

  Maira closed her eyes on a silent groan. The pie.

  Her left hand was insinuated between them, still clutching the pie tin. He must have registered the odd sensation at the same minute, since he looked down at her with knitted brows and slowly separated their bodies, taking a step back, leaning heavily on the cane in his hand.

  A cherry plopped to the ground, and she stared at the previously lovely dessert. It had smashed flat against her chest, and from her breasts to her stomach, she was covered with a mixture of cherries and graham cracker. As she watched, another round cherry slipped off to land on the polished hardwood floor.

  A snort of laughter made her look back up. Sasha pressed his lips together, but his black eyes were dancing, the small lines around them crinkling. “Hey, Maira.”

  “Hey.”

  “You’ve got pie on you.”

  She pursed her lips. “I’m aware of this.”

  At that, he leaned against the wall behind him and laughed, a deep-throated, rusty-sounding laugh. The sound was so lovely, she almost forgot he was laughing at her.

  Almost. She pressed the tin tighter against her, unwilling to ruin his floor as well by drawing it away. Well, she’d had some vague hope of provoking a reaction with her appearance. Granted, she’d hoped the reaction would have more to do with undying love and lust at seeing her body in something other than scrubs.

  At least he looked good laughing. She couldn’t help drinking his features in. His skin still had a bit of an ashen cast to it, the usual golden glow muted. He’d lost weight, so his face looked severe, his high cheekbones jutting against his skin. His dark curls were, as usual, too long and rumpled, as if he’d run his hands through them.

  He finally stopped chuckling, wiping his eyes with a finger. “Oh man. Maira, I needed that. Thanks, buddy.”

  Buddy. When a girl started med school at eighteen, she got pretty used to being men’s buddies. It had always been fine by her. She’d felt more comfortable around men who thought of her as a kid sister, which meant she tended to gravitate toward guys who were either safely married, gay, or otherwise unavailable. Sasha was the first single, straight man she’d ever felt instantly at ease around, her shy, awkward barrier melting away.

  Whenever he called her a buddy, she wanted to smack him in the head. “I’m so happy to amuse.”

  He grinned as he came over and picked up the basket at her feet. She didn’t expect the quick kiss he brushed over the top of her head. Sasha was sparing with physical affection, which would normally have been okay with her. If she didn’t crave his touch so much. />
  He stepped back and looked at her face. Was it her imagination or was there something softer, different in his eyes as they rested on her? She felt warm and flustered. “You look good.”

  His smile was slow. “Thanks. So do you. It’s good to see you.” He cocked his head. “Did you do something different? With your hair?”

  Yeah. She’d only spent a solid hour this morning straightening the long mass. That was before she’d tried on everything in her closet and done her makeup three times. Men. “It’s down.”

  “Huh. Well, come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  A bit of the mess had landed on his shirt as well. “It was a good pie,” she mourned, as they walked to the kitchen.

  “I’ll bet. Cherry’s my favorite.”

  She knew that. She was so pathetic. “Are you in much pain?” she asked him abruptly, noticing his limp. There was a bulge on his thigh where the bandage lay under his sweatpants.

  “None at all.”

  She cast him a reproachful look, forgetting for the moment the seductive persona she’d planned on. “I’m very unhappy with you for insisting on a discharge. If I had known you were going to try to pull something like that…”

  “I already got the lecture from Leyla.”

  “You should have stayed for an extra day, at least. Between the blood loss…”

  “I mean it. Cut it out, I’m fine. Just because I have good insurance doesn’t mean I should milk it.”

  She wasn’t about to let his terse tone affect her. “It’s not about—”

  “Maira. Drop it.”

  Ugh, why couldn’t she have picked some safe, timid guy to moon over? “Fine.”

  He hefted the basket in his hand, and his face softened. “What’s in here?”

  “Cookies, muffins.” Sasha had a sweet tooth that could rival a toddler’s.

  “Hey, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

  She shrugged, uncomfortable, and trying to fall back into their usual friendly rhythm. She searched for something to say as they entered the large, airy kitchen. “I-I wanted to. I was going to come see you in the hospital…I mean, I saw you when you came in, but you were asleep, so you probably didn’t know…”

  “You were really there? I thought that was a dream.”

  Oh God, had he seen her falling to pieces and scattering kisses over his face? She’d assumed he’d been so out of it he wouldn’t remember. Her face heated. “I didn’t realize you were awake. You saw me?”

  He glanced at her, but looked away quickly. “I was under the effect of a crazy cocktail of drugs. I thought I saw your face for a minute.”

  Okay, phew. That was fine. She didn’t mind him seeing her face. “It was a stressful day. I stopped in for a bit.”

  “I thought you’d come by after I woke up.”

  There was no reproach in his voice, but she felt it just the same. “I’m sorry. I was going to but…” She faltered. There was no acceptable excuse for why a friend would not stop by with a teddy bear or flowers. Or even a balloon.

  “Don’t apologize. Mason said you were shaken by the experience. Did you have to work on some of the kids?”

  More shame. Yes, the kids had made her sad, but she’d worked on children before. He had been her trigger into a breakdown. “Yes. I did come yesterday, but you had already left.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re here now. I’m happy to see you.” He placed the picnic basket on the counter. Which, now that he had called attention to it, Maira realized was more than a little crowded with foil-covered pans.

  “It looks like I’m not the only one to bring you something to eat.”

  “Huh? Oh.” He paused in opening the basket and surveyed the other dishes. “Oh, yeah. A couple of people from the neighborhood brought them by this morning. And this afternoon.”

  People…or women? She tried to ignore the spurt of jealousy. Don’t be small.

  “But it’s all like this tuna-casserole crap. This is way better. You know what I like.”

  Victory was hers! Okay, you can be a little bit small.

  “Hey, feel free to put that thing in the sink and wash up. Mi casa and all that.”

  She went over to the stainless-steel double sink and carefully lowered the tin to the base. At least her red silk tank top matched the smeared fruit, she thought ruefully. After she’d turned the water on, she carefully scraped the worst of the mess off her shirt. “That’s quite the media circus outside.”

  “It was way worse when I got home yesterday. Most of them got bored when I didn’t step outside and talk to them. I’m hoping by tomorrow they’ll all be gone. I told the captain to just issue some sort of statement with my blessing.”

  “I’m sorry I made you open your door. I would have called…”

  “Nah, I wouldn’t have answered. The vultures got my cell phone number. I kept getting interview requests, so I just shut the thing off.”

  “Well, that’s not surprising. I mean, what you did was so heroic.”

  His snort was derisive and a little bit insulted. “What I did was my job.”

  “You did way more than your job, Sasha.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Stop being modest.”

  “I’m not. Everyone’s going insane for no reason. If I’d had any idea what would be waiting for me when I got home, I might have stayed in the hospital. There’s the madhouse outside my door, my phones are ringing off the hook for interviews, suddenly everyone’s my best friend, the women—” He cut himself off.

  Wait, women? She scraped off the last bit of pie and tried to sound casual. “What about the women?”

  “Nothing. Anyway, I wish everyone would just leave me the hell alone, especially those reporters. I didn’t do anything special.”

  “Nothing special? You didn’t have to respond to that call. You aren’t patrol.”

  “I was in the area.”

  “But you didn’t sit around and wait for backup. You single-handedly brought down an armed gunman while he was shooting at children outside a school. I’d say that’s pretty damn heroic.” As much as the thought of him in such danger made her stomach churn, she was equally proud of him. Along with the video, a still photo of him with his gun extended in front of him, narrow-eyed and intense, was a popular sight on television as well. Her heart beat a little faster every time she saw it.

  The silence behind her made her duck her head. She’d been far too impassioned.

  “How many of those kids are still in critical condition, Dr.? And the teacher?”

  The water wavered in front of her eyes. How like him to think of the other victims. It had been popularly reported on the news that his first question upon waking up was to inquire about the children’s health, and she didn’t doubt it. She wouldn’t love him so if he was any other kind of person. “Two. The teacher was one of mine. I hear it’s looking good for her.” None had died though. Thanks to him, but she knew he didn’t see that.

  His tone was soft and final. “Then I’d say I wasn’t anywhere near a hero.”

  “If you hadn’t been the first responder, it could have been a lot worse.” She twisted the faucet off and turned around. And promptly swallowed her tongue. Sasha needed to give a warning and pass out oxygen masks before he went around taking his shirt off.

  She’d never had a reason to see his chest. Usually when they were together, they were watching football or a movie or eating dinner. Shirts were generally the norm at those sorts of things.

  He worked out like a fiend, and he had an amazing physique. His tan skin stretched tautly over his defined muscles. His chest was wide, his pecs sculpted, and he boasted a perfect six-pack belly. He had the perfect amount of dark hair on his chest, a trail leading southward to disappear into his pants. The sweatpants hung low on his hips, revealing the intriguing little dips at his groin.

  The large, ugly contusion decorating his ribs caused her stomach to churn. She knew what would have happened had Sasha not been wearing a Kevlar vest, the ki
nd of damage a bullet to the middle of a body could do. She visualized the suckers slamming into his torso, pushing past skin and muscle, hitting arteries, punching through vital organs. Puncturing his lung, his heart. Instant death or slow death, but dead all the same.

  The world receded around her, each tick of the clock on the wall marking another second of their lives wasted.

  Tick. Five years down the road and she was attending his wedding to another woman.

  Tick. Twenty years after that and she was sending money for his child’s high school graduation.

  Tick. Fifty years after that, frail and alone, she was standing in a corner at his funeral as his real family mourned.

  God no.

  “I’ve got clean T-shirts folded on the washing machine. Why don’t you change? That can’t be comfortable.”

  His words seemed to come from far away and she stared at him. “What?”

  He cocked his head and gestured at her shirt. “Your top. It’s a mess.”

  She looked down at herself dumbly. Without thinking, she crossed her arms in front of her and pulled the tank top off.

  His inhale of breath was the only sound in the room. She dropped the top to the ground. The ruined fabric plopped as it landed.

  This…this was not what she had planned on. Granted, she hadn’t exactly planned any of this visit. On the contrary, she’d specifically avoided thinking of it at all, knowing it would only make her more nervous, more anxious. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d had some vague idea of dazzling him with her hidden looks, plying him with sweets, playing the sophisticate, slowly leading him toward the realization that they were perfect together.

  Maybe this wasn’t the worst first step, though, she thought, a little hysterically. Nothing got a man’s attention like sex, right? It was like ripping a Band-Aid off. You do it fast and quick, get it all out there.

  Still, she couldn’t look at him. The cold air conditioning smoothed over her skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Her nipples were tight against the scratchy lace of her bra.