Tangling With Ty (2 page)

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.

 

T
HAT 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.

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.

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.

A
FTER TWO
straight days of hell at work, Nicole drove home. She could tell it wasn't her usual time to be doing so—the usual time being very, very late or very, very early—because there wasn't a single parking space to be found in all of South Village, much less on the busy street where she lived.

Shops, galleries and restaurants were all hopping with activity, reminding her that everyone else but herself had a life outside of work. But then, she'd decided long ago that medicine
was
her life. All she needed now was a place to park her car. Finally, after circling the block—twice—swearing in a very satisfying manner and even getting flipped off in the process, she got a spot down the street. The walk to the apartment felt good. So did the bag of fresh croissants she purchased at a corner deli. They'd go splendidly with the take-out hamburgers in a bag in her other hand.

Finally, she came to her building. It really was the wince spot of the area, though the turrets, mock balconies and many windows gave the hundred-year-
old place its own charm and personality. Albeit a neglected, falling-down kind of charm.

The two storefronts on the ground floor were empty, though Suzanne planned to open a catering shop in one of them. Taylor was doing her best, working on the renovation day and night, gathering bids and selling off some of her antique collection to do it.

There were plants hanging from window boxes in front of the two apartments on the second floor. Taylor's boxes were effortlessly green and flowery, Suzanne's looked a little wilted since she spent most of her time at Ryan's now.

Nicole could have bought her own place. Her mother often hounded her about it. After all, doctors made tons of dough, right?

Ha! She was twenty-seven. Maybe by the time she was forty she'd have half her college loans paid off. Then again, given that she tended to spend her extra time working at clinics for free to ensure that the less fortunate got medical care, maybe not. Didn't matter. Work was who she was, what she did and there wasn't time left over to tend to so much as a single little plant, much less a house of her own.

She liked things that way.

Exhausted, she staggered up the stairs to her loft. It was still light outside, which confused her. She squinted at her living room. How different it looked with sunlight streaming through the big window. On
the street below throngs of people were heading toward chic restaurants and cafés. A glance at her watch told her why. It was five in the afternoon. People were meeting for after-work drinks or early dinners. The thought of socializing like that startled her somewhat. When she wasn't pouring herself into work, she truly preferred to spend her time alone.

She wolfed down the fast food first, while reading one of three medical journals on the table in front of her. The hamburger and super-size fries were the perfect accompaniment to the article on a new and innovative artery replacement. Then, with the sun still shining in all the windows, she headed into her bathroom, still reading, nibbling on a croissant as she stripped for a mind-numbingly hot shower.

No one could ever say she couldn't multi-task.

After her steaming shower, she padded naked back into her bedroom, heading directly for the bed, until she glanced at her answering machine, which was blinking.

Damn it, why did she have one of those things again?

Because the hospital administration, tired of not being able to get her when they needed, had insisted. With a sigh, she hit the message button. If it was work, she'd just roll over and die right now.

“Nicole, baby, it's me. Mom,” her mother clarified in her cheerful, laughing voice, as if Nicole wouldn't
recognize the woman who'd been nagging her all her life. “Are you working too hard? Are you getting any rest? Are you eating right? Are you ever going to call me and put my mind to rest that my baby isn't working herself into an early grave?”

Nicole sank to her bed and ran the towel over her short mop of hair—her idea of styling. Since she'd just called her mother last week, in fact, called every week, she refused to feel guilty.

“Once a week just isn't enough, Nicole,” her mother said with her perfectly startling ability to read her daughter's mind. “I want to
hear
you.”

Nicole rolled her eyes but a smile escaped anyway.

“Honey, listen. I'm making pot roast on Sunday. Your father called your sisters and everyone is coming—the husbands, the kids, everyone.”

Oh, good God. Nicole had three sisters, each of whom had a husband, the requisite minivan, the house in the burbs and at least two kids. The thought of that entire noisy, happy bunch all in one place made Nicole suddenly need another hamburger.

“So, honey, you have to come. We'll expect you by four, and let me warn you, if you don't show, I'll…well, I'll call you every single day for a week.”

As Nicole's mother was quite possibly the bossiest, nosiest, most meddling, warm, loving person on the planet, Nicole believed her.

But everyone under one roof? Laughing, talking,
happily arguing sisters, sticky toddlers, drooling babies, stinky diapers… She felt a headache coming on already. She loved her family, she did, but sometimes she felt as if she was an alien, plopped down in the middle of a planet where she didn't belong. They were all so…normal. Something she'd never been. Despite her genius IQ, she couldn't deal with people outside of medicine. It was so difficult for her to get out of her own head, she rarely knew what to say to people and some of the basic niceties escaped her. That her family loved her anyway, even though she was intensely introverted, was a strange and odd miracle she tried not to think about too often.

“So, we'll see you Sunday,” her mom said as if it'd been decided. “It'll be fun to be all together.”

Fun
wasn't quite the word Nicole would have come up with. Maybe she'd have work. Yeah, that was it, she could add a shift and—

“Love you, baby.”

Ah, hell. Sunday it was.

Still naked, she plopped on the bed. It only took two pillows over her head and approximately twenty seconds for sleep to conquer her the same way she'd conquered her world.

She dreamed. She would have thought she'd be haunted by the blood of her second surgery that day. A patient had burst an artery and by the time she'd
gotten everything under control she'd been standing in a sea of red.

But blessedly she'd left that behind at the hospital. Instead, in dreamland, she was two years old again, and memorizing the book of presidents her parents had kept on the coffee table. For fun, she'd recite them backwards to her hotshot, know-it-all sisters Annie and Emma.

It had been their first inkling that Nicole was going to be different.

The dream shifted and she was six, helping Emma with her seventh-grade algebra.

At twelve, she'd helped Annie with her PSAT testing.
A genius,
were the whispers around her.
Off-the-scale IQ,
they said.
A prodigy.

At twelve, Nicole should have been into lip gloss, pop bands and boys. Instead she'd been fascinated by science. She operated on frogs. She dissected bugs.

Yet kids her own age remained a mystery to her, a complete mystery.

And now that she was grown up, she was still different. She should have learned to deal with others by now. Learned to be a social creature, well rounded and defined.

But the reality was that she'd rarely dated and had no idea how to do anything but heal. It was what she was. Who she was. A doctor.

Nothing else.

So why did the next dream involve one tall, dark and sexy Irish architect with a killer smile and eyes that made her yearn for something completely out of her reach?

Turning over, she sank back into an exhausted and dreamless slumber.

 

“W
AKE UP
, Nicole, you're scaring me.”

Nicole snuggled more deeply beneath her covers. “Go away, Mom, I don't have school today.”

“I had better not look anything like a woman old enough to be your mother.”

Nicole jerked her eyes open, heart pounding. Okay, good, she was home. The sun was shining again, how annoying.

And Taylor sat on her bed, looking as stunningly beautiful and elegant as ever.

With a groan, Nicole shut her eyes again. “I didn't help you with the engagement party plans, right?”

“No, but I forgive you because you're going to reschedule. I brought you breakfast.”

Nicole smelled something delicious. She cracked open an eye and saw a tray filled with mouthwatering food.

“I should tell you—as if you couldn't guess—I didn't cook this. Suzanne's catering a big brunch this morning and made this up for us. You frightened the hell out of me, not answering your door. You never
even heard me calling for you like a banshee, and we all know I don't like to sound like a banshee. Who sleeps like that?”

Nicole blinked. “Well…”

“You've overworked yourself again, haven't you? Nicole, honey, that's just plain bad for you.”

Nicole closed her eyes, rendered stupid by this display of concern. Maybe if she was really still, Taylor would vanish. A figment of her imagination.

“Not much of a morning person,” came an amused male voice from the other side of the room.

If Nicole had thought her heart had raced at the sight of Taylor in her bedroom, it went off the scale now. Even after their very brief encounter, she recognized that slightly Irish voice, she recognized it immediately. And if it brought a series of shivers down her spine that she couldn't attribute to a morning chill, she could shove the reaction aside in favor of temper. “What the hell—”

“Now before you get all pissy at me…” Taylor put a hand over Nicole's chest, pushing her back. “Let me explain.”

Nicole could take Taylor down any day of the week. Her workouts, when she could fit them in, guaranteed that.

The only exercise Taylor ever did was lifting and setting down her hairbrush. Oh, and her lipstick.

No, what held Nicole back from wrapping her fingers around Taylor's neck was one tiny little detail.

She slept in the nude.

Which meant that in order to kick Taylor's ass, she'd have to get out of bed.

Naked.

“Why is he in here?” she settled for asking between her teeth while clutching the sheet to her chest.

From his perch holding up her wall, Ty's gaze zoomed in on her—a very blue gaze that was lit with amusement, curiosity and plenty more—and for just a flash in time, she lost her train of thought.

Taylor craned her neck and looked up at the tall, dark, ridiculously gorgeous man. “You've met?”

“You could say that,” Nicole said.

“Oh, good, because I'm thinking of hiring him to fix up the building, which apparently is about to fall off its axis. Not,” she added quickly, “that you need to worry about it, I'm getting it all fixed pronto.”

“Taylor.” Nicole rubbed her temples. “The point. Get to the point.
Why is he here?
Specifically, in my bedroom.”

“Well, I was standing there in the hallway yelling for you, and beginning to freak out when you didn't answer, when he offered to break in since I didn't have my keys on me. He's not only an excellent architect, he's quite the handyman.”

“Let me guess,” Nicole said dryly, watching Ty
smile at her from behind Taylor's back. “He got in with a credit card?”

“Why, yes. A handy little trick, don't you think?”

“Hmm.” Nicole narrowed her eyes at the ease he displayed standing there in her bedroom. As if he belonged.

But no one, especially a man, belonged in her bedroom, no matter how good he looked in a light-blue chambray shirt shoved up past his forearms, and a pair of jeans that made her hormones stand up and quiver. “Is the credit card trick something you picked up in Ireland?” she asked.

“Why ever would you think that?” he asked innocently.

As if he'd ever been innocent. “Because I hear it in your voice.”

“That's the English, luv,” he said, pushing lazily away from the wall, coming close enough to peruse the tray from Suzanne. Then, picking up a piece of toast, his gaze tracked over Nicole from head to toe, and back again, making every single atom in her body leap to attention. Sinking his teeth into the bread, he chewed a moment, then licked the butter off his finger with a sucking sound that caused an answering tug in Nicole's nipples for some annoying reason. “Went there for a while,” he said.

“Thought it was Scotland.”

Leaning in, he put the toast to her lips, pressing un
til she had no choice but to open and take a bite. “There, too,” he said lightly, making her take yet another bite, his thumb stroking across her bottom lip at a dab of misplaced butter. “And also Australia, if you're interested in keeping track.”

She felt the touch all the way to her toes and back up, and at all sorts of other interesting spots along the way. It didn't help that her eyes were level with a most erotic spot on his body—the juncture between his thighs—and the intriguing bulge there.

“I had to make sure you were okay,” Taylor said, picking up a piece of peach from the tray. “I'm sorry for the invasion, but you've done nothing but work since you moved in here, and you sleep like the dead.”

Ty let out another innocent smile. “And you talk to yourself while doing it.”

Nicole opened her mouth, but Taylor stuffed the peach into it. At the explosion of sweet nectar in her mouth, she sputtered.

“That was a piece of fruit,” Taylor said. “I realize you might not recognize it, given that it's actually one of the important food groups and not purchased from a drive-through.”

“Taylor—”

“You're going to kill yourself this way,” Taylor said softly, her eyes showing their worry. “It's not right. Promise me you'll eat all of this mountain of
food. The eggs, the sausage, the toast, the fruit, everything.”