New York's Finest Rebel. Trish Wylie
party, is it?’
‘I am not walking up the aisle with him.’
‘You can have Tyler.’
Good call. She loved Tyler Brannigan. He was fun to be around. ‘I thought he was determined he wasn’t wearing a monkey suit. How did you talk him into it?’
‘Danny? The same way we got him to his niece’s birthday party last month. Only this time Blake helped …’
Meaning he’d lost a bet. Jo smiled a small smile at the idea of Liv’s new fiancé tag-teaming with the rest of the Brannigan brothers against one of their own on poker night. She spooned coffee granules into the percolator. Go Blake.
‘How did he look to you?’
The question made Jo blink, her voice threaded with suspicion. ‘Same as he always looks. Why?’
‘I take it you haven’t watched the news today.’
‘No.’ She stepped into the living room and pointed the remote at the TV screen. ‘What did I miss?’
‘Wait for it …’
The report appeared almost instantaneously on the local news channel. Unable to hear what was said without racking the volume up to competitive levels, she read the feed across the bottom of the screen. It mentioned a yet-to-be-named Emergency Services Officer who might or might not have unhooked his safety harness to rescue a man on the Williamsburg Bridge. If it was who she thought it was Jo could have told them the answer. The camera attempted to focus on a speck of arm-waving humanity among the suspension cables at the exact moment another speck closed in on him. For a second they came dangerously close to falling; a collective gasp coming from the crowd of gawkers on the ground. At the last minute several more specks surrounded them and hauled them to safety.
A round of applause sounded on the screen as Jo shook her head. ‘You got to be kidding me.’
‘I know.’ Olivia sighed. ‘Mom is climbing the walls. It was tough enough for her when he was overseas …’
‘Did you call him?’
‘He’s not picking up.’
Jo glared at the door. ‘I’ll call you back.’
In the hall, she banged her fist several times against wood before the music lowered and the door opened.
‘Call your mother,’ she demanded as she thrust her cell phone at him.
‘What’s wrong?’
Ignoring what could have almost been mistaken for concern in his deep voice, she turned her hand around, hit speed-dial and lifted the phone to her ear.
‘You’re an inconsiderate asshat,’ she muttered.
The second his mother picked up she thrust the phone at him again, snatching her hand back when warm fingers brushed against hers.
‘No, it’s me. I’m fine. Someone would have called you if I wasn’t. You know that.’ He took a step back and closed the door in Jo’s face.
Back in her apartment, she froze and swore under her breath at the fact he had her cell phone. Her life was in that little rectangle of technology. Hadn’t stopped to think that one through, had she? Marching back to the kitchen, she lifted the apartment phone, checked the Post-it note on the crowded refrigerator door and dialled his sister’s new number.
‘He’s talking to your mother now.’
‘What did you do?’ Liv asked.
‘Told him exactly what I thought of him.’
‘To his face?’
Picking up where she’d left off, Jo hit the switch on the percolator. ‘I’ve never had a problem saying what I think to his face. You know that.’
There was a firm knock against wood.
‘Hang on.’ When she opened the door and her gaze met narrowed blue eyes, she took the phone from him, replacing it with the one in her hand. ‘Your sister.’
Lifting the receiver to his ear, he stepped across the threshold. ‘Hey, sis, what’s up?’
Jo blinked. How had he ended up in her apartment? Swinging the door shut, she turned and went back to the kitchen. If he thought it was becoming a regular occurrence, he could forget it. She wanted to spend time with him as much as she loved the idea of having her fingernails pulled out. Glancing briefly at the room that seemed smaller with him in it, she frowned when he looked at her from the corner of his eye.
His gaze swept over her body, lingering for longer than necessary on her feet. What was that?
Jo resisted the urge to look down at what she was wearing. There was nothing wrong with her outfit. If anything, it covered more than the one she was wearing last time he saw her. Personally she loved how the high-waist black pants made her legs seem longer, especially when accompanied by a pair of deep purple, skyscraper-heeled Louboutins. Five feet six inches didn’t exactly make her small. But considering the number of models towering over her like Amazons on regular occasions during working hours, she appreciated every additional illusionary inch of height. She shook her head a minute amount. Why should she care what he thought? What he knew about fashion wouldn’t fill a thimble. His jeans were a prime example.
Judging by the way they were worn at the knees and around the pockets on his—
She sharply averted her gaze. If he caught her looking at his rear she would never hear the end of it.
The man already had an ego the size of Texas.
‘It’s my job,’ he said with a note of impatience as he paced around the room. ‘The line didn’t reach … There wasn’t time … I knew they had my back. You done, ‘cos I’m pretty sure your friend has three more calls to make …’
Unrepentant, Jo grabbed her favourite mug and set it on the counter. She hoped Liv gave him hell, especially when he had just confirmed his stupidity. What kind of idiot unhooked his safety harness that high up? Hadn’t he heard of a little thing called gravity?
Turning as the coffee bubbled, she leaned her hip against the counter and folded her arms, studying him while he paced. His jaw tensed, broad chest lifting and lowering beneath a faded Giants T-Shirt. He looked … weary? No, weary wasn’t the right word. Tired, maybe—as if he hadn’t slept much lately. Not that she cared about that either, but since Liv asked how he looked, apparently she felt the need to study him more closely than usual and once she’d gotten started …
Okay, so if injected with a truth serum she supposed she would admit there were understandable reasons women tended to trip over their feet when he smiled. Vivid blue eyes, shortly cropped dark blond hair, the hint of shadow on his strong jaw … Add them to the ease with which his long, lean, muscular frame covered the ground and there wasn’t a single gal in Manhattan who wouldn’t volunteer their phone number.
Not that they’d hold his interest for long.
‘Well, you can stop. I’m fine. Don’t you have a wedding to plan? Said I would, didn’t I?’ His gaze slid across the room. ‘She’ll call you back.’
Before he hung up, Jo was across the apartment and had swung the door open with a smile. But instead of his taking the hint, a large hand closed it, his palm flattening on the wood by her head. His body loomed over hers. If they’d been outside he would have blocked out the sun.
‘We obviously need to talk,’ he said flatly.
No, they didn’t. Jo gritted her teeth together, rapidly losing what was left of her patience. She was contemplating grinding a stiletto heel into one of his boots when he took a short breath and added, ‘Butting your pretty little nose into other people’s business might be okay with other folks. It’s not with me.’
‘Try answering your phone and I won’t have to.’ She