But at least she hadn’t begged.

“I’d offer a penny for your thoughts,” he said. “But I have the feeling they’re worth far more.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” she said far too quickly, then felt the heat of her blush rise up her face.

“Liar.” He rose from the chair and shifted closer, and she stopped breathing. Just stopped breathing. Which wasn’t good because she really needed some air.

And a grip.

Ty leaned into her a little bit, his lips brushing her ear. “You weren’t quite as loud as she was.”

She closed her eyes as the blush renewed itself. “A nice guy wouldn’t even bring that up.”

He shrugged, plainly saying he wasn’t a nice guy. And in fact, he’d never claimed to be one.

Of course there was no one else the waiting room, but just across the hall at the sign-in desk were Camilla and her mother, neither of them bothering to pretend to be doing anything other than staring in open, rapt curiosity.

Mallory turned her back on them. “I wasn’t loud,” she whispered.

Oh good Lord. That hadn’t been what she’d meant to say at all, but it made him smile. A genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and softened his face, making him even more heart-stoppingly handsome, if that was possible. “Yeah,” he said. “You were.”

Okay, maybe she had been. But she couldn’t have helped it. “It’d been a while,” she admitted grudgingly. And he’d really known what he was doing.

As Tammy had reminded her, Mallory’s last boyfriend had been Allen, the Seattle accountant, who’d decided Mallory wasn’t worth the commute. That had been last year. A very long, dry year…

Ty’s eyes softened, and she realized that they weren’t clear green, not even close. Lurking just beneath the surface were layers of other shades, which in turn softened her. He’d held her like no other, whispered sweet, hot nothings in her ear as she’d indeed panted and cried out, and begged him just like the soap opera actress. Damn, but she could still get aroused at just the memory of the strength of his arms as he’d held her through it, that intoxicating mix of absolute security and wild abandon.

“It’d been a long time for me too,” he said, surprising her. How did a guy who looked as good as he did and exuded pheromones and testosterone like they were going out of style not have sex for a “long time”?

On the screen behind him, the woman was still going at it, and watching her without the sound made it seem even more X-rated. “I did not go on like that,” she murmured, and though Ty wisely held his tongue, his expression said it all. “What, you think I did?” she asked in disbelief.

His gaze flicked to the screen, then back to her face. “If it helps, you looked way hotter and sounded much better while doing it.”

Oh, God. She turned away from him and was at the door before his low, husky voice sounded again. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Walking away. You should recognize it.”

“I’m actually here as a patient.”

At the only words in the English language that could have made her turn around, she did just that. “You are? Are you sick?”

He pointed to his head. “Josh told me to come back in ten days to get the stitches out.”

Josh? He was on a first-name basis with Dr. Scott? “Dr. Scott got called to Seattle.” She let out a long breath. “But if he left the order, I can remove the stitches for you.”

Her mother and Camilla were still watching, of course, now joined by additional staff who apparently had nothing better to do than attempt to eavesdrop on Mallory and Mysterious Cute Guy. Mallory would lay odds that this Cute Guy sighting would go wide and be public by the end of her shift.

Nothing she could do about that. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Is it going to hurt?”

She looked at Ty, at his big, tough body, at the way he limped ever so slightly on his left leg, and then into his eyes. Which were amused.

He was teasing her.

Well, fine. She could give as good as she got. “Something tells me you can handle it.”

Chapter 8

Eve left the Garden of Eden for chocolate.

Ty followed Mallory through the double doors to the ER and to a bed, where she then pulled a curtain around them for privacy.

In the military, Ty had learned defense tactics and ways to conceal information. He’d excelled at both. As a result, concealing emotion came all too easily to him. Not to mention, there wasn’t much room for emotion in the underbelly of the Third World countries he’d worked in. So he’d long ago perfected the blank expression, honed it as a valuable tool. It was second nature now, or had been.

Until Mallory.

Because he was having a hell of a hard time pulling it off with her. Like now, for instance, when he was relieved to see her and yet struggling to hide that very fact. Clearly not so relieved to see him, she said “I’ll be right back” and vanished.

Fair enough. As she’d pointed out, he’d vanished on her, and a part of him had figured he’d never see her again.

But another part had hoped he would.

He’d known that she worked here and imagined she was a great nurse. On the night of the storm, she’d been good in an emergency, extremely level-headed and composed.

Unlike at the auction, in his arms. Then she’d been hungry, and the very opposite of level-headed and composed. He’d loved that about her. Now she was back to the calm persona. She looked cute in her pale pink scrubs with the tiny red heart embroidered over the pocket on her left breast. He especially liked the air of authority she wore.

Hell.

He liked everything he knew about her so far, including how she’d tasted. Yeah, he’d really liked how she’d tasted. Which was the only explanation he had for being here, because he sure as hell could remove his own damn stitches.

From nearby, someone was moaning softly in both fear and pain. He stood, instinctively reacting to the sound as he hadn’t in four years. Four years of ignoring the call to help or heal.

The moan came again, and Ty closed his eyes. Christ, how he suddenly wished he hadn’t come. Unable to help himself, he stuck his head out the curtain of his cubicle. In the next bed over, a guy was hooked up to a monitor, fluids, and oxygen. He was in his early forties, smelled like a brewery, and either hadn’t showered this month or he’d rolled in garbage. His hair was gray and standing straight up, missing in clumps. A transient, probably, looking small and weak and terrified.

“You okay?” Ty asked, staying where he was. “You need the nurse?”

The man shook his head but kept moaning, eyes wide, his free hand flailing. His eyes were dilated, and there was a look to him that said he was high on something.

Cursing himself, Ty moved to the side of his bed. He glanced at the IV. They were hydrating him, which was good. Catching the man’s hand in his, Ty squeezed lightly. “What’s going on?”

“Stomach. It hurts.”

The guy’s clothes were filthy and torn enough to reveal a Trident Tattoo on his arm, and Ty let out a slow breath. “Military,” he said, feeling raw. Too raw.

“Army,” the man said, slurring, clearly still heavily intoxicated, at the least.

Ty nodded and might have turned away but the guy was clinging to his hand like it was a lifeline, so Ty continued to hold onto him right back as he slowly sank onto the stool. “I was Navy,” he heard himself say. He left out the Special Ops part; he always did. It had nothing to do with not being proud of his service and everything to do with not wanting to answer any questions. And there were always questions. “I’m out now.”

Technically.

“You never get out,” the man said.

Well, that was true enough.

“They should pay us for the long nights of bad dreams.” The guy took a moment to gather his thoughts. This seemed to be a big effort. Ty wanted to tell him not to work too hard but before he could, the man spoke again. “They should give us extra combat pay for all the ways our lives are fucked up.”

Ty could get behind that. They sat there in silence a moment, the man looking like he was half asleep now and Ty feeling a little bit sick. Sick in the gut. Sick to the depths of his soul. Yeah, definitely the hospital had been a stupid idea. This was absolutely the last time he let his dick think for him.

“I still think about them,” the man said softly into the silence.

Ah, hell. Ty didn’t have to ask who. He knew. All the dead. Ty swallowed hard and nodded.

The man stared at him, glassy-eyed but coherent. “How many for you?”

Ty closed his eyes. “Four.” But there’d been others, too. Way too many others.

The man let out a shuddery sigh of sympathy. “Here.” He lifted a shaky hand and slid it into his shirt, coming out with a flask. “This helps.”

Mallory chose that very moment to pull back the curtain. “There you are,” she said to Ty, then smiled kindly at the man in the bed. “Better yet, Ryan?”

Ryan, caught red-handed with the flask, didn’t meet her gaze as he gave a jerky nod.

“Why don’t I hold that for you, okay?” Gently, she pried the flask from Ryan’s fingers, confiscating it without another word.

Ty didn’t know what he’d expected from her. Maybe annoyance, or some sign that she resented the duty of caring for a guy who was in here for reasons that had clearly been self-inflicted. But she ran a hand down Ryan’s arm in a comforting gesture, not shying away from touching him.

More than duty, Ty thought. Much more. This was the real deal, she was the real deal, and she cared, deeply.

“I’ve called your daughter,” she told Ryan. “She’ll be here in ten minutes. We’re just going to let the bag do its thing, refilling you up with minerals, potassium, sodium, and other good stuff. You’ll feel better soon.” She patted his forearm as she checked his leads, making physical contact before she looked at Ty, gesturing with her head for him to follow her.