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Nyc Angels: Flirting With Danger
Tina Beckett


Dr Brad Davis’s success with women is the talk of Manhattan’s ‘Angel’s’ Children’s Hospital, but even he knows that Nurse Chloe Jenkins, his best friend’s little sister, is off limits.But when she shows up on his doorstep barefoot, seeking refuge and wearing little more than lingerie, Brad is very tempted to break all the rules…










Step into the world of NYC Angels

Looking out over Central Park, the Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital, affectionately known as Angel’s, is famed throughout America for being at the forefront of paediatric medicine, with talented staff who always go that extra mile for their little patients. Their lives are full of highs, lows, drama and emotion.

In the city that never sleeps, the life-saving docs at Angel’s Hospital work hard, play hard and love even harder. There’s always time for some sizzling after-hours romance …

And striding the halls of the hospital, leaving a sea of fluttering hearts behind him, is the dangerously charismatic new head of neurosurgery Alejandro Rodriguez. But there’s one woman, paediatrician Layla Woods, who’s left an indelible mark on his no-go-area heart. Expect their reunion to be explosive!

NYC Angels

Children’s doctors who work hard and love even harder … in the city that never sleeps!


Dear Reader

There are times when we all struggle with issues of self-esteem and self-worth. Sometimes those struggles are based on our own perceptions, but other times the damage is caused by people who come into our lives—people in whom we place our trust. The heroine of NYC ANGELS: FLIRTING WITH DANGER has fled just such a situation. As she faces an uncertain future she must painstakingly sift through what is real and what is not—and she must come to terms with the fact that she is worthy of love. Worthy of true intimacy.

Thank you for joining Brad and Chloe as they face the heartbreak of broken dreams and somehow find the courage to love again. I hope you enjoy reading about their journey as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Much love

Tina Beckett




About the Author


Born to a family that was always on the move, TINA BECKETT learned to pack a suitcase almost before she knew how to tie her shoes. Fortunately she met a man who also loved to travel, and she snapped him right up. Married for over twenty years, Tina has three wonderful children and has lived in gorgeous places such as Portugal and Brazil.

Living where English reading material is difficult to find has its drawbacks, however. Tina had to come up with creative ways to satisfy her love for romance novels, so she picked up her pen and tried writing one. After her tenth book she realised she was hooked. She was officially a writer.

A three-times Golden Heart finalist, and fluent in Portuguese, Tina now divides her time between the United States and Brazil. She loves to use exotic locales as the backdrop for many of her stories. When she’s not writing you can find her either on horseback or soldering stained glass panels for her home.

Tina loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website or ‘friend’ her on Facebook.

Recent titles by the same author:



ONE NIGHT THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

THE MAN WHO WOULDN’T MARRY

DOCTOR’S MILE-HIGH FLING

DOCTOR’S GUIDE TO DATING IN THE JUNGLE


These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk




NYC Angels:

Flirting

with Danger


Tina Beckett






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my dear husband, who has held my hand when I needed it held and has smiled at my insanely ridiculous desire to own a chicken, and who promised that some day I would have one. I’m holding you to that promise, honey!




CHAPTER ONE


NOTHING COULD CONCEAL her shame.

Not this time. Still, Chloe Jenkins yanked the belt of her beige trench coat tighter, until she was sure it would cut her in two—much like her heart had been. What had seemed sexy a half-hour ago now seemed unbearably pathetic and sleazy. The New York City subway station was jammed with bodies, even at this hour, and she shoved wet hanks of hair from her eyes, glad to finally be out of the rain.

What was she supposed to do now?

Hurling your wedding rings at your cheating bastard of a husband with the words “Consider this our divorce!” may have seemed like the perfect exit line—the only way to escape with a shred of dignity—but charging out of that hotel room had left her with few options. She was in a huge city where she knew no one.

Except …

The air shuddered from her lungs. There had to be some other way.

She could always go home to Connecticut.

And face her brother? Her family? They’d known the truth all along, but she’d been too much of a naïve sap to listen.

The doors opened and she stepped into the train, careful to keep her bare toes far from the nearest occupant.

She could head to a car rental facility. She had her purse and her wallet, thank heavens.

But she’d foolishly left her shoes behind in the room, and it was illegal to drive like this, even if they’d lease her a car. And if the tie on her coat came loose, she’d be totally exposed.

Her face burned hotter. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t be totally exposed, but the peek-a-boo black negligee and sheer panties left little to the imagination.

Even for her ex, who—when she emerged from beneath the cocoon of covers, fury spilling from every pore—had allowed his eyes to crawl over her body, a spark of interest finally coming to life in the drunken depths.

God. Why had she even bothered to try?

Because she didn’t believe in giving up. At least, she hadn’t before now.

The train suddenly slowed as it came to its next stop, and she lost her balance for a few frightening seconds, scrabbling to regain her handhold while keeping her coat from coming open.

Someone bumped into her from behind as they tried to exit, the hard shove sending her reeling a second time. She bit her lip and tasted blood.

“Sorry.” Hands came out to steady her, but Chloe flinched away, terrified someone would find out what she’d tried to do. She checked with the tip of her tongue the damage her teeth had caused. Not exactly the way she’d planned to spend the night.

You’re right, baby, she does look frigid.

Travis’s current paramour had clung to his arm and giggled at the sight of Chloe under the covers, the duvet pulled up to her chin.

What had been meant as a last-ditch effort to save her marriage had turned into a guillotine instead, one that had nicked her, even as she’d released the cord and let it drop—cleaving what had been one into two and setting her free.

Travis hadn’t even blinked in the face of her rage. Probably too full of whiskey to care. He’d suggested she stick around … implied she might even want to join in the fun. Her fist had balled up tight, ready to deliver the mean right hook her brother had once taught her, before she stopped herself, realizing it would do no good.

It was over.

A wave of nausea washed up her throat.

She could call her brother and … do what exactly? It was almost midnight, and Jason was a couple of hundred miles away. Besides, he’d ask all kinds of questions. Was she really ready to publicly admit that Travis had wanted the family’s money? He certainly hadn’t wanted her. Not really. No matter how charming he’d been during their courtship. No, he’d wanted a leg up in the financial investment industry, which he’d gotten … and more.

God. She’d saved herself for him. And for what? Love sure hadn’t been any sweeter on the other side of the marriage bed.

She tried to think.

If she called Jason right now, he was liable to go all big-brotherly on her. She didn’t need defending. She needed to get away. For a while, anyway. To plan her next move—at least the one beyond filing for an actual divorce, which she planned to do first thing Monday morning.

So, until then she could just get a room at another hotel.

In her nightgown? Strains of “Pretty Woman” began playing in her head. Yeah. She knew exactly what they’d think she was with plastered hair, thigh-high coat, and no shoes. No respectable hotel would let her through the doors.

And the unrespectable ones …

That was no better solution than the first option. Her eyes went to the tangled colors on the map posted above the doors of the subway train.

As much as she hated the idea, her thoughts circled back to the one person she knew in New York: Brad Davis. She knew where he worked—the Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital—but she had no idea what part of town that was in, or where her brother’s old friend lived. Or even what subway line she should be on right now. She knew how to find Brad, though. Social media was good for at least one thing.

Bracing her feet against the sway of the train and digging out her smartphone, she took a deep breath and pulled up her friends list.

Brad paced the living room of his high-rise apartment, half irritated, half intrigued. It was Friday night, and he’d just sent his date home with a smiled apology and a smoothly worded explanation about family coming into town unexpectedly.

Which wasn’t a total lie. Chloe was practically family. In fact, he’d spent more of his teenage years at Chloe and Jason’s house than he had at his own. And despite being known more for his biker jacket, spiked wrist cuff and well-practiced sneer than for his social graces, his best friend’s folks had made it clear he was welcome any time. Had made sure he’d known they cared about him, even as he’d wondered if his own parents knew he existed.

And Chloe …

His mind sifted through images of the past, each overlapping the other until it formed a collage of memories, full of pink cheeks and adolescent banter.

No one had been more shocked than he, six years ago, to learn she was getting married, or to arrive at the wedding and realize what a gorgeous young woman she’d grown up to be. Asking her to dance had been the ultimate mistake. As they’d taken one quick spin around the dance floor, the hem of her lacy white gown swishing in time with their slow movements, he’d suddenly realized she was no longer the gawky kid who had tagged along after him and her brother. The glint of a hairpin imprisoning a long graceful curl had made his palms itch. What would happen if he reached up and …

His arms had instinctively tightened to resist the temptation, the act pulling her fully against him. His body had reacted, his pulse rate climbing dangerously. A soft gasp had left her throat, and the fingers that had been politely resting on his shoulder curled into the fabric of his suit jacket.

He’d looked down just as her eyes came up. Raw awareness had shimmered between them, and her teeth had sunk deep into her bottom lip—the lip he hadn’t been able to stop staring at. The world around him had faded away, and the self-destructive tendencies he’d thought long gone had swooped down, nearly consuming him.

As if recognizing danger, Chloe’s husband had suddenly appeared beside them, his hand outstretched, a warning frown between his brows. He’d spirited her away, a mysterious ethereal creature with huge blue eyes and slender curves. The memory of her body pressed to his had stayed with him long into the night.

Nope. No thinking about curves, racing pulses or anything else. She was his best friend’s sister. Sweet. Innocent.

Married.

Nothing like the women he dated—sophisticated women who knew exactly what the words “no strings” meant and would play by his set of rules. Women who were the opposite of Chloe Jenkins.

So what was she doing, wandering the streets of New York at midnight? By herself? She’d said there’d been a hitch in her hotel reservations. Why not just choose another place, then? Or drive home to Connecticut, if it came down to it?

He’d only seen her once since her wedding day, and she’d never attempted to contact him. Until tonight.

He should have said no. Should have reminded himself of that crazy dance and told her to steer clear of him—or told her he had company, with just enough emphasis to let her know exactly what that meant.

But there’d been something about her voice on the phone. A shaky uncertainty, as if she’d expected him to flat-out refuse to let her come up—something he would never do to Chloe, even if Jason weren’t his best friend. Even if seeing her again messed with his head and brought up thoughts better left buried.

The buzzer to his apartment rang, and he punched the button on the keypad that would release the lock on the main entry downstairs.

Doubly glad he’d sent Katrina on her way, he opened the door and waited for the elevator to arrive on the fifteenth floor.

In less than a minute the doors whirred open, and whereas his date’s four-inch heels had clacked purposefully across the space, Chloe stepped onto the cream marble floor with the grace of a dancer, not the slightest sound coming from her pale, high-arched feet.

And yep. There it was. The buzzing in his skull that signaled danger.

He blinked and looked closer, realizing what he’d first thought were some kind of flesh-colored shoes were actually nothing of the kind. Pink tipped nails glittered in the hallway light. Even as he stared, she curled her toes under her feet as if trying to hide them. His head cleared in an instant.

What the hell was going on?

Had she been robbed? Assaulted?

His gaze traveled up her slim calves and over her knees and lingered on the hem of her raincoat, a white-knuckled fist keeping the edges together.

Concern erased all traces of irritation. “Chloe, are you okay?”

“Y-yes.”

He finally met her eyes and found them bright. Too bright—the blue depths teeming with some terrible emotion.

One glance at the twin mascara tracks running down her delicate face, the swollen bottom lip, and he knew.

Chloe was in trouble. Big trouble.




CHAPTER TWO


CHLOE PERCHED ON the edge of an overstuffed leather couch and took another sip of her whiskey—her second glass—wincing as it hit the sore spot on her lip.

Sitting on the matching ottoman across from her, Brad’s eyes glittered with the same dangerous undertones they’d held fifteen minutes ago in the hallway when he’d gently touched the corner of her mouth and asked, “Where is the bastard?”

It had taken her a moment to realize he thought Travis had hit her.

He had. Just not with his fists.

There was no way she could explain the bitter humiliation that clogged her throat, that made her want to crawl away and hide from the world. Not to a man like Brad, who’d gone through girlfriends in droves back in high school. Girls who had been drawn to the same rough-edged smile she’d once been, only hers had been a childish infatuation that had eventually faded away, like a temporary tattoo.

Until the night of her wedding. When a single touch had brought it all roaring back. She’d been mortified at her reaction. Terrified that he’d see the truth in her eyes. Travis had rescued her just in time.

Rescued. That was one way to put it. Especially since her Prince Charming had turned out to be the villain of the story.

She continued to sip her drink, welcoming the fiery warmth that bloomed in her stomach.

“Let me take your coat, at least.” Brad’s low voice broke through her inner turmoil.

“No!” Her hand went to the tie, fiddling with it. “I—I’m still cold.”

What was she going to do? If she stayed the night, he was going to figure out she didn’t have much on under the coat. She could crash on Brad’s couch, huddled under a blanket—but the image of herself in the hotel bedroom doing much the same thing caused something between a laugh and a cry to exit her throat.

“Okay.” He sat straight up, elbows coming off his knees. “Ready to tell me what happened?”

Her glance flickered to Brad’s onyx-tiled fireplace. “I already explained. My hotel was overbooked. There were … people staying in the room.”

And she could only imagine what those “people” were now doing.

Unless Travis had already passed out, as he tended to do on the nights he’d had too much to drink. Her wedding night had been a disaster. As had the nights that had followed. When her girlfriends had giggled about how many times in a row they’d done you-know-what on their honeymoons, she’d laughed right along with them, all the while wondering if there really was something wrong with her.

Travis’s frustration had grown as her response to him had become more and more mechanical—as she’d forced herself to participate. As a result, he’d started working longer hours. To save for their future, he’d said. She’d had no idea her parents had been one of his biggest clients until she’d found some paperwork on his desk—along with some hefty fees they’d paid Travis for managing their investment accounts.

Despite the warning signs, she’d never suspected anything was off until she came home sick from her night shift at the hospital to hear terrible shrieking noises coming from the bedroom. She’d raced back to find him naked—flat on his back—another woman straddling his hips. He’d pleaded for forgiveness, promised it was a mistake, said it would never happen again.

Stay? Or leave?

She’d decided to fight for her marriage. For eight long months. Tonight had been the pièce de résistance in her campaign to rekindle the spark he’d once felt toward her. She’d seduce him.

Only Travis hadn’t needed seducing.

He just needed someone other than her.

Her eyes closed, and she took a longer pull on her drink. So much for her two weeks’ worth of vacation.

“Hey.” The murmured word dragged her back to the surface, even though she just wanted to keep sinking into the mire, never to resurface. “Do you want me to call Jason?”

Her lids parted, and she struggled to focus on the handsome face across from her. “Please don’t. He’ll just worry.”

“He should worry.” He nodded toward her feet. “Where are your shoes, Chloe?”

She gnawed the inside of her cheek. Why hadn’t she come up with a plausible explanation for that?

Because there wasn’t one. Other than the truth, which she wasn’t ready to voice.

Why had she ever thought she could “vamp” anyone? Especially her husband, whose rough-and-tumble approach to lovemaking did nothing but leave her feeling sore and inadequate. She was pretty sure the woman in her bed hadn’t been crying out in pain, so the problem wasn’t with her husband, evidently.

Frigid. The word echoed in her head, the mean nastiness of it making the hair rise on the nape of her neck.

She lifted the glass and found it empty. Held it out.

“I don’t think …” Brad began.

Only to stop when she whispered, “Please.”

Getting up, he went over to the bar, retrieved a cut-glass decanter of amber liquid and poured some in her glass, the lug-lug from the bottle strangely satisfying.

She noticed he didn’t refill his own tumbler, just took up his post again and watched her. Her shoulder hitched in an awkward shrug. “If you were in the middle of doing something, don’t let me stop you.”

She giggled as she said the last word, and her eyes widened. “Sorry. It’s been a while.” And she’d never been much of a drinker. It was amazing how it dulled the pain, though.

Something she could get used to.

He ignored her comment and said, “Shoes?”

Oh, that’s right. He wanted to know what she’d done with her stupid shoes.

“I left them behind, along with all my other little shackles.” That rock in her ring hadn’t been so little. But then again, her daddy’s investment money had probably paid for it, too. Something about that thought made her laugh again.

Brad’s hand covered hers, his fingers as warm as fire. Just like the alcohol sloshing around inside her. But when she tried to lift the glass to her lips, it wouldn’t move. Because Brad was physically holding her arm in place.

“Hey.” She tried to tug free of his grip.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

“Oh, no. Not nearly enough.” Her head felt like some kind of weird flower that when deprived of drink began to wilt … wilt … wilt … until someone watered it again. She snapped it back upright when her forehead touched Brad’s muscular arm and tried to burrow into it, a strange lethargy taking hold of her.

Gentle fingers prised hers loose from the glass and set the drink on the wooden floor beside the ottoman. Just as she started to wilt again she felt arms at her back, beneath her knees, and she levitated just like she’d seen in those horror movies when a demon possessed someone’s body. But when she tried to hold her arms out to float higher, she found them trapped against her sides.

And while this demon growled in a low, deep voice just like the ones in the films, the tone didn’t sound angry. Instead, the soft words circled the air above her face. She pulled them into her lungs, knowing somehow this being was powerful enough to keep all the other demons at bay. Including Travis. Her breath exited again on a sigh, along with the will to do anything but snuggle close and slip away into oblivion.

Brad pushed open the door to his bedroom, thankful he and Katrina had not spent time on the king-sized mattress like he’d planned. Instead, he set Chloe on top of the brown silk coverlet, not quite sure what to do with her. The guest bedroom hadn’t been used in ages and he didn’t think the bed even had a sheet on under the tan striped spread.

He gazed down at her, something inside him softening as memories from their childhood washed over him. The three of them bobbing in the pool in Jason’s parents’ backyard, tossing a young Chloe high into the air and hearing her happy scream as she hit the water and sank—then spluttered back to the surface ready for more.

How embarrassed he’d been when his friend’s folks had to come to the police station to pick him up when, at eighteen years of age and fed up with life, he’d careened around a dangerous curve on his motorcycle, intent on putting an end to his pain, only to have the damn bike slide out from under him on the unpaved road before he’d hit full speed. When he’d opened his eyes—still very much alive—all he’d been able to think of was that his parents had been right about him: he screwed up everything.

Chloe’s parents had dragged him home with them that night. He could still see the wide-eyed stare Chloe had given him when he’d walked through the front door, road rash burning up one of his cheeks and the side of his right arm. The way she’d covered her mouth with both hands in horror.

That look had convinced him that checking out really would hurt someone—even if his parents had sniffed in disgust and simply sent his chopper off to the nearest repair shop without a word. They’d tended to show their displeasure in an entirely different way—a locked door was a powerful weapon.

Yes, he and Chloe Jenkins had been through a lot together.

But never in his wildest dreams had he pictured her in his bed. Well, maybe he had. But he’d damned himself from here to eternity for wanting to peel off her wedding dress and have her innocence all to himself.

Shaking off the thought, he started to pull one corner of the bedspread around her, but her coat was still wet. He really didn’t want her to sleep in it—especially as she’d begun shaking the second she’d entered the apartment, despite the fact that late spring in New York tended toward warm and humid. Her continued shivering was the only reason he’d handed her the glass of whiskey in the first place.

He couldn’t do anything about her damp hair—the loose strands a charming melding of blond and red—but he could slip her coat off and at least let her sleep in dry clothes.

His fingers went to the knot at her waist, and he frowned at how tightly she’d cinched the thing. If he’d had any doubts about leaving her in it, that quashed them. He worked at the tie until one loop loosened then slid free. Taking a deep breath, he parted the edges of the coat. The air whistled right back out of his lungs at the sight that met his tired eyes.

Holy hell.

A black negligee—opaque lace on top with a floaty skirt made of some kind of see-through fabric—was all she had on … well, other than the tiniest pair of panties known to mankind. Panties that were clearly visible. Clearly sheer.

He swallowed hard, torn between the desire to devour her with his eyes and wrap the coat tightly back around her. His body was having a tough time knowing which of his mixed signals to obey, although he might as well finish what he’d started and take the coat the rest of the way off, so she could at least sleep in comfort.

Unlike him, who’d probably have this image seared onto the backs of his eyelids for the rest of his life.

He slid the coat off her, turning her body to the side as he pulled it out from under her. What in God’s name had Chloe been thinking, walking around downtown New York like this?

She was the cautious one. The one who’d balked at riding on the back of his motorcycle, even after he’d tamed some of his wilder urges.

And yet here she was. In his apartment, like a sexy flasher from one of those secretary fantasies. She sure as hell hadn’t come here to seduce him with the get-up.

Then who?

He remembered the smeared mascara. The haunted look in her eyes.

It suddenly became clear in a rush. Jason’s random comments about his brother-in-law took on new meaning. How he’d said Chloe never complained but Jason was convinced something was wrong with their marriage and had been for a long time. Travis always seemed to be off somewhere or other on business, leaving Chloe at home alone.

Brad pulled the covers over her, hiding her from his own prying eyes—something that he was now thoroughly ashamed of.

He could almost bet Travis was in a hotel room somewhere in New York. And that Chloe’s shoes were there as well. He could easily guess why she’d come to town and what she must have found once she’d arrived. His fingers tightened around the coat in his hands until his knuckles ached as he stared down at her long lashes, the dark circles under her eyes … the slight swelling on her lip.

Damn that man. He’d hurt Chloe.

If it was the last thing Brad did, he was going to make Travis Maroni pay for his sins.




CHAPTER THREE


“I GOT A CALL this morning. He’s looking for her.”

Jason’s worried voice met him as soon as Brad answered his cellphone. He looked up from the case notes of Angel’s newest prenatal patient, a thirty-five-year-old woman whose ultrasound scan had revealed a fetal heart defect. The baby was fine in utero, but would die within minutes once out of that safe environment if something wasn’t done.

To top it all off, he’d arrived at his office that morning to find a snarky resignation letter from Katrina, his date from the previous evening. She’d evidently not been as blasé about being shooed from his apartment as she’d seemed to be at the time.

Which meant his unit was now short-staffed.

That’s what he got for getting involved with a colleague. Never again.

“Brad, you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just trying to think.” That was another thing. There was no way he was going to let Chloe head home before he knew exactly what was going on between her and that scumbag husband of hers. “She wasn’t in good shape last night, Jason, which is why I called. I figured you’d be worried.”

“I’m glad you did. We had no idea she was even headed to New York. Dad is fit to be tied. Travis swears it’s all a big misunderstanding, that Chloe took off after an argument, but he’s not fooling anyone. If he weren’t my sister’s husband …”

Brad’s thoughts exactly. “Is he still in New York?”

“No, he’s home. Said he was surprised not to find Chloe here. Claims to be worried as hell.”

There was no way Brad would have ever left New York without searching every inch of it first. For the man just to drive home without even trying to locate her was unthinkable. What if she’d been mugged … or worse?

“Did you tell him she was at my place?”

“I’m not telling him anything.” There was a pause over the line. “Is she okay? Physically, I mean?”

“She seemed to be. She was still asleep when I left this morning.” Should he tell Jason about the split lip or what she’d been wearing when she’d shown up at the apartment? He’d laid a pair of exercise sweats and a black T-shirt across the end of his bed. He figured she could pull the laces around the waist tight enough to keep the pants from sliding below the swell of her hips. Which brought his mind right back to those soft curves that were everything a man could want.

Except she was Chloe.

And it was best to keep her racy attire between the two of them—no need for Jason to know. He didn’t want to embarrass her any more than necessary.

An idea formed. “Is she still working at the community hospital there in Hartford?” Chloe had graduated from nursing school about the same time he had graduated from med school. She’d even specialized in pediatrics, if he remembered right.

“Yes, why?”

“Can you call them and explain the situation? Ask them to give her some time off?”

“I think she’s got some vacation time coming, but I’ll check to make sure. Dad invested quite a bit of money in one of their service projects a year or two ago.” A chuckle came over the phone. “Chloe just about blew a gasket when she heard, asked him if he was trying to buy a permanent position for her.”

Brad could imagine that quite well. He’d been on the receiving end of that outrage a time or two—like when he’d caught her holding hands with a boy on the swing at her parents’ house. The glare he’d given the kid had sent him scrambling for the sidewalk. But when he’d tried to give Chloe a stern warning, she’d sniffed and claimed there was nothing to worry about. She’d decided to wait until she got married to “do it.”

Did people even do that nowadays?

Evidently they did, because when he’d laughed in her face, she’d flushed scarlet and then balled her fingers into a tight fist before punching him in the chest. Right on top of the fading bruise from his motorcycle accident. It had stung, but it had also gotten her point across: her virginity was no joking matter.

Something his mind had also toyed with the night of her wedding. Had she really saved herself? Only to wind up with a jerk like Travis?

His hand went to the spot and rubbed it as if he could still feel where she’d walloped him. And, really, he could. A circular Celtic symbol—the tree of life at its center—was inked on the very spot his road rash had once covered, starting at his chest and wrapping around the top of his left shoulder. A reminder to always choose life.

Thankfully his polo shirts now covered up that little bit of history. Some of his patients might not understand what the tattoo had come to symbolize.

He shook himself back to the present and Jason’s phone call. “I’ve just had a nurse quit on me. I don’t know if Chloe will go for it, but maybe she’d be interested in filling the spot for a while. At least until she can sort through whatever happened with Travis. Or until I can talk the nurse into coming back.”

Why was the thought of calling Katrina suddenly distasteful?

“That’s a great idea. Maybe she’s finally ready to unload the bastard.”

“Maybe.” Brad scrubbed a hand across his jaw, his eyes going back to the notes on his desk. “I’ll let you know what she says. She can stay at the apartment until she decides what she wants to do. It’s not easy to get a short-term lease nowadays.”

And just why had he offered that? He wasn’t exactly celibate, neither did he have any plans to become so. He gave an internal shrug. She was an adult. Surely they could work out some kind of arrangement. After all, it wasn’t a permanent thing. Probably a week or two at the most. She might not even go for it—he was beginning to hope she wouldn’t, in fact.

But deep down inside something whispered that he was telling the biggest lie of his life. Because he did want her to stay. Wanted to somehow keep her safe from whoever had hurt her.

And if she turned him down and walked away?

He might just have to coax her to change her mind.

“You want me to what?”

Chloe stared across the table at Brad. He was offering her a job? She toyed with the tie on the sweats he’d loaned her and tried to keep her face from flaming in renewed embarrassment. When she’d awoken coatless on a huge king-sized bed with no memory of how she’d gotten there, she’d thought for a panicked second she might have slept with him. His warm masculine scent permeated the space, from the pillow where she’d laid her head to the clothes currently enveloping her body.

But there’d been no sign that he’d slept in the bed, neither was there that familiar morning-after ache—an unpleasant side effect of sex with her husband.

But still. His offer had come out of nowhere.

Brad glanced up from the plate of takeout Yakisoba, brows raised. “One of the nurses in the prenatal unit quit unexpectedly. I wondered if you might want to fill in until we can find a permanent replacement.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” He studied her from across the table. “Unless you’re anxious to get home.”

Dammit. The fire licked along her cheeks again. She had no intention of going home—not that the monstrosity she and Travis had lived in had ever really been home. She’d already contacted a lawyer in Connecticut and started the ball rolling on her divorce. No, you weren’t supposed to make any major changes during a crisis, but she’d already decided to leave if her swan dive into the deep end of the seduction pool didn’t work.

Swan dive. Right.

Instead of a smooth, clean entry into the water, she’d landed with a belly flop that had been deafening, knocking the wind from her lungs and leaving her clawing her way to the surface.

Well, she was there now, taking her first breath of freedom after six long, suffocating years. She was never submerging herself like that ever again.

Not for anyone.

“I was actually thinking of relocating,” she said slowly, the idea taking root and sprouting its first leaf. She could do this.

Unless her father was behind Brad’s offer, just like she suspected him of being behind her promotion at the hospital. “Wait, did Daddy call and ask you to hire me?”

Brad’s eyes narrowed for a second or two. “Do you think I’m lying to you, Chloe?”

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been lied to. “No, but …”

“But what?”

She licked her lips. “I don’t want you doing this because you feel sorry for me.” As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t seem to hold his gaze, fiddling with her chopsticks instead. “I’m filing for divorce.”

“I’m glad.”

The low voice caused her head to come up. Some knowing glimmer in the depths of Brad’s eyes caused her to bristle. As if he’d expected this outcome all along. “You and Jason never gave him a chance.”

“No. But you did.”

Yes, and now her brother and Brad were free to gloat about her stupidity behind her back. Wouldn’t she, if she were in their place?

Instead, his hand covered hers, the warmth seeping through her icy skin. “Whatever else you might think, I wanted it to work out. Wanted you to be happy.”

Just as Jason had. He’d kissed her cheek at the rehearsal dinner and whispered that very thing. “Be happy, little sis.”

She swallowed the wave of emotion. Brad had always been there for her, even though he’d never been loud and showy about it. He had always been one of the first people on the scene when something had happened—whether it had been when her sickly appendix had needed to come out, or standing beside her as she’d cried over the grave of Treehouse, her dog.

And later he and Jason had accompanied her on her first official post PADI certification dive off the New Jersey coast, and they’d later explored several local shipwreck sites. She blinked away memories of those muscular legs propelling him through the water with ease, of his fingers gripping hers as he’d tugged her away from areas he’d felt were too dangerous. He’d had no idea that he’d been the most dangerous thing in the ocean. At least to her equilibrium.

Despite those awkward moments, she’d always been able to count on him. Maybe it was time she returned the favor. If he really was in a bind, shouldn’t she be willing to lend a hand?

“Thank you.” She sighed. “About the position. I would imagine there’d be plenty of nurses ready to jump at the chance to work at Angel’s.” She loved the hospital’s nickname, loved how it seemed to fit, as if the hospital served as the guardian angel of sick children everywhere.

Brad sat back in his chair. “There are, but it’ll take time to put out a call for applications and then wade through them all.”

“What about an apartment? There’s no way I can commute from Hartford.” Neither would she want to.

“I thought you might consider staying here. I have an extra bedroom. I’m sure we could stay out of each other’s hair.”

She bit her lip. Speaking of bedrooms, she’d noticed there was no way to lock the door of his room. Oh, there was a keyhole, but no key to secure it that she could see. The same held true for the bathroom. When she’d looked at the other doors—with the exception of the front door—she’d found the same thing. No keys for any of them. He lived alone, so he probably didn’t think anything of it, but if she stayed here she wanted to be able to at least lock the bathroom.

His voice broke through. “What are you thinking?”

She scrambled around for an answer and finally just blurted it out. “Where are your keys?”

“Keys?”

“For all your doors.”

His face went utterly still for a second or two then he shrugged. “There’s no one else living here, so I haven’t felt the need to mess with them.”

Just as she’d thought. “But you do have them somewhere, right?”

“I do.” There was something strange about the way he answered her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it so she tried a different tack.

“Well, what about your life? I don’t want to disrupt whatever you’ve got going on by staying here.” She stopped again when his frown deepened. “Are you … um, seeing someone?”

The lines between his brows eased, and one corner of his mouth quirked up. “Not at the moment.”

“Oh.”

“Even if that situation changes, the apartment has thick walls.”

Heat swept up her neck and threatened to shoot from her ears. In other words, she wouldn’t hear anything that went on. Maybe not, but her imagination would fill in the blanks. “Are you sure you want me staying—”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.” His brows went up. “Unless you don’t think you can handle it.”

The battle cry from their younger years hung in the air between them. The only time she hadn’t risen to one of those challenges had been when he’d rolled up next to her on his motorcycle, fresh from getting his medical license, and had dared her to take a victory lap around town with him. The thought of being pressed tight against his back, her inner thighs gripping his, had made something dangerous shimmy through her abdomen—the exact sensation she’d experienced when they’d danced at her wedding. It had brought a wariness that was even stronger than her fear of motorcycles.

She’d gulped before chickening out—blaming it on his long-forgotten accident in high school.

And now? Was she still chicken?

With those light green eyes watching her every move, trying to ferret out any exposed weakness? She’d vowed to give herself a brand-new start. To do that—and to survive her time with Brad—she needed to live by a whole new set of rules. His. And if he could throw down the gauntlet, she would just pick it up and twirl it over her head.

Dropping her chopsticks onto her plate, she leaned forward, all too aware that she was dressed in the man’s clothes and was about to agree to live in his home. But that was small potatoes. She’d survived the horror of knowing he’d seen her body in all its questionable glory last night—and he’d evidently been unmoved by the sight. So they were good to go.

“As long as I can have a key to my bedroom and the bathroom, I think I can handle it all right,” she said sweetly. “But … can you?”




CHAPTER FOUR


THE JEANS FIT PERFECTLY.

Of course they would. Brad could probably tell a woman’s clothing size with a single glance. And the smoky-green belted top did make the blue of her eyes stand out. She couldn’t remember the last time Travis had bought her an article of clothing.

Not that she’d wanted him to. She assumed men didn’t like doing that sort of thing, unless it was buying slinky lingerie.

Well, in reality, Brad had had no choice. It wasn’t like she could go shopping in the get-up she’d arrived in—which she’d stuffed in a plastic bag and thrown right in the trash. The fewer reminders she had of that night the better. Even so, answering the door and finding Brad’s doorman standing there with a wrapped package in his hand had been a surprise. Swallowing her pride and accepting his offer hadn’t been easy.

But at least it meant she could go out and shop for her own clothing … including hospital gear. Brad said scrubs were the order of the day, the funkier the better. And true to his word he’d produced two shiny new keys, one for her bedroom and one for the bathroom, so she could at least dress and bathe in private.

A spark of excitement zipped through her. Brand-new scrubs were fitting for a brand-new life. This was the perfect opportunity to start over. The lawyer she’d spoken with had assured her she’d only need to face Travis one more time … across the courtroom when the divorce was finalized.

Although there was a certain amount of guilt swirling around inside of her over her failed marriage, she felt more relief than anything. No more worrying about showing enough enthusiasm in bed or fearing the slightest twitch of discomfort would bring about one of Travis’s long-suffering sighs.

She checked out the view from behind in the full-length mirror in Brad’s bedroom, carefully avoiding glancing at the expanse of reflective glass mounted on the ceiling over that huge bed. Somehow she didn’t think he used it for shaving.

Chloe shuddered. At least her ex had never suggested putting mirrors in their bedroom. Her eyes tracked to the bed again, the image of Brad’s muscular frame sweeping through her mind, the tattoo across his shoulder bunching with each movement.

Her mouth went dry. She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly what that tattoo looked like. It had been some kind of jagged circle enclosing a tree. As a teenager, her eyes had gone to it again and again as he’d sprawled out on a lounge chair by her parents’ pool. Even then he’d cut a powerful figure. No wonder she’d had a crush on him.

But as gorgeous as he was, there’d been a raw, untamed quality to him that had frightened her at times. Travis had been smooth and refined … steady and safe in comparison, which had been what she’d thought she wanted.

She gave a pained laugh. Boy, were appearances deceptive. Travis had been anything but safe.

At least now she was free.

Digging in her handbag, she located her phone and sent Brad a text thanking him for the clothes and letting him know she was headed out to go shopping for some new things. He’d promised to take her to the hospital tomorrow to show her the prenatal wing and introduce her to the staff.

Just as she got ready to head to the lobby and ask the doorman to hail a cab, the phone rang. She stared at it, wondering if she should answer it or let the machine pick up. But maybe Brad had gotten her text and was calling her to firm up times for dinner or something.

She lifted the receiver from its cradle. “Hello?”

There was a pause then a woman’s voice came through. “Who is this?”

Uh-oh. That was not a happy tone.

“Chloe Jenkins. I’m a … friend of Brad’s.” It was true, right? “He’s not here right now, though. Can I take a message?”

“This is Katrina. I wanted to see if he got the note I left him.”

Note? Brad hadn’t mentioned anything about one. But why would he? Those mirrors came back to her thoughts. Of course. This was probably one of Brad’s “women.”

“I … um. I’m not sure.” How was this for awkward? “I can leave him a message and let him know you called.”

“Don’t bother.” If anything, the woman’s voice had grown even colder. “He’s got my number. If he wants me, he can call me.”

Chloe gulped. If he wanted her? Did she mean as in beneath the mirrors?

Oh, lordy. This could get really weird if a parade of women started trekking through at all hours of the night.

The sound of the dial tone in her ear told her the lady in question hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye before hanging up. But, then, why would she? This Katrina person didn’t even know who she was.

She dropped the phone back onto its stand, making a mental note not to pick it up again. Ever. Otherwise someone could get the wrong idea about why she was staying here. She had no intention of becoming part of Brad’s female entourage.

Actually, the woman’s call had come at the perfect time because she needed to remind herself of her reasons for being there. It was to get away from Travis, not to dive head first back into the dating pool.

Although from Travis’s cutting remarks about her prowess in the bedroom she might not need to worry about that for a long time to come. She certainly didn’t want to relive any of those awful moments, especially with a stranger.

She’d have to eventually, though. She didn’t want to go through life alone. She wanted children. A family. It’s why she’d gotten married in the first place, to have what her parents had. A love that endured for decades.

Maybe she could talk to someone about her difficulties in that area. She certainly couldn’t talk to Jason, not only because he’d always despised Travis but because of the ick factor involved. And the few girlfriends she had couldn’t really give her a man’s point of view—other than claiming Travis was a jerk who was terrible in bed. But was he? Other women seemed to like his moves just fine, judging from the bimbo who’d been hanging all over him at the hotel. So the problem had to be with her.

But how to fix it …

She glanced at the phone, remembering Katrina’s irked voice. Brad had been with lots of women. And Katrina’s attitude indicated that they didn’t mind the instant replays. They wanted to be with him. Were peeved when they couldn’t be.

What better person to pinpoint where she’d gone wrong with Travis and give her some pointers on how to act in any future relationships. It wouldn’t be strange, right? The two of them had been friends since childhood. He had no idea she’d had a crush on him during their teenage years. And his experience with the female sex could give her insights that a stranger might be too embarrassed to be honest about. Brad could always be counted on to tell it like it was. No sugar coating involved with that man.

She took a deep breath and let it out. That settled it, then. She’d broach the subject somehow and see how he reacted. If he acted like it was no big deal, she’d pick his brain and try to figure out exactly what a man wanted from a woman.

Because, whatever it was, she didn’t have it … and she had no idea where to get it.

Brad stood in the observation room above the surgical suite and watched as the surgeon prepped his patient for a hysterotomy. It was the same procedure his fetal heart patient would have to undergo in a month or two, except this particular fetal surgery was being done to close a neural tube defect and avoid a woman giving birth to a child with physical deficits. Few open fetal surgeries were done each year because of the risks to the baby, but Angel’s was considered one of the best facilities in the country. People came to them from all over the U.S.

He shifted to the right to get a better view as the skilled fingers of the surgeon reached the uterus and prepared to open it.

Cade Coleman, the newest member of Angel’s surgical staff, had been called in to perform the delicate procedure, and while Brad could acknowledge the man’s expertise, he and the surgeon had already butted heads during the few weeks he’d been at the hospital.

Including the timing of the current surgery.

Brad didn’t know exactly how Coleman had been appointed second in command without even a trial period, but the man evidently had some pull with Angel’s resident neurosurgeon, Alex Rodriguez, although Brad couldn’t imagine anyone forcing Alex’s hand on anything. There’d been rumors of a secret meeting between the two, which Brad had initially shrugged off as gossip. But something had gone down because Alex hadn’t quite been able to meet Brad’s eyes when he’d told him the news.

Hell, could life get any more complicated? First Chloe showed up on his doorstep, her wounded eyes revealing far more than she knew. Then Katrina wigged out on him just as the prenatal wing was heading into its busiest season. Throw a hard-headed surgeon into the mix and Brad had his hands full.

Perfect.

Using the controls to zoom in on the surgical site, he watched the monitor as Cade reached into Melanie Roberts’s womb with gloved fingers and gently drew the fetus into view. A boy. Melanie probably already knew that, though, through the wonders of ultrasound. The same test that had revealed the defect.

Turning the baby to expose the bubble-like formation on his lower spine, Coleman’s magnifying goggles zeroed in on the problem—the tiny camera mounted on his headgear giving Brad the same clear view. The defect was about an inch long, close to the base of the spine, but despite the location, the open portion of the back could still cause problems with the child’s lower limbs if not corrected. At twenty-one weeks, the fetus’s kick reflex was still strong and healthy, the perfect time to operate, according to Coleman.

As if feeling Brad’s eyes on him, Cade glanced toward the huge bank of windows to his right. The magnified view of the operating room on a second monitor only made the furrows visible above the surgeon’s goggles seem that much deeper. No doubt it rankled to have to answer to someone else when he’d run his own department in LA. But if you moved hospitals, you couldn’t expect to start at the top. And if the man had any illusions about replacing Brad, he had another think coming. If either of them left, it would be Coleman.

Brad looked up from the monitor and gave the other man a slight nod to indicate he’d seen the problem and agreed with whatever Cade saw fit to do. The surgeon turned back to his tiny patient and Brad’s thoughts went back to Chloe.

Hell, he’d talked to Jason again that morning and almost the first thing out of his friend’s mouth had been a stern reminder that Chloe was still his little sister. As if Brad didn’t know that.

What did Jason expect him to do? Make a move on her? Impossible.

Unbidden, his brain played back the sight he’d uncovered when he’d taken off Chloe’s coat. His reaction had been anything but brotherly. Neither had his reaction to seeing her stroll through the apartment in his sweat pants the next morning. But he was practically a family member—kind of like a first cousin, right?—and he’d better remember it. Chloe was fragile right now. Vulnerable. He, more than anyone, should remember what it was like to be rejected by those who were supposed to love you unconditionally—but who, instead, were completely indifferent to your efforts to please them.

Just like Travis had been with Chloe’s efforts? Something inside him said yes, that’s exactly what had happened. She’d gone there dressed in an outfit that should have had the man salivating like a hungry hyena. It had certainly gotten a reaction out of him. Instead, Travis had done or said something that had cut her to the quick.

Something that had caused her to flee into the night.

Brad didn’t want to be that man. Didn’t want to hurt someone who’d once meant a lot to him.

Someone who still did. Sweet innocent, idealistic Chloe.

One wrong move on his part and he could hurt her even more. Especially if he couldn’t keep himself in check. If anything could keep him on the straight and narrow, that realization should.

At least, he hoped it would.




CHAPTER FIVE


HE HAD TO BE KIDDING.

Resting on Brad’s bent thigh was a dark shiny helmet that matched the one currently on his head, the visor flipped up so he could see her. And he was seated—booted foot casually propped up on the left pedal—on top of a motorcycle. One that looked eerily familiar. When he’d said he’d meet her in the parking garage this morning, she’d assumed he’d be pulling up next to her in a Beamer, not on a Harley.

He could have stepped right out of one of her old photos from days gone by. She’d thought that with all his success his old mode of transportation would have been one of the first things to go. Evidently some things never changed. Was that really his old motorcycle? The one he’d had his accident on? A shiver of fear went through her.

“I—I can’t ride on that.”

His mouth quirked, and he held out the helmet. “I’ll be careful. Promise.” The black leather jacket he wore—along with a second one draped on the seat behind him—said otherwise. The pair screamed danger with a capital D.

Gripping the strap of her purse as if it alone could save her, she said, “Don’t you have a car, like normal doctors?”

“Since when have I ever done things that others deem ‘normal’?”

Was he referring to his parents? They’d always disapproved of Brad’s motorcycle riding, although she’d never heard them say anything outright. But she’d overheard Jason talking to their mom and dad once about how Brad felt more at home at their house than at his own. Jason had said he could see why. Brad’s folks were a matched set—snooty, looking down their noses at anything that didn’t meet with their approval. Their own son was high on that list, evidently, since they looked right through him, instead of at him.

Chloe hesitated. Yes, Brad knew she was afraid of motorcycles, especially after she’d seen the damage done by his accident. But did she really want him to put her in the same category as his parents … thinking she was too good to be seen riding on one?

His gaze slid across her cheeks. Touched lower. “I’ll take good care of you, Chloe. I give you my word.” He balanced the helmet on his leg again then reached out his hand, palm up.

She licked her lips, then, as if hypnotized, she put her fingers in his and let him tug her a few steps closer until his knee touched the side of her thigh. Another shiver went through her, this one having nothing to do with fear but something even worse.

Could she really ride on that thing, behind him? She’d balked once before. Not just because of her fear but because of how unpredictable her reactions to him were. And the feeling that she’d be betraying Travis if she let her guard down, even for a second.

Knowing what she did now, that naïve sentiment was laughable.

Travis was no longer a part of her life, and he never would be again. So shouldn’t she get out and see exactly what she’d been missing?

But … on a motorcycle?

Why the hell not?

Lifting her chin, she grabbed the helmet from his leg, turned it round and jammed it on her head. The sense of claustrophobia was immediate, as was the urge to claw the thing back off again.

It’s supposed to cradle your head, dummy, how else is it going to protect you?

Maybe he noticed her panic because Brad put down the kickstand and hauled the bike back onto it, before swinging his leg over the seat and standing in front of her. Placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him, he took hold of the straps on either side of the helmet and fastened them, adjusting the fit, his warm fingers grazing her throat repeatedly. He pushed her visor up and tilted her head so he could peer in at her. “How does it feel?”

Oh, baby. Did he mean the helmet or his touch?

Don’t be ridiculous. Of course he’s talking about the helmet.

“Tight. Hot.”

His Adam’s apple dipped, and he stared at her for a moment, before answering. “It’s supposed to be snug.”

His voice was a little rougher than it had been a moment ago. Had she said something stupid? Or maybe he was having second thoughts about riding with her. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

He gave a low laugh. “I thought so up until a few seconds ago.”

“How long will it take to reach the hospital?”

“Depending on traffic, about fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

He nodded, handing her the second jacket and waiting until she’d zipped it up. His warm scent clung to the leather, and it was all she could do not to close her eyes and breathe it deep into her lungs. The fact that it was there, surrounding her, gave her a dose of courage that had been sorely missing a few seconds ago. He’d promised to take care of her, and Brad had never gone back on a promise that she knew of.

Getting back on the motorcycle, Brad pushed it forward and eased up the kickstand. “There are footrests just behind mine. So climb up and hang on.”

Tightening her resolve, she walked the couple of steps it took to reach him then steadied herself by putting a hand on his shoulder. Pretending she was mounting a horse, she swung her leg over the back of the seat, trying to sit as far back as possible—which proved impossible. The thing was angled so that she slid forward until her tummy was pancaked against his back.

This was going to be the longest fifteen minutes of her life.

“Can you hear me?” The low voice in her ear made her jerk, until she realized it was coming through her helmet. Brad must have some kind of built-in walkie-talkie system that let him communicate with whoever was on the back.

He’d ridden double like this before. Often enough to buy special helmets. Why did the thought make a warning hiss go off in her head?

“Chloe?”

She forced her lips to move. “I can hear you.”

“There should be a mike below the strap. Swing it up to the front.”

Finding a hard plastic object coming off the side of the helmet, she adjusted it so that it was in front of her mouth. “Better?”

“Yep.” He rolled the motorcycle forward a few feet and Chloe scrambled to put her hands on his waist. “When we start moving, you’re going to want to hang on tighter than that, okay?”

Tighter than she already was? She felt like her fingers were digging into the firm muscles of his sides as it was. “Got it.”

Feeling around for the footrests, she planted her feet on them, just as Brad turned a key and the motorcycle rumbled to life beneath her. With the helmet on, it wasn’t nearly as loud as she’d expected it to be.

“Okay. When the garage door opens, we’ll be on our way. Keep your feet up, even at stops, and lean into the turns.”

“Check.” She couldn’t stop a little giggle. She knew he had to instruct her on how to ride, but she’d never dreamed that three days after her disastrous trip to Travis’s hotel room she’d be on her way to a new job and the start of a new life. Even the shuddery fear she felt about riding with Brad couldn’t erase her elation. This was the right decision. She felt it in her bones.

The garage door to the apartment building slid up, and Brad revved the engine and rolled through them at a reasonable speed. Nothing like the showy skids and hot-dogging he’d once done to impress the high-school girls. Still, her heart jumped into her throat as he turned left and entered the morning snarl of traffic—the sounds of car engines and buses periodically rupturing the bubble of silence created by her helmet.

On the first real turn she instinctively wrapped her arms around Brad’s waist, realizing he was right. She needed to hold on and try to lean when he did. The best way to do that was to be physically connected to him, in much the same way as she’d moved with the horse she’d had years ago. Her hips slid forward even more, pressing intimately against him, her thighs squeezing his in order to maintain her balance. Every inch of her was aware of every inch of him. At first she put it down to basic survival instinct, but that weird tingle down low had nothing to do with survival.

Then Brad turned another corner, wiping away every thought except hanging on, probably much tighter than necessary.

During the first few minutes she was too afraid to move, but once she got used to the vibration from the engine beneath her and the easy way Brad handled the big bike, she began to loosen up a bit and enjoy the ride.

They stopped for a red light. Brad’s feet hit the ground to keep them stable, and Chloe drew in a deep breath, noticing the claustrophobia she’d felt earlier was almost gone.

“You okay back there?”

“So far, so good. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.” It wasn’t quite a lie.

A soft laugh came through. “And I never thought I’d see the day when Chloe Jenkins would agree to ride on my bike.”

A reference to her refusal years ago? She smiled, her heart lightening for the first time. “The times are a-changin’.”

“Hmm. Want to learn to ride one?”

Her stomach did a back flip. “Yeah, well, the times aren’t changing that much. I think I’m going to stick with being a passenger. A bad one.”

He reached back to squeeze her leg. “You’re doing great.”

The light turned green, and Brad revved the engine enough to take off. Her arms instinctively wrapped around him once again, the fingers of her left hand gripping her other one in a vise. It was better than having her palms splayed across his rock-hard abs—a position that seemed far too intimate. Sure, they’d horsed around when they’d been younger and had done plenty of touching. But this was different, although Brad didn’t seem affected by it at all.

Despite the concern he’d shown on the night of her arrival, he’d soon reverted to type, viewing the world through a lens of amused cynicism.

Although traffic was bumper to bumper, they were moving at a fairly steady pace and before she knew it they’d cleared Central Park, where green gave way to a pristine white building. Even from her perch Chloe could see the hospital off to their left. “Is there underground parking?”

“There is for our patients. There are a couple of lots near the hospital where we can park, which is what I do on the days I drive to work.”

“Isn’t that expensive?” Chloe had assumed everyone parked on hospital grounds. But things in New York City were evidently different than they were in Connecticut.

“Staff gets a discount.” There was a pause as Brad pulled into a lot across the street from the hospital. “I sometimes take the subway to work, but I didn’t think you’d be too anxious to get back on it.”

She blinked. “How did you know I rode the subway?”

“My doorman said you had that shell-shocked look of first-time riders.”

Little did he know that the shock had been from something very different. Although the fact that Brad had ridden to work just for her touched her. “Thank you. But I’ll be okay. Let me at least help with the parking costs.”

A suited valet came forward, eyes wide as he looked from them to the bike. He quickly found his professionalism, reaching out a hand to help Chloe off. Her legs were shaking, much to her chagrin, but she smiled at the man anyway. When she glanced at Brad, she noticed his frown, even through the shaded visor. He put down the kickstand and yanked off his helmet, taking the keys from the ignition.

When she fumbled around for the catch to her own helmet, both men moved forward, but the valet stopped almost immediately when Brad handed him the key and held up his hospital ID. “We’ll be here until around seven.”

The valet nodded, glancing one last time at Chloe before handing Brad a ticket.

Once the man had started the motorcycle and driven into the lot, Brad turned back to her and unsnapped her helmet. She squinched her nose. “I don’t even want to think about what my hair looks like. I’m not going to make a very good first impression.”

Before she had a chance to do anything about it, warm fingers were brushing damp locks from her forehead and her cheeks and restoring order to her side part. “You could never make a bad impression, Chloe.”

That’s what he thought. He’d never had her in bed.

Her brows tightened. That was all behind her now. It was time to move on, and she intended to do just that. Maybe she’d even flirt with the first attractive man who came across her path.

Her glance went to Brad and then skipped away. Yikes! Just the thought of flirting with him sent a zing of panic shooting through her chest. Along with a dangerous sense of anticipation that left her breathless. Yep, dangerous was a good word for what she was feeling.

She’d promised herself she’d ask him some pointed questions about men and how their minds worked, but could she really go through with it? Especially after the way she’d felt on the back of his bike?

Maybe she’d test out her theory with the second attractive man who came across her path. Just in case. Until she could finally work up the courage to look Brad in the eye and demand he tell her everything he knew.




CHAPTER SIX


“CHLOE, THIS IS Layla Woods, head of our general pediatric department.”

The slender blonde standing just inside the hospital lobby held out her hand with a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you. Brad says you’re joining his team on the fourth floor.”

Chloe wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Brad had made it pretty clear he was still looking for someone to take the previous nurse’s place. Besides, she’d be going back to her old job at the end of her vacation. “I’m helping out. Temporarily.”

She took a moment to glance around. Not only was the lobby big, with glossy marble floors and brightly painted walls, it was also refreshingly cool. Chloe welcomed the chilly air blowing across her heated body. Part of the warmth was due to the city streets, but some of it was also from riding behind her new boss. The crowded subway was sounding better and better.

A red-wigged Raggedy Ann stood a few feet away, cheerfully directing patients and visitors to different wings of the hospital. Well, that was different. But she liked the upbeat, bustling atmosphere of the entryway. Almost a reflection of the city itself.

“Well, it’s good to have you,” Layla said, bringing her attention back. “I’m new to Angel’s too, so if you have any questions, holler. It’s probably something I’ve already asked.”

Brad’s phone went off, and he glanced down at the readout with a frown. “I need to get this, sorry. As Layla said, we’re up on the fourth floor, if you want to make your way there. They’re expecting you.”

The other woman tutted at him. “You can’t just abandon her. I’ll show her around and then take her up myself.”




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