When Bruce Met Cyn. Lori Foster

never had a kitchen, so yeah.”

      “Never?”

      She met his surprise with an expression of negligence. “Not since I was a kid, and my mother sure as hell wasn’t Suzy-homemaker, you know?” She stood up and stretched, flexed her ankle experimentally, and frowned. “I’d better be on my way. I don’t want to abuse your hospitality.”

      It was three in the morning, it was storming, and she looked exhausted as well as hurt.

      After giving her a long, thoughtful look, Bruce came to a sudden decision. Only moments ago, he’d had his intentions all planned out. He’d told himself it’d be for the best for her to go the motel. He’d told himself it wouldn’t look right, for her, if she stayed with him. He’d check in on her, offer her assistance, and keep in touch. A good plan. A solid, typical plan.

      But suddenly, things felt different.

      He didn’t want her to go.

      He stood in front of her, hating the way she abruptly turned defensive and watchful. “I’ll drive you to the motel,” he told her, holding her gaze with his own. “But if you’d prefer, you can sleep here for the night.”