Chapter Two
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected of the home of a former FBI special agent, but it wasn’t this.
Either the FBI was paying way better than most people realized, or Bryson Anton’s post-FBI career paid extremely well.
He’d spent three years so far with The Justice Seekers, an agency of former law enforcement officers and ex-military whose professed goal was to obtain justice for people who couldn’t get it via the traditional route.
Having seen their quirky, state-of-the-art headquarters that they’d dubbed Camelot, she figured it was a safe assumption that’s where Bryson had made his money.
When she reached the front porch, she was surprised that in addition to the broad front steps there was a ramp concealed behind the landscaping.
No rocking chairs dotted the wide expanse.
No flowers decorated the empty cedar window boxes, even though it was the middle of spring.
If she had to describe the expensive, sprawling home in one word, it would be. ..lonely.
She was about to knock on the frosted glass double door when the left side jerked open.
She blinked in slack-jawed admiration at the incredible work of art that greeted her wearing nothing but a frown and a white towel draped around his hips.
His dark, shoulder-length hair was damp.
Beads of water clung to the hair on his golden, sculpted chest. It almost killed her not to reach out and trace the trail of one very happy bead that ran toward his six-pack abs and disappeared below the top of his towel.
On a scale of one to ten, she rated him sexy-as-hell.
“Hi.” Of all the compelling, intelligent, well-formulated introductions that her summa cum laude education could have provided her, she came up with that one-word bit of brilliance. She cleared her throat so she could properly introduce herself.
“It’s about time you got here,” he practically growled. “I’ve been trying to work the cramps out of my hip all morning. If the muscles aren’t loosened up soon, I’ll end up in the wheelchair the rest of the day abusing an exquisite bottle of scotch.”
Leaning heavily on the cane in his right hand that she only just noticed, he limped across the expensive-looking shiny white floor before stopping beside one of the biggest black leather couches she’d ever seen.
Except for the other couch in the room, which was just as big.
The two of them formed an L with their backs to the bump-out of windows near the garage.
“Where do you want me?” he asked.
Was that a trick question? On a bed, on the kitchen counter, anywhere.
Since he appeared to be waiting for an answer to his ridiculous query, she had to rewind the brief conversation in her head and remember what he’d said when he’d opened the door.
Her previously absent brain clicked into gear, and she realized he was likely expecting either a massage therapist or a personal trainer.
For his left hip, the one he was favoring as he leaned toward the cane on his right side.
Apparently he wanted her to tell him where he should sit, or lie down, or whatever was required so that she could work out his muscle cramps.
Her ovaries screamed at her to say yes to anything he wanted. But it wouldn’t be ethical to let this go on any longer when it was obviously a case of mistaken identity. All she had to do was tell him who she was and why she was there.
Now if she could just stop drooling long enough to remember her name.
He frowned. “What’s wrong?” He glanced down at his towel. “I’ve got boxers on if you’re worried that I’m naked under here.”
“Oh, no, trust me. That wouldn’t bother me at all.” Drop the towel. And the boxers. Please. She cleared her throat. “What I meant to say is that—”
The doorbell rang, followed by a knock on the glass.
He swore. “Ever since my old boss came by yesterday, you’d think this was a Walmart on Black Friday. This makes the third person to come by in two days.”
“Three visitors in two days. A veritable siege.”
He gave her an odd look.
She smiled. It was either that or give in to the barbaric urge to grab his towel and toss it away. She curled her fingernails against her palms, trying her best to keep him safe.
His face was a study in pain as he limped to the door.
She wondered at the source of that pain.
His employer hadn’t mentioned anything about an injury.
Mason had only stated that Bryson was on temporary leave, but that he’d be more than happy to return to take her case.
She had a feeling that Mason might have stretched the truth. A lot.
He opened the door with a bit of wariness this time, keeping his lower half hidden behind it.
Unable to make out what was being said, Teagan imagined it was far more clever than her conversation since they spoke longer than it took to say, “Hi.” When he stepped back, a rather impressive woman entered.
Bright, attention-getting red hair floated above baby-blue scrubs.
She marched across the room with the authority of someone who had a legitimate reason to be there.
Teagan was quite certain that the woman’s muscular arms would have made a linebacker blush with envy.
After snapping a white linen in the air and tucking it around the couch cushions, she ordered Bryson to lose the towel and lie down.
Teagan debated what to do. Should she go or should she stay?
“You.” Bryson pointed at her. “Sit over there until I can stand again without wanting to drown myself in a bottle of tequila. Then we’ll find out who you are and what you’re doing here.”
He dropped his towel and lay down on the couch, his left leg facing out toward the room. His thighs were just as muscular and beautiful as the rest of him. Wowzah.
The woman that Teagan mentally dubbed “Helga” placed a pad on the floor by the couch and propped her knees on top of it. Strong, man-size hands were stuffed into latex gloves. Then she shoved the side of Bryson’s boxers up his leg and proceeded to squeeze and pummel his hip.
Personally, Teagan wouldn’t have bothered with the gloves.
She tossed her purse onto the other couch and plopped down to enjoy the show.
It was over far too soon. She almost groaned in disappointment when Bryson pushed to his feet, then pronounced his cramps gone and thanked the therapist. A few minutes later, Helga had left and Bryson returned from his bedroom in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt.
Since the jeans caressed his muscular thighs and tight rear end and the T-shirt did nothing to hide the perfection of his pecs, Teagan decided that she didn’t mind that he’d put on some clothes.
It was a pleasure seeing the perfect male specimen in varying stages of undress.
She just wished she could see him completely undressed for a fair comparison.
He limped to her couch, looking just as adorably grumpy as he had when he’d jerked open the front door and complained about her taking so long to get there. Well, complained that Helga had taken so long.
“Spill it,” he said. “Mason sent you, didn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“How would you put it?”
“I’d say that I went to Mr. Ford and asked if I could hire you.
He said he was certain that you’d be interested, but that I’d have to ask you personally.
He graciously provided your address and here I am.
Technically, I sent myself.” She remained seated on the ultra-plush couch and offered her hand. “Teagan Ray. Nice to meet you.”
He didn’t bother with a handshake. “Bryson Anton. I don’t work for Mason Ford anymore. Get out of my house.”