A fiery pain blossomed in his leg and exploded upward into his groin, doubling him over. He heard a sharp cry and the sound of something heavy as it hit the floor, then Eve was at his side, both of her small hands scrabbling at his shirtsleeve.
“Are you okay?” she asked, anxious.
Matt clamped a hand over whatever was now embedded in the inner flesh of his right thigh. He felt cold sweat beading on his forehead and trickling down his back.
“No. I’m not. Put a light on, will you?”
As bright light flooded the room, he took quick inventory. There was surprisingly little blood, and although his leg hurt like hell, the nail didn’t seem to have hit anything vital. Just an inch or two higher, however, and he’d be singing a different tune—and in a higher key.
He spotted the nail gun on the floor, then looked at her in disbelief. “You shot me.”
“You said you’d be here in twenty minutes,” she wailed, wringing her hands. “How was I supposed to know it was you storming through that door?”
“Process of elimination?” Matt tore the fabric of his pants to free the nail head and get a better look at the puncture wound. “You must have some idea of how long it takes to get here from your house. What did you think I was doing—taking the scenic route?”
“Maybe you were going to stop for a hamburger or something. Maybe you were going to take a shower first. Maybe you were in the middle of something important. I didn’t know!” Her eyes grew wide and fat teardrops trembled on her lashes. “You said twenty minutes!”
“Eve.” He leaned against the wall, counted to ten, and tried to remember what he was doing there in the first place. “When a woman calls me from a high-crime neighborhood in the middle of the night, nothing is more important. I don’t take the time to stop for a hamburger or a shower or anything else.” Then he asked the question he believed to be the most important, given the circumstances. “What were you doing hiding in the dark with a nail gun?”
“Old buildings make strange noises. It sounded like someone was walking around in here. I got nervous.” Eve’s soft brown eyes swam in her pale, elfin face. “And I thought I saw someone watching me through the front window. I turned off the lights so he couldn’t see in.”
“Why didn’t you lock the door instead, so he couldn’t get in?”
“I didn’t want to be locked in with anyone, either…in case someone was already inside.”
That made sense.
Whoever had been watching Eve, if he was still out there, he could certainly see everything now. Matt discovered he didn’t like the idea of being spied on any better than Eve had.
He gave up. He wasn’t going to yell at her for working alone. Not at the moment, when he had something more important to do first.
Her whole body shook as she reached for her briefcase. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
“In a minute.” Injured or not, if there was someone inside the building, Matt planned on kicking butt.
Ignoring the pain in his leg, he limped through every room in the main floor of the building. Eve clung close to him, her fingers twisted in the tail of his untucked shirt, hammering home to him without words just how spooked she’d really been. The thought of her crouched in the dark—afraid and armed only with a nail gun for protection—filled him with helpless fury. And if he felt that way, how helpless must Eve be feeling?
There was a kitchen with a storage room and a locked rear entrance, the main meeting area with the enormous street-front window, and two single-unit washrooms. There was no access to the upper levels of the building from inside. The place was empty.
“Can we go now?” she asked when they arrived back in the main room.
“Just one more minute.”
Matt took her by the hand and hobbled over to the large front window, then turned to stare down into her upturned face.
Her tear-dampened eyes glistened with such a look of remorse, he wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. She shouldn’t be sorry. If the person spying on her tonight was the same one who’d broken into her house, it was time he learned that Eve didn’t have to defend herself. Not anymore. And if that person was her ex-husband, it might help for him to think Eve was now off-limits.
Matt cupped her cheeks between his palms, threading his fingers through her hair. The rich, silky strands were smooth and cool against his skin. This time, he hoped her trembling had nothing to do with fear.
“Matt, this isn’t such a good idea,” she began, correctly interpreting his intention. She tried to pull back. “Anyone outside can see us.”
“That’s the whole point.”
Matt had been waiting for this moment ever since the night he’d missed his chance in the bushes at his uncle’s fundraiser. Now he had a perfectly legitimate excuse. He covered her mouth with his own and cut off her words, intending only to put on a show for whoever might be lurking outside.
He was unprepared for the knife of desire that stabbed through him, hot and hard. He was unprepared for a lot of things, like her warmth and the delicate touch of her fingers as they stole around his waist to smooth the sensitive spot at the base of his spine. Or the heady way sawdust smelled when mixed with the tantalizing scent of a woman. His tongue flitted briefly over her lips before plunging deeper, his fingers twisting in her hair.
But what threw him the most was the sudden, soul-deep conviction that Eve, prickly and unpredictable, and without a domestic bone in her body, was the woman he wanted.
The subtle shift of her hip jarred the nail lodged in his thigh, and a small groan escaped him. She broke away and backed up a step, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath her ridiculous flannel shirt telling him she wasn’t unaffected, although her eyes were cautious now.
“What was that for?” she asked, suspicion sharpening her tone.
Matt cleared a throat that felt like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. He might want Eve, but she didn’t want him. Not yet.
“So that whoever’s watching will think you’ve got a man in your life,” he said. “Since we’re already living together, I guess that makes me the likeliest candidate.”
“We aren’t ‘living together,’” she pointed out, her eyes darkening. “We’re roommates.”
A lone car hummed by on the street outside, the reflection of its headlights bouncing off the far wall. It seemed she found simply the idea of living with him distasteful. Good thing Matt’s ego was healthy.
“Call me what you want,” he said, “but you may as well take advantage of me as long as I’m around.”
She muttered something that sounded sort of like, “Men” and “marking their territory.”
“What was that?” he asked, but she shook her head.
“All I wanted was a ride home.” She reached once again for her briefcase. “Now,” she said briskly. “Do you want me to take you to Emergency, or were you planning to remove that nail by yourself? Because I have a pair of vice-grips around here somewhere if you’d like to borrow them.”
If their situations were reversed, she would undoubtedly remove the nail from her own leg. With her teeth. Matt weighed trying to impress her against the amount of extra pain it would involve.
“Emergency,” he said.
…
The crowded Emergency room was hot and smelled of unwashed bodies. The bright fluorescent lights were blinding as Matt registered, then limped to a vacant chair. Eve was forced to sit across from him, and he made a careful assessment of the other patients in the room.
He might be the only patient with a nail in him, but he doubted if he were the only one who’d been shot. It was a toss-up if Eve would be safer here with him or at home with her new security system.
“You don’t have to wait with me,” he told her, leaving the decision up to her.
“I shot you,” she said. “I should at least keep you company.” The man on her left got up and moved. She smiled at Matt, patting the now-empty seat. “Care to join me?”
This was going to be a long night.
Several hours later, Matt’s name was called. He eased himself off his chair.
“You coming?” he asked Eve.
The nurse who’d called his name looked at the form in her hand, then addressed Eve. “Immediate family only. Are you family?”
Matt wasn’t about to leave her in that waiting room by herself. She might not have noticed it, but there was a three-hundred-pound, tattooed, pro-wrestler type eyeing her with open interest. Matt laced his fingers through hers and hauled her to her feet. “She’s my wife.”
The nurse tapped the line in question with her finger. “You’ve listed your mother as your next-of-kin.”
“Apron strings,” Eve said. “He can’t seem to cut them.”
Her comment earned a few laughs from the people around her, and Matt’s face warmed. Did she always have to have an answer for everything?
The nurse shook her head back and forth, jowls bouncing, and slipped her clipboard under one ample arm.
“Honey, all men are the same. A little boo-boo and they want their mommies.” She hustled them through a swinging door, then behind a curtain. “I’ll just leave you here, and you can help your husband get his pants off.”
This wasn’t how Matt had envisioned the first time Eve helped him out of his pants. He waited until the nurse left, then said, “You can turn your back.”
“Oh, please.” Eve rolled her eyes. “I grew up with three brothers. If you have anything I don’t already know about, I’ll be sure and tell you.”
He was sure she would—and probably everyone else within earshot. He was also certain that his own reaction to having her see him without his pants on would be entirely different than any reaction from her brothers. He didn’t need that commented on, either.
“Turn your back,” he growled.
With a little sniff and a lift of her slender shoulders, she did as she was told. Matt eased the torn pants off, got on the stretcher, and pulled a thin sheet over his hips and legs. It was bad that he had to be half-naked in front of Eve right then—he wasn’t even wearing a hospital gown.
A young resident came in, took one look under the sheet, then sent Eve to the other side of the curtain.
“You’re going to need a tetanus shot when we’re finished,” he said to Matt. The nurse returned with a tray of instruments, and the doctor selected one. He held it aloft and flexed it.
“Hang on. This is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me.”
Chapter Seven
How much Demerol had they given him, anyway?
The first bright-red streaks of dawn shot skyward over the horizon as Eve steered Matt from the car to the front steps, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. He was every bit as heavy as he looked.
“Please, Matt. You’ll have to lift a leg if you’re going to get up these stairs,” she panted. She draped his arm around her shoulders, wrapped both of hers around his waist, and braced herself against his substantial body mass. “You’re going to have to help me out a little.”
If he didn’t, she’d have to leave him passed out on the doorstep until the neighbors got up. Sticking a beer can in his hand would make a nice touch.
She didn’t dare laugh for fear she’d cry. This was all her fault. She’d never been afraid of working alone on a job site before. She’d done it dozens of times in the past.
Matt swayed, nearly knocking Eve off her feet. “I can do this myself.” He seized the wrought-iron railing in both hands and hauled himself up a step. “See?”
She held her breath and prayed he wouldn’t fall backward. If he did, she’d never get him off the ground. He outweighed her by at least sixty pounds, maybe more.
They made it through the front door. He studied the flight of stairs in the foyer, frowning in concentration.
“I can climb those if I hurry.” He slumped back against the wall. “But you’d better go up first,” he added. “If I fall on you, I’ll probably kill you.”
He had a point. His movements grew more and more sluggish with every step, and Eve held her breath until he reached the top. She made an executive decision. Her room was the closest to the stairs and the bathroom. For the time being, he could sleep in there.
She helped him swing his legs onto her bed, then softened at the sight of him sprawled across the quilted bedspread, his dark head propped on her lace-trimmed, embroidered pillows. My hero.
Guilt gnawed at her. He’d come running to her rescue, and what had she done? She’d shot him. If she hadn’t panicked, none of this would have happened. If she hadn’t been avoiding him, none of this would have happened, either. When had she become such a wimp?
“Let me get these pants off you,” she said, reaching for the button at his waist. Her fingers brushed the crisp hairs on his stomach as she eased his zipper down. Oh my God. She was getting turned on by undressing a drugged and helpless man. How sad was that?
Matt’s heavy eyelids drooped. He reached over and touched her cheek. “Somehow, I’d pictured this moment differently.”
And men said women were teases. She should kiss him the way he’d kissed her at the café, then tell him it was all for show, and see how he liked it.
But if he could kiss her that way for show, Eve hated to think what it would be like if he kissed her for real. She grabbed the cuffs of his pant legs and pulled.
“You know,” she puffed, “you could help.”
A sexy, lazy look spread over his chiseled, unshaven face. “If I could help, this would have a totally different outcome.”
She almost tumbled backward off the bed. That was the Demerol talking. She shouldn’t pay too much attention to anything he said for the next few hours.
“Don’t bet on it,” she said, regaining her balance. “You’re like any one of my brothers.” Eve finished wrestling his pants off, then snapped her swinging jaw shut. He wore navy boxer briefs. She’d thought male models in underwear ads were the only men who looked good in them, but she was wrong. If not for the thick, white bandage around the top of one long, muscular thigh, he’d look like a model himself. To think he’d wasted all that on architecture.
She dragged the covers over him, then flopped on the bed beside him and thumped his chest with her fist. “You’re useless, too.”
“I’ve never had any complaints before.” Matt trapped her fist on his chest with one warm hand, and her heart shivered. He twisted onto his side so his face rested scant inches from hers. He touched a free finger to the tip of her nose on his third try. “And I am not like your brothers. Although they probably share a lot of my fr…” The word gave him a little difficulty. “Fr…frustration. Did they get mad at you much when you were little?”
“Never.” Eve reclaimed her hand and sat up, shoving the image of those boxer briefs out of her mind. “They adored me. Still do. Then again,” she amended, “their adoration needs to be put in perspective. These are the same guys who once tried to use me as shark bait.”
A dimple worked at the corner of his mouth. “They did not.”
“It’s true,” Eve insisted, wondering if she could get that dimple to flicker into a full-blown smile. In all fairness, she probably owed him at least a smile or two right now. “When I was seven years old my older brother Cyril took me down to the harbor at high tide, tied a rope around me, and he and his friends hung me off the end of the wharf because they wanted to see if they could catch a shark. They told me we were playing Peter Pan and I got to be Tinker Bell because I was the cutest. My two younger brothers stood back and watched.”
Matt’s face creased into the smile she’d been aiming for. “Did they catch anything?”
“Of course not. Sharks don’t come that close to land. Even if they did, they’d be more interested in fish than skinny little girls.”
Matt shifted one broad shoulder into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. Just when she thought he was about to drift off, the corners of his mouth arced upward again.
; “What was their reasoning for hanging Tinker Bell by a rope over the water?” he asked, his words threaded and slurred.
“So she’d have a soft landing if the fairy dust wore off.”
He laughed out loud. “I missed out on a lot, being an only child. It must have been nice growing up with people who were so concerned for your safety.”
“It’s easy to tell you don’t have any brothers,” Eve said. “They were disgusted with me for being so gullible.”
Matt peeled open one eye. “You were seven.”
“I was a savvy seven. Or so I liked to think.” She folded his torn, bloodstained pants and laid them at the foot of the bed.
“What other things are you gullible about, Eve?” he asked softly, trying to focus his eyes on her. “Working alone late at night in bad neighborhoods?” He cocked an eyebrow and glanced down at himself, then at her. “Helping men take their pants off?”
“I only do that for the men I shoot.”
“Sooner or later we’re going to talk about that, you know,” he said softly. “The men you shoot, I mean. Or the ones you’d like to. When I can think straighter.”
Matt was right. He deserved an explanation. Then he’d know how right her brothers were to be disgusted with her. But how did she explain a twisted, two-week train wreck of a marriage to Matt, a man who rolled his eyes at his own mother’s inability to commit?
She hopped off the bed. “I have to run over to the head office and get some papers, but I’ll be back soon. You should be all right by yourself for a bit—as long as you stay in that bed.”
“I’m coming with you.” Matt tried to sit up. “You aren’t going anywhere alone.”
She wasn’t having him get in the habit of following her around—not that she believed he could do it at the moment, anyway—but it was nice of him to worry. In fact, he was far nicer than she’d given him credit for initially. He’d seemed genuinely concerned when he’d come to her rescue, and not at all angry over her having shot him. He’d been more annoyed that she’d been working late alone in the café.
He was easy to like, and that made her uneasy. She couldn’t imagine why Matt should care.
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