He hadn’t stopped torturing women after Misty had gotten away. He would never stop. And he would eventually get her. She didn’t know how or when, but he would. She’d tried to think otherwise, but she knew that now. Still, she’d made the right choice in giving her deposition, and she had no regrets.
“Come here,” Bryson said, pulling her from the chair she felt glued to. Before she even thought of stopping him, he drew her against his hard chest, wrapping his strong, comforting arms around her back and holding her close.
She couldn’t help but take what he was offering. There wasn’t a price attached to this gift he was giving her. No expectations. He was just trying to make her feel as if there was another person in this huge universe who was with her, if only for this tiny moment in time. She allowed herself to feel something other than fear and sorrow, and she melted against him.
Sighing when his hands moved slowly up and down her back, soothing, gentle, letting her know he was there to help — a friend, in fact — Misty found herself sinking further and further down a path she shouldn’t take. But isn’t that what she wanted? Didn’t she need a friend? Still, how would she know? She’d never, ever had one.
There had never been anyone in her life she could lean on. No one to comfort her and make her feel better when life was at its darkest, no best friend to giggle with and tell her secrets to, no person to cry with when it felt as if the world were ending.
So, yes, she wanted a friend, but as Bryson’s hands skimmed over her shoulders and ran gently through her hair, she knew it would also be nice to have more than a friend. It would be nice to feel his touch on her na**d skin, to feel his lips slide across her mouth.
A sense of guilt for harboring such thoughts assailed her, but her desire was stronger. She hadn’t thought she’d want a man again — not after what Jesse had done to her — but this was desire. It was more than desire. This emotion was unlike anything her body had felt before.
It didn’t seem possible, but her body melded completely with his, and she had no idea where she ended and he began. If she just lifted her head from his chest, would he kiss her?
As she pushed against him in her desperation to get closer, she felt the clear evidence that he wasn’t unaffected. But despite the way his arousal was pressing against her stomach, his movements remained gentle, his hands soothing. As her body heated further, her muscles tensed, and her mouth opened, he did nothing more than rub gently along her spine.
Would he ever kiss her? She was afraid to find out. Afraid that he would kiss her back — and afraid of the rejection when he didn’t. If he could hear the thoughts running through her head, he’d know for sure that she had lost it, and he’d check her into a psych house.
But then he moved his hand to her neck, sending shivers through her, and his fingers grasped her chin.
He leaned back. “Misty,” he whispered, sending instant heat to her core, a pulsing, molten heat nearly burning her from the inside.
“Yes,” she said, not knowing whether she was saying yes to a kiss, or yes to her name.
He looked into her eyes for a moment longer before he groaned, then his head leaned forward and his beautiful lips took hers, making her knees sag as passion spiked to a boiling point in her hungry body.
One arm remained around her back, pressing her tightly against him as his other hand cradled her face and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding easily inside her willing mouth.
Their moans mingled as he caressed her lips, plundered her mouth, stoked her ever-building flames of desire. She didn’t know how much time passed — seconds, minutes, hours. Time was irrelevant. As long as she was in the safety of his arms, she was unhurt. Untouchable, except by him.
When he pulled back, she grew confused and disoriented, and she felt as if her body belonged to someone else.
“I have to leave, Misty,” he said, both hands on her arms, steadying her as she tried to clear the fog from her brain, tried to focus her eyes on his flushed face.
“What?” Her thoughts were muddled.
His eyes were on fire, and she could finally focus enough to see them.
“I have to leave now, or I’m going to lift you in my arms, carry you to your bed just a few yards away, and make love to you all night.”
What was wrong with that? She didn’t get a chance to ask. He groaned and looked away.
“You’re a witness under my protection. I can’t do this.” He was speaking as if through pain.
Respect. That’s what she was feeling — utter and total respect for this man. His job was important to him. She wouldn’t be the person to interfere with that.
“Then you’d better go,” she said, and he turned relieved eyes on her. Had he thought she was going to jump his bones? Well… No. She wasn’t going to do that. Tempting, but no.
“I’ll be back when I…uh…cool off,” he said with a light chuckle.
“Better make it a while,” she warned him. She needed some cooling off herself.
“What are you doing to me, Misty?”
He ran his hand along her cheek again. She turned her head and kissed his palm, unable to resist. She had to admit that she felt tremendous power when she saw a shudder run through him.
It was euphoric to feel desire, to feel burning need, and still feel trust, still know that this man wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t push her, would continue to respect her.
The more she knew him, the more her confused emotions began to straighten out, and all she wanted was to call him back, hold him close, and take from him what he could give her. Security, respect, relief.
Without another word, he turned, seized his briefcase, and strode from her kitchen and out of the house. She heard his footsteps stop as he waited for her to lock the door, then he moved down the walk. She went to the window and watched him drive away.
She’d made that look of hunger enter his eyes. She turned that man on with nothing but a little kiss — and he’d been man enough to do the right thing and walk away. Right now, the right thing didn’t feel very right, but she found herself smiling anyway, because she felt safe and protected. And she also felt desired. In a good way.
As she wandered to the bedroom and lay down, even though it was early in the afternoon, she wondered whether she’d been too hasty. Never before had her body ached so badly, and never had she needed someone so much.
And not just someone, but something. She wanted Bryson, but not just in her bed. She wanted his company and his comfort. She wanted him to hold her, to tell her she was safe. She wanted the man in so many ways, it was impossible to describe.
If she could just learn to trust herself again, then maybe she could believe what she was seeing, believe what she was feeling.
Instead sharing a bed with her usual companion, confusion, Misty drifted to sleep with a hopeful smile on her face. The jog would certainly be needed when she awoke, more now than ever before. She had a massive overload of hormones to burn from her body.
Chapter Twelve
He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have stolen a cup with Misty’s saliva on it and had it tested for DNA. One of Damien’s cousins had gotten a sample from Damien, and they both felt like spies in some cheap B movie, but they were trying not to get Damien’s hopes up only to have him find out once again that someone he’d pinned his hopes on wasn’t his sister.
His friend had gone through that four times already since the search had begun to find the baby his mother had willingly given up. Each time, Damien felt more and more sure that he would never meet his sister.
And, man, did Bryson feel guilty about Misty. Sure, he hadn’t wanted her to suffer the same sort of disappointment as Damien had if he and Camden were wrong, and he tried to tell himself that he’d done the right thing, but he knew damn well that he hadn’t. He should have spoken to her, treated her like an adult, not acted in such an underhand manner.
Yes, FBI agents lifted people’s DNA all the time, but he’d never done so on someone he actually cared about.
The result was positive. Misty Elton was Damien Whitfield’s missing sister.
So the news was good. But did the end justify the means? Bryson hoped she wouldn’t hate him for going behind her back to find out who her family was.
When she’d mentioned the note and the name Damien, Bryson had thought the odds were firmly against his friend being her brother, and yet he knew that Damien Whitfield was searching for a lost sister… It certainly wasn’t an impossible coincidence. That’s when he looked at her eyes again, and he remembered where he’d seen similar eyes — Damien. They were identical in color and shape.
Eyes can lie, of course. But DNA is another matter. There was no doubt now that Damien and Misty were brother and sister. So he was holding a phone tightly against his ear, waiting. The ringing seemed to go on for hours, and his rug was surely going to get ruts in it because he couldn’t stop pacing.
“This is Joseph!”
Bryson couldn’t help but smile as the man’s voice boomed through the telephone. No one would ever accuse the head of the Anderson family of being a quiet man. It didn’t matter how much he aged — he would always be larger than life. And he’d most likely never die, either.