When Bruce Met Cyn

by Lori Foster

  Her eyes widened. "Why would he think that?"

  "Because Shay wanted him to." He laughed. "She had some trouble and didn't want anyone to know her real identity."

  "But if he thought she was a hooker, why didn't he just—"

  "Cyn." Bruce interrupted her before she could finish that damning thought. "You haven't known many good men, or you wouldn't have to ask."

  Eyes narrowed, she sneered, "So a good man wouldn't dirty himself with a whore. Gotcha."

  "Maybe I should reassess your intelligence." He didn't give her a chance to get offended. "When Bryan met Shay, he was impersonating me."

  "Just for the fun of it?" she asked in that same nasty tone. "Or was there a reason?"

  To avoid a long discussion, Bruce condensed the story enormously. "Someone had targeted my safe house with threats, and it made it easier to figure things out with both Bryan and me involved."

  That got her mind on a different track. "Did you find the person?" '

  "Yes, and everything's all right now. But while Bryan was being me, he met Shay. He mistook her for a prostitute, she believed he was a preacher, and neither corrected the other. Bryan fought it because he knew it wouldn't be ethical to get involved with a woman he thought had come to him for help."

  "But he wanted to?"

  Nodding, Bruce reiterated, "Not so much because of how she looked, but because of her outlook on life, how she treated others." Bruce turned down the gravel drive to the twenty-acre home where Cyn would apply for work. "Bryan likes to say that Shay has a beautiful heart. And he'd be right. She's pretty incredible."

  Skeptical, Cyn asked, "He thought Shay was a prostitute and he still married her?"

  "No, he knew the truth before they married. But not before he fell in love with her." Bruce parked the car, grateful to avoid more difficult questions. "We're here. Ready?"

  Instandy diverted, Cyn looked around at the fenced acreage, the immaculate two-story house, and the enormous barn out back.

  "Wow. We've arrived at Tara."

  "Remember, Julie said Mary was a nice person. And Julie would know."

  Nervousness had Cyn smoothing her sweater and tidying her braid. With a wince, she added, Cyn fell instandy in love with the horses, and given how they kept nibbling on her hair and butting her shoulder with their muzzles, they liked her, too.

  Bruce stood back and watched her with an indulgent smile as she petted and spoke with the animals. It was clear she knew very little about horses, but she wasn't afraid of them. If anything, she seemed to strike an instant rapport.

  After her disappointment at the factory, her animated happiness now was a welcome relief.

  There were two mares: Satin, a black with a white star, and a gray named Silver Bells. They were fifteen years old and kept stricdy for pleasure, not for showing or breeding. Their stalls were clean and roomy, the horses obviously well cared for.

  Mary Donniger, a very nice lady in her mid-sixties, wanted to keep it that way. "They adore you," Mary said with wonder.

  "I'm amazed. I mean, they're huge. And so beautiful. I hadn't realized." Cyn smoothed her hand along the gray's back, then patted its shoulder. The black protested being ignored, and with a laugh, Cyn moved to the other stall and treated that horse to the same attention. "I've never been around animals much."

  "Whatever. Nice or not, the worst she can do is not hire me, right?"

  "True, and if she doesn't, there's always Shay. Now let's go."

  * * *

  "You're a natural." Mary watched her crooning to the animals, then smiled. "I love them both very much."

  "I can see why." Silver Bells let but a whinny, and Cyn laughed in delight. "You're both spoiled, aren't you?" She took turns stroking the horses, talking to them as if they understood her, praising them.

  Mary gave them a little more time to interact, then suggested they tour the space above the barn that served as living quarters. Bryan took that as a positive sign, and given Cyn's look of cautious expectation, she did, too.

  The main entrance to the apartment was by stairs outside the barn, but a steep ladder from the barn floor also led to an interior door into the loft The space was indeed small, but tidy and warm.

  Bruce hated to admit it, and he didn't like himself for it, but he had half hoped it would be unsuitable to give him a reason to take Cyn home with him again.

  Hands in his pockets, his heart strangely full, Bruce said, "It smells a little of the horses."

  Cyn closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "And leather and hay. Clean, natural smells. I like it."

  Everything she did seemed to incite him to lust. He cleared his throat and tried not to watch her so closely. "It's not an unpleasant smell at all."

  Mary leaned in the doorway. "I've always enjoyed it and if I was younger, I'd relish spending time out here working. It makes me feel closer to my husband."

  The room included a very small refrigerator, an 114 Lori Foster

  electric coffeepot, a microwave, and a tiny television. The telephone was an extension of the main line, so if Cyn used it, she'd be sharing with Mary.

  But as she said, she didn't have anyone to call, anyway.

  "What do you think?" Mary asked.

  Cyn looked as if she were standing in the middle of a palace. "It's great."

  "It has everything you'd need, but probably not everything you'd want." Mary smoothed her hand over the quilt on the twin-sized bed tucked into one corner, opposite the appliances. "My grandmother made this quilt. My husband and father worked together to turn the loft into an apartment. My mother and I could hear them laughing all the way up to the house."

  Bruce felt her pain. "I'm sorry for your loss."

  She gave a slight smile. "Before Dave's health deteriorated, we'd planned to travel. We were going to hire someone to tend the horses to give us more free time." She walked over to the window that overlooked the backyard. "We thought we'd have years, until a heart attack took him."

  To Bruce, her loss only emphasized the value of life, and why you should never waste a single moment. He glanced at Cyn and saw the sympathy in her pale gaze. She looked injured by Mary's pain, as if she shared it. And indeed, Cyn certainly knew more about loss than most people would ever have to learn.

  Mary sighed. "Since then, I've been caring for the animals myself, but it's not easy on me. I want to ride them, to love them, but I'm afraid I need someone else to do the physical work."

  Cyn licked her lips, determined, anxious. "I'd love to take the job. I'll be honest—I've never been around horses. But I'm more than willing to learn and I swear I'll be good to them. I'll do the best job I can."

  Mary continued to look out the window a few seconds more, then she turned to Cyn. She was smiling. "For tonight, the horses just need to be fed and watered. In the morning, I can show you how to clean the stalls and lay out new hay."

  Cyn caught her breath. "I have the job?"

  "The horses like you, and that's what's most important. They're a good judge of character." With a laugh, Mary added, "Everything else can be learned."

  Cyn squealed in excitement, but tamped down on her enthusiasm when Mary's cell phone rang. She looked ready to burst as she hugged herself tight and jiggled in place.

  Her happiness proved contagious, and Bruce wanted to laugh with her.

  Mary fished the phone from her jacket pocket to check the caller ID. "I'm sorry, I need to take this. Look around all you want, move in your things, then come up to the house and we can go over your schedule."

  She turned away while answering the phone and a moment later, the door closed behind her, leaving Bruce alone with Cyn.

  Slowly, Cyn turned to face him, so alight with joy that he couldn't help but grin. He winked at her. "Congratulations."

  Her smile spread into a wide grin, then she impulsively threw herself into his arms. Bruce staggered back before gaining his wits and wrapping his arms around her slight, soft frame. Cyn was laughing, squeezing him, her hands on his shou
lders, his nape, along his spine.

  Her breasts pressed into his chest, her thighs rubbed his, and she was happy. Wonderfully, deliriously happy—for the simplest thing that most people took for granted: a chance to work and make her own way.

  From one moment to the next, his body reacted predictably to holding an attractive woman he wanted.

  Her laughter was a powerful aphrodisiac, and combined with the feel of her body in his arms, it was enough. More than enough.

  Right and wrong didn't play into it. He wanted to lower her to the narrow cot behind them and claim her as his own.

  His mind was still fighting that image when Cyn turned her face up to his. Tears of happiness made her pale eyes glassy. The second their gazes met, he was a goner. He cupped her face, relishing the warm softness of her skin, breathing hard with growing need. "Cyn."

  He tried to say her name as a warning, wanting her to shove him away, slap him, elbow him in the chest again. Anything that would shake off the overwhelming need.

  She stared at him with confusion, then dawning awareness. Her breath caught, and slowly, very slowly, her thick lashes dropped over her eyes in a sign of permission and acceptance.

  That did it.

  His control cracked and Bruce took her mouth, soft and damp, her lips opened just enough for his tongue to glide inside.

  Oh God, she tasted good and it felt right, so right to touch her this way...

  Cyn went perfecdy still, her breathing fast but her body immobile. She was pliable in his arms, not fighting him, but not really taking part, either.

  His muddled mind couldn't register anything beyond the need for more. He readjusted his hold, aligning her slender body with his muscular one, pulling her closer. Her nipples stiffened, teasr ing him, wringing a groan from deep in his chest Oblivion set in, blocking out their surroundings, the impropriety of the moment.

  Cyn's hands clenched into his shirtsleeves over his biceps and she gave die softest, most compelling moan he'd ever heard. He realized his hand was fisted around her braid, holding her right where he wanted her, that his tongue was in her moudi and his hips were pressing against hers, and he was instantly appalled.

  He pushed back—and Cyn, taken unawares, put too much weight on her injured ankle. She stumbled and would have fallen if Bruce hadn't caught her again.

  He held her shoulders and got iron control of himself. His jaw clenched, his lungs labored. He knew, damn it, he knew what she'd been through, and still he'd all but attacked her.

  Guilt burned like acid in his gut and left his voice raspy. "I'm sorry."

  She lowered her face, hiding her expression from him. With a shaking hand, she touched her mouth.

  Her lips were swollen, reddened ...

  Gripping her shoulders tighter, he gently shook her. "Cyn, talk to me." He bent to see her face, horrified that he might have frightened or insulted her.

  She stared at him, bewildered, maybe a little awed. "I had no idea."

  That whisper-soft voice nearly took him to his knees. He was still so hard he was shaking, and his reply was sharper than he intended. "No idea about what?"

  "Why people enjoyed kissing."

  Her sentiment hit him like a blow.

  Her hand lifted and now it was his lips she touched, featherlight and curious. "It was just something that was sometimes required, something a few guys paid for. A way to help get them off."

  Jesus, he couldn't hear this, not right now. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut. "Cyn, don't."

  She stepped away from him and turned her back. She, too, was trembling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

  He jerked her back around to face him. "Don't apologize!"

  Shocked, she stared at him, and he wanted to kick his own behind.

  That's not what I meant," he tried explaining, but she looked completely befuddled, and now ashamed. Bruce released her and ran both hands through his hair. It took an effort, but he moderated bodi his tone and his emotions. "I'm attracted to you, Cyn." He laughed at such a grave understatement. "I'm sorry, but it's true. It's not what I'm used to.... but that's no excuse. I shouldn't have done that"

  "Kissed me?"

  He gave a stiff nod. "Yes."

  "But... I liked it." And then, "Didn't you?"

  God help him. His groan was harsh with self-loathing; her words made him want to kiss he.r again, longer and deeper this time. Everywhere.

  "Yeah, I liked it. Too much." To be safe, he moved a considerable distance from her. "But I don't want to take advantage of you."

  Incredulous, she laughed at him. 'Take advantage of me?" She laughed again, more than making her point. "That's hardly possible, all things considered."

  Just that quickly, Bruce was back to standing inches from her, her face held in his hands, his nose almost touching hers. "That's exacdy what I'm talking about, Cyn. At the moment, you don't realize how special, how beautiful you are, inside and out. And until you do, until you accept what a lovely, intelligent woman you are, until you see what I see, I don't want to crowd you or confuse the issue."

  One brow lifted in mocking interest. "The issue being... ?"

  That you're as good as anyone, as good as you want to be."

  Time seemed to stand still while she weighed his words, and then the cynicism left her and she pressed close again, hugging him in an entirely platonic embrace. "Thanks."

  Tor what?"

  "For being a guy I actually like. And let me tell 120 tori Foster

  ya, that's unusual." She smiled up at him, kissed his chin, and stepped back. "Let me get my stuff out of your car and you can be on your way."

  He didn't want to be on his way, blast her. He should have been pleased to put the unnerving encounter to rest, but instead, he wished for different circumstances. He wished for a time and a place where he wouldn't have to hold himself back.

  He had considered sex over the years; God knew, he was human and he was male. But he'd only thought of it in the abstract, not in such a definite, desperate way. He didn't just want relief, he wanted Cyn. In every way known to man. He didn't only think of coupling with her, he thought of taking her for long, heated hours. He thought of hearing her cry out in a climax, he thought of exploding inside her...

  Vivid, burning visuals that now tormented him. He ran a hand through his hair, unsure what to do.

  After dismissing sex for years, he now wanted the one woman who was off limits. He could probably make her understand, convince her...

  But she'd made her preferences clear and they took precedence over his at the moment. Bruce cleared his throat. "Stay put. Rest, put your feet up. I'll bring your things in."

  "I'm not—"

  "Helpless, I know." God, he couldn't quibble with her right now. He needed a breath of fresh air and a moment away from her. "You're one of the most ingenious people I've ever met, but you still have a sore ankle."

  "Ingenious?"

  Turbulent lust turned to irritation. "Do not insult yourself again, Cyn. I mean it." He waited, but she held herself in wide-eyed silence and finally he nodded. "Your ankle is hurt and you've been on your feet all day. Ignoring it is only going to get you so far, and if you want to be up to working tomorrow, you'll have to take it easy today."

  "Well, don't get in a lather. You want me to sit, I'll sit.'' She stomped to the small dinette, dropped down onto a chair, and sent him a smarmy smile. "Happy?"

  Far from it. "Your books will go nicely on that shelf below the microwave."

  She knew exactly what he was doing, but she didn't argue the point. "Instead of cookbooks, I'll have Famine of the Child's Soul on display." She lounged back in a sensual sprawl and grinned. "Guaranteed to ruin most appetites."

  Time, Bruce reminded himself. She needed time, and somehow he'd make sure she got it. Today had been a wonderful start filled with amazing strides. She had a job, a place to stay.

  Soon she'd have a new, more rewarding life.

  And then, maybe, just maybe, he could quit denying himself.

>   * * *

  Less than an hour later, Bruce was ready to leave. It hadn't taken near that long for Cyn to unload her meager belongings from her one suitcase, but Bruce hung around while Mary showed her how to feed and water the horses. In the morning, she'd show her how to clean the stalls and spread new hay. Then Cyn would be on her own.

  She was excited, exhilarated—but nothing com-pared to the kiss she'd shared with Bruce. Wow, that had been an eye-opener of epic proportions.

  Why the hell hadn't any of her books told her how awesome a kiss could be? After Bruce had pulled away, she'd half expected to melt into a puddle on the loft floor. She'd been kissed, more than she wanted to remember, but never with that effect.

  Apparently, she needed to broaden her reading horizons.

  Despite Bruce's arguments, she walked him to his car. Every additional second she got to spend with him felt like a gift.

  Instead of getting in, he leaned on the door. "Will you call Shay?"

  Cyn hated to do that. She wasn't a dummy and she knew Shay would be creating a job for her. It wouldn't be legitimate work, and that's what she craved.

  '"Just until something else comes along," Bruce urged, and Cyn knew he'd read her thoughts. That was a little disconcerting, that he could see inside her mind. But at the same time, it showed how attuned he was to her as a person, not just to her body. When she talked, he actually listened. And that was as different as his kiss had been.

  Maybe the job with Shay wouldn't be such a bad thing. It'd give her a chance to spend more time with Bruce and she was just selfish enough, just hungry enough, to grab the opportunity with both hands. "You're sure you're okay with that?"

  He didn't smile. He hadn't smiled since kissing her. "Why wouldn't I be?"

  He was the strangest man—placid one moment, hot the next, always concerned yet often teasing. "Shay said we'd be hanging around the church."

  He nodded. "Working, helping out."