“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.
“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.