NYC Angels: Flirting with Danger

by Tina Beckett

  He just had to convince his heart of that.

  That was the tricky part. He’d been programmed from childhood that withdrawal was normal. That the more you cared about someone, the further away they would pull. And if you fought against it, tried to do something that got you noticed … the locks began clicking shut.

  That was just the way it was. He’d learned his childhood lessons well and had the routine down to a science. Either he pulled back or the woman did. Either way, the result was the same. A relatively painless separation. And he remained free to move on.

  Just because that wasn’t how things worked in the Jenkins family it didn’t mean that he should start smothering those around him or trying to hang onto something that was obviously not meant to be.

  Like him and Chloe?

  Exactly like that.

  So why had she acted so wounded when he hadn’t called her about Clara Serrano? He was just saving them both some heartache. If she wanted to fling open that door and walk away, he was going to let her—it wasn’t locked. His gut churned at the thought.

  Maybe it was harder for her to pull back because she’d been wired differently. Her childhood had been spent in the bosom of her family, protected and cared for. Was that why she’d been so quick to believe the rubbish Travis had dished out about a love that lasted for ever?

  In his experience, it didn’t. And if it did, he sure hadn’t experienced it.

  His gut twinged again, and he reached for a nearby bottle of antacids with a frown. All he needed right now was an ulcer.

  No, all you need is Chloe.

  Popping the pill into his mouth, he crunched down on it, focusing on the sounds of his jaw pulverizing the pill, hoping it would obliterate that last thought as well.

  He didn’t need anyone.

  The phone rang again. He swallowed and glanced at his watch as he picked up. Four-thirty. He’d be officially off duty in another hour. “Davis here.”

  “Bradley? This is your mother.”

  His eyes closed. Not today.

  He couldn’t remember her ever calling him at work before. Personal lives and professional lives had to be kept strictly apart.

  Shock roiled through him as he realized he’d used almost those exact same words with Chloe the other day, explaining why she shouldn’t tease him at work. The hurt on her face could have mirrored his own hurt each time his mother had aimed a well-manicured finger at the closet in his room.

  Oh, hell, no!

  “Bradley.” His mother’s voice was a little sharper this time.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?”

  Was he? He should. It was social convention, and if nothing else, she followed that to a T. She expected him to follow suit. That’s why he had a useless set of fancy dishes in his kitchen cabinets.

  But it was easier to comply than to argue. “Of course. How are you, Mother?”

  “I’m fine.” Even though she’d been the one to demand he ask the question, she brushed it away just like she always did. He felt the muscles of his jaw stiffening, and he glowered at the bottle of antacids.

  Before he could reach for them, she went on in her proper little voice, “Your father has received some distressing news.”

  His father. A nice enough man but one who’d never stood up for his son, who’d let his wife discipline him however she saw fit.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Anything serious?”

  “He has pancreatic cancer.”

  The words slipped by him almost without him noticing … until he pulled them back and paid attention. “Dad has cancer?”

  “Yes. He found out a month ago.” There was a slight pause. “He wants to see you.”

  A month ago. His father had cancer and no one had seen fit to call him until now. The acid levels in his stomach grew deeper, the antacid he’d just taken swept away in the onslaught. “Why?”

  He was almost proud of the cool, indifferent tone of his voice, but inside a little boy cried out for a response. Wanted to know why his father hadn’t loved him enough to intervene.

  “He wants another opinion.”

  Ah, so that was it. This was no call for a sentimental reunion. His mother had a need for him, and she wasn’t afraid to let her request be known. “I’m a prenatal doctor, Mom, not an oncologist.”

  “He still wants to see you. He has copies of all his tests and blood work.”

  He fought back a sigh. “I know an excellent doctor who specializes in—”

  “Bradley!” His name cracked over the line. “If we had wanted another specialist we would have called one. He wants you.”

  Did she honestly expect him to drop everything and run to be by his father’s side? He’d thought about trying to reconcile with his parents over the years, but hadn’t been sure he wanted to make the effort. And as they’d drifted further and further apart, the desire to settle things between them had drifted with it.

  But if his father was already a month post-diagnosis, who knew how much time he had left? If he didn’t at least make the effort, could he forgive himself?

  Probably not. It wasn’t like they were on the other side of the world—just the other side of the state. He could be at their house in less than an hour. “I’m at work until Saturday. Will that be soon enough?”

  “I’ll tell him.” There was no direct response to his question, so he assumed his father wasn’t on his deathbed. A click on the other end confirmed that she’d hung up without saying goodbye.

  Not that he’d expected it.

  As he set the phone down, he stared at it, half expecting it to start jingling again. But it remained silent for once. And in the quiet of his office he tried to absorb the reality of his mother’s words. His father had cancer and was asking for him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  BRAD WENT TO bed alone.

  Chloe hadn’t set foot in the guest room in two weeks, other than to get her clothes for the next day, so she was torn as to what she should do.

  He hadn’t said anything, but had come home looking drawn and sick. Before she could ask if he was all right, he’d disappeared into his room without a word and still hadn’t re-emerged.

  At nine o’clock she’d finally sat down and eaten a plate of leftovers for dinner, straightening the kitchen afterwards. It was now decision time. He’d said at the beginning of their arrangement that he wanted her in his bed every night, even when they weren’t intimate. Did that still hold true? If not, wasn’t she letting herself be used?

  She drew her knees to her chest on the couch, knowing the answer to that was no. She was the one who’d asked for help, who’d practically flung herself into his arms. If he was tired of her, she had no one else to blame but herself.

  And he had apologized for the incident in Labor and Delivery. Had said he didn’t want her to worry. Things had seemed to be back to normal when she’d got in the elevator this afternoon.

  So what had happened to change all that?

  He hadn’t even stopped long enough to tell her about the twins. Luckily, Layla had kept her abreast of the news as the afternoon had worn on. They’d been born, a tiny twin and an even tinier twin. But they were fighting with all their might. The next several days would give a more accurate picture of their prognosis. But at least they’d survived their birth. Each day was one step closer to health.

  The door down the hallway opened, and Brad came down in sweat shorts and a T-shirt, a black and white sports bag clutched in one hand.

  “Where are you going?” The question was ludicrous, but what else could she say?

  “To the gym.” He snatched the keys to his bike from the foyer table. “Don’t wait up.”

  That was all very well and good, but it still didn’t answer her question. Did she go to his room or not?

  Not.

  In his current mood she didn’t think he’d be very happy to find her there on his return.

  Fine. If he was okay with it, she would be
too. She knew it was a lie, but maybe if she said it often enough, she’d eventually believe it.

  Taking herself off to the bedroom, she shut the door a little louder than necessary, but what the hell. There was no one home to hear it. Still, it gave her a certain sense of satisfaction.

  She pulled her clothes off and changed into a nightgown. She’d gotten used to sleeping in the buff, because Brad said he liked feeling her bare skin against his, but it seemed strange to sleep naked if it was just her.

  Pulling back the beige striped bedspread, she crawled under the covers and grabbed the remote to the television. She idly flipped through the channels, pausing at a nature show where the image of a lion taking down a gazelle flickered across the screen. The huge feline held its prey by the throat, cutting off its air supply and suffocating the poor creature.

  Chloe gulped and switched the channel, trying not to see any similarities with her current situation. An old black and white western was the only other option, but it was better than lying in bed in the dark and brooding about what was wrong with Brad. If things didn’t change, though, she was moving out. The sooner the better.

  Brad frowned. He’d heard voices when he’d first come through the door to the apartment and had assumed Chloe was on the phone. But the handset was in its holder. Maybe she was on her cell. He made his way back to his room, dumping the bag on the floor as he went through the door. His frown deepened. Chloe wasn’t there.

  Was he surprised? He’d barely spoken a word to her when he’d come home, but he hadn’t been able to. If he had, she’d have started asking all kinds of questions. Questions he hadn’t been ready to answer. He’d had second thoughts about going to see his father and had decided to head to the gym and work off some of his frustration. He hadn’t wanted to touch Chloe in his current state of mind. But now that he was back, he wanted to pull her close and let her sweet scent lull him to sleep.

  The voices continued until a scream followed by sobs came from the guest room.

  Had Travis somehow gotten into the apartment?

  He went to the door and tried the knob, only to find it locked. That damn key! Why had he ever given it to her? Sweat began to form on his upper lip. “Chloe?”

  No answer, but the sobbing continued unabated. The locks weren’t meant to keep intruders out—or wayward children in—just to keep someone from entering a room unannounced. He put a shoulder to the door and shoved hard. The lock gave way and the door burst open, just as he’d suspected it would.

  A figure on the bed moved. Sat up. The crying continued, but it wasn’t coming from that direction. He pivoted and saw the television set. Still on. A woman on the screen being held at gunpoint.

  “Brad? What’s wrong?”

  The adrenalin still pumped through his system, his heart pounding from its effects. He dragged a shaky hand through his hair, trying to calm his chaotic thoughts as he turned back round. “I heard … I thought Travis had somehow gotten in.”

  She reached on the nightstand for something. One click and the television went off, throwing the room into darkness. “Sorry. I must have fallen asleep with it on.”

  He came over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Is there a reason you’re in here rather than in there?” He nodded toward the hallway leading to his room.

  “Well … you didn’t seem very happy when you came home. I thought it was better this way.”

  “It’s not. Sorry for not making that clear.” He smoothed her hair off her cheeks. “I got some bad news today and wasn’t sure how to deal with it.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Maybe tomorrow.” His arm went round her back and held her against him, needing the contact more than he should. “Come to bed with me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I want you next to me.”

  “Crawl in here with me, then.” Chloe pushed the covers down her legs.

  Brad stood and stripped off his street clothes, glad he’d chosen to shower at the gym. But when he got in and slid his hands down her back, they were met with some kind of flocked fabric. “Do you have to wear this?” he whispered. “I want your skin under my hands.”

  She sat up. “Help me, then.”

  He helped her shed her nightclothes and then folded her close, pulling the bedding up around them. Chloe snuggled against him and a few seconds later kissed the base of his throat, her fingers coming up to touch his face.

  Although he knew she’d found the moisture there—wasn’t sure exactly when his vision had blurred—she didn’t ask about it or try to talk. She just wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. He squeezed back, the roller-coaster of emotions he’d experienced during the day quieting before sliding to a halt.

  Chloe had somehow made everything all right. And she’d done it without uttering a single word.

  They didn’t need a second opinion. His father was dying.

  He slid the last report back in its folder. “I don’t understand.”

  His father reclined on the bed, and although he’d always had the body of a runner, wiry with ropy muscles, his cheeks were more angular than Brad had ever seen them. His skin was sallow, the yellow signifying liver involvement.

  Brad’s mother wasn’t in the house: his father had sent her out to get something.

  “I needed to talk to you alone. Tell you how … sorry I am. For the things that went on when you were younger. I didn’t stand up to your mother when I should have.” He paused and then cleared his throat. “I know if I don’t say it now, I might never get another chance. I’m proud of you, Brad. You’ve become a fine man.”

  A fine man. One who didn’t like locked doors and who couldn’t be in a relationship for longer than a couple of months.

  Brad waited for the anger to rise up and swallow him, but it wasn’t there. All he felt was regret. “I appreciate you saying that.”

  What else was there to say?

  “You’ll be around for your mother after I’m gone? Despite everything that happened, I know she loves you.”

  Was he serious? Brad was the last person his mother had ever wanted around. He swallowed, not sure how to answer. “She’ll be fine. She’s a strong woman.”

  His father shook his head. “I know it seems that way, but we married right out of high school. She was pregnant with you at the time. She’s never been alone—really alone—in her entire life. She needs to know someone will be there once I’m gone, even if she won’t come out and say it herself.”

  Why was his father telling him all this?

  Because he was the fall-back plan.

  Even as the thought went through his head, he dismissed it as ridiculous. But was it? His mother and his father had always presented a united front to the world—she was the brick and he was the mortar. His mother would be lost without him, despite her garden parties and all her social acquaintances.

  She’d be as lost as he had been as a child.

  “She’ll need you,” his father repeated.

  Chloe came to mind. She’d needed him too. Things hadn’t worked out with Travis, and she’d come running to him. Had asked for his help when it came to flirting and the bedroom.

  Had he been her fall-back plan as well?

  Bile rose in his throat even as he swallowed in one hard movement, trying to make the ugly thoughts disappear.

  “She doesn’t want me, Dad. She never has.” Brad wasn’t sure if he was talking about his mother or about Chloe. But maybe it was one and the same. And this was a hell of a time to realize he loved the woman who was currently sharing his bed.

  Damn her. Damn his mother.

  His father reached out and grasped his hand. “It might not seem like she wants you right now, but she will.”

  “And you expect me to just …”

  He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. And you expect me to just drop everything … to forget how she treated me—how you treated me—as a child? Because, despite his apology, his dad didn’t realize wh
at a huge impact those things had had on him … All his dad knew was that they’d provided him with every material thing he could possibly want or need. And more. They’d given him everything.

  Except love. And a childhood free of fear.

  He’d had to go elsewhere to find that. And he had, in the Jenkins family. And most recently in Chloe Jenkins’s arms—Chloe, who had her own issues with fear.

  His whole life was one big circle of irony, which now seemed to be closing in on him as surely as that closet from long ago. His parents hadn’t wanted him. Until now.

  And Chloe hadn’t wanted him either—had ignored him from the second she’d said “I do” to Travis.

  Until now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  WHEN WAS MAKING love not making love?

  When it was sex.

  Chloe lay curled on her side in a tight ball, her breathing still heavy and uneven, while Brad stared at the ceiling. She’d been lying right beside him, still caught up in the afterglow, when her eyes had happened to meet his in the mirror and had been shocked by the cold emptiness she saw there.

  She’d had to roll over to block out the sight.

  She might love him, but he did not return the sentiment.

  God, she was such a fool.

  He’d shocked her tonight by coming through the door and grabbing her off the sofa. Pressing her against the nearest wall, he’d propped his elbows on either side of her head and stared down at her for a long time. Just as suddenly he’d lowered his head and kissed her. The second they’d touched, it had been as if a bomb had gone off. He’d devoured her, using his lips, his tongue … his teeth, his body telling her in no uncertain terms that he’d wanted her. Badly. Couldn’t wait to have her. She’d never seen him like that before.

  She’d been thrilled. Ecstatic. Surely he felt the same way about her that she did about him.

  There’d been none of the slow build-up that had always gone on between them. He’d shoved her scrubs and panties down and off and had lifted her onto his hips, burying himself inside her within seconds. Had carried her to bed like that. Still kissing. One hand under her butt, the other buried deep in her hair, holding her to him as he’d groaned into her mouth and surged inside her with each step.