Worth The Wait. Lori FosterЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.