his doorway, and Levi stared at her, not sure whether his incredibly strong pain pills were causing hallucinations.
Black jeans and a thin, mint-colored sweater hugged her curves under a thigh-length leather jacket. A multi-colored scarf held back curls and her face was thinner, older and, God, so beautiful. Levi gripped the arm of his chair, physically grounding himself, fighting the instinct to rush her, to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her neck, in her lustrous hair. He needed to inhale the scent of her skin, to know whether it was as soft and creamy as it looked.
He wanted to strip her naked, to finally feel her round breast in his hand, to find out whether her nipples were as luscious as he imagined, her core as warm, as spicy, as the rest of her.
So much time had passed and Levi felt shocked at how much he wanted her. Unable to stop himself, he drank her in. Those light green eyes fringed with long, thick black lashes fascinated him and he’d loved running his thumbs across those high cheekbones and that round, stubborn chin. He’d been addicted to her wide, sexy mouth, with its full lips, and he’d adored her curly, black-as-coal hair. Tanna’s skin, thanks to her Bengalese grandmother always made her look like she’d recently returned from a six-week holiday in the hot Caribbean sun.
Tanna was warm island breezes and hot beach bonfires, with a body made to wear a bikini, or better yet, nothing at all. She was a hot sun, a shooting star, blue skies, happiness.
Or she had been...
Before she screwed with his life and made him look like an idiot in front of his family and the world. Before she’d left and his world spun out of control.
He didn’t need to see her again, didn’t need to hear whatever the hell it was she wanted to say. He’d worked damned hard at surviving her, creating a life he loved and enjoyed, and he’d made a conscious effort to forget her. Like Ray, she’d caused chaos in his life and he never again wanted to feel like he was falling out of an airplane without a parachute.
He was over her.
He had to be.
“What the hell are you doing here, Tanna?” he demanded in a low growl.
“I need to talk to you,” Tanna said, advancing into the room and standing next to an easy chair, a twin to the one he was sitting in. He saw her eyes flitting to his leg and an exquisitely arched eyebrow lifted. “What happened?”
“My dirt bike and I parted ways,” Levi responded curtly. He jerked his head, hoping she didn’t notice the fine tremor in his hands. “You know the way out.”
Tanna ignored his order and sat down on the chair, placing her tote bag on the floor next to her. She rested her forearms on her knees and clasped her hands together. “We need to talk, Levi.”
Did he want to hear anything she had to say? Hell no. And hell yes.
Hell no, because her walking out on him shortly before their wedding without an explanation made him reluctant to indulge in a rehash ten-plus years later. And hell yes, because, dammit, this was Tanna. The only woman who’d ever caused his lungs to stop functioning, blood to drain from his brain, his heart to beat erratically.
Self-reliant and reticent, Levi didn’t make friends easily and, before Tanna Murphy, had never been in love. For months after her leaving, he’d felt like his ribs were broken, every breath he took hurt.
He’d loved her, craved her, would’ve moved heaven and earth for her. And, because of who he was, his nonmarriage had made all the papers on the East Coast. And on the West Coast too.
God, he’d been the village idiot.
“Just walk your pretty ass out of here, Murphy.”
Tanna tipped her head and Levi noticed the determination in her eyes. Dammit. He recognized her look; he’d seen enough of it when she was injured in an accident of her own, before their engagement. Tanna didn’t take no for an answer. And since he couldn’t forcibly remove her from his house, he was stuck listening to her.
Levi scowled at his right leg resting on a small ottoman. She pretty much had a captive audience and that annoyed the ever-loving crap out of him.
But if he was going to listen to whatever drivel she was about to spout, he’d get something out of it. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You can have five minutes if you make me a cup of coffee.”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“Ten minutes, but for that I want coffee and a sandwich,” Levi countered.
Tanna had the audacity to smile at him. “Or I could do neither and just sit here and stare at you until you give in.”
Levi picked up his phone and waved it. “Or I could call 911 and charge you for trespassing.”
He saw her hesitate and heard the silent curse on the tip of her tongue. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated and snapped her mouth closed.
“I thought you’d see it my way,” Levi said as she stood up. “You’ll find everything you need in the kitchen. And do not think you can fob me off with a PB&J. There’s deli meat, salad stuff and an array of condiments. Pile it on, princess.”
Tanna stiffened at the use of her old nickname, the one he used to murmur with affection. Now it was coated with sarcasm and a whole lot of annoyance. He’d made sure of it.
Levi watched Tanna walk out of his study and pushed both his hands through his hair. He really wanted a sandwich, mostly so he could take a pain pill, but he was willing to put up with the pain if it meant her walking out of his house and his life.
Tanna Murphy had a way of complicating the hell out of everything and all he craved was simplicity.
Tanna Murphy found the kitchen off the hallway and immediately walked up to the overlarge fridge and rested her forehead against the cool double doors, trying to control her breathing. Her rental car was parked in his driveway and she fought the urge to walk back through the house, out the front door and drive back to Beacon Hill or, even better, to Logan International Airport.
You promised yourself you would do this, Murphy.
She’d sworn to herself she’d do anything to combat the PTSD symptoms that had suddenly flared up before she left London. It was easy to identify the trigger; she’d been the first responder to a car accident where a dark-haired, dark-eyed teenager had caused a multicar pileup. The girl had looked like Addy, and Tanna had frozen. After a minute, her colleague had yanked her off the patient and provided the medical treatment necessary, and Tanna, from that minute, started suffering from anxiety attacks and flashbacks to her own car accident.
She was put on medical leave and, on the advice of her London-based therapist, she’d returned to Boston to face her past. But to her friends and family, she was taking a break from work. Her overprotective brothers didn’t need to hear about the demons she was fighting.
Tanna walked across the black-and-white tiles of the kitchen to pull out a chair at a big wooden table. She’d sit here for a minute, gather her courage, because, damn, she needed it. She had to confront the past in order to return to work, to do her damn job. Nobody needed an EMT who hyperventilated in a crisis.
