“Hello, Joseph, this is Bryson Winchester,” he began, then wondered whether he’d be able to get another word in edgewise during their “conversation.”
“Bryson, my boy! How are you? I figured you forgot how to use a phone, it’s been so long since you’ve rung me,” Joseph scolded him.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Bryson always felt like a disobedient child when Joseph spoke to him. Because he was friends with Joseph’s sons, he’d been to the man’s place a few times, and Joseph was certainly loud and a bit overbearing in his manner. But the man was also always very welcoming. It seemed incredible that he and his sweet and accommodating wife could make such a perfect couple. But they did.
“I suppose I can forgive you, Bryson. After all, you’re a busy man. Have you found someone special yet? Last I spoke to your parents, they were heartbroken — simply devastated — that they still didn’t have grandkids. They have three beautiful children, and not one of you has done the honorable thing — settling down and marrying, and giving them some nice babies to hold.”
Damn. It was worse than just scolding. Less than a minute on the phone with this man and he felt as if he’d been pulled into the principal’s office for skipping class or being caught under the bleachers with Suzy Summers.
“Work keeps me busy, sir. I see my family often, though.”
“Well, I would hope so,” Joseph said. “You’ve got good folks, Bryson, real good folks. Not everyone is as lucky as you are”
“Yes, sir. I’m well aware of that,” he said, then rushed into his next sentence before Joseph could cut him off again. “I’m calling because I have news that I think you’ll be excited about. It pertains to Damien, but I thought it would be best coming from you, since I don’t know him very well.”
“Go on then, and spit it out. I’m not getting any younger,” Joseph bellowed.
A grin spread across Bryson’s face. It wasn’t a wonder at all that Joseph was loved so much. He could sure blow a bunch of smoke, but underneath it all, family was all that truly mattered to him. Not his billions, and not all that he’d accomplished — just having a beautiful, successful, happy family.
“I’ve found his sister.”
Dead silence greeted his proclamation. Bryson was beginning to think he’d lost the connection when he heard a suspicious throat clearing.
“Are you sure, boy?” It almost didn’t sound like Joseph anymore. His voice was unusually quiet and gruff. It sounded as if the large man was fighting tears.
“I had her DNA tested. I haven’t told her about any of it yet. I didn’t want to raise her hopes and then dash them if it turned out that Damien wasn’t her brother. She’s had a…difficult life.”
“I hate to hear that,” Joseph said. “It could have been so much better for her. I’ll never understand why my uncle did what he did, why he had so much hatred in his heart.” The story filled him with sadness even after all these years.
“What do you want me to do, sir? Should I wait to tell her?” Bryson had no idea what his next move should be. Misty was a witness in a case and had a dangerous man coming after her. But this was her family. They would be able to offer her more protection than he could. She’d been without them long enough.
“What’s her name?” Joseph asked.
“Misty Elton. She’s beautiful, smart, and strong — so strong. She’s a witness in a case we’re building against a dirty cop. She’s been through hell and back, and she’s fighting not to get sucked down there again. I do not want to see her hurt any more than she already has been. I don’t know how she’ll react to this, but I have a feeling she won’t be averse to having a family. I just want to make sure it’s what Damien really wants, because I’m sure she can’t handle another rejection in her life. I won’t let that happen,” Bryson said, revealing more about himself than he should have to the meddling Joseph Anderson.
“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.