big guy with all the attitude and the scar. He was scary as hell but dead sexy.”
I was getting uncomfortable. I did great with strangers when they were bleeding and needed my help,
but this kind of interaction was out of my wheelhouse even if I did agree with her on the hotness levels of
Nash’s crew of friends.
The guy with the scar was Nash’s old roommate, Rome Archer. He was dead sexy in a warrior, take-
care-of-business kind of way. I knew firsthand because he had been a patient of mine not too long ago. At
the hospital the other night I caught a glimpse of Rule Archer, he was Nash’s best friend and he was still
gorgeous and dangerous-looking in his own unique way. Later on in the night Jet Keller had shown up with
a blond guy who looked like he had escaped from the 1950s and another guy that was so undeniably
handsome that it was necessary to look twice at him just to make sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on
you. All three, hot and oozing sex appeal and trouble in different ways. I just didn’t know this woman well
enough to divulge any of those insights to her, not that I would be comfortable doing that even if she
wasn’t a stranger.
I knocked on the door more out of desperation to get away from her and her curious gaze than to see if
Nash would answer.
Of course he didn’t and I felt like an idiot. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot and tried to knock again.
“Good luck. He hasn’t opened it for anyone else.” She sounded amused and I flushed bright red. I
would never get over feeling like I was always the butt of someone’s joke. It made me feel kind of sick to
my stomach, more so because she looked the way she did.
I was lifting my hand to knock one last time when the door suddenly yanked open and I was face to
chest with a mostly naked, furiously scowling, obviously inebriated Nash Donovan. Those amazing eyes
that were trapped somewhere between purple and blue blinked sluggishly at me and I let out a startled gasp
as he grasped the hand I still had lifted up to knock and pulled me toward him.
“You must have the lucky touch, Red. Good for you.” The neighbor’s laughing voice followed me into
the apartment as Nash stumbled unsteadily backward, taking me with him.
He slammed the door closed behind me with a thud and tried to focus on me out of bloodshot eyes. He
smelled like booze, cigarette smoke, and I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose up in distaste. I could
physically handle myself. It was a job requirement in the ER, but at the moment he looked kind of feral and
I had to admit his glowering, grumbling presence was slightly menacing.
He was taller than average, but so was I, meaning he wasn’t really looming so much as he was
threatening, because he was so unfamiliar and unhinged in his current state. It would be a flat-out lie if I
tried to pretend like I didn’t notice that even in his disheveled and drunken state he was in good shape. He
obviously took pretty good care of himself aside from pickling his liver and that awful habit of smoking.
He had always been a darkly handsome guy, his dark brows slashing and dramatic on a face that was full of
character holding a hint of unknown ethnicity behind it. Those purplish eyes of his were out of this world
and unforgettable. They were really too pretty and delicate-looking to be on such a masculine face.
I think it was the fact that all he had on was a pair of black boxer shorts revealing there wasn’t an
exposed part of his olive-toned skin that didn’t have some kind of design inked on it that was making me a
little bit overwhelmed. I liked tattoos, had a couple myself, but Nash’s dedication to decorating his body
was on an entirely different level. I mean I wasn’t surprised at the amount of artwork he was sporting
considering he had those brilliant flames tattooed on his head and a curved ring in the center of his nose.
That was all designed to make a statement, to proclaim that he
I was getting uncomfortable. I did great with strangers when they were bleeding and needed my help,
but this kind of interaction was out of my wheelhouse even if I did agree with her on the hotness levels of
Nash’s crew of friends.
The guy with the scar was Nash’s old roommate, Rome Archer. He was dead sexy in a warrior, take-
care-of-business kind of way. I knew firsthand because he had been a patient of mine not too long ago. At
the hospital the other night I caught a glimpse of Rule Archer, he was Nash’s best friend and he was still
gorgeous and dangerous-looking in his own unique way. Later on in the night Jet Keller had shown up with
a blond guy who looked like he had escaped from the 1950s and another guy that was so undeniably
handsome that it was necessary to look twice at him just to make sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on
you. All three, hot and oozing sex appeal and trouble in different ways. I just didn’t know this woman well
enough to divulge any of those insights to her, not that I would be comfortable doing that even if she
wasn’t a stranger.
I knocked on the door more out of desperation to get away from her and her curious gaze than to see if
Nash would answer.
Of course he didn’t and I felt like an idiot. I shifted uneasily from foot to foot and tried to knock again.
“Good luck. He hasn’t opened it for anyone else.” She sounded amused and I flushed bright red. I
would never get over feeling like I was always the butt of someone’s joke. It made me feel kind of sick to
my stomach, more so because she looked the way she did.
I was lifting my hand to knock one last time when the door suddenly yanked open and I was face to
chest with a mostly naked, furiously scowling, obviously inebriated Nash Donovan. Those amazing eyes
that were trapped somewhere between purple and blue blinked sluggishly at me and I let out a startled gasp
as he grasped the hand I still had lifted up to knock and pulled me toward him.
“You must have the lucky touch, Red. Good for you.” The neighbor’s laughing voice followed me into
the apartment as Nash stumbled unsteadily backward, taking me with him.
He slammed the door closed behind me with a thud and tried to focus on me out of bloodshot eyes. He
smelled like booze, cigarette smoke, and I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose up in distaste. I could
physically handle myself. It was a job requirement in the ER, but at the moment he looked kind of feral and
I had to admit his glowering, grumbling presence was slightly menacing.
He was taller than average, but so was I, meaning he wasn’t really looming so much as he was
threatening, because he was so unfamiliar and unhinged in his current state. It would be a flat-out lie if I
tried to pretend like I didn’t notice that even in his disheveled and drunken state he was in good shape. He
obviously took pretty good care of himself aside from pickling his liver and that awful habit of smoking.
He had always been a darkly handsome guy, his dark brows slashing and dramatic on a face that was full of
character holding a hint of unknown ethnicity behind it. Those purplish eyes of his were out of this world
and unforgettable. They were really too pretty and delicate-looking to be on such a masculine face.
I think it was the fact that all he had on was a pair of black boxer shorts revealing there wasn’t an
exposed part of his olive-toned skin that didn’t have some kind of design inked on it that was making me a
little bit overwhelmed. I liked tattoos, had a couple myself, but Nash’s dedication to decorating his body
was on an entirely different level. I mean I wasn’t surprised at the amount of artwork he was sporting
considering he had those brilliant flames tattooed on his head and a curved ring in the center of his nose.
That was all designed to make a statement, to proclaim that he
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