It was the attic that was concerning him today, as Taylor had fond hopes of a place to store all the antiques she couldn’t seem to stop collecting. The last time he’d been there, he’d gotten distracted by Nicole.

Seeing as Nicole was no doubt killing herself at work, he decided the crack of dawn was a perfectly fine time to crawl around in the attic to his heart’s content without disturbing a soul.

And he did just that, getting filthy in the process as he crawled through spiderwebs the size of his car. Straddling a beam, he pulled out his pad, and was happily making notes when he heard a door open. The sound came so close, he looked around, baffled, until he realized it was the apartment door directly beneath him.

Nicole’s.

Because of the way the building was built-on a slight incline-the roof was really on two different tiers. On the higher level was the attic. Right next to that, but a full level below, was the loft apartment. There were two ways into the attic, the way he’d come in, through the third-floor hallway, or through a trap door at the far corner of Nicole’s living room.

Due to a vicious storm only a few months ago, when a tree had fallen through the bedroom area of the loft, much of that part of the roof had been redone. But not the attic portion, which was still incredibly rickety. Reaching down, he opened the trap door.

It made a loud creaking sound, but Nicole, standing just inside her front door, never looked up. Ty realized this was because she had on a set of headphones, which, given the volume of her singing-so off-key he had to smile-meant she couldn’t hear anything.

Before he could attract her attention, she’d kicked off her shoes, then crossed her arms in front of her and whipped off her top.

She wore a tiger-striped bra-did she have any idea how sexy her secret lingerie fetish was?-and then put her hands to the button on her pants. Oh, boy. “Nicole!” He was barely braced on the studs now, but he leaned over way farther than he should, knowing he had to make her see him or she’d be good and pissed by the time she was naked, and generally he liked his women soft and smiling and mewling with lust when they were naked.

Still singing, she shucked her pants, kicking them across the room with an abandon that normally would have made him grin.

Her panties did not match her bra. They were purple, lacy and very, very tiny. Turning in circles in a little shimmy of a dance, she headed toward her bedroom, giving him a good, long look at her backside as she wriggled and shook.

“Oh man,” he whispered to himself, and leaned out as far as he dared. “Nicole-”

He crashed right through the ceiling. The air whipped his face; the floor rushed up to greet him, but all he saw was a tiger-striped bra and purple lace panties.


NOT MUCH SCARED Nicole. But Ty falling through her ceiling shook her to the core. By the time she reached him, which took longer than it should have since she wasted five seconds just staring at the huge mass of him on her floor, he hadn’t budged.

“Oh my God, Ty. Ty.”

He was on his side, face gray through all the dry-wall dust. Dropping to her knees at his hip, she leaned over him. “Ty, can you hear me?”

Nothing. But she could see his chest rising and falling, and she nearly sobbed in relief. “Okay. You’re going to be okay. You are.”

Surging up, she grabbed her portable phone, dialed for an ambulance; calm, cool, in control. As she always was in an emergency.

Then she looked down at the big, handsome, far-too-still man on her floor and wanted to fall apart. Her hands shook as she gently put them on him. What to do? God, what to do? Every ounce of medical training she’d ever had flew right out the window. “Damn it, get it together, Nicole.” She ran her hands down his limbs, frowning at his right ankle. Not broken, she didn’t think, but already swollen. Then she got to his right side, and the possibly cracked ribs, and had to take a deep, calming breath. “You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, having no idea which of them she was talking to.

There was a huge knot forming on his head, and he hadn’t regained consciousness. “Ty.” She cupped his face, his beautiful, too-still face, with the long dark lashes and strong, sharp jaw. “Come on, Ty. Come back to me. Wake up.” She checked his pupils. Uneven. Concussion, if he was lucky. “Please, Ty. Please wake up. For me, do it for me, okay? Wake up and I’ll-”

He groaned. Coughed. Rolled from his side to his back and groaned again, eyes still closed. “Shh, darlin’,” he said in a rough whisper. “It’s too early to be yelling.”

“Ty.” Her eyes burned with the relief. “You’re back.”

“You…didn’t finish your sentence. What will…you do…if I wake up?”

That he could joke, even now, horrified her. Then he tried to sit up, his face in a grimace of agony as he held his head.

“Don’t move,” she said in a rush, helping him lie back. He’d turned green. “You might have broken something, at the very least your big fat head. Don’t,” she repeated when he kept trying. “Just hang on a damn second.”

“Shh,” he begged, eyes still closed. “No noise.”

“Are you nauseous?”

He cracked one eye open, ran it over her, then closed it again. “I am, yes. Though I refuse to puke on the very lovely underwear you’re wearing. You’re so pretty, Nicole.” He sighed, then went utterly still and silent, terrifying her.

“Ty!”

“Yeah, here.” He didn’t open his eyes. “Did you know that when you say my name in that soft, sexy voice of yours, I almost wish we were going to go for it. You and me.”

“Ty-” But a sudden pounding at her front door had her leaping up, reaching for her clothes. “Hold on!” she called, hopping back into her pants.

“Nicole?” Taylor knocked louder. “Honey, what was that crash?”

Nicole pulled on her shirt and hauled open the door. “Ty fell through my ceiling. The ambulance is coming. Oh, God, Taylor, look at him. He hit his head, he’s concussed, and I can’t remember what to do!”

Taylor grabbed her hand and ran toward Ty. “Oh, you poor, big, sexy baby. You’re not going to be sick all over my floor, are you?”

Ty choked out a laugh that ended on a groan and some fairly inventive bad words.

“Don’t make him talk,” Nicole begged, ridiculously panicked. It was just a bump on the noggin. Lord knew, his head was hard enough to handle it.

Taylor grabbed Nicole’s shoulders and gave her a little shake. “I’ll go wait for the ambulance. Stay with him.” She hugged her hard. “It’ll be okay, honey.”

“That’s my line,” Nicole whispered as Taylor ran out, leaving her with the big, bad, broken Ty lying at her feet.

7

NICOLE WENT IN the ambulance with Ty. Took him into ER herself and spewed out orders.

Hovered and tried not to wring her hands. Tried to focus on what she was doing. They took care of his bruised ribs, his sprained ankle. Noted his concussion, which worried her the most.

Yes, his head was big and hard. But damn, he’d hit it hard.

She dealt with the staff and their curious expressions, knowing she’d shown her hand when she’d yelled out directions in a wobbly voice.

She’d never yelled while on duty.

Well, the staff would get over it. The question was, would she?

She filled out Ty’s paperwork, which was more time-consuming than she’d ever realized, being on the other side of the fence for the first time.

Taylor was in the waiting room, looking unusually scattered and stressed. Suzanne was there too, leaning on the tall, dark, gorgeous Ryan, who had his arms around her in a way that made Nicole take a moment. Had she ever leaned on a man like that? Ever had a man who wanted her to? Ever been offered true affection from a man?

Nope. But then again, she’d never wanted such things. She didn’t want them now. Not when she was strong enough to stand on her own two feet.

When she could convince them to go, she sent Taylor, Suzanne and Ryan home, promising them Ty-and his hard head-was in good hands and going to be fine.

And he would be. She would see to it, all by herself.


TWO HOURS LATER, Nicole sank to the cot at Ty’s hip and stared at the sleeping, still far too pale man.

With the proper care and rest, he was going to be fine.

But when was she going to be fine?

He’d gotten under her skin. There was no other excuse for her ridiculous panic at the apartment. None.

Outside the cubicle, machines bleeped, footsteps squeaked, voices carried, some raised, some hushed. There were smells too: antiseptics, medicine and the scent of fear and pain. Normal ER sounds and smells.

But inside the cubicle, life seemed suspended. It was just the two of them, one unconscious, the other wondering what had happened to her life. Lightly, she reached out and touched the bandage on Ty’s head. “You scared the hell out of me, Ty Patrick O’Grady,” she whispered.

“Of Dublin,” he said in a heavy Irish brogue without opening his eyes.

Had he really spoken, or was she hallucinating on top of everything else? “Ty?”

“You scare me, too.” His voice sounded raspy, and more than a little goofy from the drugs they’d given him for the pain. “You and my sister both. I have a sister, did I tell you?”

“No.” She covered her mouth to keep her hysterical, relieved laugh in. “You haven’t told me much about yourself at all.”

“She found me on the Internet. Wants to know me. Everyone wants to know me.” His words were slurred, but the Irish lilt was unmistakable. So was his sudden crooked grin, though he still didn’t open his eyes. “You want me, too, don’t you, doc? You want me as much as I want you. Say it for me.”

Her heart leapt in a new sort of panic. “Keep your mouth zipped, you big idiot, you’re drugged.”