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“But I do. You fascinate me.”
Had he been drinking? The hospital wasn’t serving anything alcoholic, but perhaps someone had spiked the punch.
“When I was younger, I—I stuttered all the time. These days it usually only h-happens when I’m in a stressful sit-situation.”
He studied her a moment. “Am I a stressful situation?”
“Men are always stressful,” she answered flippantly, because she didn’t want to label anything at all about the way Tyler made her feel. Not the way he’d made her feel before tonight and especially not the way he was making her feel at that very moment.
He leaned his long frame against the hospital wall they stood near, crossed his arms and regarded her. “Ya know, I just realized that during the entire time I’ve been at Angel’s I’ve never heard a thing about you and a man, Eleanor. Is there someone special in your life?”
Had the room suddenly grown hot? Her skin had certainly grown clammy.
“Not at the moment.”
“Lucky me.”
Not sure what to say, Eleanor glanced around the lobby that had been converted into a reception area for tonight’s gathering. The crowd had started to thin and most of the press had left.
“I should probably quit monopolizing your company,” she said, realizing that he hadn’t left her side the entire evening.
“Please don’t, darlin’.”
She glanced up at him.
“I want you monopolizing my … company.”
Her breath caught. He was flirting with her. Really flirting. If she’d had any doubts earlier, now she didn’t.
The only problem was that Tyler Donaldson flirting with her was way out of her league. As in she wouldn’t know how to flirt back if her life depended on it.
So she just smiled and took a sip of her punch.
He had the audacity to laugh, causing her gaze to return to him. When their eyes met, she found herself laughing back.
She wasn’t sure exactly what they were laughing at, but a giddy happiness flowed through her, along with a shared connection with Dr. Tyler Donaldson that was both unexpected, a bit magical and so exciting she could barely breathe.
“Who’s the hunk?”
Totally lost as to what Brooke meant, Eleanor glared at her sister across the Aston penthouse’s breakfast table. Brooke’s face was masked by a thick layer of medicated cream.
Eleanor had gotten up that morning determined to accomplish one thing. To kill her sister.
Not literally.
Maybe.
But seriously, Brooke had gone too far this time. Even though the night had turned out nothing short of wonderful thanks to Ty, that didn’t mean Brooke wasn’t going to get an earful.
“Don’t try changing the subject,” she warned, tapping her finger against the glass tabletop covering the rich mahogany. “You broke into a hospital doctors’ lounge and stole my clothes.”
“I,” her sister put great emphasis on the pronoun, “didn’t do anything. And don’t change the subject.” Brooke’s head bobbed with attitude, which should have come across as ridiculous, with her platinum hair tied up and flying every which way, thick white cream covering her still-swollen face and her body wrapped in a fuzzy pink terry-cloth robe, but which somehow didn’t look ridiculous at all.
Even while suffering from an allergic reaction, her sister managed to pull off cool.
Brooke slid that morning’s paper across the breakfast table. “Who is he and where can I get one? He’s yummy. Introduce me.”
“What are you talking about?” But even as Eleanor finished asking she saw exactly what her sister referred to.
