brother needed him. And vice versa. It wasn’t mystical. Wasn’t a special bond of being twins.
It was a bond of being brothers.
Bryan headed for the bathroom, determined to put the stupid dream from his mind.
Of course, he couldn’t. He knew Bruce was okay now, but Shay had been in the dream, too, and he was a man who lived by his gut instincts. Right now, those instincts were nagging him. And the longer he thought about it, the more they nagged. His shower was accomplished in record time. He shaved so fast, he almost cut his own throat.
Finally he gave up, threw on clean clothes, and went out the door in a rush. It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He actually jogged to the safe house. His fingers fumbled with the many locks.
He refrained from calling out once he got inside. All he needed this morning was a passel of angry, hungover women giving him hell. He hesitated at the bottom of the steps, but had enough sense not to go up.
No way did he want to invade the somewhat sacred ground of hooker bedrooms.
Coffee. That’d be a start.
He entered the kitchen, faltered in stunned disbelief, and stared. The grin came first, but it was soon followed by a chuckle, and finished with a hard laugh.
Shay twitched as something intruded on her peaceful dreams. She started to move, but her neck felt like it had broken sometime during the night. Then her head started aching and her stomach pitched. She moaned.
“That’s what you get for sleeping in a chair.”
Her heart almost stopped.
She ceased all movement.
She didn’t even breathe.
Peeking one eye open, she found Bryan standing over her, his hands on his hips, his dark eyes shining, his sexy kiss-me mouth curled in a grin.
She blinked but he didn’t go away. “Hi.”
His grin widened. “Do you need some help?”
She started to move, and winced. Sounding like a sick frog, she rasped, “I think my neck is broken.”
His hot palm curled under her skull and his other hand caught her upper arm, helping her to straighten. He let go of her far too quickly to suit her.
“No wonder. When I first walked in, I thought someone had killed you. Did you sleep with your head back like that all night?”
Given the way her body felt, she must have. She was in a straight-backed kitchen chair, her legs stretched out in front of her with her feet propped on the kitchen table, her arms hanging almost to the floor.
And her head…her poor head. She groaned in discomfort. She’d let her head drop back on her shoulders, with the top of the chair digging into her nape, and she’d fallen asleep. All night. “I’m dying.”
“Just sit still a minute and I’ll start coffee.”
Cautiously, slowly, she slumped forward, holding her head in her hands because she doubted her neck could support it properly.
Not only her head ached, but her back and shoulders, too. She was a lousy drinker. One glass of wine and she fell asleep. But last night, she and the ladies—each of them a delight—had finished off a bottle of booze. Cheap booze. Really potent booze.
True, she had drunk less than the others, only sipping hers while pretending to keep up, but apparently she’d drunk enough to think the chair would make an adequate bed. “Make the coffee strong, will you?”
“You got it.”
He was back in only a few minutes. Shay could hear the hiss and sputter of the coffee machine and already the delicious scent filled the air. Heaven.
“Sit still.”
Shay cocked a sluggish brow. Did she look particularly capable of movement? Even breathing hurt.
With a strange gentleness, Bryan’s big, rough hands moved her hair aside, laying it over her shoulders, smoothing it out of the way. Her heart did a little flipflop and awareness chased away the remaining cobwebs. She was now awake—very awake.
His callused fingertips touched her sensitive nape, slid around to the tops of her shoulders. His thumbs pressed in, moved, circled…
“Ohhhh,” she moaned as the
It was a bond of being brothers.
Bryan headed for the bathroom, determined to put the stupid dream from his mind.
Of course, he couldn’t. He knew Bruce was okay now, but Shay had been in the dream, too, and he was a man who lived by his gut instincts. Right now, those instincts were nagging him. And the longer he thought about it, the more they nagged. His shower was accomplished in record time. He shaved so fast, he almost cut his own throat.
Finally he gave up, threw on clean clothes, and went out the door in a rush. It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He actually jogged to the safe house. His fingers fumbled with the many locks.
He refrained from calling out once he got inside. All he needed this morning was a passel of angry, hungover women giving him hell. He hesitated at the bottom of the steps, but had enough sense not to go up.
No way did he want to invade the somewhat sacred ground of hooker bedrooms.
Coffee. That’d be a start.
He entered the kitchen, faltered in stunned disbelief, and stared. The grin came first, but it was soon followed by a chuckle, and finished with a hard laugh.
Shay twitched as something intruded on her peaceful dreams. She started to move, but her neck felt like it had broken sometime during the night. Then her head started aching and her stomach pitched. She moaned.
“That’s what you get for sleeping in a chair.”
Her heart almost stopped.
She ceased all movement.
She didn’t even breathe.
Peeking one eye open, she found Bryan standing over her, his hands on his hips, his dark eyes shining, his sexy kiss-me mouth curled in a grin.
She blinked but he didn’t go away. “Hi.”
His grin widened. “Do you need some help?”
She started to move, and winced. Sounding like a sick frog, she rasped, “I think my neck is broken.”
His hot palm curled under her skull and his other hand caught her upper arm, helping her to straighten. He let go of her far too quickly to suit her.
“No wonder. When I first walked in, I thought someone had killed you. Did you sleep with your head back like that all night?”
Given the way her body felt, she must have. She was in a straight-backed kitchen chair, her legs stretched out in front of her with her feet propped on the kitchen table, her arms hanging almost to the floor.
And her head…her poor head. She groaned in discomfort. She’d let her head drop back on her shoulders, with the top of the chair digging into her nape, and she’d fallen asleep. All night. “I’m dying.”
“Just sit still a minute and I’ll start coffee.”
Cautiously, slowly, she slumped forward, holding her head in her hands because she doubted her neck could support it properly.
Not only her head ached, but her back and shoulders, too. She was a lousy drinker. One glass of wine and she fell asleep. But last night, she and the ladies—each of them a delight—had finished off a bottle of booze. Cheap booze. Really potent booze.
True, she had drunk less than the others, only sipping hers while pretending to keep up, but apparently she’d drunk enough to think the chair would make an adequate bed. “Make the coffee strong, will you?”
“You got it.”
He was back in only a few minutes. Shay could hear the hiss and sputter of the coffee machine and already the delicious scent filled the air. Heaven.
“Sit still.”
Shay cocked a sluggish brow. Did she look particularly capable of movement? Even breathing hurt.
With a strange gentleness, Bryan’s big, rough hands moved her hair aside, laying it over her shoulders, smoothing it out of the way. Her heart did a little flipflop and awareness chased away the remaining cobwebs. She was now awake—very awake.
His callused fingertips touched her sensitive nape, slid around to the tops of her shoulders. His thumbs pressed in, moved, circled…
“Ohhhh,” she moaned as the
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