His Perfect Woman (Harlequin Superromance) (4 page)

“Just stay put and give me a sec to get dressed.”

Wondering who he had up there with him that would require him to not already
be
dressed at ten o'clock in the morning, she debated the merits of ignoring him and leaving. She could come back later.
Much
later. Or not at all? Was she nuts to consider this?

A woman laughed.

Melissa jerked her head up toward Bryan's still-open window, but when the sound came again, she traced it to the house positioned on the right of the medical practice. Was that…

Squinting, she focused on the fluttering lace curtains and sucked in a sharp breath. It
was!
Ellen Morton was talking on the phone, her voice carrying the short distance between
the houses. The woman's laughter was low and teasing. Had she just said her father's name?
Her
name?

The door behind her opened, and Melissa spun around to face Bryan with a glare only to wind up gaping at him instead. Getting dressed apparently involved pulling on low-riding, body-molding jeans and a black T-shirt that defined his broad chest and muscles. Yesterday he'd worn casual slacks and a button-down dress shirt, but now Bryan looked like he'd stepped out of an ad for Abercrombie & Fitch or a rough-and-tumble Ralph Lauren spread.

Forcing her gaze to his and hating the fact she stood one step lower, which put her at ab level with him, Melissa ignored the crick in her neck and stared up into his hypnotic green eyes, trying in vain to gather her wits. Not an easy feat considering the sight of him made her nervous and…sick.

Because he was perfect
. Completely, totally, absolutely
perfect
from his sandy-brown hair finger-combed off his face and left to curl on his neck, to his bare, big-man feet that balanced a six-foot-plus frame. Corded muscles, ripped abs that could be seen beneath the well-worn shirt, a muscular build any male model would envy. Bryan was the prime example of a man.

He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest with a lethal half grin that made her insides tingle and heat in an unfamiliar way. But that was absurd. Because as perfect as he appeared to be, that was how
imperfect
she was in comparison. If she were a normal woman she might have appreciated the welcoming, flirtatious smile, but she wasn't normal, never would be, and a man like Bryan Booker only made her more aware of all her shortcomings. Why couldn't he sport a purple mustache now or still think it funny to fart?

Bryan tilted his head to the side, his indecently long lashes adding to a sexy, sleepy expression few men could pull off without looking ridiculous.

“Melissa?”

He said her name patiently, as if he was accustomed to the chore because other women had done as she had and been rendered speechless at the sight of him. Coming out of her daze, she cleared her throat only to be sidetracked yet again by the sound of Ellen's laughter carrying from next door. She raised an eyebrow. “Ellen Morton is your neighbor?”

“Yeah.”

Everything came together at once. “So you'd seen my dad hanging out over there, and when you saw my reaction yesterday at the station—” She groaned, closing her eyes briefly. “I must've looked like an idiot to you.”

“You didn't look like an idiot at all. You looked like someone had pulled the rug out from under you,” he admitted, his voice gently teasing, “but not an idiot.”

She smiled wearily and lifted a hand toward the other house. “Do you know her well?”

“The way neighbors do these days. Why don't you come in?”

She hesitated, but when he moved back, she climbed the remaining step and entered the hallway leading to the reception area. Exam rooms lined both sides, four in all, with a public restroom and Bryan's office taking up the rest of the space. Diplomas, both his and his R.N.'s, lined the white walls, and a bulletin board full of pictures hung over a water cooler located toward the front of the old house.

“Why don't we talk in my office?”

She nodded, her thoughts focusing on Bryan's comment about Ellen. What exactly did being neighborly mean given
Bryan's reputation with women? Clearing her head with a shake, Melissa followed him into the paper-stacked room and tried to smile. What a mess. How on earth would she get everything straight?

“Have a seat and tell me what brings you here on a beautiful Saturday morning,” he ordered, dropping into a worn but comfortable-looking leather chair. His grandfather's?

She glanced at the rolled arm. Yup, same one. There was a deep scratch where the buckle of her shoe had damaged it when she was six. It was amazing that it had lasted this long, and she found it sweet that Bryan had kept the old chair. “I'm sorry I woke you. I thought you'd be up.”

His lips curled up slightly at the corners, and she felt a blush flood her face when she caught on to the double entendre. He didn't comment further, but propped his elbow on the cushioned armrest and tilted his head to the side, his hand rubbing over his chin as he regarded her with an intense stare. Bryan's gaze was probing and warm and way too slumberous for her liking, so she turned her back to him and studied yet more diplomas and awards. “I, uh, came to work.”

“You're a couple days early. I'm not open on weekends.”

“I know, but I wanted to get a head start,” she informed him while discovering he'd graduated at the top of his class. She moved on to the next frame, this one closer to the door. “Things were such a mess, I didn't think you'd mind, but since you obviously do—”

“I didn't say that. I'm just curious as to why you want to spend a beautiful Saturday morning cooped up in here.”

“Like I said, to make Monday easier.”

Bryan rubbed his face again, the bristles on his jaw and chin rasping crisply against his fingers. “Hey, if you're willing, by all means, let's go for it.”

She didn't like the surge of mixed-up emotions she felt in response to his words. Bryan was a flirt by nature, and she'd seen him in action on numerous occasions. At the book-club discussion meetings at the library, in town and the B and B. He smiled, he winked, he
spoke
in a way that made women sit up and pay attention. She knew better than to take it seriously, but at the same time it was distracting and she didn't want to be distracted. Not by him. Not ever. Maybe she should set that straight? Take the guesswork out of the equation?

“Look, let's go upstairs and—”

“Upstairs?” she repeated huskily.

“Yeah. We can grab something to eat and talk about today before I get started showing you what I need from you. Something wrong?” Bryan stopped in front of her, standing too close for comfort, his expression and bad-boy looks appealing far too much to a woman who had to think with her head.

“Yes—I mean, no. N-not technically, but—”

“Spit it out, Melissa.”

“I think we need to talk.” She followed that up with a nod just in case she wasn't clear.

“Aren't we talking now?”

His tone teased, bringing another blush to her cheeks. She felt silly, unsophisticated, but determined. “Before I consider taking on this job, I think we need to get some things straight. Important things.”

“Important things,” he repeated, drawing the words out. “Like what?”

B
RYAN STARED
at Melissa, his gut twisted into a knot of unease. She had that look. The look women wore when they were determined to put a guy in his place. A look Melissa had worn often as a kid. He'd learned the hard way that he might have always been bigger and stronger, but Melissa was smarter.

The four-year age difference hadn't mattered much, even though she'd been five to his nine. Throwing rocks, climbing trees, riding bikes. They were kids being kids, a group of them who'd hung out and played during the day. But when the others went home, Melissa had stayed, her father's long hours matching his grandfather's.

“What kind of ‘important things'?”

“Well…” She clasped her hands in front of her and squeezed until they were red. “Flirting, for one.”

He stared at her, unsure where this was headed. “Flirting?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?”

“I'm giving myself time to process things,” he said. “Give a guy a chance to wake up.”

“Bryan, we used to be friends—”

“We're not friends?”

She waved a hand as though batting away the question. “Honestly? We're more like acquaintances, as you well know.”

He conceded that point with a nod. The years had wrought a lot of changes in them both.

“We played together as kids, didn't see each other for a long time, and then you came back and you saw me—” she closed her eyes “—at one of my worst possible moments.”

She was worried about—

“You stood in my living room and told me my baby died not because of the things I helped the prosecutor convict Joe of doing to her, but because I neglected—”

“I never said you neglected her!” He planted his hands on his hips and glared at her. “I've never once said that.”

“But in that instant, I'd not only lost my daughter again, I'd lost my hair and my dignity and very nearly my sanity, and
you
saw it all. So just…ease up. I'm not going to be another Holly or Crystal or Lisa, or any of the others you've—not that you've asked me to—” she clarified quickly, holding up her hands so he wouldn't interrupt. “But I just want to set the record straight. I want a job, Bryan, nothing else, and the effort you're putting into being…nice and—and flirtatious isn't needed because it's wasted on me. You don't need to be that way with me.”

“Is that right?” She was giving him hell because he was
nice?

“Don't take it personally. It's not you, it's me,” she said, echoing his words to Tricia the Temp, but making it so much worse by adding that last part. “I'm just asking you not to bother, that's all. You can relax. There's no pressure for you to be…you know,
Bang 'em Booker
. That's the last thing I want. Just be my friend again, my boss. If you can do that, we can work together.” Melissa held out her hand. “Deal?”

He took her soft, trembling palm in his. She'd taken the lead and said everything he'd wanted to say to her. Well, not
quite the same things, but close enough. The no-flirting rule, keeping things professional. It was all good. “Deal,” he murmured, ignoring the slight punch in the gut he felt because she looked so relieved.

 

T
WO AND A HALF HOURS
later, Bryan quietly walked down the hall carrying yet more of the files that had accumulated in his office. While he'd unearthed his desk, Melissa had sorted through the collection of papers and files covering the reception area, moved into the waiting room and now had everything divided into neatly stacked, organized piles. In record time, too. She'd accomplished more in a couple of hours than the other temps had completed in weeks. And after her little speech about being friends, the tension and worry he'd felt about hiring her eased. “Looks like you've gotten a handle on things. You ready to stop for lunch yet?”

Distracted, she stuck a note on top of a chart and nodded, her eyebrows pulled down as she wrote on the yellow sticky. “Soon.”

“How about now?” he urged with a low laugh when he heard the distinct sound of her stomach growling. “I'm hungry again and you've proved you're up to the task by being so engrossed you've backed yourself into a corner.”

Melissa added the file to the top of a stack and looked up, her face coloring slightly when she noted the truth of his words. She stood and, with careful placement of her feet, crossed the small waiting room, trying not to cause any of the piles surrounding her to topple. Tall and graceful, she looked like a dancer with her short, trendy hair and lithe form.

Long gone were the carefully braided pigtails, buck teeth and the kid who'd tripped over her own feet nearly as often as he had. Melissa held her arms away from her body for
balance but wobbled on the next-to-last step. She adjusted quickly and then hopped the last files without incident.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She knelt down and grabbed a pile of thick file folders. Rising and turning, her head low because she concentrated on what she was doing, she hadn't seen him step forward to help and he didn't have time to get out of her way. Melissa bumped into him, the files she held sliding to the right. Bryan scrambled to help her keep the foot-thick stack from falling, but ended up grasping her arms and smashing the files between them to do so.

Color spread up Melissa's neck into her face. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” Except it was.

He couldn't move, because if he did, everything would wind up on the floor. She shifted and tried to straighten the files again, her elbows digging into his stomach in the process. The mass of paper kept them from full contact, but desire raced through him regardless. Now? His body was responding
now?

“I've got them. Oops, wait a sec. Now I do.” She smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

Up close, her hair smelled of raspberries and looked so soft his fingers twitched with the need to touch it. The sprinkling of freckles across her nose were undisguised by powder, but the sight of them made him want to—

“You can let go now.”

Bryan released her and stepped back, more than a little surprised at himself for feeling like a hormonal teenager on a rampage. Melissa turned and walked away, seemingly unaffected by what had just happened. And him? Biting back a curse, he ran a hand over his mouth and rubbed hard to erase the temptation of kissing those freckles.

Melissa was the epitome of the girl next door—blond,
blue eyed, long legged and thin. But thanks to her speech earlier and because of his past, he couldn't ignore the fact she was
too
thin, her hair
too
short and her eyes shadowed by light circles born of prolonged illness—one he didn't want to ever have to acknowledge again. Not on an intimate level.

Melissa walked over to the desk to place the files on the corner and then began gathering up the dozen pens scattered across the top of the long counter. Within seconds, she'd put a fistful in the nearly empty container and went on to another task. Did she feel the tension, too? Somehow he doubted it. She seemed…oblivious. Simply trying to get as much work done as possible before she had to leave.

Curious, drawn by some invisible, unrecognizable force, Bryan moved to lean his elbows atop the high counter. His mind warned him to back off and not go where his thoughts led, but he couldn't help himself. It was too strange. He wasn't used to being dismissed by a woman.

Melissa glanced up at him. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” He reined in his thoughts once more. “Just wondering if you like Italian?”

“Oh, right, lunch. Sure, Italian's goo—”

The phone rang and he glanced at the caller ID screen. “It's the station, probably the chief.”

Melissa hesitated. It was obvious to him that she didn't want to pick up, but why?

Ellen's comment about husbands not wanting their wives under the same roof as him bounced through his head. Would the same apply to Melissa's police chief father? Hal hadn't liked the antics Bryan and Melissa had gotten into as kids: letting the air out of Melissa's piano teacher's tires at the grocery so the woman would have to cancel and Melissa wouldn't have to stop playing; climbing the old oak tree in
the park with backpacks full of snacks so it couldn't be cut down. Fun times. Great memories. But big trouble for the chief.

The phone rang a third time. “Want me to get that?”

Groaning softly, she snatched the receiver from the base. “Dr. Booker's office. Hi, Dad. Yeah, things are okay. No, I'm—we're ordering lunch here.” She glanced at Bryan before turning away. “No, we've only just taken a break for lunch… Dad, no. Yes, I appreciate the offer, but… No, I can't make it… Yes, I'm sure…” Her voice lowered. “Because we're working… I
know
it's right next door,” she said cryptically, shooting him a wry look over her shoulder. “No, I don't have time right now… Yes, that's really why… I'm sure. Goodbye, Dad.
Goodbye
. I'm hanging up now,” she stated firmly before she pressed the button.

Bryan raised a brow, impressed. “Did you just hang up on the chief of police?”

Amusement lit Melissa's features. “No, I just hung up on my dad.” She released a weary huff and replaced the handset. “And I said goodbye, so that doesn't qualify as hanging up.”

“Right. Well, don't say no on my account. Lunch with Ellen sounds like a good way to get to know each other better, and she's a great cook.” That comment earned him a glare. “I take it you're not okay with him marrying her?”

He could see her struggling with an inner debate. “I never said that.”

“But you don't want to go over for lunch?” He watched while she bustled around the desk grabbing more pencils and pens, Hi-Liters, staple removers and paper clips. “For what it's worth, she's a nice person. If you give Ellen a chance you might like her.”

Melissa's teeth sank into her lower lip while she opened
various drawers and began tossing the items. “It's not—” She broke off with a groan. “I
know
I need to go. From the way it sounds it's practically a done deal.”

“She does have a ring.” That got him another glare.

“She's taking advantage of him, of his loneliness. Why can't he see that?”

“Maybe she's not,” he suggested mildly. “Maybe she's in love with him. Either way, there's only one way to find out and that's by spending time with them together. See how they are around one another.”

Her shoulders slumped and she was silent a long moment. “I suppose if I went now, it would mean a short visit. I'd have to finish up what I started here, right?” She paused, obviously considering her alternatives. “It
would
give me an excuse to leave, rather than getting stuck there indefinitely on another day when I have no schedule to keep.”

He couldn't stop the smile that formed. “Melissa, she doesn't bite.”

She looked up at him, staring at him as though she'd momentarily forgotten he was there—and then was suddenly glad he was. Unease had him straightening. “What?”

“Nothing… I'm just glad you feel that way. Remember when you ran into Mrs. Borwick's rose planter and broke it? When your grandfather caught us, you made me go with you to tell her you were sorry.”

“So? That was a long time ago.”

“Doesn't matter,” she informed him, “because you didn't return the favor—until now. You're coming to lunch with me.”

Bryan shook his head. He didn't want to be involved in the family squabble any more than he already was. “I wasn't invited.”

She tossed aside a phone book. “You are now. I'll call Dad back and let him know.”

 

T
HE FIRST THING
Melissa noticed when she entered Ellen's house was the homey feel. Unlike Bryan's Edwardian-style home/medical practice, Ellen's home was a mixture of ranch, farmhouse and Victorian all rolled into one. They entered through the kitchen door after a cheery “Come in!” followed their knock, and Melissa listened to the other woman's hurried footsteps heading in their direction while taking in the sunflower wallpaper and bright decor. Reds and yellows brightened the oak cabinets and furniture, and the hardwood floors, dotted with rag-hooked rugs in a variety of shades and textures, were yet another welcoming touch.

“See? Not the dungeon you imagined your father trapped in, huh?” Bryan teased quietly. “And do you smell that? That's not gruel, but Ellen's sweet-potato casserole. Best I've ever eaten. I think I'm going to enjoy being your date.”

Date?
Melissa did her best to ignore the way her heart rate increased at his choice of words.

Yeah, like Bang 'em Booker would do someone like you.

Melissa stepped away from him to establish some much-needed distance. Her reaction was a physical one, nothing else, the result of being unable to remember the last time a man other than her father or a hospital orderly had touched her. She didn't want Bryan to
do
her, wasn't interested in him
at all.
It was just a thought, fleeting, one of those what-if's that came from out of nowhere when she least expected it.

She knew whoever consented to sex with her would wind up feeling a certain amount of pity. She supposed that was inevitable. But she couldn't tolerate pity from someone like Bryan, someone so perfect.

“Bryan! What a nice surprise. I'm glad you could join us.”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” Ellen said with a smile. “You know you're always welcome. Anytime.”

 

G
RATEFUL FOR
the distraction from her too-strange musings, Melissa watched Ellen's approach only to be even more upset when she noticed the way the woman's engagement ring sparkled in the sunlight.