NYC Angels: Flirting with Danger (2 page)

C
HLOE 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.

“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?”