Unlawfully Wedded. Kelsey Roberts
“Wes, it’s me.”
“Big brother?” came the groggy reply. “Do you realize what time it is?”
He hadn’t realized, but he didn’t feel the inclination to apologize. “Early.”
“No sh—”
“I’ve got a problem.”
He could hear the rustle of bed covers, and he could easily envision his brother groping on the nightstand for his round, metal-framed glasses. Wesley was one of those people who couldn’t hear without his glasses.
“You and mother aren’t relating well?”
That I-just-got-my-degree-in-psychiatry, inflection-free voice was enough to make J.D. grit his teeth. He was beginning to think Wes’s budding medical career was going to be a stiff pain in his rump.
“We aren’t relating at all,” he answered flatly. “But that isn’t the problem.”
“How can that not be a problem?” Wes countered.
“Because I have a more pressing problem with a body.”
“Oh.” Wesley snickered. “And is this body a blonde, brunette or redhead?”
“I’m serious,” J.D. insisted. “It’s a dead body. Deceased. Not living.”
“She was married and you did something rash?”
“Good Lord, Wes! I thought psychiatrists were supposed to be good listeners. You’re not hearing me.”
“You’re serious?” his brother asked, his tone indicating he had finally grasped the situation.
“Hell, yes,” J.D. answered, raking his hand through his hair. “And it looks like the body might be the father of the girl I told you about.”
“Woman.”
“What?”
He heard his brother expel one of those condescendingly patient breaths. “The person you described was a woman, not a girl. We’re talking about Victoria Conway, right?”
“Right.”
“The one with pretty blue eyes, an incredible mouth and boobs that—”
“Yes,” he growled.
“Hey,” Wesley continued. “You’re the one who told me you were astounded she didn’t fall facedown from the weight of those hooters.”
“Thank you,” J.D. managed to say tightly. “Forget what I said before. Fact is, the body I found might just turn out to be her father.”
He heard a low whistle before Wesley said, “Gonna be kind of tough to shaft the lady when she’s in the midst of burying Daddy, isn’t it.”
“No kidding,” J.D. admitted. “And I wasn’t going to shaft her. I was thinking more along the lines of a nice, quiet buyout.”
“Think she’ll be interested in doing business with a man who originally judged her by her bra size?”
“Wesley,” J.D. said from between clenched teeth. “I called for your advice, not a lecture.”
“Then you shouldn’t have confided all your observations about the lady’s physical attributes.”
“Brothers are supposed to confide things like that. It’s part of the male-bonding process.”
Wesley’s laugh was low and easy. It served as a vivid reminder to J.D. of their inherent differences.
“Careful, big brother. That sounded dangerously like an introspective moment. Not your usual style.”
“Finding skeletons in walls isn’t par for the course, either.”
“I don’t know,” Wesley began arbitrarily. “If you’re willing to come to grips with the skeletons in your closet, one more in the wall should be no sweat.”
“You aren’t helping.”
“What would you suggest I do?”
“Get your butt up here.”
“In good time,” Wesley announced. “That was the deal.”
“But things have changed since we struck that bargain,” J.D. said on a breath.
“And you can roll with the punches,” Wesley said easily. “I think this may turn out to be a very healthy experience for you.”
“Right,” J.D. grumbled. His coffee had gone cold and it left a bitter taste in his mouth as he forced himself to swallow. “If you came up here, you could deal with the girl. She needs someone like you.”
“That’s not what you said the other evening,” Wesley countered. “You indicated that one night in your capable arms would have her eating out of your hand.”
“I was wrong,” J.D. admitted. Hearing his own arrogant words made him squirm uncomfortably in his seat. “She’s not what I thought at first.”
“Wouldn’t let you in her pants, huh?”
“Not a chance.”
* * *
OPENING HER EYES, Tory blinked against the confusion clouding her lagging brain. Her hand ran over the surface of the rumpled comforter. The movement caused her to feel the coolness of the sheets against her skin. Too much skin, she thought as she threw the bedspread toward her feet. “What?” she mumbled as she discovered she was wearing nothing but her bra and panties. The flame red garments stood out against the stark white sheets. With wide eyes, she allowed her gaze to dart around the room as she tried to pry memories from her brain.
Her fingers feathered her bangs as she concentrated. Recall came slowly. Pain, followed by so many emotions that she lost count. Her father was dead. Had been all these years. A small groan escaped her slightly parted lips.
Images from childhood mingled with bits and pieces of the scene she had waged in the Tattoo. Images of her parents, recalled through the eyes of a mere child. Images of being in J.D.’s arms, remembered by a lingering heat on her skin.
Tory stood on wobbly legs. Only then did she recollect Rose forcing several pills down her throat last night. At least she thought it was last night. Everything seemed to be trapped in a haze. Grabbing her short robe off the hook, she tugged it over her shoulders and yanked open the door. Her eyes collided with a set of gray ones.
“What...?” She managed to tear the word from her constricted throat.
“Good morning,” he said easily, unfolding himself from the sofa.
Her mouth remained open as she took in the scene. J.D. had a tousled, rugged look that cemented her to the spot. His dark hair was mussed, as if someone had been running their fingers through it. His shirt was open, and the edges pulled farther apart as he rose to his full height of well over six feet. Tory’s eyes fell to the thick, black curls and then lower, where they tapered and disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.
Realizing too late that such a brazen appraisal might prove dangerous, she lifted her gaze to his. His expression was intense, his eyes narrowed to a glistening silver. Again she realized the error of her ways too late. She could feel his eyes as they took in the lacy edges of her bra, could feel them linger at the valley between her breasts.
Feeling her skin color the same deep red as her lingerie, Tory grabbed the edges of her belt, twisting her exposed body away from the scrutiny of his examination. She’d given him an eyeful, she thought ruefully as she tied the belt so tightly that it actually made each breath painful.
“I made another pot of coffee,” he told her, his voice deep and as smooth as smoke.
“Thanks,” she said, willing herself into composure. “What are you doing here?” she asked as she padded into the