He shouldn’t have been able to do any of it. Her mind came equipped with automatic defrost to prevent dangers such as fogging. She always kept her sights on her goals, and she never, ever got swept off her feet.
A balled-up crumple of purple lace sticking out from the corner of one pillow mocked those contentions. She picked up her underwear and stuffed it in the pocket of her robe. Forget about feet, Tyler swept her right out of her panties with startling regularity.
Why do you suppose that is? a worried voice in the back of her head questioned.
Because he’s been separating females from their panties since high school. He’s good at it, which is why you wanted him as your tutor. Too bad tonight had undoubtedly sent him running for the hills. Thanks to her inability to handle her own father, she’d never learn how to seduce Roger. Good-bye golden-haired tykes pedaling little red bikes in front of a brick Tudor on Riverview. Good-bye Sundays in pew four.
Maybe she ought to consider tonight a wake-up call. She probably wasn’t cut out to be part of a large, supportive family any more than she was cut out to be a wild woman, she thought grimly as she plopped down on her bed.
Immediately restless, she shot up again and stalked to her closet. Sitting at home talking to herself did no one any good. Driving out to check on Frank at least put her medical training to use.
Fifteen minutes later she made the turn from the old highway into the subdivision she’d called home for her first eighteen years. A black pickup truck coming from the opposite direction flashed its headlights at her.
Tyler.
She pulled over. The side of the road was as good a place as any for him to officially cancel the rest of their classes. Her heart thumped hard in her chest as he approached, creating an anxious backbeat to the crunch of his boots on the roadside.
He crouched by her window and looked at her.
She looked back, throat tightening as she inspected his abused jaw. Her fingers twitched to inspect the area, make sure he was okay. Through sheer force of will, she kept her hands on the steering wheel. Still, he must have read her thoughts, because he said, “It’s fine, Ellie.”
Something about his low, calm voice cracked a dam of anger inside her. She watched in shocked detachment as her hands fisted and slammed against the steering wheel. A voice she barely recognized erupted from her throat. “It is not fine. My father hit you. You’re not fine. He’s not fine. I’m not fine!”
He had her out of the car and wrapped in his arms in the next instant, her face pressed against his chest so she felt the sure, steady beat of his heart under her cheek. She shivered uncontrollably despite the hot summer night and the warmth of his body surrounding her. Worse, she sobbed like a deranged banshee.
Tyler just held her, patient and silent, as if they weren’t standing on the roadside at midnight, and let her cry herself dry. It took a while. Finally, light-headed and raw in the throat, she raised her head back and rubbed the heels of her hands over her burning eyes.
“Oh, my God. I’m sorry.” She looked at the huge soggy spot in the center of his T-shirt. Tears and sweat and God only knew what else. “I think I owe you a shirt.”
“I owe you a pair of panties. We’ll call it even.” He tipped her chin up and inspected her face. “Feeling better?”
“Yes.” If humiliated counts as better. She drew away from him until she stood on her own two feet. “Again, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize. What happened with Frank tonight? It’s not your fault.”
“He drinks too much.”
“Not your fault.”
“He’s angry because…well…” She sighed. “He’s always angry.”
“He’s angry at God, fate, the world. That’s also not your fault.”
The bone-deep certainty in his words made her want to cry again, so she forced her lips into a weak smile. “So what you’re saying is, this is not my fault?”
Tyler smiled back. “Something like that, yeah.”
She looked away. “That’s nice of you to say, but father-daughter relationships probably aren’t your area of expertise.”
“You might be surprised to hear this, but my expertise isn’t limited to sex.”
His dry tone drew her attention back to his face. She didn’t know what she expected to see in his expression, but it wasn’t the reluctant look of someone about to discuss something he clearly preferred not to talk about. The impression strengthened when he lifted the hem of his shirt and pointed to the scar running down his side.
“You asked me once how I got this. Still wanna know?”
She nodded.
“When I was twelve, Big Joe took a swipe me with the claw end of a hand ax because I didn’t stack the firewood right. He’d been drinking, because he always drank, and he’d been pissed off already, because he was always pissed off. It wasn’t the first or last time he let me know in no uncertain terms he wasn’t happy with me.”