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But there’d been no sign that he’d slept in the bed, neither was there that familiar morning-after ache—an unpleasant side effect of sex with her husband.
But still. His offer had come out of nowhere.
Brad glanced up from the plate of takeout Yakisoba, brows raised. “One of the nurses in the prenatal unit quit unexpectedly. I wondered if you might want to fill in until we can find a permanent replacement.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” He studied her from across the table. “Unless you’re anxious to get home.”
Dammit. The fire licked along her cheeks again. She had no intention of going home—not that the monstrosity she and Travis had lived in had ever really been home. She’d already contacted a lawyer in Connecticut and started the ball rolling on her divorce. No, you weren’t supposed to make any major changes during a crisis, but she’d already decided to leave if her swan dive into the deep end of the seduction pool didn’t work.
Swan dive. Right.
Instead of a smooth, clean entry into the water, she’d landed with a belly flop that had been deafening, knocking the wind from her lungs and leaving her clawing her way to the surface.
Well, she was there now, taking her first breath of freedom after six long, suffocating years. She was never submerging herself like that ever again.
Not for anyone.
“I was actually thinking of relocating,” she said slowly, the idea taking root and sprouting its first leaf. She could do this.
Unless her father was behind Brad’s offer, just like she suspected him of being behind her promotion at the hospital. “Wait, did Daddy call and ask you to hire me?”
Brad’s eyes narrowed for a second or two. “Do you think I’m lying to you, Chloe?”
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been lied to. “No, but …”
“But what?”
She licked her lips. “I don’t want you doing this because you feel sorry for me.” As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t seem to hold his gaze, fiddling with her chopsticks instead. “I’m filing for divorce.”
“I’m glad.”
The low voice caused her head to come up. Some knowing glimmer in the depths of Brad’s eyes caused her to bristle. As if he’d expected this outcome all along. “You and Jason never gave him a chance.”
“No. But you did.”
Yes, and now her brother and Brad were free to gloat about her stupidity behind her back. Wouldn’t she, if she were in their place?
Instead, his hand covered hers, the warmth seeping through her icy skin. “Whatever else you might think, I wanted it to work out. Wanted you to be happy.”
Just as Jason had. He’d kissed her cheek at the rehearsal dinner and whispered that very thing. “Be happy, little sis.”
She swallowed the wave of emotion. Brad had always been there for her, even though he’d never been loud and showy about it. He had always been one of the first people on the scene when something had happened—whether it had been when her sickly appendix had needed to come out, or standing beside her as she’d cried over the grave of Treehouse, her dog.
And later he and Jason had accompanied her on her first official post PADI certification dive off the New Jersey coast, and they’d later explored several local shipwreck sites. She blinked away memories of those muscular legs propelling him through the water with ease, of his fingers gripping hers as he’d tugged her away from areas he’d felt were too dangerous. He’d had no idea that he’d been the most dangerous thing in the ocean. At least to her equilibrium.
Despite those awkward moments, she’d always been able to count on him. Maybe it was time she returned the favor. If he really was in a bind, shouldn’t she be willing to lend a hand?
“Thank you.” She sighed. “About the position. I would imagine there’d be plenty of nurses ready to jump at the chance to work at Angel’s.” She loved the hospital’s nickname, loved how it seemed to fit, as if the hospital served as the guardian angel of sick children everywhere.
Brad sat back in his chair. “There are, but it’ll take time to put out a call for applications and then wade through them all.”
“What about an apartment? There’s no way I can commute from Hartford.” Neither would she want to.
“I thought you might consider staying here. I have an extra bedroom. I’m sure we could stay out of each other’s hair.”
She bit her lip. Speaking of bedrooms, she’d noticed there was no way to lock the door of his room. Oh, there was a keyhole, but no key to secure it that she could see. The same held true for the bathroom. When she’d looked at the other doors—with the exception of the front door—she’d found the same thing. No keys for any of them. He lived alone, so he probably didn’t think anything of it, but if she stayed here she wanted to be able to at least lock the bathroom.
His voice 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 its stand, making a mental note not to pick it up again. Ever. Otherwise someone could get the wrong idea about why she was staying here. She had no intention of becoming part of Brad’s female entourage.
Actually, the woman’s call had come at the perfect time because she needed to remind herself of her reasons for being there. It was to get away from Travis, not to dive head first back into the dating pool.
Although from Travis’s cutting remarks about her prowess in the bedroom she might not need to worry about that for a long time to come. She certainly didn’t want to relive any of those awful moments, especially with a stranger.
She’d have to eventually, though. She didn’t want to go through life alone. She wanted children. A family. It’s why she’d gotten married in the first place, to have what her parents had. A love that endured for decades.
Maybe she could talk to someone about her difficulties in that area. She certainly couldn’t talk to Jason, not only because he’d always despised Travis but because of the ick factor involved. And the few girlfriends she had couldn’t really give her a man’s point of view—other than claiming Travis was a jerk who was terrible in bed. But was he? Other women seemed to like his moves just fine, judging from the bimbo who’d been hanging all over him at the hotel. So the problem had to be with her.
But how to fix it …
She glanced at the phone, remembering Katrina’s irked voice. Brad had been with lots of women. And Katrina’s attitude indicated that they didn’t mind the instant replays. They wanted to be with him. Were peeved when they couldn’t be.
What better person to pinpoint where she’d gone wrong with Travis and give her some pointers on how to act in any future relationships. It wouldn’t be strange, right? The two of them had been friends since childhood. He had no idea she’d had a crush on him during their teenage years. And his experience with the female sex could give her insights that a stranger might be too embarrassed to be honest about. Brad could always be counted on to tell it like it was. No sugar coating involved with that man.
She took a deep breath and let it out. That settled it, then. She’d broach the subject somehow and see how he reacted. If he acted like it was no big deal, she’d pick his brain and try to figure out exactly what a man wanted from a woman.
Because, whatever it was, she didn’t have it … and she had no idea where to get it.
Brad stood in the observation room above the surgical suite and watched as the surgeon prepped his patient for a hysterotomy. It was the same procedure his fetal heart patient would have to undergo in a month or two, except this particular fetal surgery was being done to close a neural tube defect and avoid a woman giving birth to a child with physical deficits. Few open fetal surgeries were done each year because of the risks to the baby, but Angel’s was considered one of the best facilities in the country. People came to them from all over the U.S.
He shifted to the right to get a better view as the skilled fingers of the surgeon reached the uterus and prepared to open it.
Cade Coleman, the newest member of Angel’s surgical staff, had been called in to perform the delicate procedure, and while Brad could acknowledge the man’s expertise, he and the surgeon had already butted heads during the few weeks he’d been at the hospital.
Including the timing of the current surgery.
Brad didn’t know exactly how Coleman had been appointed second in command without even a trial period, but the man evidently had some pull with Angel’s resident neurosurgeon, Alex Rodriguez, although Brad couldn’t imagine anyone forcing Alex’s hand on anything. There’d been rumors of a secret meeting between the two, which Brad had initially shrugged off as gossip. But something had gone down because Alex hadn’t quite been able to meet Brad’s eyes when he’d told him the news.
Hell, could life get any more complicated? First Chloe showed up on his doorstep, her wounded eyes revealing far more than she knew. Then Katrina wigged out on him just as the prenatal wing was heading into its busiest season. Throw a hard-headed surgeon into the mix and Brad had his hands full.
Perfect.
Using the controls to zoom in on the surgical site, he watched the monitor as Cade reached into Melanie Roberts’s womb with gloved fingers and gently drew the fetus into view. A boy. Melanie probably already knew that, though, through the wonders of ultrasound. The same test that had revealed the defect.
Turning the baby to expose the bubble-like formation on his lower spine, Coleman’s magnifying goggles zeroed in on the problem—the tiny camera mounted on his headgear giving Brad the same clear view. The defect was about an inch long, close to the base of the spine, but despite the location, the open portion of the back could still cause problems with the child’s lower limbs if not corrected. At twenty-one weeks, the fetus’s kick reflex was still strong and healthy, the perfect time to operate, according to Coleman.
As if feeling Brad’s eyes on him, Cade glanced toward the huge bank of windows to his right. The magnified view of the operating room on a second monitor only made the furrows visible above the surgeon’s goggles seem that much deeper. No doubt it rankled to have to answer to someone else when he’d run his own department in LA. But if you moved hospitals, you couldn’t expect to start at the top. And if the man had any illusions about replacing Brad, he had another think coming. If either of them left, it would be Coleman.
Brad looked up from the monitor and gave the other man a slight nod to indicate he’d seen the problem and agreed with whatever Cade saw fit to do. The surgeon turned back to his tiny patient and Brad’s thoughts went back to Chloe.
Hell, he’d talked to Jason again that morning and almost the first thing out of his friend’s mouth had been a stern reminder that Chloe was still his little sister. As if Brad didn’t know that.
What did Jason expect him to do? Make a move on her? Impossible.
Unbidden, his brain played back the sight he’d uncovered when he’d taken off Chloe’s coat. His reaction had been anything but brotherly. Neither had his reaction to seeing her stroll through the apartment in his sweat pants the next morning. But he was practically a family member—kind of like a first cousin, right?—and he’d better remember it. Chloe was fragile right now. Vulnerable. He, more than anyone, should remember what it was like to be rejected by those who were supposed to love you unconditionally—but who, instead, were completely indifferent to your efforts to please them.
