Читать книгу Tangling With Ty - Jill Shalvis - Страница 8

A NAKED MAN would have changed everything, but there wasn’t one in sight. So, as always, Nicole Mann got up with the alarm. As always, she showered, dressed and nuked a breakfast burrito in less than eight minutes.

And as always, she was out the door of her apartment at top speed to get to the hospital for what was likely to be a double shift due to a late-spring flu outbreak.

Yes, her life was completely dictated by her work. So what? Being a doctor was a dream-come-true, and if she’d worked at that dream-come-true nearly every waking moment, forsaking just about everything else—including naked men—she could live with that. Being a doctor was what she’d wanted since she’d graduated high school fifteen years ago at the perfectly extraordinary age of twelve.

“Psst.”

For a woman who prided herself on nerves of steel, Nicole nearly leapt out of her skin at the unexpected whisper coming out of the darkened hallway of her apartment building.

But it wasn’t the boogey man or any other menacing threat. It was just the owner of the building and her friend, Taylor Wellington, peeking out her door. Taylor was nice and beautiful—reason enough to hate her—but she also happened to be in possession of that disarming ability to talk until Nicole’s eyes crossed. It completely wore down her defenses.

That they’d—polar opposites—become friends still baffled Nicole.

“Psst!”

“I see you,” Nicole said. “Did I wake you?” Not that the perfectly-put-together Taylor looked anything other than…well, perfectly put together, but it did happen to be the crack of dawn. A time she considered sacrilegious.

“Oh, no, the living dead couldn’t wake me,” Taylor assured her. “I set my alarm so I’d catch you.” Her beautifully made-up eyes toured Nicole. “Honey, I thought we talked about the camouflage gear.”

Nicole looked down at her camouflage cargo pants and green tank top, fitting snug to her lean form. Her wardrobe had been formed back in the expensive days of medical school when she’d been forced to shop in thrift stores, but sue her, she’d developed a fondness for the comfortable garb. That Taylor cared what she wore at all was still a surprise.

Nicole had only lived in this South Village building a few weeks, having moved from another larger building where no one ever even looked at one another. She’d only moved because that place had been sold and the new owners had plans for it to go co-op. She’d come here for its convenience to the hospital, and because it was small. Fewer people to deal with. That this building was also falling off its axis was neither here nor there, as Nicole didn’t care what it looked like, as long as her bed was in it. “Why did you want to catch me?”

“I knew if I didn’t, you’d forget. We’re planning Suzanne’s engagement party tonight.”

Ah, hell. Suzanne Carter lived in the apartment next to Taylor’s. The three of them, the only ones in the building, had shared many laughs and much ice cream, but Nicole still didn’t want to plan a party where she’d have to dress up and smile and make nice. She hated making nice.

“You’d forgotten,” Taylor said.

“No, I…” Okay, she’d forgotten. She couldn’t help it, she was single-minded. Always had been, just ask the family she never managed to see. This year alone, she’d forgotten one sister’s homecoming from college, her mother’s annual April Fool’s Day bash and her own birthday. But her family understood something Taylor didn’t.

Nicole was a firm loner. Connections to people tended to give her hives. Ditto planning engagement parties. “I’m sorry. I…might be late.”

Taylor gave her a long look. “Don’t tell me. You have something new to pierce.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. Taylor had been teasing her about the silver hoops she had lining one ear, but Taylor had no way of knowing that each was a trophy of sort, and a badge of honor worn proudly. “Not a new piercing, no.”

With the patience of a saint, Taylor just lifted a brow.

Nicole racked her brain for her elusive people skills, but as she didn’t have any, they failed her. “We’re short-staffed at the hospital, and—”

“Save it, Super Girl.” Taylor lifted a hand against the upcoming stream of excuses. “Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we? Weddings, and all the trappings, give both of us gas.” She looked right into Nicole’s eyes and gave her a take-your-medicine look. “But this is for Suzanne.”

Suzanne had been the only other person besides Taylor to instantly, genuinely accept Nicole, no matter how abrupt, aloof and self-absorbed she was.

The three of them had only met recently after Taylor had inherited this building with no funds to go with it. She’d rented out space to Suzanne first, then Nicole had come along. They had little in common really. Suzanne, a caterer, kept them in to-die-for food and Suzanne’s personal favorite, ice cream. Taylor, with her dry wit, kept them all amused and, though she’d kill Nicole if she heard her say it, mothered them to death. And Nicole…she had no clue what she added to the mix, so them caring about her still mystified.

But they all shared one common trait—a vow of singlehood. They’d talked about it, often toasted to it and had jointly coveted it… Until Suzanne had done the unthinkable and fallen in love.

Nicole sighed. “I’ll find a way to be here.”

“Don’t worry, they say you can’t catch wedding fever.”

“Hey, don’t worry about me. My work is my life. I’m too into it, too selfish to be anything but single.”

“Right. Our singlehood is firmly intact.”

“Firmly.”

But they stared at each other, a little unnerved. That Suzanne, one so steadfastly single, was now getting married cast a shadow on their vow. Surely neither of them could possibly make the fall into love. Not when they kept their eyes open and their hearts closed.

Yep, heart firmly closed. They were safe that way, totally and completely safe.

* * *

TWENTY-FOUR exhausting hours later, again just before dawn, Nicole dragged her sorry, aching body back up the three flights of stairs to her loft apartment.

It was dark again, or still. It seemed she lived in the dark.

Work had been especially brutal. An unexpected heavy fog had created a pile-up on Highway 5 South. As a result of the forty-two car accident, she’d been in emergency surgery all day, without a break to so much as sneeze. She’d removed two spleens, pinned four legs, reset more shattered ribs than she could remember, and had delivered twins in an emergency caesarian.

Then she’d been asked to stay another shift, and after a quick nap when she’d dreamed of being chased by a white wedding dress and cake—where had that come from?—she’d willingly taken on whatever had come her way. And plenty had.

Now all she wanted was food, a shower and a bed, and not necessarily in that order. She had her Taco Bell bag clutched to her chest, her mouth watering in anticipation of the four regular tacos and extra-large soda. Not the usual breakfast of champions, but food was food and she’d been craving spicy since her second surgery.

And then after the food…oblivion. At least until she had to be back at the hospital again, which happened to be that afternoon for a staff meeting, and then to cover someone else’s shift that night. She already had four surgeries lined up, ready to go.

Had she remembered to grab the hot sauce? She hoped so, she was pretty certain her kitchen—if you could call the hole in the wall that—didn’t have any food in it except for something that had gone green a week ago, and—

“You little buggering piece of sh—” A rustling sound, followed by the squeal of metal on metal, blocked out the rest of that shocking statement made in a deep, Irish brogue. “I’m going to…damn me again, you worked at the last job, so bloody hell if you won’t work here…”

This was spoken so calmly, so confidently in that accent, it took a moment to decipher that the man was making some sort of threat.

Fine. Nicole was in the mood to kick some ass, as long as her Taco Bell didn’t get crushed. Once in a while, having an IQ higher than her weight had some benefits. During med school she’d needed an outlet for all the technical work so she’d taken karate. Like everything she set her mind to, she’d excelled.

Bring it on. She took a defensive stance, then dropped it to set her food down on the top step. No need to risk breakfast. She moved up the last step. There was nothing on this level but her loft and the attic. Nothing but the narrow hallway, which at the moment had a man lying full-length in it. His arms were outstretched, and he held some sort of measuring tool along the scarred wooden planks, swearing the air blue in the most interesting of Irish lilts.

Nicole had to laugh. Or she would have, if she could have taken her eyes off that long, lean, hard male body stretched out so enticingly on the floor in front of her. He had legs from here to Timbuktu, covered in Levi’s that most effectively accented the muscles in his thighs and calves.

And then there was his butt, which was very lovingly cupped in that worn denim. His shirt had ridden up, showing a good amount of tanned, damp skin stretched taut over the rippling sinew of his lower back. The rest of it wasn’t bad either, smooth and sleek in the plain light-blue T-shirt that invited her to Bite Me in bold black letters.

In spite of the scare he’d given her, she grinned. Bite Me was her official motto. “Um…excuse me.”

His arms, stretched over his head, didn’t drop the strange gadget in his hands, which was sending out red lighted bleeps. In fact he didn’t do anything but sigh. “Be a luv,” he said in a voice deep and husky as sin but suddenly utterly devoid of the accent. “And hand me my notes?”

Nicole, still in her defensive stance, craned her neck and saw a small notepad at his hip. It looked as if it had been roughly stuffed in and out of a pocket on a regular basis.

Apparently she hesitated a hair too long, because he pushed up to his elbows and turned his head, giving her a glimpse of jet-black hair cut so short it stuck up in spikes, hitting her with the lightest, most crystal-clear blue eyes she’d ever seen.

He took one look at her with her fists still up, her legs slightly bent and let out another sigh, rubbing his jaw. “We going to duke it out over a notepad then?”

She dropped her fists to her sides, and, keeping her eyes on the most gorgeous stranger she’d ever seen, she bent for her Taco Bell bag. “Who are you and why were you swearing in my hallway?”

“Heard that, did you?” He flashed a grin. “I don’t suppose you’d not repeat any of it to the owner? She specifically said no swearing in her hallways.”

Hmm. Nicole was surprised Taylor hadn’t put this man under lock and key in her bedroom, given her fondness for horizontal gymnastics, and the fact that sexuality rolled off this man in waves.

With one smooth motion, he came to his feet, startling her anew because, granted, she was on the shrimpy side of average height, but he and his hard-as-granite body had to top six feet by several inches.

Which meant her head, if she lifted her nose to nosebleed height, maybe came to his broad shoulder. Between their height discrepancy and her sudden, startling attraction to him, she felt defensive. She hated feeling defensive. It tended to put her on the offensive. Taking one step back, she balanced her weight on the balls of her feet, once again ready for anything.

“Wouldn’t have used that language if I’d have heard you coming.” A bit chagrined now, he cocked his head and scratched his jaw, which, judging by the dark shadow there, he hadn’t shaved in a few days. “Went and startled you, I see.”

She narrowed her eyes. Yep, his accent was gone, but there was something stilted about how he sounded now, as if he were hiding something.

She knew well enough about hiding secrets, but didn’t like it when others did the same. “Answer my questions, please.”

As she’d raised an accusatory finger directed toward his very fine chest, he lifted his hands in surrender. “No need to shoot, I’m just the architect. Ty Patrick O’Grady at your service.”

“You’re the…architect.”

“For the building here. It’s going to be renovated.” As if to prove he was harmless—harmless, ha!—he propped up the wall with his shoulder and gave her a disarming little half smile that sent sparks of awareness shivering down her spine. “Needs an architect before anything else, you know,” he said. “Turns out this place is a historical monument, and is in desperate need of some serious structural repair.”

As the place was smack dab in the middle of elegant, sophisticated South Village, where the rich came to play, and everyone else came to pretend to be rich, Nicole decided she could buy that. Especially since this particular building was the current eyesore of the entire block.

Taylor had been having one expert or another through here for weeks in anticipation of a major renovation. “So you’re working up a bid for the owner? Suzanne?” she asked, watching him carefully.

Now he smiled, slow and sure. “No, not Suzanne. Taylor, but good try. It’d take more than a peewee to trip me up, darlin’.”

A peewee? He’d just called her a peewee? She’d give him peewee.

He lifted one jet-black brow at the narrowing of her eyes, and dared to smile at her obvious temper. “Want to see my ID or are you just going to clobber me with that lovely smelling Taco Bell bag?”

“What happened to your accent?”

His face went curiously blank. “What accent?”

“You had an Irish accent. Are you an immigrant?”

“Yep, just got off the boat from Australia, mate.” He grinned. “Or maybe that was…” His accent went from Aussie to Austrian in a heartbeat. “From another continent entirely.”

A smart-ass. “It’s awfully late to be working on a bid.”

“You mean early, don’t you?”

That might be; she had no idea whether she was coming or going. “Whichever. Why are you here now?”

“I’m what you’d call a busy man…now, darlin’, you’ve got me so flustered, I’ve gone and missed your name.”

Nicole crossed her arms. “It’s not darlin’, I’ll tell you that.”

He let out another smile, which she had to admit could melt bones at fifty paces. “Do I have to guess then?”

“Dr. Mann,” she grudgingly gave him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got tacos to eat.” And a date with a bed.

Alone.

Where that thought came from, she had no earthly clue. She always slept alone.

Always.

She stared at him still staring at her with a little, knowing smile that made her want to grind her teeth for some reason. “What? You going to make a crack about me being far too young to be a doctor? I get a lot of little-girl jokes. Go ahead, give me your best shot.”

He took a good, long look down her body, then slowly, slowly back up again, stopping at the points that seemed to be connected to her loins, since they all came alive with a little flutter that annoyed her even more. “You look all woman to me.”

Oh, definitely, she was too tired for this. She brushed past him and stopped at her door, slapping her myriad of pockets, looking for the keys she could never quite remember where she’d left.

“Problem?”

Scowling, she ignored him and switched her Taco Bell bag to the other arm to check her back pocket. No go. Damn, that was the trouble with cargo pants. Comfortable, yes. Practical, with their twelve million pockets to lose things in, no.

“Dr. Mann—”

“Please,” she said to that quiet, outrageously sexy voice as she closed her eyes. “Just…go away.” If she didn’t gobble the food and hit the bed, she’d fall asleep right here on her feet.

She could do it, too. She’d slept on her feet before, during med school, during the long nights of residency….

A sharp click had her blinking rapidly at her…opened door? Ty Patrick O’Grady, architect, sometimes owner of a sexy Irish lilt, man of a thousand curses and one incredible smile, held up a credit card. “Handy, these things, aren’t they now?”

“You…broke in?”

“Easily.”

“Are you a criminal?”

He laughed, low and sexily, damn him. “Let’s just say I’ve been around. You need a better lock.”

“You can’t just—”

“Did you find your keys?”

“No, but—”

“Just get inside, darlin’.” He gave her a gentle shove as he took the Taco Bell bag from her fingers just before the thing would have dropped to the ground. “Before you fall down.”

She stepped over the threshold, reaching back to slam the door. Unfortunately he was on the wrong side of that door and ended up inside her very small place, which seemed that much smaller with his huge presence in it. “And I’m not your darling,” she said, turning away.

“Nope, you’re Dr. Mann.”

She sighed and faced him again. “Okay, so I’m stuffy when I’m tired. Sue me.”

“I’d rather call you by your first name.”

“Nicole,” she snapped, then grabbed her Taco Bell from his fingers and headed into the kitchen, which happened to be only about four steps in. “Feel free to let yourself out.”

Naturally, and because she suspected he was as ornery and contrary as he was magnificent looking, he followed her instead.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Making sure you don’t fall down on your feet.”

“We’ve already established I’m a grown-up.”

“You’re right about that. Um…” He watched her shove aside a pile of medical journals and rip into the bag with a wince. “How about some real breakfast?”

“This is real.” And her mouth was watering. “Goodbye, Mr. Architect.”

“You know, you’re very welcome,” he said when she grabbed a taco, leaned against the counter and took a huge bite. “Glad I could help.”

“Yeah. Thank you for breaking and entering.” She nearly moaned when the food hit her tongue, but managed to hold it back, sucking down a good part of her soda before practically inhaling the rest of her first taco.

When she reached into the bag for the next one, he sighed.

She eyed him. “You forget where the front door is? Wouldn’t want it to hit you on your way out.”

“You should really make yourself some healthier food—”

“There’s meat, cheese, lettuce and shell here…I’ve got all the food groups represented.”

“Yes, but—” He watched her lick a drop of sauce off her thumb. “I’m assuming you just got off some brutal shift at the hospital?”

“Yeah…” She paused for a long, amazingly refreshing gulp of soda. “Don’t take this personally, okay? But could you go away? I’ve got a date with my bed, and it doesn’t include anyone else but me and my pillow.”

“Now that’s a crying shame.” He added a slow grin that upped her pulse.

“Don’t get any ideas. I don’t play doctor with strangers.”

“Who’d want to play with that attitude?” He grinned when she growled at him. “And I wasn’t propositioning you, Dr. Nicole Mann. I just think you should eat something that has more nutrients than…say a paper bag. Why don’t you let me cook—”

He broke off when she burst into laughter. Feeling less like she was going to die on the spot now that she had something in her belly, she set down her taco and headed for the front door. While she was certain he could “cook” up something all right, she wasn’t interested. Yes, she enjoyed looking at a great specimen of a man such as himself, but she didn’t feel the need to do more than look. “Goodnight,” she said, holding the door open.

“Let me guess…” He sauntered up to her with that loose-hipped stride of his, all long, lean grace. His eyes, those amazing blue, blue eyes, seemed to see straight through her. “You have a thing against real food?”

“No, I have a thing against strangers offering to cook for me. Let’s face it, Mr. Architect.” She offered him a nasty smile she reserved for the lowest forms of life—men on the prowl. “You weren’t offering to cook me food.”

“I wasn’t?” He lifted a black brow so far it nearly vanished. “And what did you think I was offering to cook?”

“Let’s just say I’m not interested, whatever it was.”

With a slow shake of his head, his mouth curved. He wasn’t insulted. Wasn’t mad or irate. But he was amused at her expense.

“Let’s just say,” he said, mocking her.

“Goodnight,” she repeated, wondering what it was about him that made her both annoyed and yet so…aware.

“Goodnight. Even though it’s morning.” He lifted a finger, stroking it once over her jaw before turning and walking out the door.

When he was gone, she put her finger to her tingling jaw. It wasn’t until a moment later she realized his last few words, “even though it’s morning,” had been uttered in that same Irish accent he’d claimed not to have.

* * *

THAT DAY Ty pulled his own long shift. He had three jobs going in downtown Los Angeles, two in Burbank, four in Glendale and, he hoped, the new one right here in South Village.

It was odd, how fond he’d become of the place. Maybe because the city, just outside of Los Angeles, was a genuinely historical stretch of streets from the great old-Western days. Thanks to an innovative—and wealthy—town council, most of the buildings had been rescued, preserved and restored, leaving the streets a popular fun spot filled with restaurants, theaters, unique boutiques and plenty of celebrities to spy on.

Ty had little interest in the swell of young urban singles that crowded the streets on nights and weekends, but he did love the atmosphere.

He especially loved all the work, for there were plenty of buildings still in the pre-renovation stage, needing architects.

Being a relatively new architect in town without the usual partners and office staff meant more work for him. It meant a lot of running around. It also meant lots of time holed up with his drawing table.

He didn’t mind the extra hours or the hard work. In fact, that was how he liked it. If something came easy or was handed to him, he was suspicious of it.

That came from his early years, when nothing had been either easy or handed to him, before or after he’d quite literally crawled, scratched and fought his way out of the gutter.

Old times, he thought, and tossing his pencil down, he leaned back in his chair. He put his feet up on the drawing table and looked out the window at the San Gabriel Mountains. No doubt, California was beautiful. Not beautiful like say…Rio. Or Tokyo. Or any of the many places he’d been through on his quest to get as far away from where he’d started as possible, but beautiful in the way that he felt…at ease.

Not that the feeling would last, it never did. Sooner rather than later the need to move on would over come him…he thought New York might interest him. But for now, California, land of hot blondes, health food and sandy beaches, was good.

It was also a great place for anonymity, and that, really, was the draw. Here, he could be whoever or whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter to anyone.

And here, surrounded by the success he’d so carefully built, he was exactly that.

Someone.

Someone with a full bank account, thank you very much. And an office that spelled success, inside a huge, sprawling house with every luxury at his fingertips.

Never again would he have an empty belly or the bone-gnawing fear of the unknown, both of which he’d lived with during his beyond-humble beginnings in the seediest of areas in Dublin, Ireland.

He rarely thought of it now, there was no need. He’d put it all behind him, years and years ago. He’d moved on.

Now nothing could hurt him as he continued on his merry way to fill the bank account even more, to do the work that so pleased him. And if he managed to get lucky in between those two things with a California babe here and there, so much the better.

He thought of this morning, and one Dr. Nicole Mann. Not the typical California babe, that was certain. But with her fatigues and tough take-it-on-the-chin attitude, she was easily the sexiest little number he’d ever seen. And he did mean little, for she’d barely come to his shoulder. Still her body had been honed to a curvy, mouthwatering perfection by what he suspected was sheer will on her part—it certainly wasn’t a result of her diet if her “breakfast” was anything to go on. Definitely, the one thing the good doctor had in spades was will. She could kill with just her eyes, these long-lashed, huge eyes, the gray of a wicked winter storm. Her hair, shiny, dark and cut short to her stubborn chin, made him think of silk.

He would have laughed at the impression she’d made on him, if there was anything funny about it. She was different, and because of it she’d grabbed him on a level he didn’t want to be grabbed at. So he wouldn’t think about her or her perfect, meant-for hot-wild-sex mouth.

Straightening, he put his feet firmly on the ground. He liked his feet on the ground. To do that, he had to keep a certain distance from others, and that included sexy Dr. Mann. Spinning in his chair, he propelled himself the few feet to his computer and booted it up. To clear his head of stormy gray eyes and that kissable frown, he’d work.

His e-mail account opened, showing twenty-eight unread messages. Skimming through, he deleted each as he took care of various work issues.

And it was all work. Except the last one. He didn’t recognize the sender’s address, but didn’t think anything of it until he opened the mail.

Are you Ty Patrick O’Grady of Dublin?

Surging to his feet, he stared at the e-mail. The words were still there. Stuffing his fingers in his hair he turned a slow circle. No one knew where he was from. No one.

But when he bent to look at the screen again, the words hadn’t changed.

Are you Ty Patrick O’Grady of Dublin?

Hell, yes, he was. But who wanted to know? And why? There was nothing good about his past. In fact, there was so much bad, his stomach cramped just thinking about it.

He reached toward the keyboard to delete the message, but his finger hovered just over the key.

Who was asking?

No. It didn’t matter. None of his past mattered, and with another low oath and yet another slow spin around the room he came back to his computer. Stared at the message some more.

Then slowly reached out and punched Delete.