N. Walters - MacNamaras Lady

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.

“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.”