When Bruce Met Cyn. Lori Foster

her elbow connected.

      Not on his nose, thank God, but against his solar plexus, stealing his wind and making him gasp while staggering back a step. “That hurt.”

      She tossed her hair again. “The first ten seconds of ogling were free. But you went way past that.”

      Pressing a fist to the ache she’d caused, Bruce swallowed, cautiously drew two more painful breaths, then rasped, “My sincerest apologies.”

      Her incredible eyes narrowed. “Are you for real?”

      He almost smiled at the irony of the situation. “I saw your predicament from the diner and had some vague notion that you might need assistance.”

      “Yeah?” She glanced behind her at the trucker, who was making noises of renewed life. “I still might.”

      The trucker staggered to his feet with a lot of grunting and grimacing. With his right hand, he pointed a short, meaty finger at her. “Fucking whore,” he spat. His left hand continued massaging his crotch.

      Offended, Bruce said, “That language is unnecessary.”

      The trucker snarled. “She promised to—”

      “I didn’t make any promises.” The young lady didn’t raise her chin, but instead tucked it in and looked down her narrow nose at the trucker with icy disdain. “I was nice, and you made assumptions.”

      “I gave you a ride and even bought you lunch!”

      Her rosy lips curled in a taunting way. “And you thought a hamburger and fries got you special favors? Get real.”

      “They sure as hell weren’t free.”

      “Perv.”

      Fuming, the trucker reached for her again; she physically prepared herself, and Bruce, feeling like the biggest idiot alive, got between them.

      Quickly, before the trucker tried to take him apart, Bruce asked, “How much does she owe you?” Then he held up a hand. “And don’t mention sex, because that’s obviously out of the question. And besides, prostitution is illegal here and there’s a cop sitting right inside the diner.”

      The trucker, with one worried glance at the restaurant, subsided. He pushed his ball cap back on his head and scratched at his ear. He seemed undecided, but finally said, “Forty bucks oughta cover it.”

      Bristling indignation brought the woman to her toes. “Forty bucks! Are you out of your friggin’—”

      “Fine.” Bruce located two twenties. “Here. Now go. We’re drawing a lot of attention.”

      Hearing that, the woman looked over her shoulder, and grinned. The front window of the diner had at least ten noses pressed to it. “So we are. Probably the most excitement any of them have had in a decade. Oh and look. There is a cop.” She waggled her fingers at the mostly disinterested officer before turning back to the trucker. “Get lost, Tarzan.”

      The trucker folded the bills Bruce had given him into his wallet, then tucked it into his back pocket. “Cock tease,” he muttered with pure venom and headed for his idling semi.

      In saccharine-sweet tones, she shot back, “Buffoon.” But the trucker wasted no more time in throwing the big rig into gear and grinding his way out of the lot.

      Bruce exhaled his relief, gave himself a few seconds to prepare for her impact, then returned his attention to the young lady. Her features were as devastating now as they had been moments before, but at least this time he wasn’t taken unawares. “You’re okay?”

      “Fine and dandy.” One arched brow lifted.

      “You?”

      “I’ll live.” But his chest still hurt from the blow she’d delivered. She might be small, but she wasn’t helpless.

      She looked around her with interest. “I don’t suppose you’d want to buy me something to eat? That hamburger was hours ago and I’m starving.”

      Her brazenness might have put another man off, but Bruce had spent most of his adult life in the company of brazen women. His mouth twitched and he said gently, “Not here, no.”

      She took that on the chin. “Sure, Gallahad, whatever.” Readjusting the satchel-type purse she carried, and grabbing up the handle to her suitcase, she started for the diner. “Maybe some other Good Samaritan will feel differently.”

      Bruce stopped her. “They have cockroaches.”

      She twisted to look at him over her shoulder. Her grin made his stomach knot with unheard-of sensations. “No problem. Most of the people I know are probably related.”

      Sympathy saved him, brought out his more professional persona. If she didn’t mind eating with bugs, she must truly be hungry. And he knew from experience that her joking attitude was no more than bravado, anyway. “I’m heading to Visitation.”

      She paused.

      “It’s an hour south, but at the next gas station, I can buy you something prepackaged.”

      Slowly, she turned to face him. Her lush lips pursed, and then formed the word, “Yummy.”

      Bruce’s stomach took a free fall. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to ignore her blatant sex appeal. “Once we hit town, if you can wait that long, I can get you some real food.”

      She cocked out her hip and crossed her arms under her plump breasts. “You offering me a ride?”

      “As far as Visitation, yes.”

      “Well, what about that?” Her wide smile left twin dimples in her soft cheeks and had her eyes warming with surprise. She shifted the handle of her suitcase into her left hand, and held out her right.

      “I’m Cyn, Cyn Potter.”

      His automatic “nice to meet you” froze on his tongue. Sin? What was her middle name? Temptation?

      As if she’d read his thoughts, she smirked. “Short for Cynthia, though I haven’t used that name in a long, long time.”

      “I see.” He needed to get his thoughts in order, fast. He folded her slender fingers into his. “Bruce Kelly.”

      Her hand was small and warm and her handshake held no reservation, no uncertainty. Bruce gestured to the side lot. “My car is over here.”

      She’d been rolling her suitcase along, but the uneven lot, littered with rocks and other debris, made it difficult. Bruce took it from her, lifted it with ease, and led the way. He knew she’d follow.

      Where else did she have to go?

      He started to put the luggage in the back of the aged station wagon, but Cyn stopped him. “Put it in the backseat. Not that I don’t trust you, but if I have to make a fast exit, I don’t want to leave my stuff behind.”

      Bruce didn’t question that, he just did as she asked. “This thing weighs a ton.”

      “Books.” She shrugged. “I like to read.”

      “Me, too.”

      Her mouth quirked. “Somehow I doubt we share the same interest in topics.”

      Bruce was well used to untrusting women and he always did his best to reassure them. He opened her door for her, and without a word, she checked to make sure the lock hadn’t been tampered with.

      He was wondering how many cars she’d been trapped in when she explained. “I read in a book that some sickos fix the door locks so once you’re in, you can’t get out.” Her eyes slanted his way. “Hope you don’t mind me checking.”

      “Not at all. I think it’s smart.”

      “Yeah—me, too.”

      He wanted, needed, to know more about her. But he’d learned patience and wouldn’t push her.