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.
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
