Tangling With Ty

by Jill Shalvis

  She went up on her tiptoes to meet him halfway as he covered her mouth with his, cutting off anything else hanging between them, of which there was plenty. With a rough, appreciative groan, he invaded her mouth with one sure glide of his tongue, figuring she’d either kiss him back or belt him one.

  She kissed him back. In fact, she mewled and arched her body to his like a cat in heat. His arms banded around her more tightly, lifting her off the ground as his mouth slashed across hers in a fiery kiss that only left him needing more, more, more. And when they finally broke apart, she staggered back, placed a hand over her heart and licked her wet lips. “What the hell was that?”

  “Not sure.” He hauled her back against him. “Let’s try it again and see if we can figure it out.”

  “Hmm.” Then they were kissing again, tongues caressing and plundering, hands touching anywhere they could land as they ate each other up.

  Ty had never felt anything as fast and as hot and as combustive as this. Her hands pushed up his shirt. He shoved up her light shirt. She kicked off her shoes, went up on her tiptoes and hooked a leg around his hip, straining against the biggest erection he’d ever sported.

  Never letting go of her mouth, he had his hands up her shirt and she had hers on his zipper when the beep, beep, beep of her pager nearly jerked his heart right out of his chest. “Don’t listen,” he said against her lips, gripping her at the waist to hold her still.

  With a soft little moan, she opened her eyes. “I have to.”

  “Nicole—”

  “I have to.” Stepping back, she licked her lips again, as if she needed that very last taste of him, and pulled down her shirt with fingers that trembled. She avoided his gaze as she went looking for the offending beeper. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

  “There were two of us inhaling each other.”

  “Still, I should have—” She looked down at the pager.

  “Let me guess. You have to go.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.” He backed away, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them off her. “Goodbye, Nicole.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” And he left before she could count off each and every reason why they should never have let anything like this happen.

  He already knew every single one of them.

  He just couldn’t remember why they mattered.

  SOMETIME IN THE MIDDLE of the night Ty gave up staring at the ceiling and went into his office. Not one to waste precious hours, he sat at his desk and decided he’d work off the restlessness.

  Okay, horniness.

  He should have kept his hands and mouth to himself. Should have, would have, could have.

  Regrets? Is that what he felt, when he’d promised himself to never have them? Never to look back? Live life to its fullest, he’d always told himself. Get everything you want, and smile all the way to the bank as you do it.

  It turned out it was no easier to work with a hard-on than it had been to sleep with one. So he turned on his computer, where he found another e-mail from his friendly stranger.

  Dear Ty Patrick O’Grady of Dublin,

  You asked who I am. Of course you want to know! I’m Margaret Mary Mulligan of Dublin. I’m twenty-four years of age, and I’m also the daughter of Anne Mary Mulligan.

  Which makes me your half sister.

  Actually, I’m not sure about the half part because I don’t know who my father is. Our mother, as you probably know, is dead.

  You’re my only family. I want to know you. Please write back.

  Margaret Mary

  Ty stared at the e-mail for so long the words leaped and jumped in front of him. A sister? He had a sister?

  Was it even possible?

  He thought of his mother, professional trouble-seeker, professional man-screwer, and knew it was entirely possible. With a sigh, he hit Reply.

  Dear Margaret Mary…

  Ty sat there, fingers poised over the keys, and couldn’t figure out what he wanted to say. How are you? Too formal.

  How about What do you want from me? Nah, too defensive.

  Dear Margaret Mary. Of Dublin.

  He stopped to laugh. So formal, this mystery half sister. But then his smile faded. This could only bring trouble and rotten memories, neither of which he wanted. Thinking that, he typed:

  Why now? Why me?

  Besides, there could be a dozen of us for all I know.

  Maybe you should try one of them.

  Ty Patrick O’Grady

  He hit Send, then sat there staring at nothing for who knew how long, until his computer beeped, indicating an incoming e-mail.

  “So you can’t sleep either,” he murmured and leaned forward.

  Dear Ty,

  I’m so glad you wrote. You have questions, questions are good.

  But there is no one else. She told me herself before she died. Not that her word ever meant anything, but on this, I want to believe her.

  It’s just you and me.

  Aren’t you even curious?

  Margaret Mary

  Curious? Hell, no. He’d rather not think about his past at all. He’d rather look around him and see where he was right this moment. How far he’d come. And he’d come pretty damn far.

  It’s just you and me.

  Damn her for that, for putting it into words so simply. So strongly. Clearly she didn’t relish being alone, as he did.

  She was young, very young, and probably had idealistic hopes about a family around her, hopes he’d never entertained for himself.

  Ah, hell. He hit Reply.

  Margaret Mary,

  If you’re looking for family to be a comfort, forget it. I didn’t get the comfort gene. If you’re looking for a handout, you’d have better luck with our mum herself, dead or otherwise.

  Best leave it alone.

  Ty Patrick O’Grady

  He hit Send. It was the right thing to do, he’d been on his own so long he didn’t have any business opening his life to another person.

  He was a loner, through and through. No family, no long-term lover. And if he gave a fleeting thought to what it might be like to be different, to let Margaret Mary in, to let Nicole in, he let it go.

  Not his thing. Besides, he didn’t know how to let anyone in.

  Since he couldn’t seem to sleep or entertain himself, he figured he might as well start his day. That meant pulling out the plans he was working up for Taylor’s building.

  It was the attic that was concerning him today, as Taylor had fond hopes of a place to store all the antiques she couldn’t seem to stop collecting. The last time he’d been there, he’d gotten distracted by Nicole.

  Seeing as Nicole was no doubt killing herself at work, he decided the crack of dawn was a perfectly fine time to crawl around in the attic to his heart’s content without disturbing a soul.

  And he did just that, getting filthy in the process as he crawled through spiderwebs the size of his car. Straddling a beam, he pulled out his pad, and was happily making notes when he heard a door open. The sound came so close, he looked around, baffled, until he realized it was the apartment door directly beneath him.

  Nicole’s.

  Because of the way the building was built—on a slight incline—the roof was really on two different tiers. On the higher level was the attic. Right next to that, but a full level below, was the loft apartment. There were two ways into the attic, the way he’d come in, through the third-floor hallway, or through a trap door at the far corner of Nicole’s living room.

  Due to a vicious storm only a few months ago, when a tree had fallen through the bedroom area of the loft, much of that part of the roof had been redone. But not the attic portion, which was still incredibly rickety. Reaching down, he opened the trap door.

  It made a loud creaking sound, but Nicole, standing just inside her front door, never looked up. Ty realized this was because she had on a set of headphones, which, given the volume of her singing—
so off-key he had to smile—meant she couldn’t hear anything.

  Before he could attract her attention, she’d kicked off her shoes, then crossed her arms in front of her and whipped off her top.

  She wore a tiger-striped bra—did she have any idea how sexy her secret lingerie fetish was?—and then put her hands to the button on her pants. Oh, boy. “Nicole!” He was barely braced on the studs now, but he leaned over way farther than he should, knowing he had to make her see him or she’d be good and pissed by the time she was naked, and generally he liked his women soft and smiling and mewling with lust when they were naked.

  Still singing, she shucked her pants, kicking them across the room with an abandon that normally would have made him grin.

  Her panties did not match her bra. They were purple, lacy and very, very tiny. Turning in circles in a little shimmy of a dance, she headed toward her bedroom, giving him a good, long look at her backside as she wriggled and shook.

  “Oh man,” he whispered to himself, and leaned out as far as he dared. “Nicole—”

  He crashed right through the ceiling. The air whipped his face; the floor rushed up to greet him, but all he saw was a tiger-striped bra and purple lace panties.

  NOT MUCH SCARED Nicole. But Ty falling through her ceiling shook her to the core. By the time she reached him, which took longer than it should have since she wasted five seconds just staring at the huge mass of him on her floor, he hadn’t budged.

  “Oh my God, Ty. Ty.”

  He was on his side, face gray through all the dry-wall dust. Dropping to her knees at his hip, she leaned over him. “Ty, can you hear me?”

  Nothing. But she could see his chest rising and falling, and she nearly sobbed in relief. “Okay. You’re going to be okay. You are.”

  Surging up, she grabbed her portable phone, dialed for an ambulance; calm, cool, in control. As she always was in an emergency.

  Then she looked down at the big, handsome, far-too-still man on her floor and wanted to fall apart. Her hands shook as she gently put them on him. What to do? God, what to do? Every ounce of medical training she’d ever had flew right out the window. “Damn it, get it together, Nicole.” She ran her hands down his limbs, frowning at his right ankle. Not broken, she didn’t think, but already swollen. Then she got to his right side, and the possibly cracked ribs, and had to take a deep, calming breath. “You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, having no idea which of them she was talking to.

  There was a huge knot forming on his head, and he hadn’t regained consciousness. “Ty.” She cupped his face, his beautiful, too-still face, with the long dark lashes and strong, sharp jaw. “Come on, Ty. Come back to me. Wake up.” She checked his pupils. Uneven. Concussion, if he was lucky. “Please, Ty. Please wake up. For me, do it for me, okay? Wake up and I’ll—”

  He groaned. Coughed. Rolled from his side to his back and groaned again, eyes still closed. “Shh, darlin’,” he said in a rough whisper. “It’s too early to be yelling.”

  “Ty.” Her eyes burned with the relief. “You’re back.”

  “You…didn’t finish your sentence. What will…you do…if I wake up?”

  That he could joke, even now, horrified her. Then he tried to sit up, his face in a grimace of agony as he held his head.

  “Don’t move,” she said in a rush, helping him lie back. He’d turned green. “You might have broken something, at the very least your big fat head. Don’t,” she repeated when he kept trying. “Just hang on a damn second.”

  “Shh,” he begged, eyes still closed. “No noise.”

  “Are you nauseous?”

  He cracked one eye open, ran it over her, then closed it again. “I am, yes. Though I refuse to puke on the very lovely underwear you’re wearing. You’re so pretty, Nicole.” He sighed, then went utterly still and silent, terrifying her.

  “Ty!”

  “Yeah, here.” He didn’t open his eyes. “Did you know that when you say my name in that soft, sexy voice of yours, I almost wish we were going to go for it. You and me.”

  “Ty—” But a sudden pounding at her front door had her leaping up, reaching for her clothes. “Hold on!” she called, hopping back into her pants.

  “Nicole?” Taylor knocked louder. “Honey, what was that crash?”

  Nicole pulled on her shirt and hauled open the door. “Ty fell through my ceiling. The ambulance is coming. Oh, God, Taylor, look at him. He hit his head, he’s concussed, and I can’t remember what to do!”

  Taylor grabbed her hand and ran toward Ty. “Oh, you poor, big, sexy baby. You’re not going to be sick all over my floor, are you?”

  Ty choked out a laugh that ended on a groan and some fairly inventive bad words.

  “Don’t make him talk,” Nicole begged, ridiculously panicked. It was just a bump on the noggin. Lord knew, his head was hard enough to handle it.

  Taylor grabbed Nicole’s shoulders and gave her a little shake. “I’ll go wait for the ambulance. Stay with him.” She hugged her hard. “It’ll be okay, honey.”

  “That’s my line,” Nicole whispered as Taylor ran out, leaving her with the big, bad, broken Ty lying at her feet.

  7

  NICOLE WENT IN the ambulance with Ty. Took him into ER herself and spewed out orders.

  Hovered and tried not to wring her hands. Tried to focus on what she was doing. They took care of his bruised ribs, his sprained ankle. Noted his concussion, which worried her the most.

  Yes, his head was big and hard. But damn, he’d hit it hard.

  She dealt with the staff and their curious expressions, knowing she’d shown her hand when she’d yelled out directions in a wobbly voice.

  She’d never yelled while on duty.

  Well, the staff would get over it. The question was, would she?

  She filled out Ty’s paperwork, which was more time-consuming than she’d ever realized, being on the other side of the fence for the first time.

  Taylor was in the waiting room, looking unusually scattered and stressed. Suzanne was there too, leaning on the tall, dark, gorgeous Ryan, who had his arms around her in a way that made Nicole take a moment. Had she ever leaned on a man like that? Ever had a man who wanted her to? Ever been offered true affection from a man?

  Nope. But then again, she’d never wanted such things. She didn’t want them now. Not when she was strong enough to stand on her own two feet.

  When she could convince them to go, she sent Taylor, Suzanne and Ryan home, promising them Ty—and his hard head—was in good hands and going to be fine.

  And he would be. She would see to it, all by herself.

  TWO HOURS LATER, Nicole sank to the cot at Ty’s hip and stared at the sleeping, still far too pale man.

  With the proper care and rest, he was going to be fine.

  But when was she going to be fine?

  He’d gotten under her skin. There was no other excuse for her ridiculous panic at the apartment. None.

  Outside the cubicle, machines bleeped, footsteps squeaked, voices carried, some raised, some hushed. There were smells too: antiseptics, medicine and the scent of fear and pain. Normal ER sounds and smells.

  But inside the cubicle, life seemed suspended. It was just the two of them, one unconscious, the other wondering what had happened to her life. Lightly, she reached out and touched the bandage on Ty’s head. “You scared the hell out of me, Ty Patrick O’Grady,” she whispered.

  “Of Dublin,” he said in a heavy Irish brogue without opening his eyes.

  Had he really spoken, or was she hallucinating on top of everything else? “Ty?”

  “You scare me, too.” His voice sounded raspy, and more than a little goofy from the drugs they’d given him for the pain. “You and my sister both. I have a sister, did I tell you?”

  “No.” She covered her mouth to keep her hysterical, relieved laugh in. “You haven’t told me much about yourself at all.”

  “She found me on the Internet. Wants to know me. Everyone wants to know me.” Hi
s words were slurred, but the Irish lilt was unmistakable. So was his sudden crooked grin, though he still didn’t open his eyes. “You want me, too, don’t you, doc? You want me as much as I want you. Say it for me.”

  Her heart leapt in a new sort of panic. “Keep your mouth zipped, you big idiot, you’re drugged.”

  “Is that why my body is floating away from my head? Your head is floating, too, doc. You’re so pretty. Makes me wish I could stay in one place for once, you know that?”

  “Please…please, shut up or you’re going to say something you’ll regret.” She wanted to run, and she wanted him to keep talking.

  “You do want me. I know you do.”

  How the rough-and-tough man could lie there looking so adorable in his cockiness was beyond her. “Ty.”

  He let out a long sigh. “Maybe that’s just me with all the wanting then.” He sighed again. “You’re screwing with my head, all three of you.”

  Three? He was worse off than she’d thought. That, or he’d had too many drugs. Leaning in close, she checked his pupils, making him grin. “I’m okay, darlin’. Sweet of you to worry though.”

  She sat back. “This sister…you talked to her?”

  “She wants a family, but who the hell needs family? I don’t need anyone. I haven’t since I was fifteen and on my own.”