Nyc Angels: Flirting With Danger
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.
Just like Travis had been with Chloe’s efforts? Something inside him said yes, that’s exactly what had happened. She’d gone there dressed in an outfit that should have had the man salivating like a hungry hyena. It had certainly gotten a reaction out of him. Instead, Travis had done or said something that had cut her to the quick.
Something that had caused her to flee into the night.
Brad didn’t want to be that man. Didn’t want to hurt someone who’d once meant a lot to him.
Someone who still did. Sweet innocent, idealistic Chloe.
One wrong move on his part and he could hurt her even more. Especially if he couldn’t keep himself in check. If anything could keep him on the straight and narrow, that realization should.
At least, he hoped it would.
CHAPTER FIVE
HE HAD TO BE KIDDING.
Resting on Brad’s bent thigh was a dark shiny helmet that matched the one currently on his head, the visor flipped up so he could see her. And he was seated—booted foot casually propped up on the left pedal—on top of a motorcycle. One that looked eerily familiar. When he’d said he’d meet her in the parking garage this morning, she’d assumed he’d be pulling up next to her in a Beamer, not on a Harley.
He could have stepped right out of one of her old photos from days gone by. She’d thought that with all his success his old mode of transportation would have been one of the first things to go. Evidently some things never changed. Was that really his old motorcycle? The one he’d had his accident on? A shiver of fear went through her.
“I—I can’t ride on that.”
His mouth quirked, and he held out the helmet. “I’ll be careful. Promise.” The black leather jacket he wore—along with a second one draped on the seat behind him—said otherwise. The pair screamed danger with a capital D.
Gripping the strap of her purse as if it alone could save her, she said, “Don’t you have a car, like normal doctors?”
“Since when have I ever done things that others deem ‘normal’?”
Was he referring to his parents? They’d always disapproved of Brad’s motorcycle riding, although she’d never heard them say anything outright. But she’d overheard Jason talking to their mom and dad once about how Brad felt more at home at their house than at his own. Jason had said he could see why. Brad’s folks were a matched set—snooty, looking down their noses at anything that didn’t meet with their approval. Their own son was high on that list, evidently, since they looked right through him, instead of at him.
Chloe hesitated. Yes, Brad knew she was afraid of motorcycles, especially after she’d seen the damage done by his accident. But did she really want him to put her in the same category as his parents … thinking she was too good to be seen riding on one?
His gaze slid across her cheeks. Touched lower. “I’ll take good care of you, Chloe. I give you my word.” He balanced the helmet on his leg again then reached out his hand, palm up.
She licked her lips, then, as if hypnotized, she put her fingers in his and let him tug her a few steps closer until his knee touched the side of her thigh. Another shiver went through her, this one having nothing to do with fear but something even worse.
Could she really ride on that thing, behind him? She’d balked once before. Not just because of her fear but because of how unpredictable her reactions to him were. And the feeling that she’d be betraying Travis if she let her guard down, even for a second.
Knowing what she did now, that naïve sentiment was laughable.
Travis was no longer a part of her life, and he never would be again. So shouldn’t she get out and see exactly what she’d been missing?
But … on a motorcycle?
Why the hell not?
Lifting her chin, she grabbed the helmet from his leg, turned it round and jammed it on her head. The sense of claustrophobia was immediate, as was the urge to claw the thing back off again.
It’s supposed to cradle your head, dummy, how else is it going to protect you?
Maybe he noticed her panic because Brad put down the kickstand and hauled the bike back onto it, before swinging his leg over the seat and standing in front of her. Placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him, he took hold of the straps on either side of the helmet and fastened them, adjusting the fit, his warm fingers grazing her throat repeatedly. He pushed her visor up and tilted her head so he could peer in at her. “How does it feel?”
Oh, baby. Did he mean the helmet or his touch?
Don’t be ridiculous. Of course he’s talking about the helmet.
“Tight. Hot.”
His Adam’s apple dipped, and he stared at her for a moment, before answering. “It’s supposed to be snug.”
His voice was a little rougher than it had been a moment ago. Had she said something stupid? Or maybe he was having second thoughts about riding with her. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
He gave a low laugh. “I thought so up until a few seconds ago.”
“How long will it take to reach the hospital?”
“Depending on traffic, about fifteen minutes.”
“Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
He nodded, handing her the second jacket and waiting until she’d zipped it up. His warm scent clung to the leather, and it was all she could do not to close her eyes and breathe it deep into her lungs. The fact that it was there, surrounding her, gave her a dose of courage that had been sorely missing a few seconds ago. He’d promised to take care of her, and Brad had never gone back on a promise that she knew of.
Getting back on the motorcycle, Brad pushed it forward and eased up the kickstand. “There are footrests just behind mine. So climb up and hang on.”
Tightening her resolve, she walked the couple of steps it took to reach him then steadied herself by putting a hand on his shoulder. Pretending she was mounting a horse, she swung her leg over the back of the seat, trying to sit as far back as possible—which proved impossible. The thing was angled so that she slid forward until her tummy was pancaked against his back.
This was going to be the longest fifteen minutes of her life.
“Can you hear me?” The low voice in her ear made her jerk, until she realized it was coming through her helmet. Brad must have some kind of built-in walkie-talkie system that let him communicate with whoever was on the back.
He’d ridden double like this before. Often enough to buy special helmets. Why did the thought make a warning hiss go off in her head?
“Chloe?”
She forced her lips to move. “I can hear you.”
“There should be a mike below the strap. Swing it up to the front.”
Finding a hard plastic object coming off the side of the helmet, she adjusted it so that it was in front of her mouth. “Better?”
“Yep.” He rolled the motorcycle forward a few feet and Chloe scrambled to put her hands on his waist. “When we start moving, you’re going to want to hang on tighter than that, okay?”
Tighter than she already was? She felt like her fingers were digging into the firm muscles of his sides as it was. “Got it.”
Feeling around for the footrests, she planted her feet on them, just as Brad turned a key and the motorcycle rumbled to life beneath her. With the helmet on, it wasn’t nearly as loud as she’d expected it to be.
“Okay. When the garage door opens, we’ll be on our way. Keep your feet up, even at stops, and lean into the turns.”
“Check.” She couldn’t stop a little giggle. She knew he had to instruct her on how to ride, but she’d never dreamed that three days after her disastrous trip to Travis’s hotel room she’d be on her way to a new job and the start of a new life. Even the shuddery fear she felt about riding with Brad couldn’t erase her elation. This was the right decision. She felt it in her bones.
The garage door to the apartment building slid up, and Brad revved the engine and rolled through them at a reasonable speed. Nothing like the showy skids and hot-dogging he’d once done to impress the high-school girls. Still, her heart jumped into her throat as he turned left and entered the morning snarl of traffic—the sounds of car engines and buses periodically rupturing the bubble of silence created by her helmet.
On the first real turn she instinctively wrapped her arms around Brad’s waist, realizing he was right. She needed to hold on and try to lean when he did. The best way to do that was to be physically connected to him, in much the same way as she’d moved with the horse she’d had years ago. Her hips slid forward even more, pressing intimately against him, her thighs squeezing his in order to maintain her balance. Every inch of her was aware of every inch of him. At first she put it down to basic survival instinct, but that weird tingle down low had nothing to do with survival.
Then Brad turned another corner, wiping away every thought except hanging on, probably much tighter than necessary.
During the first few minutes she was too afraid to move, but once she got used to the vibration from the engine beneath her and the easy way Brad handled the big bike, she began to loosen up a bit and enjoy the ride.
They stopped for a red light. Brad’s feet hit the ground to keep them stable, and Chloe drew in a deep breath, noticing the claustrophobia she’d felt earlier was almost gone.
“You okay back there?”
“So far, so good. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.” It wasn’t quite a lie.
A soft laugh came through. “And I never thought I’d see the day when Chloe Jenkins would agree to ride on my bike.”
A reference to her refusal years ago? She smiled, her heart lightening for the first time. “The times are a-changin’.”
“Hmm. Want to learn to ride one?”
Her stomach did a back flip. “Yeah, well, the times aren’t changing that much. I think I’m going to stick with being a passenger. A bad one.”
He reached back to squeeze her leg. “You’re doing great.”
The light turned green, and Brad revved the engine enough to take off. Her arms instinctively wrapped around him once again, the fingers of her left hand gripping her other one in a vise. It was better than having her palms splayed across his rock-hard abs—a position that seemed far too intimate. Sure, they’d horsed around when they’d been younger and had done plenty of touching. But this was different, although Brad didn’t seem affected by it at all.
Despite the concern he’d shown on the night of her arrival, he’d soon reverted to type, viewing the world through a lens of amused cynicism.
Although traffic was bumper to bumper, they were moving at a fairly steady pace and before she knew it they’d cleared Central Park, where green gave way to a pristine white building. Even from her perch Chloe could see the hospital off to their left. “Is there underground parking?”
“There is for our patients. There are a couple of lots near the hospital where we can park, which is what I do on the days I drive to work.”
“Isn’t that expensive?” Chloe had assumed everyone parked on hospital grounds. But things in New York City were evidently different than they were in Connecticut.
“Staff gets a discount.” There was a pause as Brad pulled into a lot across the street from the hospital. “I sometimes take the subway to work, but I didn’t think you’d be too anxious to get back on it.”
She blinked. “How did you know I rode the subway?”
“My doorman said you had that shell-shocked look of first-time riders.”
Little did he know that the shock had been from something very different. Although the fact that Brad had ridden to work just for her touched her. “Thank you. But I’ll be okay. Let me at least help with the parking costs.”
A suited valet came forward, eyes wide as he looked from them to the bike. He quickly found his professionalism, reaching out a hand to help Chloe off. Her legs were shaking, much to her chagrin, but she smiled at the man anyway. When she glanced at Brad, she noticed his frown, even through the shaded visor. He put down the kickstand and yanked off his helmet, taking the keys from the ignition.
When she fumbled around for the catch to her own helmet, both men moved forward, but the valet stopped almost immediately when Brad handed him the key and held up his hospital ID. “We’ll be here until around seven.”
The valet nodded, glancing one last time at Chloe before handing Brad a ticket.
Once the man had started the motorcycle and driven into the lot, Brad turned back to her and unsnapped her helmet. She squinched her nose. “I don’t even want to think about what my hair looks like. I’m not going to make a very good first impression.”
Before she had a chance to do anything about it, warm fingers were brushing damp locks from her forehead and her cheeks and restoring order to her side part. “You could never make a bad impression, Chloe.”
That’s what he thought. He’d never had her in bed.
Her brows tightened. That was all behind her now. It was time to move on, and she intended to do just that. Maybe she’d even flirt with the first attractive man who came across her path.
Her glance went to Brad and then skipped away. Yikes! Just the thought of flirting with him sent a zing of panic shooting through her chest. Along with a dangerous sense of anticipation that left her breathless. Yep, dangerous was a good word for what she was feeling.
She’d promised herself she’d ask him some pointed questions about men and how their minds worked, but could she really go through with it? Especially after the way she’d felt on the back of his bike?
Maybe she’d test out her theory with the second attractive man who came across her path. Just in case. Until she could finally work up the courage to look Brad in the eye and demand he tell her everything he knew.
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