Kathleen O'Reilly - Just Surrender...

Tyler looked at her, disappointed. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

No, she wasn’t worrying about him, she was wondering about him. Right now, she wondered about how his mouth would feel against hers. She wondered about the feel of his body shuddering above her, inside her. It was an intense sort of wonder, a liquid sort of wonder. Impulsively Edie pushed aside her goodbye words and found hello words instead. It was easier than she had expected.

“I’m not worried. A lot,” she said with her best cheeky grin, which was usually termed irresistible by males and females and crotchety landlords. The man was going to be toast. “But you know, it’s New York, and there are all sorts of people out there. Bad people. People that will take advantage of you. They’ll milk the cab fares, make you change tires, kidnap you rather than let you go home. It’s a rotten city.”

“I thought you loved the city.”

She lifted her shoulders, taking in the way his eyes rested on her chest, clearly noticing the way her nipples had perked up in response. “Well, sure, I love the city, but I’m tough. I know what’s what. You’re a—a city virgin.”

It was awkward and stupid, and the most idiotic-sounding sexual come-on that she’d ever uttered.

“Not a city virgin anymore,” he remarked, equally awkward-sounding, but his eyes weren’t awkward, or stupid. They were pulling her into dark, sexy places. Places that Windsor knots shouldn’t know about.

“So, uh, what if somebody else comes along, and wants to take advantage of your generous nature and your tenderhearted Texas ways?”

His mouth curved up, not so tenderhearted. Some of the arrogance was back, but she didn’t mind it. Much. “Maybe I’d let them,” he told her, his voice pitching low, right along with her stomach. Again.

“See? What did I tell you? You’ve just proved my point here.”

“What are you going to do now?” he asked again.

The first rays of dawn were reflecting off the windows, the rain made everything smell fresh and new and the city was coming alive. It was contagious, infectious, and she knew that she wasn’t going home. Not yet.

“Now? I think I’m going to pick up somebody,” she told him, lightheaded and giddy, pleased with the dawning life in his eyes, not so lonely anymore.

Tyler’s suitcase landed on the sidewalk with a loud thud. “What if he’s a criminal?”

“I can read his eyes,” Edie answered, sure and certain. She still didn’t believe in one-night stands, but if she worked very hard, she could convince herself that staying with him, laying with him, making love with him was in his best interest. The ultimate pick-me-up, in a literal sense.

“What about his eyes?”

Edie glanced over at the X-rated doors and then shook her head because there were some lies that she wouldn’t perpetuate. This was one. “He belongs in the Hilton, not the Belvedere.”

Undeterred, Mr. Hilton touched a finger to her mouth, sending the touch of a thousand silk feathers trickling down her spine. For the first time, Edie considered the idea that she might have misjudged him.

Nah.

Before her world completely tilted out of control, Edie picked up his suitcase and they fought over it all the way inside.

THEY HAD GIVEN HIS ROOM away and the next one wouldn’t be ready for another three hours.

For Dr. Tyler Hart, it was the clot that burst his brain. All night, he had been so well-behaved, so thoughtful, so deserving of a single shining moment in time where the world recognized that he was not some bit of garbage that was stuck on someone’s shoe.

But did the Belvedere Hotel give one good goddamn about Dr. Tyler Hart?

No. To the stuck-up clerk at the front desk, he was just another pervert needing to get his rocks off, and yes, that was true, but there were many other phrases that could have been used. Better phrases. Less demeaning phrases.

In the end, Edie grabbed his bag, grabbed his hand and they were directed to the empty bar, which didn’t serve alcohol until noon because of some antiquated liquor laws. In New York.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, apologizing for the eightieth time. “I’d offer my place, but the exterminator is scheduled today.”

“It’s probably for the best,” he assured her, trying to make her feel better, trying to make him seem not so much the world’s biggest rebounding cad, which unfortunately, wasn’t a far cry from the truth.

“Probably,” she agreed, which immediately ticked him off because goddamn it, he was a prize. He was a sexual stud. And perhaps, perhaps, he might be deficient in the romance quotient, but didn’t saving lives on a thrice-weekly schedule count for something?

Oh, yeah. Not to her.

She must have noticed the frustration in his eyes, which wasn’t his intent by the way, because she took his hand and rubbed her thumb along his palm. “I would have loved to have had sex with you.”

She used the past tense. “Thank you,” he answered politely, fighting the urge to drop down on his knees and beg. God, he needed sleep. No, he needed sex.

“I could wait around until the room is ready….”

“No—” He thrust his hands through his hair, and clunked his head down on the table, hoping he hadn’t just concussed himself.

“We could find another hotel,” she offered.

“No. There comes a time when you have to throw in the towel,” he said, feeling the cold wood against his cheek. Then, Dr. Tyler Hart, the man who never gave up, fell into a much-needed, dreamless, sexless sleep.

WITH TYLER CONKED OUT, Edie parked the cab properly, bought a cup of coffee and then returned to the bar to watch him sleep. Gently, her fingers stroked his hair—only once—and she was pleased to see how soft it was, how the strands didn’t conform to one direction or another. Of course, she could have told her the truth and offered her apartment, but Edie had rules. She didn’t like to bring males home because it implied things she didn’t want to imply. Not even to good, honorable men like Tyler.

She wanted to have sex with him, she wanted to watch him without the coat, without the tie, without the grease-stained white shirt—which she wasn’t going to feel guilty about because she would replace it. So there would be no guilt. None at all.

Feeling guilty, Edie went to the clerk at the front desk and used her best Manhattan sophisticate smolder. “I know you don’t have a room, but my lover is exhausted and I was hoping we could find some place where he could sleep. He just flew in.”

“You’re with Dr. Hart?”

Doctor? A Ph.D.? Really. Suddenly, she perked up. He was like her. A student of higher learning. She should have seen it early. He, so unassuming and humble. Not caring about credentials or building dedications.

Now she definitely had to have him.

Driven by new inspiration and renewed lust, Edie counted out one-two-three-four Ben Franklins under the clerk’s greedy eyes. The bills were crisp, directly from the bank next door that she hit a few minutes ago because cash always solved a myriad of problems. Another lesson learned from Dr. Jordan Higgins, who regularly gave her cash in lieu of family dinners or atta-girl pats on the back.

Edie leaned on the mahogany counter, batting her eyelashes shamelessly. “Can you do something? Please?”

The man looked left, then right, before nodding once and sliding the bills into his pocket. “The theater is empty. There’s a bed in there.”

“Theater?” Perhaps some of the shock came through in her voice.

The clerk’s look all but shouted, “amateur,” and Edie shook off her nerves. She was Edie Never-Say-Die Higgins, who was unafraid of nothing, who walked away from nothing, who currently had a half-dead Ph.D. that needed some Edie-love.