Worth The Wait

“I know.” He eased her into his side, his arm around her. “Come on. Let me drive you home.”

Giving him a lost look, she said, “I can’t be sick. I don’t have time to be sick. Beth’s gone for at least four weeks. I have to—”

“You don’t have to do anything, not right now.” Hogan remembered once when Meg, his wife, had gotten pneumonia. Her cough had sounded the same and she, too, had been tired and run a fever. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be here for the weekend. I can handle things.”

“It’s not your restaurant!” Soon as she rasped the words, she began to cough.

Worried, Hogan set her against the desk. “Stay put.” Then he found her purse and, without a qualm, dug through it for her keys.

He found them. He also found two condoms. His gaze flashed to hers, but her eyes were closed and she looked asleep on her feet, her body utterly boneless as she drew in shallow, strained breaths.

“Come on.” With an arm around her, her purse and keys held in his free hand, he led her out the back way to the employee lot, securing the door behind her. Her yellow Mustang shone bright beneath security lights.

His bike would be okay. Or at least, it better be.

* * *

Violet tried to get herself together but it wasn’t easy. She honestly felt like she could close her eyes and nod right off. “The trash—”

“Was taken out.” He opened the passenger door and helped her in.

“If you left on even one fan—”

“It would set off the security sensors. I know. They’re all off.” He fastened her seat belt around her and closed her door.

As soon as he slid behind the wheel, she said, “But the end-of-day reports—”

“Are done.” He started her car. “Try not to worry, okay?”

Easier said than done.

Because the town was so small, Hogan seemed to know where she lived even though she’d never had him over. She hadn’t dared.

Hogan in her home? Nope. Not a good idea.

Even feeling miserable, her head pounding and her chest aching, she was acutely aware of him beside her in the enclosed car, and the way he kept glancing at her. He tempted her, always had, from the first day she’d met him.

He was also a major runaround. Supposedly a reformed runaround, but she didn’t trust in that. Things had happened with his late wife, things that had made him bitter and unpredictable.

Yet no less appealing.

She wasn’t one to pry; otherwise she might have gotten all the details from Honor, his sister-in-law, already. She figured if he ever wanted to, Hogan himself would tell her. Not that there was any reason, since she would not get involved with him.

Hogan was fun to tease, like watching the flames in a bonfire. You watched, you enjoyed, but you did not jump in the fire.

More coughs racked her and she wheezed for breath.

“You know what?” he said, veering away from the direction of her house. “I’m taking you to the ER instead. You need some meds. Tonight.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t his decision, but she wasn’t stupid. Tomorrow was Saturday, so finding a doctor would be no easier then. She couldn’t even imagine how much worse she might feel in the morning, given that she felt more wretched by the minute.

“Yes,” she said, her head back and her eyes closed—not that he’d waited for her agreement. “I think you’re right.”

Three hours later, after a long visit in a crowded waiting room where he’d held her against him, a few tests that had shown she had pneumonia and a script for antibiotics that he’d filled for her at an all-night pharmacy, Violet finally slogged through her house for the bedroom.

Her throat was so dry; she desperately needed a bottle of water. And she’d dearly love to lose her bra.

She managed only to drop facedown into her bed, on top of the comforter. She missed the pillow.

It didn’t matter. For someone who never got sick, she’d gone all out. Pneumonia. They should call it “debilitating weakness” instead.

Hogan stood over her. She pulled together enough energy to say, “Thank you. Lock the door on your way out.”

Instead she felt him tugging off her sneakers.

Her eyes popped open; she was sick, not dead. “What are you doing?”

“I won’t steal your shorts, so relax.” After removing her shoes, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Holding her with one arm—something she couldn’t help but notice—he turned down her bed and tucked her in.

When he walked away, she felt like crying.

She, who cried about as often as she got sick, which was never.

But instead of leaving, he came right back with the coveted bottle of water. “Here, let me help you.” Sitting on the side of the bed, he slipped an arm beneath her and levered her up, put the bottle in her hand and supported her while she drank. “Better?”

“You know,” she whispered, “since we’re doing this, I may as well go all in.”

“All in?”

She was in a bed—her bed—with Hogan Guthrie right next to her. Not ideal circumstances, but still... “Help me out of my shorts.”

Across her back, his arm tightened until she thought she could make out every lean, hard muscle.

Maybe it was lack of oxygen caused by the pneumonia, but she heard herself say, “Unhook my bra, too—I’ll take care of the rest. And thanks in advance.”

“Um...”

“It’s uncomfortable. I usually sleep naked, so—”

Letting her recline again, he quickly stood, then stared down at her with a gaze so intent she would have blushed if she’d had the energy.

After struggling over onto her stomach, she waited. Silence ticked by, and then the bed shifted and Hogan’s hands, so incredibly large and warm, slipped up her back. She felt a brief tug and the bra cups loosened.

Heaven. She muttered, “You’re pretty good at that. Guess you’ve had lots of practice.”

“Don’t try baiting me right now. You’re not up to it.” One by one he slid his hand up her arms, beneath each short sleeve of her T-shirt, and pulled the straps down and over her elbows, freeing her arms.

He turned her to her back, gave her a long look with his incendiary blue eyes and said softly, “I believe in finishing the job.”

She could barely keep her eyes open, but awareness burned through the lethargy as he reached under her shirt, hooked a finger in the front of her bra and tugged it out and away.

All the while, those hot blue eyes of his stared at her body.

Through a hazy gaze, Violet watched him look at her now-freed bra. It was beige with black lace and tiny polka dots, making him smile slightly before he tossed it onto her rocking chair. He wasn’t above copping a feel—this was Hogan, after all—so his palm coasted across her ribs, her waist and over her stomach.

He drew in a breath, held it and opened the top snap of her shorts.

As he slowly tugged down the zipper, she said, “If I wasn’t sick—”

He growled. “I know.”

“—we wouldn’t be doing this.”

That made him laugh. “I think you enjoy torturing me.”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. And why not? His presence tortured her plenty.

He finished stripping off her shorts, then took his time looking at her in great detail. “Your panties match your bra.”

“I’m aware.”

He pulled the sheet up and over her, and when she shivered, he layered on the comforter. Now more detached, he said, “They’re sexy.”

Yup, she knew that, too. Since, by necessity, she was forced to be more celibate than not, wearing sexy underthings was her balm, her way of reminding herself that she was still an attractive, healthy woman.

Bracing one hand on the nightstand, the other on the back of the headboard, Hogan loomed over her. “You’re sexy.” He kissed her forehead in a most sexless way. “Do you need more ibuprofen? A cough drop? Anything else?”

She needed to get well. She needed a man.

She needed Hogan Guthrie, but she wasn’t a stupid woman, so she tried to never court trouble. “No, and thank you again.”

“Try to get some rest.” He turned out the light and left the room, pulling the door behind him until it almost closed.

Violet turned onto her side, snuggled tight and faded into sleep.

2

HOGAN STEPPED OUTSIDE the front door, but didn’t secure the door behind him.

He had no intention of leaving.

God, the sight of her in nothing more than a snug T-shirt and boner-inspiring panties will be forever burned on my brain.

Her nipples had been visible through the thin cotton of the top, making his damned mouth water. And her skin, especially over the gentle curve of her belly, had felt like silk. Warm silk.

The urge to brush his mouth over her, to inhale her scent, had been nearly impossible to ignore. But despite his more recent lacks, he wasn’t completely lost to civility, so he’d tucked her up and escaped.

No, he definitely wouldn’t leave her.

Sitting on the front step of her porch, he called Colt first.

Without a single sign of sleepiness, Colt answered, “What’s up? She okay?”

It was the middle of the damned night, practically morning, so Hogan asked, “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I was, but I was also waiting to hear from you.”

“You’re there alone?”

“No, I sneaked in three girls. Make it four. Uncle Jason and Honor never noticed. I mean, there’s what? Thirty feet separating the houses? And Honor called twice to check on me, but I completely fooled her. I hid all the girls under my bed.”

“Smart-ass.” Hogan grinned. Colt was, by far, the best part of him.

Colt laughed as he said, “It’s just Diesel and me.”

The dog was good company, and good protection—not that Colt needed it. “I won’t be home tonight at all, but I’ll check back in the morning.” Briefly, he explained about Violet and that he didn’t want to leave her alone in case she needed anything.

Colt said, “At least she doesn’t make you hide under the bed.”

Frowning, Hogan wondered at his joke. “Don’t make more out of this than there is.”

“I won’t.” With definite amusement in his tone, Colt added, “I know you do goodwill sleepovers with all kinds of women. Doesn’t mean anything at all.”

“Colt,” he warned.

“Good night, Nurse Guthrie. Tell Violet I hope she feels better soon.”

As he disconnected the call, Hogan blew out a breath. Great, all he needed now was for rumors to get started. Who wouldn’t believe them, especially if they were spread by his son?

He glanced back at the door. Would Violet mind? He didn’t think so. She didn’t strike him as a woman who cared much what others thought. Then again, no one would have any reason to think anything less than positive.

Violet was a strong woman—intelligent, warm, hardworking, beautiful, sweet... Jesus. Hogan ran a hand over his face.

What struck him most was the fact that Colt had teased him about it. Because it was Violet? Since the death of his mother, Colt hadn’t said much about Hogan dating, but his silence on the matter had been more damning than words anyway.

He’d hurt Colt, and he hated that. Didn’t matter that he’d been hurting, too.

Colt hadn’t been silent about Violet. No, instead he’d joked. Maybe he knew Violet was too discriminating to get involved with him.

Rather than brood, he dialed his brother next.

Jason, at least, had been sleeping. He answered with a very groggy “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry to wake you. I’m going to stay over at Violet’s and Colt is already in bed. He’s got Diesel there with him, but if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Honor’s been mothering him,” Jason said around a yawn. “No worries.”

Of course she had. Honor was a true sweetheart; she and Colt had a very special relationship. Diesel did sometimes stay the night with Jason, sort of picking and choosing between the two houses at his own whim, but likely he’d either known Colt was alone and felt protective, or Honor had insisted he keep the dog with him. Either way, he was relieved.

Hogan felt like a schoolboy explaining, but he did so anyway. “Violet has pneumonia. She was pretty hammered by the time we got back from the ER. She’s crashed right now, but I figured I’d—”

“Got it. Take good care of her, okay?”

In the background, Hogan heard Honor ask, “What’s going on? Take care of who? Is Colt okay?”

Jason said only, “Hogan’s sleeping over at Violet’s.”

Alarmed by how he put it, Hogan protested, “Don’t make it sound like—”

Honor seemed far more alert when she sang, “Oh, he is, is he?”

“Damn it, Jason, tell her—”

To Honor, Jason said with far too much gravity, “You know how noble my brother is.”

They both laughed. At him.

Hogan heard some shuffling, a few whispers, and Jason said, “Later, brother.”

Standing, Hogan put away his phone and leaned on the rail, looking out over the quiet street, most of the porch lights glowing in boxy homes set close together. Single-car driveways, mature trees everywhere.

Before long the sun would be up. On Saturdays, kids played in their yards and on every cul-de-sac, crowding the sidewalks with their bikes. Older folk walked their older dogs and groused about the bikes. Hogan smiled. The area was as different as night and day to where he used to live in Columbus.

He didn’t use to think so, but now he knew it was better. Cleaner. Calmer.

A whole new life greeted him here—now if only the old life didn’t still plague him.

Pushing that aside as he often did, he wondered if Violet was sleeping okay. He’d like to go in and check on her, but she thought he’d left. She was in her bed, not fully dressed, and he didn’t want to intrude further. It was enough to stay over on her couch.

He saw again her slim body nestled in that big bed. From the day he’d met her, he’d appreciated her fair skin and red hair. She was so petite that with one splayed hand he could span the width of her from hip bone to hip bone. But her breasts weren’t small. Not really large, either. Just full and soft and perfect.

Closing his tired eyes, Hogan breathed deeply.

Heavy humidity thickened the night air and filled his lungs. Insects carried on a cacophony of sounds, and when he listened closely he could even hear frogs in the large creek that served as a social gathering spot for the small town.

Clearbrook was a good place. Peaceful, close-knit, filled with friendly people. He discounted the remaining crime element since incidents were fewer and far between. The refurbishing of the town had been, by all accounts, a huge success. What used to be a slum area was now occupied by middle-class families.

Since he’d gone from a prestigious accounting firm to a small local business, supplemented by weekend restaurant work—that now included him and Colt.

Heading back inside, he quietly closed and locked the door. He flattened his mouth at the sight of the short, squat couch, but he wouldn’t roam her house looking for a guest room.

After turning down the volume on his phone and setting it on the coffee table, he sat on the couch and removed his boots and socks, peeled off his shirt, then unsnapped and unzipped his jeans. He’d like to lose the jeans, but yeah—probably not a good idea.

There was no way to stretch out, so he sprawled as best he could, his head and one calf on the sofa arms, one leg dropping over the side. He snagged the knit throw over the back of the couch, half-heartedly tossed it over his body and closed his eyes.

He thought of Violet.

He thought of her panties.

Soon he was sound asleep and dreaming.

* * *

Violet found him on her couch. At 8:00 a.m., it was too early to be up, especially after the late night, but when she’d gotten up to use the bathroom and find more ibuprofen, she’d heard a snore.

It didn’t scare her only because she immediately guessed the source.

Her first thought when she found him there was that he was too big for her couch, his shoulders too wide, his legs too long.

Keeping the comforter swaddled around herself, she tipped her head and studied him—specifically she studied his body. Still wearing jeans, now open, he rested on his back, one arm above his head, the other folded over his stomach. Only a corner of the throw blanket covered him; the rest was on the floor with his right leg. He looked in danger of sliding over the side with it any moment.

Of course she’d seen him without a shirt many times at neighborhood picnics, but she hadn’t been able to stare then, not with him so aware of her and neighbors all around them.

Now her eyes felt gritty, and she stared anyway. A sparse covering of crisp, dark hair went from his collarbone to just below his pecs, faded in a narrow line to his navel, then widened a little before disappearing into his jeans. Beneath his raised arm she saw softer hair.

She’d teased him about being hairy, but in truth, she thought he was the sexiest man she’d ever known. She loved his masculinity, which included that enticing dark hair.

Sleep masked his usual edgy persona so that he looked more peaceful now. His hair stuck up in tufts and beard shadow darkened his face. He, his brother and his son all had the most amazing, enviable lashes. They were long and thick, and looking at him, Violet liked the way they rested on his high cheekbones.

He wasn’t overly muscle-bound, but there was no denying the strength of his lean, toned body. Even in sleep his biceps were pronounced. Her gaze traveled over his shoulders, down his body again to his flat stomach. Out of self-preservation she skimmed her gaze over the bulge inside his jeans to glance along the length of his long, strong legs and down to his feet. She admired them, as well.

She would have gone on admiring him except that she drew in a breath—and coughed.

Hogan stirred, shifting his big body, stretching a little before opening one eye.

Violet froze. Damn him, he looked gorgeous sleep-rumpled, while she knew she looked completely wrecked. Only half her hair remained in the ponytail, and she was so weak, she started to shake.

“Morning,” Hogan rumbled.

“Good morning.” Trying for sarcasm, she asked, “Comfortable?”

“Not really. Your couch is too short.” He stretched again and sat up with a wide yawn.

Unmoving, Violet watched him scratch his belly, and she said with accusation, “You stayed over.”

“Yeah.” After running both hands through his mussed hair, he checked the time on his phone. Giving her another long look, he patted the seat beside him, no doubt still warm from his body. “Sit before you fall.”

She didn’t want to, but her body wasn’t giving her much choice. She stepped around the table and dropped at the far end of the couch, which wasn’t all that far.

Scooting closer to her, he touched his palm to her forehead. “Still feverish. You need more medicine?”

“I just took it. That’s how I found you.”

“Gotcha.” He frowned at her hair, deftly removed the band to free it and smoothed it down, massaging her scalp in the process.

Heaven.

He stole his magic fingers away. “Are you a coffee person or a juice person?”

“I’m not a baby.”

With a short laugh, he agreed, “Definitely not.”

She started to say she could get her own coffee, but she truly didn’t feel like it. Putting her head back and closing her eyes, she said, “Maybe both?”

“Juice now, coffee when it’s ready?”

She nodded, her eyes still closed.

“You can thank me, Violet.”

“Thank you.”

His fingers skimmed her cheek and she heard the smile in his voice when he said, “Be right back.”

Somehow in the time it took him to pour orange juice into a glass, she’d fallen asleep. She opened her eyes to see the juice on the end table beside her. In the kitchen, the coffeemaker spit and hissed.

Down the hall, a toilet flushed, water ran and Hogan emerged, his jeans now fastened, his shirt still off, his feet still bare.

Damn, he looked good like that.

He also looked good in her house.

“Sleep if you want,” he said as he passed her. “It’s the best thing for you.”

She drank half the juice and nodded off again.

Hogan’s voice, talking quietly on the phone, awoke her the second time. She saw that sunshine now flooded her front windows. More sluggish than she ever could have imagined, she sat up and tried to gather her wits.

She focused on Hogan in the kitchen, fully dressed, his hair less messy but with whiskers still on his face.

“I can probably take Violet’s car this morning, but I don’t want to leave my bike in the parking lot.” After waiting for a reply, Hogan said, “Yeah, that’d work. Appreciate it.”

Who said he could take her car? Take it where?

“No, she won’t make it in today. Damned pneumonia has really leveled her.” As he softly spoke, Hogan turned to face her, then smiled at seeing her awake. Holding her gaze, he nodded, saying, “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. Thanks again.” He pocketed the phone and moved out of sight.

“I’m going into work,” she told him, but raising her voice put her into a coughing fit.

He appeared with the coffee. “I reheated it.”

Grudgingly, she accepted. Because he’d worked with her for a few weeks now, he knew she liked cream and sugar and the coffee was perfect, even better than the juice. “Thank you.”

He surveyed her. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” More than anything, she wanted to sleep. More and more sleep. She tried for a slow breath and managed to do it without coughing too much. “I’m sorry I keep conking out.”

“I’m glad you did.” He frowned, then sat beside her. “You can’t go into work. You’re an intelligent woman and you know it, but you’re also stubborn. Put the stubbornness aside for now, okay?”

“I have to go in. It’s mine and—”

“I can handle it. I have the weekend free and I know what I’m doing.”

“What, no hot date?” Hogan always had hot dates on the weekends, and sometimes during the week—at least until recently. “What about what’s-her-name? That kid.”

The corner of his mouth curled. “Emma? She was twenty-five, not a kid—”

“Ten years your junior!”

“—and I only saw her once.”

“I guess with you, once is enough?”

He cocked a brow. “Are you always this nasty in the mornings?”

“Yes,” she lied. God, she felt so awful, she wanted to curl up and sleep until she felt normal again. “Go away, okay?”

“I haven’t had a date since I started working for you.”

No, she didn’t want to hear that! That would mean he’d been dateless for weeks. “Poor baby, am I using up all your free time?”

Shrugging a shoulder, he grinned. “I could go out during the week, I guess. In fact, Friday, before I left the office, my boss hit on me.”

Violet stared at him, scowled and guzzled the rest of her coffee. I don’t want to picture you with another woman. Of course, it was already too late.

Glaring, she asked, “When are the two of you getting together?”

His gaze went to her mouth. “Never.” Gently, he took the coffee cup from her and set it aside.

“I take it she’s homely? Not built to your specifications?”

“She’s attractive enough. Big boobs.”

Trying for mock surprise, Violet said, “And you turned her down?”

“Let’s say I redirected her attention.”

“Redirected it how?”

“To a coworker who looked interested.”

“Oh my God, you’re bragging about passing her off to someone else?”

“Redirecting her,” he emphasized. “It’s not like she was looking to get married.”

“Because that would have really sent you running!” Good God, just shut up, Violet.

After a long look, he picked up the cup and stood. He was halfway to the kitchen when he stopped. Keeping his back to her, he said, “Obviously you know I was married once.”

Violet’s heart started to pound. “Yes.” And she was sorry she’d brought it up.

He looked back over his shoulder at her. “Marriage doesn’t scare me. But cheating, lying women do.”