by Molly McLain
He answered on the second ring. “Hey, city girl, what’s up?”
“I have a problem.”
His low laugh filled the line and she ignored the flirtatious undercurrent. “Oh?”
“I have a broken window and, with this wind, I’m not sure it’ll last the night. Do you have something I can use to hold up cardboard? Nails maybe?”
“How bad is the window? It’s not whistling, is it?”
Um... “Sorta?”
His groan vibrated through the phone. “I just put Bri down. Can you come over and sit with her so I can take a look at it?”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad—” The wind howled again, the wall creaked, and the window whined. Honest to God, whined like a moaning old lady. “Ugh.”
“Get away from it. I doubt it’ll shatter, but stranger things have happened.” She heard him moving around. “I’m getting my shoes on. I’ll meet you outside in a couple.”
He disconnected before she could tell him it could wait. Then she looked down at herself and sighed. She was wearing almost indecently tight leggings and a tank top without a bra because she was also doing laundry and... Crap. A sweatshirt would have to do.
Jogging out the door and pulling the fleece over her head, she met Tony in the driveway. “You just left her alone?” she asked incredulously as they passed one another, because she wasn’t very well going to stand there and leave Bri unattended. Also? No bra.
Tony gave a shrug and asked over his shoulder, “Which window?”
“Master bedroom. Second floor, first door on the right. Where are your tools? What do you plan to fix it with?” She took in his empty hands. And the tight fit of his t-shirt, especially when he hunched a bit to ward off the chill of the wind.
“Gotta see what I need first.”
She nodded and gave him a wave before turning and making a mad dash to his house. She hurried inside, her teeth chattering against the cold.
Of course, her brain would pick now to recall the mess she had scattered all over the room. Not just boxes, but the pile of dirty laundry—her delicates—and the steamy new novel she started reading today.
Nibbling at the corner of her mouth, she kicked off her shoes and tip-toed down the hall to check on Bri. The little girl was snoozing soundly, none the wiser to being left alone, thank goodness.
Out in the living room, Nicole dropped onto the couch. A rumpled pillow sat on one end and a still-warm fleece lay in the middle. She picked up the blanket and held it to her nose, inhaling the scent that was all Tony. Her nerves jumped in response and rush of heat surged through her body, tightening her nipples and making her squirm. She tossed the blanket like a hot potato. Weirdo!
With a huff, she leaned back and looked around. The volume on the TV was down low so it took her a few seconds to notice the cartoons playing on the screen. And not adult cartoons either, but ones she sometimes watched with the preschool kids in the hospital. And was that The Ultimate Guide to Parenting turned upside down on the coffee table next to half-drank bottle of beer? Yep, sure was.
Her chest clenched with a sympathetic ache and she put her fingers to her mouth, smiling softly. He was so cute. And hot. So freaking hot.
The front door opened and closed in a rush and she got to her feet, hoping her face wasn’t as flushed as her body felt. But then Tony hurried into the kitchen, gripping his left hand in the front of his t-shirt and her vanity faded.
“I cut myself,” he explained, though the stain of crimson soaking through the cotton already gave it away.
“How bad?” Her nurse’s instinct kicked in and she wrapped her hand around his elbow, steering him to the sink.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, reluctant to show her.
“I’ve seen a lot worse than cuts, Tony. I’m definitely not afraid of a little blood. Come on.”
He hesitated for another second, but finally unwound his hand, revealing a two-inch gash across his palm. It bled like a faucet.
“You need stitches.”
“Yeah, well you need a new window.”
“It gave way?” She pulled him to the sink and turned on the water, prepared to rinse the blood so she could get a better look at the injury.
“I tripped and, like a dumbass, used the window to catch myself.”
“I am so sorry.” She stared up at him, wide eyed. “I’m organizing and—”
“Your pink thong with the bows? It’s trashed.”
Oh. My. God. She cast her eyes back to his wound as the heat in her face came back tenfold.
“I didn’t see the clothes on the floor and accidently stepped on them. The panties got looped around my shoe. I bent to take them off...” One corner of his mouth twitched. Was he really going to find humor in this while he stood there, bleeding like a stuffed pig? “...lost my footing and...yeah.” He shrugged and this time there was no denying the grin on his face. “The thong was still stuck and when I finally got it off...” He nodded toward his bleeding hand. “I’ll buy you another pair.”
Her face flamed, because something told her he’d enjoy presenting her with new panties way more than any friend—more than any employer—should. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She rinsed his hand, careful not to let the water hit the gash directly, and debated whether or not a trip to the ER was necessary or if butterfly bandages would do the trick. “It’s just underwear.”
“Sexy underwear.” His grin softened to lazy and playful and, instead of looking up and letting him see just how hot around the collar he’d made her, she watched the blood swirl down the drain, an embarrassed smiled tugging at her own lips.
“So your hand...” she said, redirecting the conversation back to less awkward territory. “I need to make sure there isn’t glass in it. We’re going to have to rinse it directly this time. It might hurt—”
“I can handle it.”
She rolled her eyes at his macho defense, because if she had a quarter for all the times—
“Son of a bitch!”
—big, strong men cried out in pain when they swore they wouldn’t, her boots would be Jimmy Choos, not knock-offs from the outlet mall.
“I’m sorry.” She frowned up at him but he was too busy making a clenched eyes weeny face to notice.
Wrapping a loose towel around his hand, she guided him to a kitchen chair. “Do you have a first aid kit?”
“Guest bathroom,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Okay, keep your hand steady. I’ll be right back.” She hurried through the house, grabbed the plastic case from the shelf, and slid back into the kitchen in her socks. “Oh, my gosh, it’s hot in here.” Before she looked at his hand again, she pulled her sweatshirt off and tossed it on a chair, fanning herself.
“You’re not wearing a bra,” he drawled, all sexy like. He leaned back, looking so chill, she wondered if maybe he’d lost too much blood.
“I rushed out the door. Sorry.”
“Hmm.” One dimple puckered in his cheek and his dark eyes glazed over with something dark and unexpectedly lusty.
She ignored him and the quickly increasing room temperature, and rifled through the kit. “You don’t have butterflies.”
“Just throw some gauze on it.”
“If I don’t do this the right way, it won’t heal. Worse, it could become infected.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You’re bleeding to death.”
“You’re worried about me,” he said quietly. Then she felt his fingers teasing down her forearm. “I like it.”
She met his hungry gaze head on, equal parts concerned and turned on. Thankfully he dropped his hand before he found her pulse and discovered her racing heart. “I have a better stocked kit at home. Can I trust you not to move?”
His eyes flashed again, seeming impossibly darker—and sexier—than before. “Got it, doc.”
She pointed her finger at him for good measure and sprinted across the street. The kit and her stitching sutures were a quick find, but a cl
ean bra was not. Without fully taking off her tank and sweatshirt, she shrugged into a dirty one and twisted and contorted her body until it was in place.
All she had to do was get through patching up his hand and she could come home and take a cold shower. Easy enough.
Only the blood-soaked towel beneath Tony’s hand when she rushed back into his kitchen didn’t scream ‘quick job’. “Ugh, we should really get you to the ER,” she told him, inspecting the ugly cut once gain.
“I’m not waking Bri.”
Uh-huh. Nice tough guy act. Too bad his earlier reaction had already given him away.
“You need stitches, Tony. Butterfly strips aren’t going to keep this closed. You’re lucky it’s your left hand and not your right one, but you still need to protect it.” She gave her stern nurse face.
He blinked at her. “I liked it much better when we were talking about your panties.”
She chuckled. Of course, he did. “You are such a guy.”
“You keep reminding me of that. Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”
Never a doubt in her mind. “Believe me—I know you’re a guy.”
“Yeah?” He cracked that cocky, lopsided grin. The one she was sure had charmed lots and lots of panties off over the years.
“Yeah.” Enough said.
“Good.”
What the hell was happening here?
“We need to rinse your hand again. Are you going to survive without passing out on me?”
He snorted. “The water was just too cold.”
Right. “I know it’s not fun, but we have to be sure it’s clean.”
“Talk to me through it?”
“Sure.” She led him back to the sink and adjusted the temperature to something less than freezing. She noticed his right hand balled into a fist as she guided his left under the water. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Tell me about your divorce.”
This time she was the one to gasp when the water hit their hands. “How do you know about that?”
“Came up on your background check. It’s not a big deal, but I’m curious why you never mentioned it.”
She tried not to squeeze his hand, though it was either establish a firmer grip or let him feel her fingers shake. She hated talking about Derek—why they’d split up, what he did for a living...the whole shebang. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed to be a twenty-seven year old divorcee. Heck, she’d been a twenty-one year old divorcee. It was just...Derek was an ass. And she was the stupid woman who put up with his crap from the time she was sixteen to a very tired, totally done twenty-one year old.
“It was a long time ago and our marriage was short-lived. Not a great conversation piece.” Her past should matter little to a guy who had zero potential to be anything more than a friend. But was she convinced that was the real reason she hadn’t told Tony about Derek? Nope, and the blood thrumming through her body right now, awakening all her arousal points, wasn’t either.
Swallowing, she bent to get a closer look at the cut. “I have sutures. That is, if you think you can handle me placing them with only a little local anesthetic.”
“There’s a bottle of Jack in the cupboard above the stove.”
Yep, definitely a guy. One whose virility she was becoming more and more aware of with every passing second. “Alcohol thins your blood. Not a good idea right now.”
“I don’t drink it when Bri’s home anyhow.”
Always wearing that dad hat. “So what’s it gonna be? Me or the ER?”
“Keep talking,” he said in a low, rugged tone that made her shiver. But she shook it off and nudged him into the chair, avoiding eye contact to keep from overheating. It was harder, however, to ignore the way her fingers began to tingle when she pressed them into his big, beefy arm to make sure he sat still.
What kind of nurse was she anyhow, getting turned on while tending to a patient?
Rolling her shoulders, she tried to get her focus back on track. “What do you want to talk about now?”
“Why’d you split up with the ex?”
“That’s a long story.”
“Give me the abbreviated version then.”
“What does it matter?”
“Aside from me wanting to get to know you better, it doesn’t.”
She blinked up at him.
“Hey, you’re the one who keeps saying we’re friends.”
Fair enough. “He wanted to focus on his career while I waited patiently at home, popping out babies. Without any hope for a life of my own.”
“You don’t want kids?”
“I do. I just didn’t want them when I was twenty-one.” She gave him an apologetic smile as she opened the suture package and grasped the needle. “You’re sure you’re not gonna lose it when I stick this in, are you?”
He flashed that goofy grin again. The one that made her insides warm and tempted her to let him know exactly what he was doing to her. “Sounds like my line.”
She shoved at his shoulder. “Stop it. Seriously.”
“Stop what?” He rolled his neck a bit.
“I don’t know—you tell me.”
“Believe me, city girl—you don’t want to know.” He gestured to his hand and closed his eyes, resting his head back with a sigh.
She stared at him for a long beat. He was right—some things were better left unsaid.
Dabbing on the local anesthetic, she blew on the gel, gave it a minute to work, and began with the thick, fleshy part nearest his thumb. He didn’t even flinch, which helped her set aside their awkward conversation and relax. She couldn’t do this if she knew she was hurting him. “You have huge hands.”
He snorted and she looked up, studying his face. He’d completely handed himself over to her. He’d trusted her to help him and that did more for her lady parts than the stubble on his jaw or the thick muscles in his shoulders.
“You know what? Humor me,” she said quietly.
He cracked one eye open. “What?”
“What’s with the gutter brain tonight?”
When he spoke, his voice was low and smooth. “That’s a dangerous question.”
“But it’s okay to ask about my divorce?”
“You asked about Shannon the other day. Turnabout’s fair play.”
She shot him a pointed glare, but his face was still tipped toward the ceiling. Just as well. “As I suspected—all bark and no bite.”
“Tread carefully, city girl.” The warning tone in his voice sent goose bumps sliding down her bare arms, so she zipped her mouth. Flirting wasn’t conducive to steady hands, and in less than ten minutes, she had four stitches in place.
“You still need to see a doctor for this,” she said as she stood. “Get on an antibiotic, at the very least. Those windows probably haven’t been washed in forever.”
“I’ll get the window fixed for you ASAP,” he muttered, inspecting her work while she wiped away the residual blood with alcohol swabs.
She shrugged, dabbed some antibiotic cream on the sutures and then placed bandages loosely over the wound so it wouldn’t snag while he slept. “I’m really sorry about this. That window was an accident waiting to happen. I’ll just close off the room tonight and take care of the mess tomorrow.”
“Nah, I’ll deal with it. If you really don’t mind leaving it for the night, I’ll come by first thing in the morning, get the glass cleaned up outside, and get a new window ordered. It’s an old house though, and the size isn’t standard anymore. I’m probably gonna have to special-order it. Could be a few days until the new glass comes in.”
“I really hate that this has made more work for you, but since I’m clueless about window repairs, I’ll have to take you up on the offer. Thank you.” She secured the last bandage, then squeezed his fingers.
He smiled again and, for a moment, she held her breath. “I’m the one who fell into the window.”
“But if I hadn’t left my laundry on the floor...”
“Believe me
, city girl, I’d wondered what kind of panties you wore. Now I know.”
And just like that, she was blushing again. She busied herself with putting the kit back together to keep him from seeing how this evening—and being so close to him—affected her. “I suppose it’s only fair considering I’ve washed and folded yours.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” His voice dropped a half-octave as he stood. Goose bumps erupted along her skin when he took a step closer, awareness buzzing in the air. “You know what else I’m thinking?”
“Hmm?” She dared a sidelong glance at him.
“You’re just as attracted to me as I am to you.”
Her gaze flew to meet his and she opened her mouth to refute the suggestion, but no words came out. He was absolutely, undeniably right.
He shifted further into her personal space, crowding so close his breath ruffled the hair at the top of her head. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“Nicole,” he said softly, lifting his uninjured hand to caress her arm from the curve of her shoulder all the way down to her wrist. His fingers circled loosely around her pulse and, using the leverage to turn her toward him, he raised his wounded hand to her jaw. “Thank you. Again.”
“It’s just what I do,” she whispered, her heart racing. Could she stop this train? Did she have the will to even pretend she wanted to?
“The hand, yes. The rest, no. In a matter of days, you’ve turned my life right-side up again. Even though you have your own shit to deal with, you’ve taken on mine, too.” His thumb stroked over her bottom lip and when her tongue darted out to trace the same path, his eyelids lowered and a soft groan rumbled from his chest. “But there’s more, isn’t there? Tell me you feel it too.”
Oh yeah. And right now it was thrumming a steady, hungry beat low in her belly, heating up all her naughty parts. “Whether I feel it or not doesn’t matter—it’s a bad idea.”
“Hell, yes, it is.”
“I don’t do casual and I’m only here for a couple months.”
“No kidding. I mess up the arrangement we have and Bri’s the one who suffers. She friggin’ loves you.” He dropped his forehead to hers and she bit her lip, trying to resist the urge to put her hands all over him. “Isn’t gonna stop me from thinking you’re beautiful though.”
