Engulfed in the shirt that carried his sexy, male scent, she was riveted by his muscular chest. “Um, except you’re still naked.”

“I’m not the cop.” He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips. “Talk to me, Sam.”

The dull ache sharpened in a matter of seconds.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, alarmed. “You just went totally pale.”

“It’s nothing.” She tried and failed to take a deep breath. “Just this deal with my stomach.”

“What deal?”

“It gives me some grief from time to time. It’s nothing.”

“Have you had it checked?”

“A couple of times,” she squeaked out.

“Babe, God, you’re in serious pain! What can I do?”

“Gotta breathe,” she said as the pain clawed its way through her, making her feel sick and clammy. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He fitted himself around her, held her close and whispered soft words of comfort that eased her mind.

She closed her eyes, focused on the sound of his voice and drifted. The pain retreated, but the episode—worse than most—left her drained and embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

“I told you not to apologize. You have to do something about that. You might have an ulcer or something. I can get you in with my friend. He’s awesome.”

“It seems to crop up whenever I’m nervous about something, which I’m finding is fairly often.”

“You’re nervous about what you have to say to me?”

She tilted her head and found his pretty hazel eyes studying her intently. “I guess I am.”

He sat up, propped the pillows behind him and snuggled her into his chest. “Then let’s get it over with.”

“Cops don’t snuggle.”

“Make an exception.”

“I think I’ve already made quite a few,” she said dryly.

“Make another one.”

Before the pain could come back to remind her she was powerless against it, she took the plunge. “I have to ask you something. It’s probably going to upset you, and I hate that, but I have to ask.”

“Okay.”

“Is there any chance John was gay? Or maybe bi?” She felt the tension creep into his body, and then just as quickly it was gone.

He laughed. He actually laughed. “No. Not only no, but no fucking way.”

“How can you know that for sure? Some men hide it from their friends, their families…”

“I would’ve known, Sam. Believe me. I would’ve known.”

“You didn’t know he had a son.”

And just that quickly he was tense again. “You don’t know that, either.”

“I’m all but certain of it. The picture?”

“What about it?”

“His parents lied. His cousin Thomas, the son of Robert O’Connor? He’s thirty-six, dark hair, dark eyes.” She sat up straighter and shifted so she could see his face. “Surely you must have heard him talk about a cousin who was the same age as him?”