Tangling With Ty

But in spite of his genuine need to soothe and comfort, there was more. Beneath her white shirt he could see a hint of yellow lace bra, and he wondered if her panties matched. “How did you get so tense today, doc?”

“I tend to get that way when some asshole puts his hands on me uninvited.”

He went still.

“Not you,” she said.

Still, Ty suddenly felt very tense himself. “Who put his hands on you uninvited?”

She lifted a slim shoulder. “Just some jerk at work.”

“Your boss again?”

Another lift of her shoulder.

“Goddammit.” Now he was trying to control his temper, but he had to do it. She didn’t want his anger, and she sure as hell didn’t want compassion, so what was he supposed to do with all this unexpected violence? Keeping his voice light took about all he had. “Do I need to go caveman for you and kick some serious butt?”

That startled a laugh out of her, a genuine one, and he relaxed slightly, keeping his hands working on her neck. If she’d been hurt, she wouldn’t be laughing.

“I handled it,” she assured him.

“Yeah, well, I hope you kicked his balls into next week.”

“Nah, just his ego.”

She said this very proudly, and that made him smile. “Good girl.” He dug for more taut muscles, thinking she was so petite beneath his fingers, so…perfect. “Sure I can’t go reinforce it?”

“No way.” She was quiet a moment, biting her lip as he started on a kink at the base of her shoulder blade.

He didn’t want her to bite her lip, he wanted her to let out the helpless moan, wanted her to give him a sign that he was making her feel good, that he was helping her let go of all the fury, but apparently he couldn’t have everything he wanted.

“Ty?” she said softly after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.” Turning to face him, her lips curved. “You know, for having caveman tendencies and wanting to go bash in a head and all.”

The way she was looking at him made him want to beat his chest with his fists and howl at the moon. He’d meant to stay away from her. Why the hell hadn’t he stayed away? “Nicole?”

While most of her anger had faded, she still had a good amount of wariness in those jaded eyes. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to put my hands on you.”

“You already have.”

“More hands.”

“Why are you announcing this?”

“So you don’t kick my balls or ego into next week, warrior princess.” Cupping her face, he tilted it up. Slowly. Giving her plenty of time to settle in.

Or back away.

She didn’t back away, but neither did she settle in. Instead, she stiffened, just a little, just enough to break his heart. “No, don’t get all tight again.” His lips whispered against hers. “I’m going to kiss you now. Say yes.”

“Ty-”

“Yes or no, Nicole. I don’t want you to mistake me for any other asshole doing this without permission.”

“I-I know who you are.”

“Yes or no.”

“Yes. Okay? Yes! Put your hands on me.” Her arms snaked up around his neck. Fisted in his hair. “Kiss it all away, Ty. Can you do that?”

“Oh yeah.” His hands slid from her face to her hips and he pulled her close. “I can do that.”

She went up on her tiptoes to meet him halfway as he covered her mouth with his, cutting off anything else hanging between them, of which there was plenty. With a rough, appreciative groan, he invaded her mouth with one sure glide of his tongue, figuring she’d either kiss him back or belt him one.

She kissed him back. In fact, she mewled and arched her body to his like a cat in heat. His arms banded around her more tightly, lifting her off the ground as his mouth slashed across hers in a fiery kiss that only left him needing more, more, more. And when they finally broke apart, she staggered back, placed a hand over her heart and licked her wet lips. “What the hell was that?”

“Not sure.” He hauled her back against him. “Let’s try it again and see if we can figure it out.”

“Hmm.” Then they were kissing again, tongues caressing and plundering, hands touching anywhere they could land as they ate each other up.

Ty had never felt anything as fast and as hot and as combustive as this. Her hands pushed up his shirt. He shoved up her light shirt. She kicked off her shoes, went up on her tiptoes and hooked a leg around his hip, straining against the biggest erection he’d ever sported.

Never letting go of her mouth, he had his hands up her shirt and she had hers on his zipper when the beep, beep, beep of her pager nearly jerked his heart right out of his chest. “Don’t listen,” he said against her lips, gripping her at the waist to hold her still.

With a soft little moan, she opened her eyes. “I have to.”

“Nicole-”

“I have to.” Stepping back, she licked her lips again, as if she needed that very last taste of him, and pulled down her shirt with fingers that trembled. She avoided his gaze as she went looking for the offending beeper. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

“There were two of us inhaling each other.”

“Still, I should have-” She looked down at the pager.

“Let me guess. You have to go.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He backed away, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them off her. “Goodbye, Nicole.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.” And he left before she could count off each and every reason why they should never have let anything like this happen.

He already knew every single one of them.

He just couldn’t remember why they mattered.

SOMETIME IN THE MIDDLE of the night Ty gave up staring at the ceiling and went into his office. Not one to waste precious hours, he sat at his desk and decided he’d work off the restlessness.

Okay, horniness.

He should have kept his hands and mouth to himself. Should have, would have, could have.

Regrets? Is that what he felt, when he’d promised himself to never have them? Never to look back? Live life to its fullest, he’d always told himself. Get everything you want, and smile all the way to the bank as you do it.

It turned out it was no easier to work with a hard-on than it had been to sleep with one. So he turned on his computer, where he found another e-mail from his friendly stranger.

Dear Ty Patrick O’Grady of Dublin,

You asked who I am. Of course you want to know! I’m Margaret Mary Mulligan of Dublin. I’m twenty-four years of age, and I’m also the daughter of Anne Mary Mulligan.

Which makes me your half sister.

Actually, I’m not sure about the half part because I don’t know who my father is. Our mother, as you probably know, is dead.

You’re my only family. I want to know you. Please write back.

Margaret Mary

Ty stared at the e-mail for so long the words leaped and jumped in front of him. A sister? He had a sister?

Was it even possible?