MacNamarasLady (10 page)

She gasped and her eyes flew open. Her
heart was racing, beating against her chest. “Oh God.” She placed her hand over
her heart and took a deep breath. “You’re okay.” She repeated the phrase over
and over until her heartbeat slowed and her breathing eased.

That was…unpleasant. She’d never had a
panic attack before. She decided she didn’t like them. Not at all.

Control was the key for her. The mantra by
which she lived her life. Now she felt as though she was unraveling from the
inside out. The doctor had warned her she might react this way. Although she
hadn’t been seriously injured she had been through a traumatic situation. One
that would take her time to get over.

She’d almost laughed at the doctor. She was
tough. This was no big deal. She’d been through plenty of violent episodes
growing up. But this one had been different. There was no reason behind this
attack. She’d been a random victim.

Maybe it was because she’d believed herself
impervious to such things now that she was a grown woman. As a child, she’d
been a victim of domestic violence. It had made her a strong and sure woman.
But not anymore.

“Bullshit,” she muttered. She was still
that woman. She’d get past this like she had every other challenge in her life.

A light knock came on the door. “Missy, can
you take a phone call?” Before she could tell him no, he continued. “It’s
Candy.”

She had to take that or her friend would be
over here in a heartbeat. Plus, what must Candy be thinking with T.S. answering
the phone? “Give me a second,” she called.

Missy all but jumped out of the bath,
ignoring the various complaints of her body, and pulled the plug for the water
to drain. She toweled off quickly and yanked on her robe. Her hair was starting
to frizz because of the steam. She grabbed a bottle from the vanity, spritzed
some product in her hand and dragged it through her short hair. It wasn’t
perfect, but it would have to do for the moment.

She pulled open the door and T.S. was
waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall. She wished he’d put on the
scrub top they’d given him at the hospital last night. Seeing all that hard,
male flesh was giving her the hot flashes.

No, it was simply the heat from the bath.
Nothing more.

Liar
, her
conscience screamed at her. She sniffed at it, not willing to admit it was
right. T.S. was quickly becoming an addiction.

She took the phone and headed toward the
living room. “Hey, Candy. What are you doing calling me today? You’re supposed
to still be celebrating your wedding.”
There, that sounded normal enough
.

Her friend laughed. “I more than celebrated
last night.” There was a satisfied note in Candy’s voice that made Missy smile.
She had no doubt that Lucas had kept his new wife up until past dawn
celebrating.

Missy glanced at the clock on the DVR as
she sank down onto her sofa and was shocked to see it was already noon.
Breakfast had really been brunch. It wasn’t like her to sleep so late. She
supposed she could be excused because of everything that had happened last
night—the wedding, the attack, the hot sex with T.S.

“How are you? Really?”

Candy’s concern brought tears to Missy’s
eyes and she blinked them back. “I’m fine. Really.”

“No you’re not.” That was the thing about
your best girlfriend. She could tell when you weren’t telling the truth. “I’m
just glad that T.S. stayed over last night. Neither one of you should have been
alone last night. How is his arm?”

Missy realized then that Candy had no idea
she and T.S. had spent the night together, in bed. She thought he’d stayed on
the sofa. “He says he’s okay, but I’m not buying it.”

She shot him a glare. Instead of being put
off by it like most men were, he smiled at her, blew her a kiss and headed back
to the kitchen. Because of the open concept of the apartment, she could see he
was finishing the dishes. The table was bare, the counter was clear and the
clean dishes had been put away. The muscles in his back flexed and rippled as he
scrubbed the frying pan.

“Missy?”

How long had Candy been trying to get her
attention? “Sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted me to come over.”

“Absolutely not.” Missy sat forward,
twitching the bottom of her robe closed when it splayed open, displaying quite
a bit of her legs. She glanced toward the kitchen and found T.S. watching her.
No, not her—her legs.

Heat suffused her face. She ignored the
increase in her pulse rate, the heaviness in her breasts, the throbbing between
her legs. “I mean it, Candy. You stay with your man and celebrate today.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Positively. I’ll call you tomorrow. I know
you’re taking some time off work but maybe we can get together for lunch or
coffee or something.”

“You’re going to work tomorrow?” Candy sounded
appalled.

“Of course I am. I’m fine.” She’d feel more
in control of her life if she went back to work. No sense moping around,
thinking about things. She and Candy chatted a few more minutes before she hung
up.

She hadn’t done much of anything but was
already exhausted. Trying to reassure her friend had worn her out. She tossed
her phone onto the coffee table and stood. “Thanks for staying last night.” She
was hoping he’d get the message and leave.

“My pleasure.” His low voice slipped under
her skin and went straight to her erogenous zones.

Missy straightened to her full height,
which was considerable. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“Why don’t you get dressed and then we’ll
talk.”

She put her hands on her hips and quickly
dropped them when the motion pulled the top of her robe apart, displaying far
too much bare skin.

T.S. didn’t say a word as she turned on her
heel and stomped off to the bedroom. She wanted comfort today above style. She
tugged on some underwear but didn’t bother with a bra. Loose-fitting cotton
pants and a long-sleeved cotton sweater were just what she wanted. Soft and
non-confining. Nothing that would tug on her bruises and scrapes. She pulled on
some thick white sweat socks and was done.

She detoured by the bathroom and styled her
hair and put on a touch of mascara and lip-gloss. Not that she was primping for
T.S., but simply because it made her feel better. If he noticed, well that was
an added bonus.

When she returned to the living room he was
sprawled out on her sofa with his feet propped on her coffee table. The
television was on and it was tuned to a sports channel—pre-game football show.
Missy almost sneered. She hadn’t watched football in years. Her father used to
watch it every Sunday afternoon. He invariably got angry over some missed call.
Something had almost always been broken or smashed on Sunday afternoons in
their home.

He turned his head, hitting the mute button
when he saw her. “Hey. You look cozy.” He patted the sofa cushion next to him.
“Come sit with me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You
really should go.”

“Why?”

“Why?” She couldn’t believe he’d asked such
a question.

“Yes, why? I think you’re still shaken over
last night. I know I am. We could just hang out and watch some television. If
you let me stay I’ll spring for takeout later.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled when he
smiled. Missy tried not to notice how sexy that made him. She gave silent
thanks that he’d pulled on the ugly green scrub top, but it in no way
downplayed his masculinity. How could a man look hot in such an ugly piece of
clothing was beyond her. But somehow he pulled it off.

He didn’t appear shaken at all. He looked
calm and in control of himself. It made her angry.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

He shrugged. “I do. The bandage on my arm
needs to be changed later and I can’t do it on my own.”

Damn, now she felt like a selfish bitch. Of
course he couldn’t tend to his arm himself. Just because he downplayed his
injury didn’t mean it wasn’t a reality or that it didn’t need attention. “Does
it hurt? Did you take the antibiotics the doctor gave you? The painkillers.”

He nodded. “Yes to both. I’ve got enough
for today but I’ll have to fill the prescription he gave me on the way home
later today.”

Okay, he was leaving later. That gave them
a deadline. She could live with that. It would be totally heartless of her to
toss him out after all he’d done for her. Heat climbed up her cheeks at the
memory of last night and she almost screamed in frustration. She didn’t mean to
think about the sex portion of the evening, but earlier when he’d saved her
from a vicious assault. She owed him.

“Do you want me to change the bandage on
your arm now?”

He patted the seat cushion again and she
walked around the sofa and perched on the edge. “Later. How about we just watch
some television and relax.”

“Football?” she sneered.

“Hey, what have you got against football?”

“A bunch of grown men chasing a ball and
beating up on one another. What’s not to love?”

He grabbed her hand and tugged. She tumbled
back into his arms. He kissed her temple. “Exactly. It’s a great game. It’s
un-American not to like football.”

She snorted. “That so.”

He solemnly nodded. “I speak the truth.”

“Maybe we can find some fashion program or
decorating show to watch.”

T.S. slapped his hand over his chest. “You
wound me, woman.”

She couldn’t help herself. She laughed. The
mock horror on his face was hilarious. “So we have to watch what you want to
watch?”

He grew serious and tucked a strand of hair
over her ear. “No. We can watch whatever you want.” He handed her the remote
and settled back, settling her in his arms. “Just go easy on the fashion
stuff.”

Her chest tightened and her hands shook.
Any other man she’d known would have protested. Probably would have gotten up
and left. Her father would have thrown a fit. No, that wasn’t true. There would
have been no need. His house, his rules.

She didn’t want to be like that. Like him.
And she didn’t mind football. In fact, she’d been a cheerleader, going to all
her high school and college games. She’d never watched it on television because
it reminded her too much of her childhood.

She hit the sound button and the
commentator’s voice filled the living room once again. “I don’t mind.”

He tiled her head back until he could see
her. “You sure?”

A sense of certainty settled over her. “I’m
sure.”

T.S. tightened his arm around her as she
settled closer to him and they watched the pre-game show.

Chapter Seven

“The referee needed glasses.” The game was
long over but they were still arguing the calls as she drove T.S. across town
to pick up his truck, which was still parked down the road from Lucas’ place.
He loved the way she’d gotten into the game when it was obvious from the start
she hadn’t wanted to even watch it.

“He made the right call.” T.S. sat in the
passenger seat, totally relaxed. Spending the day with Missy had been a lot of
fun. He never spent much time with a woman, not unless it was a prelude to
getting her into bed. And today hadn’t been about that.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to have sex
with Missy again, because he most certainly did. But today had been about her
resting and relaxing.

She’d been through an ordeal and needed
coddling. Of course, he wasn’t stupid enough to tell her that. She was a strong
woman who hated to admit to any weakness. He admired that about her. Could
relate to it.

He knew she’d wanted him to leave. He
should have been thankful she didn’t want to cling, didn’t want to prolong the
morning-after, which could sometimes be awkward. Once breakfast was done he
should have said his goodbyes and left. Surprisingly enough, he hadn’t wanted
to.

She’d immediately caved when he’d mentioned
he needed help changing his bandage, which she’d done before the game started.
By that time there’s been no mention of him leaving until the game was over.

He didn’t feel the least bit guilty about
playing the sympathy card. They’d both enjoyed the afternoon—the football, the
pizza and the company. Missy was easy to be with. Opinionated and funny, she’d
known a lot more about the game than he’d anticipated, given she’d been so
resistant to watching it in the first place.

“So you say.”

“You know I’m right.” He couldn’t resist
goading her.

“I know you’re deluded enough to think you
are, MacNamara.”

He laughed. He couldn’t remember the last
time he’d had so much fun with a woman. “I’m the football expert.”

She sniffed disdainfully. “I’ll have you
know I’ve probably seen more games than you have.”

“Is that so?”

“I was a cheerleader all through high
school. College too. I know a good call from a bad one.”