Family Secrets. Ruth Dale Jean

right. You won’t regret it, either. I dated a physiotherapist for a long time—six months, at least. You can trust me. I’m good.”

      She couldn’t trust him, not about this or anything else. He was too slick; she’d forgotten how slick, or maybe he hadn’t been quite so polished before.

      She said a dignified, “No, thank you,” and stood up. Then, despite all her good intentions to the contrary, that ache between her shoulder blades made her groan.

      “Jeez,” he said, “you are one headstrong woman.”

      Before she could resist, he had her by the elbows, maneuvered her into place and pressed her gently down. Confused and off guard, her panicky gaze met his.

      “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I won’t get out of line, I promise.”

      “I never thought you...”

      He flipped her over onto her stomach and her protests died away. She lay there on the middle of her living-room floor like a sacrificial lamb, waiting for the ax.

      What she got was not cold steel but the press of warm strong hands. That initial contact literally took her breath away.

      “This would work better if you’d take off that blouse,” he murmured. “I mean, it’ll work fairly well this way but—”

      “It’s this way or forget it,” she said. And then she did groan. “My God, that feels wonderful.”

      “Thanks. It’ll feel even better once you start to relax.”

      Relax. Even those strong fingers kneading the clenched muscles of her shoulders couldn’t make her relax.

      “I saw Leslie the other day,” he said, sliding his hands down her sides while his thumbs dug into the channels on either side of her spine. He settled himself astride her, his thighs tight to hers.

      Sharlee felt as if she’d been immobilized by an electrical shock. His hands moved across her back, pressing and kneading, while his legs imprisoned her. Somehow he seemed to be relaxing her exterior while arousing her interior.

      “Uhh...that’s probably enough,” she ventured weakly. “You don’t have to keep—”

      “Just a minute more.” Those magic hands skimmed over her shoulder blades and slipped between her arms and her torso, pressing against the sides of her breasts before moving down to her waist. She wanted to scream at him, tell him not to try anything, tell him to keep his cotton-pickin’ hands where they belonged, tell him... that what she felt wasn’t really a rush of surrender and he was wasting his time if he thought so.

      “Better?” He paused with his hands on either side of her waist.

      “Yes.” It came out a strangled groan.

      “We’re almost finished, then.”

      His hands left her body to settle on either side of her head, fingers threading through her hair. The press and pull mesmerized her as he worked across her scalp and down to her neck. She felt limp as a wet dishrag, tight as a dry sponge. She felt so many things that her mind reeled.

      A quick pat on the rump yanked her back to reality and his weight lifted.

      “That should help you sleep,” he said in a low voice.

      She wanted to yell at him, say, You idiot, now I’ll never sleep because you’ve got me so damned worked up. She rolled onto her back and found him standing over her, his legs on either side of her thighs.

      “Yes, thanks.” She made no move to rise because to do so would lead to more physical contact, and she didn’t think she could stand that. How long had it been since she’d been so aroused by a man?

      A long time. Too long, actually.

      He offered a hand. “Let me help you up.”

      “I can get up by myself.” She scooted out from under him then, one of her knees sliding lightly against his leg. She stood up, making a big production of smoothing her clothes back into place. “Th-thanks for everything—dinner, the back rub. Now I’ve got to get some sleep.”

      “Hard day tomorrow?”

      “All my days are hard.” Harder, with you in town.

      “Okay.” He turned toward the door. “What shall I tell your grandmother?”

      “That I love her and I’m not moving back to Lyoncrest.”

      “She didn’t say you had to move into the family mansion, although I know she’d like that. She just wants you in town, nearby in case anything happens to—”

      “In case anyone in my family wants to tell me how to run my life. No way. Been there, done that.”

      “Okay. I’ll tell her.” Giving her a two-fingered salute, he paused in the doorway. “Sleep tight.”

      “I will.”

      Only she didn’t.

      

      SHE APPEARED FOR WORK the next day red-eyed and tired and feeling harassed and persecuted.

      Whereupon Bruce called her into his office and fired her.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      “BUT...BUT...”

      Sharlee stammered to a confused halt, staring at Bruce with total disbelief. This was ridiculous; he couldn’t fire her! He’d just promoted her, for God’s sake. Dragging in a deep breath, she tried to get past the shock.

      “Look,” she bargained, “I went to the planning-commission meeting last night. I got a good story.”

      “I’m sure you did.”

      “And I introduced myself around, told all the commissioners I’d be covering city stuff.”

      “That doesn’t matter any longer,” he said. “You’re still fired—or maybe I should say laid off.”

      “I couldn’t care less what you call it, Bruce. I mean... Don’t you at least want me to write up the meeting?”

      “I’ll have someone else do that. You can pick up your final check at the front desk on your way out.” He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m really sorry, Sharlee, but we’re...we’re cutting back and you’re the junior reporter in news. It’s just the breaks, kid.”

      She had to be missing something. She racked her brain for an explanation. There had never been any complaints about her work, so what could it be?

      “Okay,” she said, “I’ll take my old job back as lifestyles editor.”

      Her editor shook his head. “Sorry, no can do. You’re news now and that’s where I’ve got to cut.”

      “Bruce!” She stared at him in frustration—and then the light dawned. Putting her fists on his desk, she leaned over to stare him in the eye. “Did you happen to speak to any of my relatives in the past twenty-four hours?” she demanded, her voice rising.

      A wash of red swept up his neck and mottled his face. “Absolutely not.”

      She knew bluster when she saw it. “You’re lying. How dare you do such an underhanded thing! Was it my grandmother who told you to fire me?”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      He did, the lying SOB. “What did she promise you?” Sharlee pushed. “Cash? A job at WDIX?” She straightened, some of the shock dissipating while cruel reality began to sink in. “I hope you didn’t sell yourself too cheap. This kind of deal doesn’t come along every day.”

      He looked down at the desktop and his shoulders hunched. “Sharlee—Charlotte, it’s not what you think...exactly. I...that is, when you—”

      “Give