Читать книгу Second Chance Temptation - Joss Wood - Страница 9

One

Levi Brogan hurt.

Everywhere.

That’s what happened when you leave your dirt bike for a make-out session with a gravel road lined with rocks.

His ass was now welded to a chair, partially because his leg was in plaster from above his knee down to his ankle, but mostly because moving anything more than his eyelids hurt. He’d not only broken his patella but also managed to pull a muscle in his left rotator cuff, so using crutches was like stabbing himself repeatedly in the shoulder.

Wah-wah-wah...

God, he was so over himself and his injuries, but he was rapidly coming to the conclusion he could do with some help.

Someone who wasn’t his mother or his sister. He loved them but, God, they never shut up. Ever. And if they weren’t talking about wedding guests or honeymoons or babies or flowers, they were fussing over him.

By the time he’d kicked them out earlier this morning, he was close to overdosing on estrogen. Levi now deeply regretted his show of independence and there was a good chance that, by nightfall, he might swallow his pride and send out an SOS.

Levi pushed his hand through his hair, feeling utterly frustrated. His world was now confined to the bottom level of his home. Working out in his state-of-the-art gym in the basement was, obviously, not possible. He wasn’t able to climb the stairs leading to his master bedroom, so he was sleeping on the sofa in the media room and using the downstairs bathroom to clean up. He would kill for a hot shower, but he needed help to get in and out of the bathtub. And right now, the kitchen was a million miles away.

And he was hungry.

Levi looked at his crutches, not sure if he had the energy to make the trek to find food, and checked the pain level in his shoulder. It was still screaming from walking the ten yards to the bathroom. Food was, unless he took another painkiller, out of the question. And every time he took a painkiller without food, he tossed his cookies.

Rock, let me introduce you to hard place.

Levi heard a knock on his front door and frowned. His family used the back door leading into the kitchen. And they all announced their presence. The extended Brogan family was not a quiet bunch. The Murphy guys were also frequent visitors and they also used the back door, knowing it was rarely locked. Business associates who needed to see him would’ve called to make an appointment and the rest of his small circle of friends were at work. And if they had a day off, they would’ve given him a heads-up via a text message.

End result: Levi had no idea who was knocking on his front door. A reporter? A photographer? The press had ambushed him when he left the hospital, the camera flashes making his headache a hundred times worse. He hadn’t responded to any of their nearly indecipherable questions, and neither had his mom or his sisters. His dad had loved the press, but Levi and his mom and siblings didn’t.

Despite the Brogans shunning the limelight, the tabloid press paid him, and his sisters, far too much attention, all because they were the children of Boston’s most successful businessman and bon vivant, Ray Brogan. And, because those bottom-feeders loved drama, there had been a few articles about Levi’s accident, reminding the residents of Boston that he and his father had had a volatile relationship. The press took great delight in telling the world he’d spurned Ray’s offer to take over Brogan LLC , a holding company that owned and operated companies in many different sectors and that Levi, reserved, private and taciturn, wasn’t the man his father was.

He wasn’t as charming, as exciting, as loud or as volatile. Thank God.

Levi didn’t make rash decisions, never made promises he couldn’t keep, didn’t take huge risks, causing the people he loved anxiety. Ray got off on risk and adrenaline—betting every cent on huge deals that might or might not come off. He made impulsive decisions—buying companies without doing due diligence—and calling people who suggested caution—mainly Levi—unimaginative and boring.

Ray’s successes had been stratospheric, his failures equally impressive. Levi’s mom had ridden the roller coaster; Levi, on joining the family firm after college, couldn’t handle his father’s volatility and resigned after a year.

His father called him dull and a coward, not cut out for a high-stakes world. Levi had never understood his father, who never felt embarrassed or chastised. He just blustered and BS’d his way through the criticism, and the world seemed to love him even more for his confidence, his brashness.

Levi was the exact opposite; he was not, and never would be, a fan of failure, not privately or publicly. He preferred to be the master of his own ship, avoiding storms rather than sailing directly into them. He liked to be in control. But the world expected him to be like his famous father, so whenever he showed even a hint of his father’s impulsive nature—and apparently crashing his dirt bike qualified—he made the news.

Levi used his crutch to lift the drape covering the window of his study, through which he could see the road and his driveway. An unfamiliar SUV sat in his driveway, too expensive to belong to an intrepid reporter.

He hoped.

The knock came again and Levi bellowed a quick “Come in!” But, honestly, if he could persuade his visitor to make him a sandwich and a hot cup of coffee, he’d listen to a pitch for an interview, or from a salesman.

He was that desperate.

“I’m in the media room. Down the hallway, second door on your left.”

Levi heard the front door closing and, judging by the hesitant steps, knew his visitor wasn’t someone who had constant access to his house.

“For God’s sake,” Levi muttered, impatient. “Second door on the left.”

“I heard you. I’m not deaf.”

The words hit his ears at the same time she appeared in his doorway, and Levi stared at her, not sure whether his incredibly strong pain pills were causing hallucinations.

Black jeans and a thin, mint-colored sweater hugged her curves under a thigh-length leather jacket. A multi-colored scarf held back curls and her face was thinner, older and, God, so beautiful. Levi gripped the arm of his chair, physically grounding himself, fighting the instinct to rush her, to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her neck, in her lustrous hair. He needed to inhale the scent of her skin, to know whether it was as soft and creamy as it looked.

He wanted to strip her naked, to finally feel her round breast in his hand, to find out whether her nipples were as luscious as he imagined, her core as warm, as spicy, as the rest of her.

So much time had passed and Levi felt shocked at how much he wanted her. Unable to stop himself, he drank her in. Those light green eyes fringed with long, thick black lashes fascinated him and he’d loved running his thumbs across those high cheekbones and that round, stubborn chin. He’d been addicted to her wide, sexy mouth, with its full lips, and he’d adored her curly, black-as-coal hair. Tanna’s skin, thanks to her Bengalese grandmother always made her look like she’d recently returned from a six-week holiday in the hot Caribbean sun.

Tanna was warm island breezes and hot beach bonfires, with a body made to wear a bikini, or better yet, nothing at all. She was a hot sun, a shooting star, blue skies, happiness.

Or she had been...

Before she screwed with his life and made him look like an idiot in front of his family and the world. Before she’d left and his world spun out of control.

He didn’t need to see her again, didn’t need to hear whatever the hell it was she wanted to say. He’d worked damned hard at surviving her, creating a life he loved and enjoyed, and he’d made a conscious effort to forget her. Like Ray, she’d caused chaos in his life and he never again wanted to feel like he was falling out of an airplane without a parachute.

He was over her.

He had to be.

“What the hell are you doing here, Tanna?” he demanded in a low growl.

“I need to talk to you,” Tanna said, advancing into the room and standing next to an easy chair, a twin to the one he was sitting in. He saw her eyes flitting to his leg and an exquisitely arched eyebrow lifted. “What happened?”

“My dirt bike and I parted ways,” Levi responded curtly. He jerked his head, hoping she didn’t notice the fine tremor in his hands. “You know the way out.”

Tanna ignored his order and sat down on the chair, placing her tote bag on the floor next to her. She rested her forearms on her knees and clasped her hands together. “We need to talk, Levi.”

Did he want to hear anything she had to say? Hell no. And hell yes.

Hell no, because her walking out on him shortly before their wedding without an explanation made him reluctant to indulge in a rehash ten-plus years later. And hell yes, because, dammit, this was Tanna. The only woman who’d ever caused his lungs to stop functioning, blood to drain from his brain, his heart to beat erratically.

Self-reliant and reticent, Levi didn’t make friends easily and, before Tanna Murphy, had never been in love. For months after her leaving, he’d felt like his ribs were broken, every breath he took hurt.

He’d loved her, craved her, would’ve moved heaven and earth for her. And, because of who he was, his nonmarriage had made all the papers on the East Coast. And on the West Coast too.

God, he’d been the village idiot.

“Just walk your pretty ass out of here, Murphy.”

Tanna tipped her head and Levi noticed the determination in her eyes. Dammit. He recognized her look; he’d seen enough of it when she was injured in an accident of her own, before their engagement. Tanna didn’t take no for an answer. And since he couldn’t forcibly remove her from his house, he was stuck listening to her.

Levi scowled at his right leg resting on a small ottoman. She pretty much had a captive audience and that annoyed the ever-loving crap out of him.

But if he was going to listen to whatever drivel she was about to spout, he’d get something out of it. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You can have five minutes if you make me a cup of coffee.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Ten minutes, but for that I want coffee and a sandwich,” Levi countered.

Tanna had the audacity to smile at him. “Or I could do neither and just sit here and stare at you until you give in.”

Levi picked up his phone and waved it. “Or I could call 911 and charge you for trespassing.”

He saw her hesitate and heard the silent curse on the tip of her tongue. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated and snapped her mouth closed.

“I thought you’d see it my way,” Levi said as she stood up. “You’ll find everything you need in the kitchen. And do not think you can fob me off with a PB&J. There’s deli meat, salad stuff and an array of condiments. Pile it on, princess.”

Tanna stiffened at the use of her old nickname, the one he used to murmur with affection. Now it was coated with sarcasm and a whole lot of annoyance. He’d made sure of it.

Levi watched Tanna walk out of his study and pushed both his hands through his hair. He really wanted a sandwich, mostly so he could take a pain pill, but he was willing to put up with the pain if it meant her walking out of his house and his life.

Tanna Murphy had a way of complicating the hell out of everything and all he craved was simplicity.

Tanna Murphy found the kitchen off the hallway and immediately walked up to the overlarge fridge and rested her forehead against the cool double doors, trying to control her breathing. Her rental car was parked in his driveway and she fought the urge to walk back through the house, out the front door and drive back to Beacon Hill or, even better, to Logan International Airport.

You promised yourself you would do this, Murphy.

She’d sworn to herself she’d do anything to combat the PTSD symptoms that had suddenly flared up before she left London. It was easy to identify the trigger; she’d been the first responder to a car accident where a dark-haired, dark-eyed teenager had caused a multicar pileup. The girl had looked like Addy, and Tanna had frozen. After a minute, her colleague had yanked her off the patient and provided the medical treatment necessary, and Tanna, from that minute, started suffering from anxiety attacks and flashbacks to her own car accident.

She was put on medical leave and, on the advice of her London-based therapist, she’d returned to Boston to face her past. But to her friends and family, she was taking a break from work. Her overprotective brothers didn’t need to hear about the demons she was fighting.

Tanna walked across the black-and-white tiles of the kitchen to pull out a chair at a big wooden table. She’d sit here for a minute, gather her courage, because, damn, she needed it. She had to confront the past in order to return to work, to do her damn job. Nobody needed an EMT who hyperventilated in a crisis.

Tanna had only been back in Boston for a week and her local therapist, located in the very trendy area of Back Bay, already had her talking through her memories of the accident. She’d accompanied Tanna on her visit to the scene of the fatal crash, and wanted her to talk to the people impacted by the accident. Isla, having lost her only child, Addy, in the same accident, had been the first person on Tanna’s list.

Their conversation had not gone well.

Tanna blinked away her tears. Addy had been bright and beautiful and so damn conscientious. She’d been working her way through college, juggling two jobs and her studies with grace and humor. The night of the accident was the first night in months she’d allowed herself to have some fun.

And, yes, it was stupidly unfair that Addy, completely sober, the most mature and responsible person in their group of friends, was the one who’d lost her life in the crash. And Isla felt the same. Tanna could see Isla’s point—Addy, poor but proud, had been studying to be a social worker and worked at soup kitchens and no-kill animal shelters in her spare time. Tanna, a trust fund baby, paid little attention to her studies but was completely devoted to all-night partying with her friends. Addy had been driving Tanna’s car because Tanna was drunk, and Addy, an inexperienced driver, hadn’t been able to handle the powerful convertible.

Tanna didn’t blame Isla for being angry; the useless society girl survived when sweet Addy hadn’t. And Tanna’d not only survived, but in the hospital she’d fallen in love with the guy who’d been driving behind them, who’d held her hand while they waited for medical assistance to arrive. The same guy who also happened to be the son of a famous billionaire.

And then Levi had slid a diamond onto her finger.

She’d been told she was exceptionally lucky to be alive, even luckier her family had resources for her recovery.

Because, as Isla had pointed out, she was the lucky one, the girl who’d cheated death, who’d come out of a terrible situation with a couple of scars and a gorgeous man on her arm.

Hell, Isla was right...

And that was why she’d run away from her privileged lifestyle and her wonderful fiancé ten years ago, because the only way she could deal with the guilt of surviving when Addy hadn’t was to be anything but that party-loving, credit card flashing trust fund baby. She owed it to Addy to be better, to be more, to contribute...

To suffer.

Tanna sighed, digging both sets of fingers into her hair. Her conversation with Isla had been brief and unpleasant but it was over. Now she needed to talk to Levi...

He looked good, Tanna admitted. If she ignored his pale face and his dinged body, he looked...wonderful. At twenty-four he’d been tall and built and, sure, conventionally handsome with his deep brown hair shot with auburn and his ink-blue eyes. But somehow, and unfairly, Levi Brogan looked even better a decade later. He seemed a lot more muscular and more masculine, with heavy scruff on his face and messy hair.

Unfortunately, her ex-fiancé, even battered and bruised and a little broken, was wildfire hot.

So unfair.

Tanna rubbed her hands over her face and tipped her head back to look at the wooden beams running across the ceiling. Running out on Levi, hurting him, still shamed her, it was her biggest regret.

She’d left his engagement ring on the hall table of the house in Beacon Hill, along with a letter addressed to him in a sealed envelope. She could’ve explained she was debilitated with guilt, having second thoughts about getting married so young, that she wasn’t ready to be anyone’s wife.

That she had a debt to pay, that she needed to do more, be more. For Addy.

She could’ve said she was wondering if she was confusing gratitude with love...

She could’ve written any or all of that, but she didn’t. Through tears, and with her heart breaking, she’d just said she was sorry and she couldn’t marry him.

Tanna didn’t regret not getting married, didn’t regret, not for one moment, the last ten years, but she did regret hurting Levi, for running when she should’ve had the guts to face him.

But she’d been scared...

Scared she’d never be anything more than her brothers’ adored, overly protected sister, Levi’s wife, a socialite with ample funds who loved art and designer clothes.

She’d wanted to be more...

More grounded, more real. She’d wanted to be a person who gave rather than took.

And, in time, she’d hoped to feel less guilty. But that had yet to happen.

Tanna doubted it ever would. So, she would work at what she could control and that included facing the past, dealing with her PTSD and getting back to work...

“Hell, Murphy, are you baking the damned bread? What’s taking so long?” Levi bellowed.

...and making Levi a damned sandwich.