Nyc Angels: Flirting With Danger

Step into the world of NYC Angels

Looking out over Central Park, the Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital, affectionately known as Angel’s, is famed throughout America for being at the forefront of paediatric medicine, with talented staff who always go that extra mile for their little patients. Their lives are full of highs, lows, drama and emotion.

In the city that never sleeps, the life-saving docs at Angel’s Hospital work hard, play hard and love even harder. There’s always time for some sizzling after-hours romance …

And striding the halls of the hospital, leaving a sea of fluttering hearts behind him, is the dangerously charismatic new head of neurosurgery Alejandro Rodriguez. But there’s one woman, paediatrician Layla Woods, who’s left an indelible mark on his no-go-area heart. Expect their reunion to be explosive!

NYC Angels

Children’s doctors who work hard and love even harder … in the city that never sleeps!

Dear Reader

There are times when we all struggle with issues of self-esteem and self-worth. Sometimes those struggles are based on our own perceptions, but other times the damage is caused by people who come into our lives—people in whom we place our trust. The heroine of NYC ANGELS: FLIRTING WITH DANGER has fled just such a situation. As she faces an uncertain future she must painstakingly sift through what is real and what is not—and she must come to terms with the fact that she is worthy of love. Worthy of true intimacy.

Thank you for joining Brad and Chloe as they face the heartbreak of broken dreams and somehow find the courage to love again. I hope you enjoy reading about their journey as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Much love

Tina Beckett

About the Author

Born to a family that was always on the move, TINA BECKETT learned to pack a suitcase almost before she knew how to tie her shoes. Fortunately she met a man who also loved to travel, and she snapped him right up. Married for over twenty years, Tina has three wonderful children and has lived in gorgeous places such as Portugal and Brazil.

Living where English reading material is difficult to find has its drawbacks, however. Tina had to come up with creative ways to satisfy her love for romance novels, so she picked up her pen and tried writing one. After her tenth book she realised she was hooked. She was officially a writer.

A three-times Golden Heart finalist, and fluent in Portuguese, Tina now divides her time between the United States and Brazil. She loves to use exotic locales as the backdrop for many of her stories. When she’s not writing you can find her either on horseback or soldering stained glass panels for her home.

Tina loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website or ‘friend’ her on Facebook.

Recent titles by the same author:

 ONE NIGHT THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

 THE MAN WHO WOULDN’T MARRY

 DOCTOR’S MILE-HIGH FLING

 DOCTOR’S GUIDE TO DATING IN THE JUNGLE

These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

NYC Angels:

Flirting

with Danger

Tina Beckett

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my dear husband, who has held my hand when I needed it held and has smiled at my insanely ridiculous desire to own a chicken, and who promised that some day I would have one. I’m holding you to that promise, honey!

CHAPTER ONE

NOTHING COULD CONCEAL her shame.

Not this time. Still, Chloe Jenkins yanked the belt of her beige trench coat tighter, until she was sure it would cut her in two—much like her heart had been. What had seemed sexy a half-hour ago now seemed unbearably pathetic and sleazy. The New York City subway station was jammed with bodies, even at this hour, and she shoved wet hanks of hair from her eyes, glad to finally be out of the rain.

What was she supposed to do now?

Hurling your wedding rings at your cheating bastard of a husband with the words “Consider this our divorce!” may have seemed like the perfect exit line—the only way to escape with a shred of dignity—but charging out of that hotel room had left her with few options. She was in a huge city where she knew no one.

Except …

The air shuddered from her lungs. There had to be some other way.

She could always go home to Connecticut.

And face her brother? Her family? They’d known the truth all along, but she’d been too much of a naïve sap to listen.

The doors opened and she stepped into the train, careful to keep her bare toes far from the nearest occupant.

She could head to a car rental facility. She had her purse and her wallet, thank heavens.

But she’d foolishly left her shoes behind in the room, and it was illegal to drive like this, even if they’d lease her a car. And if the tie on her coat came loose, she’d be totally exposed.

Her face burned hotter. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t be totally exposed, but the peek-a-boo black negligee and sheer panties left little to the imagination.

Even for her ex, who—when she emerged from beneath the cocoon of covers, fury spilling from every pore—had allowed his eyes to crawl over her body, a spark of interest finally coming to life in the drunken depths.

God. Why had she even bothered to try?

Because she didn’t believe in giving up. At least, she hadn’t before now.

The train suddenly slowed as it came to its next stop, and she lost her balance for a few frightening seconds, scrabbling to regain her handhold while keeping her coat from coming open.

Someone bumped into her from behind as they tried to exit, the hard shove sending her reeling a second time. She bit her lip and tasted blood.

“Sorry.” Hands came out to steady her, but Chloe flinched away, terrified someone would find out what she’d tried to do. She checked with the tip of her tongue the damage her teeth had caused. Not exactly the way she’d planned to spend the night.

You’re right, baby, she does look frigid.

Travis’s current paramour had clung to his arm and giggled at the sight of Chloe under the covers, the duvet pulled up to her chin.

What had been meant as a last-ditch effort to save her marriage had turned into a guillotine instead, one that had nicked her, even as she’d released the cord and let it drop—cleaving what had been one into two and setting her free.

Travis hadn’t even blinked in the face of her rage. Probably too full of whiskey to care. He’d suggested she stick around … implied she might even want to join in the fun. Her fist had balled up tight, ready to deliver the mean right hook her brother had once taught her, before she stopped herself, realizing it would do no good.

It was over.

A wave of nausea washed up her throat.

She could call her brother and … do what exactly? It was almost midnight, and Jason was a couple of hundred miles away. Besides, he’d ask all kinds of questions. Was she really ready to publicly admit that Travis had wanted the family’s money? He certainly hadn’t wanted her. Not really. No matter how charming he’d been during their courtship. No, he’d wanted a leg up in the financial investment industry, which he’d gotten … and more.

God. She’d saved herself for him. And for what? Love sure hadn’t been any sweeter on the other side of the marriage bed.

She tried to think.

If she called Jason right now, he was liable to go all big-brotherly on her. She didn’t need defending. She needed to get away. For a while, anyway. To plan her next move—at least the one beyond filing for an actual divorce, which she planned to do first thing Monday morning.

So, until then she could just get a room at another hotel.

In her nightgown? Strains of “Pretty Woman” began playing in her head. Yeah. She knew exactly what they’d think she was with plastered hair, thigh-high coat, and no shoes. No respectable hotel would let her through the doors.

And the unrespectable ones …

That was no better solution than the first option. Her eyes went to the tangled colors on the map posted above the doors of the subway train.

As much as she hated the idea, her thoughts circled back to the one person she knew in New York: Brad Davis. She knew where he worked—the Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital—but she had no idea what part of town that was in, or where her brother’s old friend lived. Or even what subway line she should be on right now. She knew how to find Brad, though. Social media was good for at least one thing.

Bracing her feet against the sway of the train and digging out her smartphone, she took a deep breath and pulled up her friends list.

Brad paced the living room of his high-rise apartment, half irritated, half intrigued. It was Friday night, and he’d just sent his date home with a smiled apology and a smoothly worded explanation about family coming into town unexpectedly.

Which wasn’t a total lie. Chloe was practically family. In fact, he’d spent more of his teenage years at Chloe and Jason’s house than he had at his own. And despite being known more for his biker jacket, spiked wrist cuff and well-practiced sneer than for his social graces, his best friend’s folks had made it clear he was welcome any time. Had made sure he’d known they cared about him, even as he’d wondered if his own parents knew he existed.

And Chloe …

His mind sifted through images of the past, each overlapping the other until it formed a collage of memories, full of pink cheeks and adolescent banter.

No one had been more shocked than he, six years ago, to learn she was getting married, or to arrive at the wedding and realize what a gorgeous young woman she’d grown up to be. Asking her to dance had been the ultimate mistake. As they’d taken one quick spin around the dance floor, the hem of her lacy white gown swishing in time with their slow movements, he’d suddenly realized she was no longer the gawky kid who had tagged along after him and her brother. The glint of a hairpin imprisoning a long graceful curl had made his palms itch. What would happen if he reached up and …

His arms had instinctively tightened to resist the temptation, the act pulling her fully against him. His body had reacted, his pulse rate climbing dangerously. A soft gasp had left her throat, and the fingers that had been politely resting on his shoulder curled into the fabric of his suit jacket.

He’d looked down just as her eyes came up. Raw awareness had shimmered between them, and her teeth had sunk deep into her bottom lip—the lip he hadn’t been able to stop staring at. The world around him had faded away, and the self-destructive tendencies he’d thought long gone had swooped down, nearly consuming him.

As if recognizing danger, Chloe’s husband had suddenly appeared beside them, his hand outstretched, a warning frown between his brows. He’d spirited her away, a mysterious ethereal creature with huge blue eyes and slender curves. The memory of her body pressed to his had stayed with him long into the night.

Nope. No thinking about curves, racing pulses or anything else. She was his best friend’s sister. Sweet. Innocent.

Married.

Nothing like the women he dated—sophisticated women who knew exactly what the words “no strings” meant and would play by his set of rules. Women who were the opposite of Chloe Jenkins.

So what was she doing, wandering the streets of New York at midnight? By herself? She’d said there’d been a hitch in her hotel reservations. Why not just choose another place, then? Or drive home to Connecticut, if it came down to it?

He’d only seen her once since her wedding day, and she’d never attempted to contact him. Until tonight.

He should have said no. Should have reminded himself of that crazy dance and told her to steer clear of him—or told her he had company, with just enough emphasis to let her know exactly what that meant.

But there’d been something about her voice on the phone. A shaky uncertainty, as if she’d expected him to flat-out refuse to let her come up—something he would never do to Chloe, even if Jason weren’t his best friend. Even if seeing her again messed with his head and brought up thoughts better left buried.

The buzzer to his apartment rang, and he punched the button on the keypad that would release the lock on the main entry downstairs.

Doubly glad he’d sent Katrina on her way, he opened the door and waited for the elevator to arrive on the fifteenth floor.

In less than a minute the doors whirred open, and whereas his date’s four-inch heels had clacked purposefully across the space, Chloe stepped onto the cream marble floor with the grace of a dancer, not the slightest sound coming from her pale, high-arched feet.

And yep. There it was. The buzzing in his skull that signaled danger.

He blinked and looked closer, realizing what he’d first thought were some kind of flesh-colored shoes were actually nothing of the kind. Pink tipped nails glittered in the hallway light. Even as he stared, she curled her toes under her feet as if trying to hide them. His head cleared in an instant.

What the hell was going on?

Had she been robbed? Assaulted?

His gaze traveled up her slim calves and over her knees and lingered on the hem of her raincoat, a white-knuckled fist keeping the edges together.

Concern erased all traces of irritation. “Chloe, are you okay?”

“Y-yes.”

He finally met her eyes and found them bright. Too bright—the blue depths teeming with some terrible emotion.

One glance at the twin mascara tracks running down her delicate face, the swollen bottom lip, and he knew.

Chloe was in trouble. Big trouble.

CHAPTER TWO

CHLOE PERCHED ON the edge of an overstuffed leather couch and took another sip of her whiskey—her second glass—wincing as it hit the sore spot on her lip.

Sitting on the matching ottoman across from her, Brad’s eyes glittered with the same dangerous undertones they’d held fifteen minutes ago in the hallway when he’d gently touched the corner of her mouth and asked, “Where is the bastard?”

It had taken her a moment to realize he thought Travis had hit her.

He had. Just not with his fists.

There was no way she could explain the bitter humiliation that clogged her throat, that made her want to crawl away and hide from the world. Not to a man like Brad, who’d gone through girlfriends in droves back in high school. Girls who had been drawn to the same rough-edged smile she’d once been, only hers had been a childish infatuation that had eventually faded away, like a temporary tattoo.

Until the night of her wedding. When a single touch had brought it all roaring back. She’d been mortified at her reaction. Terrified that he’d see the truth in her eyes. Travis had rescued her just in time.

Rescued. That was one way to put it. Especially since her Prince Charming had turned out to be the villain of the story.

She continued to sip her drink, welcoming the fiery warmth that bloomed in her stomach.

“Let me take your coat, at least.” Brad’s low voice broke through her inner turmoil.

“No!” Her hand went to the tie, fiddling with it. “I—I’m still cold.”

What was she going to do? If she stayed the night, he was going to figure out she didn’t have much on under the coat. She could crash on Brad’s couch, huddled under a blanket—but the image of herself in the hotel bedroom doing much the same thing caused something between a laugh and a cry to exit her throat.

“Okay.” He sat straight up, elbows coming off his knees. “Ready to tell me what happened?”

Her glance flickered to Brad’s onyx-tiled fireplace. “I already explained. My hotel was overbooked. There were … people staying in the room.”

And she could only imagine what those “people” were now doing.

Unless Travis had already passed out, as he tended to do on the nights he’d had too much to drink. Her wedding night had been a disaster. As had the nights that had followed. When her girlfriends had giggled about how many times in a row they’d done you-know-what on their honeymoons, she’d laughed right along with them, all the while wondering if there really was something wrong with her.

Travis’s frustration had grown as her response to him had become more and more mechanical—as she’d forced herself to participate. As a result, he’d started working longer hours. To save for their future, he’d said. She’d had no idea her parents had been one of his biggest clients until she’d found some paperwork on his desk—along with some hefty fees they’d paid Travis for managing their investment accounts.

Despite the warning signs, she’d never suspected anything was off until she came home sick from her night shift at the hospital to hear terrible shrieking noises coming from the bedroom. She’d raced back to find him naked—flat on his back—another woman straddling his hips. He’d pleaded for forgiveness, promised it was a mistake, said it would never happen again.

Stay? Or leave?

She’d decided to fight for her marriage. For eight long months. Tonight had been the pièce de résistance in her campaign to rekindle the spark he’d once felt toward her. She’d seduce him.

Only Travis hadn’t needed seducing.

He just needed someone other than her.

Her eyes closed, and she took a longer pull on her drink. So much for her two weeks’ worth of vacation.

“Hey.” The murmured word dragged her back to the surface, even though she just wanted to keep sinking into the mire, never to resurface. “Do you want me to call Jason?”

Her lids parted, and she struggled to focus on the handsome face across from her. “Please don’t. He’ll just worry.”

“He should worry.” He nodded toward her feet. “Where are your shoes, Chloe?”

She gnawed the inside of her cheek. Why hadn’t she come up with a plausible explanation for that?

Because there wasn’t one. Other than the truth, which she wasn’t ready to voice.

Why had she ever thought she could “vamp” anyone? Especially her husband, whose rough-and-tumble approach to lovemaking did nothing but leave her feeling sore and inadequate. She was pretty sure the woman in her bed hadn’t been crying out in pain, so the problem wasn’t with her husband, evidently.

Frigid. The word echoed in her head, the mean nastiness of it making the hair rise on the nape of her neck.

She lifted the glass and found it empty. Held it out.

“I don’t think …” Brad began.

Only to stop when she whispered, “Please.”

Getting up, he went over to the bar, retrieved a cut-glass decanter of amber liquid and poured some in her glass, the lug-lug from the bottle strangely satisfying.

She noticed he didn’t refill his own tumbler, just took up his post again and watched her. Her shoulder hitched in an awkward shrug. “If you were in the middle of doing something, don’t let me stop you.”

She giggled as she said the last word, and her eyes widened. “Sorry. It’s been a while.” And she’d never been much of a drinker. It was amazing how it dulled the pain, though.

Something she could get used to.

He ignored her comment and said, “Shoes?”

Oh, that’s right. He wanted to know what she’d done with her stupid shoes.

“I left them behind, along with all my other little shackles.” That rock in her ring hadn’t been so little. But then again, her daddy’s investment money had probably paid for it, too. Something about that thought made her laugh again.

Brad’s hand covered hers, his fingers as warm as fire. Just like the alcohol sloshing around inside her. But when she tried to lift the glass to her lips, it wouldn’t move. Because Brad was physically holding her arm in place.

“Hey.” She tried to tug free of his grip.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

“Oh, no. Not nearly enough.” Her head felt like some kind of weird flower that when deprived of drink began to wilt … wilt … wilt … until someone watered it again. She snapped it back upright when her forehead touched Brad’s muscular arm and tried to burrow into it, a strange lethargy taking hold of her.

Gentle fingers prised hers loose from the glass and set the drink on the wooden floor beside the ottoman. Just as she started to wilt again she felt arms at her back, beneath her knees, and she levitated just like she’d seen in those horror movies when a demon possessed someone’s body. But when she tried to hold her arms out to float higher, she found them trapped against her sides.

And while this demon growled in a low, deep voice just like the ones in the films, the tone didn’t sound angry. Instead, the soft words circled the air above her face. She pulled them into her lungs, knowing somehow this being was powerful enough to keep all the other demons at bay. Including Travis. Her breath exited again on a sigh, along with the will to do anything but snuggle close and slip away into oblivion.

Brad pushed open the door to his bedroom, thankful he and Katrina had not spent time on the king-sized mattress like he’d planned. Instead, he set Chloe on top of the brown silk coverlet, not quite sure what to do with her. The guest bedroom hadn’t been used in ages and he didn’t think the bed even had a sheet on under the tan striped spread.

He gazed down at her, something inside him softening as memories from their childhood washed over him. The three of them bobbing in the pool in Jason’s parents’ backyard, tossing a young Chloe high into the air and hearing her happy scream as she hit the water and sank—then spluttered back to the surface ready for more.

How embarrassed he’d been when his friend’s folks had to come to the police station to pick him up when, at eighteen years of age and fed up with life, he’d careened around a dangerous curve on his motorcycle, intent on putting an end to his pain, only to have the damn bike slide out from under him on the unpaved road before he’d hit full speed. When he’d opened his eyes—still very much alive—all he’d been able to think of was that his parents had been right about him: he screwed up everything.

Chloe’s parents had dragged him home with them that night. He could still see the wide-eyed stare Chloe had given him when he’d walked through the front door, road rash burning up one of his cheeks and the side of his right arm. The way she’d covered her mouth with both hands in horror.

That look had convinced him that checking out really would hurt someone—even if his parents had sniffed in disgust and simply sent his chopper off to the nearest repair shop without a word. They’d tended to show their displeasure in an entirely different way—a locked door was a powerful weapon.

Yes, he and Chloe Jenkins had been through a lot together.

But never in his wildest dreams had he pictured her in his bed. Well, maybe he had. But he’d damned himself from here to eternity for wanting to peel off her wedding dress and have her innocence all to himself.

Shaking off the thought, he started to pull one corner of the bedspread around her, but her coat was still wet. He really didn’t want her to sleep in it—especially as she’d begun shaking the second she’d entered the apartment, despite the fact that late spring in New York tended toward warm and humid. Her continued shivering was the only reason he’d handed her the glass of whiskey in the first place.