Nyc Angels: Flirting With Danger. Tina Beckett

broke through. “What are you thinking?”

      She scrambled around for an answer and finally just blurted it out. “Where are your keys?”

      “Keys?”

      “For all your doors.”

      His face went utterly still for a second or two then he shrugged. “There’s no one else living here, so I haven’t felt the need to mess with them.”

      Just as she’d thought. “But you do have them somewhere, right?”

      “I do.” There was something strange about the way he answered her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it so she tried a different tack.

      “Well, what about your life? I don’t want to disrupt whatever you’ve got going on by staying here.” She stopped again when his frown deepened. “Are you … um, seeing someone?”

      The lines between his brows eased, and one corner of his mouth quirked up. “Not at the moment.”

      “Oh.”

      “Even if that situation changes, the apartment has thick walls.”

      Heat swept up her neck and threatened to shoot from her ears. In other words, she wouldn’t hear anything that went on. Maybe not, but her imagination would fill in the blanks. “Are you sure you want me staying—”

      “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.” His brows went up. “Unless you don’t think you can handle it.”

      The battle cry from their younger years hung in the air between them. The only time she hadn’t risen to one of those challenges had been when he’d rolled up next to her on his motorcycle, fresh from getting his medical license, and had dared her to take a victory lap around town with him. The thought of being pressed tight against his back, her inner thighs gripping his, had made something dangerous shimmy through her abdomen—the exact sensation she’d experienced when they’d danced at her wedding. It had brought a wariness that was even stronger than her fear of motorcycles.

      She’d gulped before chickening out—blaming it on his long-forgotten accident in high school.

      And now? Was she still chicken?

      With those light green eyes watching her every move, trying to ferret out any exposed weakness? She’d vowed to give herself a brand-new start. To do that—and to survive her time with Brad—she needed to live by a whole new set of rules. His. And if he could throw down the gauntlet, she would just pick it up and twirl it over her head.

      Dropping her chopsticks onto her plate, she leaned forward, all too aware that she was dressed in the man’s clothes and was about to agree to live in his home. But that was small potatoes. She’d survived the horror of knowing he’d seen her body in all its questionable glory last night—and he’d evidently been unmoved by the sight. So they were good to go.

      “As long as I can have a key to my bedroom and the bathroom, I think I can handle it all right,” she said sweetly. “But … can you?”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      THE JEANS FIT PERFECTLY.

      Of course they would. Brad could probably tell a woman’s clothing size with a single glance. And the smoky-green belted top did make the blue of her eyes stand out. She couldn’t remember the last time Travis had bought her an article of clothing.

      Not that she’d wanted him to. She assumed men didn’t like doing that sort of thing, unless it was buying slinky lingerie.

      Well, in reality, Brad had had no choice. It wasn’t like she could go shopping in the get-up she’d arrived in—which she’d stuffed in a plastic bag and thrown right in the trash. The fewer reminders she had of that night the better. Even so, answering the door and finding Brad’s doorman standing there with a wrapped package in his hand had been a surprise. Swallowing her pride and accepting his offer hadn’t been easy.

      But at least it meant she could go out and shop for her own clothing … including hospital gear. Brad said scrubs were the order of the day, the funkier the better. And true to his word he’d produced two shiny new keys, one for her bedroom and one for the bathroom, so she could at least dress and bathe in private.

      A spark of excitement zipped through her. Brand-new scrubs were fitting for a brand-new life. This was the perfect opportunity to start over. The lawyer she’d spoken with had assured her she’d only need to face Travis one more time … across the courtroom when the divorce was finalized.

      Although there was a certain amount of guilt swirling around inside of her over her failed marriage, she felt more relief than anything. No more worrying about showing enough enthusiasm in bed or fearing the slightest twitch of discomfort would bring about one of Travis’s long-suffering sighs.

      She checked out the view from behind in the full-length mirror in Brad’s bedroom, carefully avoiding glancing at the expanse of reflective glass mounted on the ceiling over that huge bed. Somehow she didn’t think he used it for shaving.

      Chloe shuddered. At least her ex had never suggested putting mirrors in their bedroom. Her eyes tracked to the bed again, the image of Brad’s muscular frame sweeping through her mind, the tattoo across his shoulder bunching with each movement.

      Her mouth went dry. She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly what that tattoo looked like. It had been some kind of jagged circle enclosing a tree. As a teenager, her eyes had gone to it again and again as he’d sprawled out on a lounge chair by her parents’ pool. Even then he’d cut a powerful figure. No wonder she’d had a crush on him.

      But as gorgeous as he was, there’d been a raw, untamed quality to him that had frightened her at times. Travis had been smooth and refined … steady and safe in comparison, which had been what she’d thought she wanted.

      She gave a pained laugh. Boy, were appearances deceptive. Travis had been anything but safe.

      At least now she was free.

      Digging in her handbag, she located her phone and sent Brad a text thanking him for the clothes and letting him know she was headed out to go shopping for some new things. He’d promised to take her to the hospital tomorrow to show her the prenatal wing and introduce her to the staff.

      Just as she got ready to head to the lobby and ask the doorman to hail a cab, the phone rang. She stared at it, wondering if she should answer it or let the machine pick up. But maybe Brad had gotten her text and was calling her to firm up times for dinner or something.

      She lifted the receiver from its cradle. “Hello?”

      There was a pause then a woman’s voice came through. “Who is this?”

      Uh-oh. That was not a happy tone.

      “Chloe Jenkins. I’m a … friend of Brad’s.” It was true, right? “He’s not here right now, though. Can I take a message?”

      “This is Katrina. I wanted to see if he got the note I left him.”

      Note? Brad hadn’t mentioned anything about one. But why would he? Those mirrors came back to her thoughts. Of course. This was probably one of Brad’s “women.”

      “I … um. I’m not sure.” How was this for awkward? “I can leave him a message and let him know you called.”

      “Don’t bother.” If anything, the woman’s voice had grown even colder. “He’s got my number. If he wants me, he can call me.”

      Chloe gulped. If he wanted her? Did she mean as in beneath the mirrors?

      Oh, lordy. This could get really weird if a parade of women started trekking through at all hours of the night.

      The sound of the dial tone in her ear told her the lady in question hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye before hanging up. But, then, why would she? This Katrina person didn’t even know who she was.

      She dropped the phone back onto