Just Surrender.... Kathleen O'Reilly

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СКАЧАТЬ Sadly Edie realized that her joyride, such as it was, was over. She’d have to go back to the apartment. Have to listen to her upstairs neighbor and his girlfriend getting hot and sweaty between the sheets. She’d have to stare at bad TV, and listen to the clock ticking in the dark. All of which she hated with a passion.

      So okay, perhaps when she took the U-turn in the middle of Nostrand Avenue, it was a little reckless. The car rocked over the curb and Edie jerked at the wheel, pulling tight to the left. At last all four tires were firmly back on the ground. Perhaps a little too firmly because that was when she heard the noise.

      For a split second, panic struck her, until she met his gaze in the mirror. Unmoved, and completely in control. Jerk. Quickly, she cleared the anxiety away, and when she spoke, her words sounded almost calming. “What was that?”

      His lips curled at the corners, and the cool, emotionless eyes gleamed like the devil. “A flat.”

      Oh, hell.

      2

      IT WAS THE NIGHT FROM HELL. If it hadn’t been for the raw nerves in the cabbie’s expression, he would have been furious, but he’d seen that panic before. In his line of work, he saw the fear of death everyday, and the instinct to take control was second nature to Dr. Tyler Hart M.D.

      “Does Barnaby have a spare?” he asked patiently, using his clinical voice.

      At his question, she turned to face him, and he could see the shakes receding. Her color was better and the quiver in her eyes was gone. “I don’t know.”

      His mind ran through the steps, making a mental checklist of tools and procedure, and he was happy for the diversion. Changing flats, performing a quadruple bypass—these were the things that he was prepared for. A kiss-off from Cynthia? Not in this lifetime. And Tyler hated being unprepared. “We’ll check the trunk.”

      “Yeah,” she agreed, already falling into blind obedience, which peopled tended to do at the sound of his clinical voice. Was it uncertainty, or a sheeplike personality that suddenly made her so agreeable? Considering the magenta streaks in the short blond hair, he was betting on the uncertainty.

      The rain pounded on the roof, but regrettably his trench coat would have to go. Tyler wasn’t about to sacrifice it to axle grease and New York grime. He took a deep breath, rolled up his sleeves and headed for the great outdoors.

      The great outdoors showered his head, and he bit back a curse. Tyler didn’t believe in using disrespectful words. It indicated a lack of control, as well as a juvenile vocabulary. Neither of which were necessary because he thrived on bad circumstances. He had pulled off aortal coarctations that were nothing short of miraculous. In the big scheme of things, rain was nothing.

      Except a damned inconvenience.

      As he waded toward the trunk, he felt her presence behind him. Tyler smiled with relief when he spotted the jack, the lug wrench and the treadless doughnut. Not great, but it’d do.

      “Thank God,” she whispered in an awed voice. For the first time she didn’t sound quite so cavalier. None too soon, either.

      It was no surprise when she started to unwedge the tire from the trunk. In fact, he had expected it, but he stopped her with a polite tap on the arm. “I can do this.”

      “I should do it,” she insisted, tugging uselessly on the tire. “I flew over that curb like a rabid bat. And it’s my personal dogma that when you do bad, you need to immediately make right, or something worse will come down the pipe.”

      Something worse? What was she expecting? Famine, pestilence?

      Patiently, he met her eyes, watching the rain stream down her face, waiting for wisdom to dawn. Tyler believed that at some point, a person needed to abandon principles and simply do what needed to be done. Her stubborn jaw-line didn’t bode well for foregoing principles, but her irises were getting a little smarter. Eventually, she nodded.

      “At least let me help,” she suggested—almost sensibly. “If you’re going to get soaked and be miserable, I should, too.”

      Her T-shirt was transparent. Yes, Cynthia had blown off their relationship in a text message—in a text message—a fact that really grated, because it seemed rude. Not that he was hurt or disappointed, and he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t hurt or disappointed, but a text message? Perhaps that was why his macular muscles kept straying to her chest because Tyler wasn’t a big fan of carnal philandering. He never had the time nor the inclination, however, the sight of jutting nipples was torpedoing his normal restraint. “Not necessary. Wait in the cab,” he instructed.

      “Please,” she asked, and it was a testament to the power of the sexual dynamic that he stood there, foolishly dripping wet, his gaze locked on her face, which was—unfortunately—nearly as tasty as the twin nipples that he didn’t want to want.

      Her blond hair was cut short, which he wasn’t normally a big fan of, but it worked for her in that “I’m too sexy for a boy” look. His eyes tracked down her chest, then tracked back to the trunk. The flat. “Do you have a flashlight? Maybe Barnaby has one in the glove box?”

      He didn’t need the light, but he didn’t want her breasts near him while he worked. The rain, the text message, the punctured tire—everything was starting to flat-line his common sense.

      “I don’t think Barnaby’s that well stocked,” she argued, shoving her hands in her jean pockets, which only drew the shirt tighter.

      “Can you check? Please?” he pleaded, needing to have her and her tightly packed body out of his sights.

      Happily she disappeared, but then returned in a too-short two seconds with a flashlight. Of course. Trying to help, she directed the light beam in the direction of the rear wheel. “I remembered I had one in my bag. It was a giveaway at this Hudson River wildlife and fisheries symposium. It was a few months back, so I’d forgotten.”

      “Lucky me,” he murmured, setting the jack under the axle, and starting to twist off the lug nuts. Twisting tight. Painfully hard. Until he felt something give. Principles. Dogma. Ironlike restraint.

      “I’m Edie,” she told him, because apparently now was the perfect time for introductions.

      Edie. A cute, perky name. With cute, perky breasts. And gamine brown eyes that sparkled in the rain. Sparkled. Tyler gave the nut another vicious twist.

      “What’s your name?” she asked. Her conversation wasn’t what he was used to. Tyler liked coldly impersonal, eight-syllable words that didn’t involve sex, emotion, or—god-forbid—nipples.

      Instead of replying, he pulled even tighter.

      “Don’t be mad. You know rain is very good for the planet. It’s cleansing and nourishing, feeding the parched earth.”

      “Not in New York,” he said, wiping at his face, feeling the moisture cling to his skin. Dirt was unsanitary, a breeding ground for flesh-eating bacteria and flesh-licking sex. Quietly, he groaned.

      “I’m sorry,” she apologized. Obviously she was finally feeling the guilt that she should have felt several thousand hours ago.

      Fully intending to give her a well-deserved lecture, Tyler glanced up, but she looked so…so needy. “I’m Tyler.”

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