Tyler’s hand shook slightly as he squeezed toothpaste on the brush, making a squiggly pattern on the bristles.
He wasn’t as cool and composed as he pretended to be, Megan thought with satisfaction. She attacked her teeth ferociously, and rinsed the brush under the faucet before replacing it in its holder.
“Your hair is still wet,” Tyler remarked unnecessarily.
“I always go to bed with it damp.”
“Not that damp. Where’s your hair dryer?”
“I’ll get it.”
“I can do it. Just tell me where.”
Too tired to argue with him anymore, she pointed at the cupboard beneath the sink.
It was a weird sensation to stand there while he directed the hot blast of air at her hair. She closed her eyes and tried to forget she was standing half-undressed in her bathroom with a cop she hardly knew.
When her hair was dry he picked up the bottle of painkillers and shook one out into his palm. She watched him fill a glass half-full with water, and took it from him when he handed it to her.
“I have to wrap your arm again,” he said gruffly, when she’d swallowed the tiny pill.
She sat on the edge of bed in silence while he bandaged her arm, trying not to flinch every time his warm fingers brushed her bare skin. She thanked him in a cool, polite voice when he was finally done.
“Don’t get out of that bed until I get here in the morning,” he ordered, as he straightened up. “I’ll be back around seven. I’ve still got your key so I’ll let myself in.”
“Don’t rush on my account.”
A gleam appeared in his eye but he ignored the wry comment. Now that she was ready for bed he seemed in a hurry to leave. “Sleep well,” he said, “and watch you don’t lie on that arm.”
“I’ll do my best.” She gave him a pleasant smile and held it until she heard the front door close with a decisive thud. Then she let out a loud groan and fell back on the bed. That had been the most embarrassing ordeal of her life. And it was only the beginning.
Heaven knew what was in store for her the next ten days. If they both managed to survive without killing each other it would be nothing short of a miracle.
Outside the apartment, Tyler rolled down the windows of his car to allow the cool night air to flow gently over his heated brow. He was not a happy man.
That whole scenario in there had made him sweat. Being that close to Megan Summers’s half-clad body in the intimacy of her bedroom had proved to be far more disrupting to his nerves than he’d anticipated.
One whiff of that exotic fragrance that had followed her out of the shower and all his good intentions had vanished in a puff of smoke. Everything about her tormented him—the way she moved, the sound of her voice sending ripples over his skin, the flash of fire in her green eyes when she was mad at him.
Which was a lot, he thought with a wry grimace. Not that he could blame her after messing up her kitchen. Not to mention breaking that bowl. Cooking was a lot tougher than it looked. Which was probably why he never cooked for himself.
This whole idea was beginning to look like a disaster. Tyler leaned back and closed his eyes. If he had any sense he’d take her right over to her mother’s house in the morning. Except that he wasn’t sure her mother would be diligent enough to make sure her daughter didn’t use that arm.
There was no doubt in Tyler’s mind that Megan needed watching. Megan Summers was definitely the most independent, stubborn, self-willed woman he’d been around in years. She would need monitoring all the time to make sure she didn’t disobey the doctor’s orders and screw up her arm for good.
Tyler wasn’t about to let that happen. He’d caused the injury in the first place, and if she permanently damaged her arm he’d have that on his conscience for the rest of his life.
He was going to make darn sure that she got all the help she needed until the arm was healed, and he would just have to do his best to ignore what she did to his hormones.
He leaned forward and started the engine, praying that he had enough self-control to keep that resolution.
That night was a long one for Tyler. He slept badly, waking up out of nightmares that had nothing to do with Megan and everything to do with his conscience. He was glad when the morning came so he had an excuse to get up.
A few miles away Megan was also thinking about getting up. She’d woken up twice in the night, her throbbing arm preventing her from going back to sleep right away. By the time daylight had filtered through the blinds, she’d had enough of tossing around in the bed.
Her alarm clock showed 6:15 a.m. on the dial. Forty-five minutes or so before Tyler was due to arrive. Just enough time to get into some clothes and attempt to do something with her hair.
Getting dressed proved to be a lot more difficult than the reverse procedure. She’d managed to undo her bra fairly easily the night before. Doing one up with one hand proved to be an impossibility.
She sank on the bed and considered the choices. She could go without a bra, of course. The idea had never appealed to her, and considering the circumstances, it seemed like a bad idea right now.
She could struggle into it as best she could, then wait for Tyler to arrive to fasten it for her. She frowned, chewing her lip. That was just slightly better than looking for a female neighbor to help her. Maybe she should have stayed with her mother, after all.
She was almost tempted to call her and ask if she could stay there. But then she’d have to put up with her mother’s endless questions, her constant comments about her eldest daughter’s lack of marriage plans, hints about grandchildren and the dire warnings that Megan’s biological clock was about to run out.
There were definite disadvantages to being the eldest in the family, Megan thought, gazing balefully at the phone. All in all, she’d rather take her chances with Officer Jackson.
That having been decided, she got as far into her bra as she could manage, pulled on a pair of khaki cotton pants, which meant struggling with the zipper for a full minute and a half, then dragged a yellow cotton sweater off its hanger and tugged it over her head. She managed to call her office by wedging the receiver in her shoulder while she dialed. After explaining her predicament and promising to be back as soon as her arm healed, she replaced the receiver with a sigh of relief.
The whole procedure had taken far longer than she’d expected. She’d barely paid a visit to the bathroom before she heard the key in the lock of her front door.
She stared at Tyler as he walked into her living room. Tyler Jackson in tight jeans was something to stare at. No one would ever think he was a cop, she thought, taking in his dark blue polo shirt and sneakers. Not that she knew that many cops with whom she could compare him.
He scowled at her when he saw her standing there. “I thought I told you to stay in bed,” he said, dropping the small sack he was carrying onto the coffee table. “I hope you didn’t use that arm. How is it? Does it still hurt? Isn’t it supposed to be in the sling?”
Megan sighed. He was beginning to sound more like her mother all the time. “I got up because nature called,” she said pointedly.
“You could have gone back to bed.”
“It didn’t seem worth it once I’d gone through all the trouble of getting in and out of the bathroom.”
“You didn’t have to get dressed.”
“I didn’t entirely.” Abandoning all sense of propriety, she turned her back on him and lifted the hem of her sweater. “I need help with my bra.”
She waited for what seemed an eternity for him to move. Finally, after a lengthy silence that made her nerves squeeze tight, he cleared his throat.
His fingers touched her bare back and she jumped, then silently cursed herself for reacting so childishly.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s been a long time since I did this.”
She started wondering whose bra he used to do up, then made herself stop wondering. She tried to breathe evenly while his fingers fumbled with the catch. After
several agonizing moments she heard him breathe a sigh of relief. “There. Got it.”
“Thank you.” It was a little difficult to sound dignified as she pulled her sweater down, but she managed it.
“Now, where’s that sling?”
“Still in the bathroom. I’ll get it.”
“I’ll get it You sit down.”
“I keep telling you, there’s nothing wrong with my legs.” She started back across the room. “I need to keep walking around or I’ll start getting weak.”
When she came back from the bathroom he was in the kitchen, pouring water into the coffeepot.
“I brought doughnuts for breakfast,” he said, deftly measuring coffee into the basket. “I thought it would be easier.”
Megan briefly closed her eyes in resignation and mentally gave up her planned breakfast of cereal and fruit. “I’ll make a shopping list,” she said, as she reached for a couple of mugs from the cupboard. “We can go to the store this morning.”
She tried not to notice the smears of tomato juice on the counter or the small, dried orange puddle on the floor. She’d just have to get to it later, she promised herself.
“Let me fix that sling before you do anything else,” Tyler said, picking it up from the back of the chair where she’d draped it.
Once more she bore the sweet agony of his fingers fumbling at the back of her neck. After assuring him the sling was comfortable, she concentrated on putting the doughnuts on a plate.
It had been years since she’d eaten doughnuts for breakfast. She’d forgotten how good they tasted, she thought, as she sat across from Tyler at her small dinette table. With someone like Tyler Jackson around she’d soon get into bad habits.
He’d propped the newspaper against the coffeepot and was reading her snippets of news. He really did have a great voice, she decided. The sort of lazy, husky drawl that seemed to worm its way into her skin. He read very well, stopping now and then to make a comment or shake his head over something in the news that bothered him.
She took the opportunity to really study him, and decided that he wasn’t really handsome, yet he had the kind of indefinable charisma that most women adored. His rugged jaw had been freshly shaved, and his chiseled face and piercing blue eyes gave him a streetwise look that appealed to her adventurous nature.
She liked the way his dark hair fell across his forehead, making him look almost boyish, in direct contrast to the harsh frown that constantly lurked on his face.
He was not the most sociable of beings, judging from some of his comments. Yet she couldn’t help feeling that somewhere behind that wall of reserve the young, smiling cop in the picture waited for the chance to reemerge. All he really needed was for someone to understand him.
She longed to know what had gone wrong with his life. Why he was no longer married, and what it was that had made him so excessively vigilant.
He looked up suddenly, taking her by surprise. His expression changed when he realized she’d been staring at him. “If you’ve got that list ready I’ll go to the store,” he said, getting up abruptly from his chair.
“I’m coming, too.” She finished the last gulp of her coffee and pushed her chair back.
“I’d rather go on my own.”
“I know you would, but I’m coming anyway. I’ll go crazy sitting around here with nothing to do.”
“You could watch TV.”
She gave him a look that she hoped conveyed her contempt for that idea. “You’ll have to write the list while I dictate.”
“Right.” He gave her a sharp scrutiny. “How was your arm last night? Did it bother you?”
She shrugged. “Some. I took a pill when I got up, though, so it feels better now.”
He seemed satisfied with that, and she silently thanked heaven that he didn’t ask her about the toothpaste. She’d had to hold the tube down with her injured hand while she took off the cap. If he’d known about that she’d have been in for another patronizing lecture.
He seemed preoccupied on the way to the store, and she wondered if he was worrying about something. She was about to ask him when he said abruptly, “I think your mother might have the wrong idea about me.”
Wondering where that came from, Megan said carefully, “My mother gets the wrong idea about everyone I meet. Don’t let it throw you. She’s under the mistaken impression that I would be better off married than living alone.” She almost added that her mother’s anxiety stemmed from an intense longing to have grandchildren, but she thought better of it.
He glanced at her, the familiar frown creasing his brow. “I don’t want to ruin your reputation.”
He sounded so old-fashioned she almost laughed out loud. “I didn’t know there was such a thing anymore.”
He looked uncomfortable. “You know what I mean. I wouldn’t want anyone to think that we’re...”
“Romantically involved?” she prodded gently.
“That’s one way of putting it.” He frowned through the windshield at the road ahead.
“What way would you put it?” a little demon made her ask.
“I don’t want anyone to think we’re sleeping together.”
His words produced a quiver of awareness that she quickly suppressed. “I really don’t think that’s anyone’s business.”
“Some people make it their business.”
“Well, you can stop worrying about my mother. She trusts me to be sensible about these things.”
He shot her a glance and said in his patronizing parent voice, “I’m glad to hear it”
Megan resisted the temptation to pull a face at him.
The shopping trip went quite well, all things considered. The first thing Tyler bought was a new mixing bowl, which Megan really appreciated. After that he eyed just about everything she bought with suspicion, but refrained from commenting too much. He did mutter something about the alfalfa sprouts looking like weeds, and Megan guessed that he wasn’t too well informed about nutritious foods.
He turned up his nose when she asked him if he liked yogurt and told her he didn’t care much for vegetables, which made her all the more determined to teach him how to cook a decent meal.
His favorite foods, it seemed, were ice cream and frozen French fries. He seemed put out when Megan bought sherbet instead of ice cream and frowned when she absolutely refused to buy the fries.
“I like fries with my meals,” he told her, opening the freezer case door.
She closed it again before he had a chance to reach in. “A baked potato is much better for you.”
“I don’t like baked potatoes.” He opened the door again.
“You’ll like mine.” She closed it again. “I don’t have room in my freezer for all that frozen stuff. In any case, cooking fresh products is more nutritious.”
He gave her a dark look. “No wonder you’re so slim,” he grumbled. “What about beer? Or are you going to tell me that’s bad for me, too?”
“That’s bad for you, too.”
“Figures.” He picked up a couple of six-packs and dropped them into the basket. “If you’re going to make me eat like a rabbit, I’m going to need a couple of beers to keep up my strength.”
If things were left to him, she thought darkly, as they waited in line at the checkout, she’d put on ten pounds in a week and raise her cholesterol to an unacceptable level. It amazed her that he could stay in such great shape if he ate all that junk food.
He argued with her when she insisted on paying for the groceries, but relented when she told him he could pay for the mixing bowl.
Outside in the parking lot, she watched him toss the heavy sacks into the trunk of the car as if they were full of tissue paper instead of groceries. He had thrown her just as easily over his shoulder the other night. Just the memory of it made shivers run down her back. In which case, she hastily told herself, she’d better stop thinking about it.
He climbed in beside her and turned the key in the ignition. “Anywhere else you need to go before we
go home?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How’s the arm?”
“Aching.”
He pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the apartment building. “Isn’t it time for another painkiller?”
She sighed. He was driving her crazy. That’s all she needed—another solicitous parent to contend with. “I’ll take another pill when we get home.”
“See that you do.”
“Right, sir.”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”
“Neither does dictatorship.”
He looked offended, and she immediately felt sorry.
“I’m only trying to do what’s best for you,” he said huffily.
“I know.” She hesitated. “I do appreciate it, Tyler, but do you think you could do it without sounding like my father?”
He seemed surprised at that. He shot her a look that she couldn’t quite define. “Believe me,” he said, with just a hint of irony in his voice, “I don’t feel in the least like your father.”
She wasn’t quite sure how to take that. She was tempted to ask him who he did feel like, but thought better of it. He might think she was trying to be provocative, and she didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.
She might find the man attractive, she assured herself, but there was no way she could get serious about a man who ordered her around as if she were one of his subordinates in the police force. Or worse, his kid sister.
Tyler insisted on putting all the groceries away, while she told him where everything went. By the time that was accomplished, it was time to start thinking about lunch.
She got by that one by suggesting soup and salad, and hunks of French bread to go with it. “I’ll get the stuff for the salad,” she announced, opening the door of the fridge.
“No, I’ll get it.” He nudged her gently out of the way with his shoulder.
The Marriage Beat Page 6