Книга - Rebel Doc On Her Doorstep

Rebel Doc On Her Doorstep
Lucy Ryder


From one night…to forever!Dr Paige Carlyle knows all about bad alpha boys. So, when one breaks into her home, she’s ready to knock him out. But surely he’s not supposed to look that hot!Surgeon Tyler Reese wasn’t expecting a warm welcome home, but the cute, fiery pixie in residence is a complete surprise! Unable to avoid each other, soon their uneasy attraction leads to one unforgettable night. Tyler wasn’t staying forever, but now he might not be able to walk away…







From one night...to forever!

Dr. Paige Carlyle knows all about bad alpha boys. So when one breaks into her home, she’s ready to knock him out. But surely he’s not supposed to look that hot!

Surgeon Tyler Reese wasn’t expecting a warm welcome home, but the cute, fiery pixie in residence is a complete surprise! Unable to avoid each other, soon their uneasy attraction leads to one unforgettable night. Tyler wasn’t staying forever, but now he might not be able to walk away...


Paige uttered an ear-piercing shriek and stumbled back a couple of steps, nearly falling over a deckchair.

“Stop doing that!” she said, catching herself.

For a few moments her heavy breathing filled the darkness, reminding Ty of things he hadn’t had in a while. Things he’d convinced himself this morning that he didn’t feel for Paige Carlyle. Things that should have scared him into escaping back to California but kept him glued to the lounger because he was tired of running.

She stomped closer and demanded, “What are you doing sitting out here? It’s freezing!”

He reached out, snagged her hand and pulled.

Paige gave a startled “oomph” and tumbled right into Ty’s lap.

“Wha—what are you doing?” she squeaked, as light from her apartment spilled over her shocked face.

And then Ty did what he’d told himself he didn’t want. He swooped down and crushed her soft mouth with his. He’d meant it as punishment for everything she’d put him through, but the instant his mouth touched hers he wanted more.


Dear Reader (#u0d28a9e6-3470-5204-86d8-6cd5b9fcb85e),

I just love writing about quirky characters—and my heroine, Paige Carlyle, is as quirky as they come! Growing up in a houseful of alpha males, she quickly learned it was stand up for herself or get stuck doing sweaty sports-guy laundry for ever. And Paige is no one’s fool. She’s smart, independent, and prepared to take down intruders faerie-commando-style, totally surprising Dr Tyler Reese, who’s returned to the Olympic Peninsula to reconnect with his father and recuperate from an accident that threatens his surgical career.

Frankly, a feisty, quirky woman is exactly what this handsome surgeon needs to jolt him out of his funk. Maybe she didn’t quite mean to knock him unconscious—but, hey, for a girl who’s spent most of her adult life with her nose buried in medical textbooks, having a hunk fall at her feet is the biggest thrill of the decade.

Despite himself, Ty finds himself falling—in an entirely new way—for his very distracting neighbour. Of course he tries to deny his feelings—silly man!—but he’s a smart guy and finally admits to himself that Paige is as perfect for him as he is for her.

I hope you find yourself falling for Paige and Ty’s story too.

Happy reading,

Lucy


Rebel Doc on Her Doorstep

Lucy Ryder






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


With two beautiful daughters, LUCY RYDER has had to curb her adventurous spirit and settle down. But, because she’s easily bored by routine, she’s turned to writing as a creative outlet, and to romances because—‘What else is there other than chocolate?’ Characterised by friends and family as a romantic cynic, Lucy can’t write serious stuff to save her life. She loves creating characters who are funny, romantic and just a little cynical.

Books by Lucy Ryder

Mills & Boon Medical Romance

Resisting Her Rebel Hero

Tamed by Her Army Doc’s Touch

Falling at the Surgeon’s Feet

Caught in a Storm of Passion

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.


This book is dedicated to my great-niece Coral-Mae, who was born during a screaming deadline. Excellent timing, kiddo, but you’ve brought such joy to us all. We really look forward to all those weekly photos.

And also to my nephew, Jason, who has just graduated cum laude. Congrats to our very own Dr Jay Bass.


Praise for Lucy Ryder

‘Resisting Her Rebel Hero is an absolute delight to read…the sexy writing and refreshing characters leave their mark on every page.’

—Harlequin Junkie


Contents

Cover (#u84f5202c-d9fa-5226-9762-d3ef144dbd1f)

Back Cover Text (#ub806133b-97f8-597a-a744-f0981748002f)

Introduction (#u699f4313-cc4c-51b4-b362-914b30d23e6d)

Dear Reader (#u72d2dfa3-9937-53fc-b1b9-c7a242733032)

Title Page (#u598eec91-8a7c-5861-8431-3f39df4f2b80)

About the Author (#u2b3ada83-092b-58c0-bbf6-7a597273fcc6)

Dedication (#u73a3e46b-932a-5121-a713-a5a32e5cb1c4)

Praise (#u2a922008-615f-56ab-a47f-b4fa9217879b)

CHAPTER ONE (#u98a79de7-4c50-5993-abdc-56c145d3b91e)

CHAPTER TWO (#uf14ad280-d1df-5279-a41c-910be684e1c0)

CHAPTER THREE (#uf4d9cce4-0dae-5039-9be0-a43a61f4458c)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ud545bd66-6bd9-5e00-94b2-a9fc1cbee36d)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u0d28a9e6-3470-5204-86d8-6cd5b9fcb85e)

DR. PAIGE CARLYLE jolted awake from her first decent sleep in over a week. One minute she was dreaming about lying on the deck of a sleek boat while a hot captain rubbed oil all over her body, the next...nightmare city.

Frozen with fright, Paige strained for the noise that had awakened her. Vaguely aware that her heart was pounding like that of an overexcited kid pigging out on Halloween candy, she held her breath until... There, she thought when the sound came again. There it is. A heavy thud followed by...cursing?

In the darkness her eyes widened and her heart rate doubled, banging against her ribs like it was practicing for a world heavyweight title.

You have got to be kidding me!

An intruder?

What the heck had happened to the Chamber of Commerce’s pledge that crime was non-existent in Port St. John’s? What about her landlord’s blithe assurances that she could sleep with her doors unlocked?

Yeah, right, she snorted. Try telling that to her intruder.

A large male intruder by the sounds of it.

Had she locked the front door? The sliding French doors leading to the deck? Dammit, she couldn’t remember. But she’d been in the seaside town eight months and hadn’t developed any reckless habits of leaving everything unlocked, so she was almost certain she had.

But “almost” wasn’t certain enough, she told herself frantically. Not when a woman’s worst nightmare was about to unfold. Oh, God. Not when she didn’t have a weapon to defend herself with.

Why hadn’t she just stayed in the city where everyone locked themselves behind thick doors and deadbolts? Yeah, and while she was at it, why hadn’t she just robbed a bank to pay for med school instead of signing her life away on a scholarship?

If she had she wouldn’t be here now. Instead of paying off her debt, she’d be working as a pediatrician. Probably from behind bars but, what the heck, at least she wouldn’t be—

Black dots began to appear in her vision and she realized she was still holding her breath. Expelling it on a quiet rush, Paige tossed back the covers and eased to the edge of the bed, searching in the dark for her cellphone.

It wasn’t there and for one panicked moment she couldn’t remember where she’d left it... Instead, her hand came into contact with a heavy flashlight she’d used a few nights earlier when they’d had a blackout.

Okay. Weapon? Check.

Nerve? Oh, boy.

With the heavy weight in her hand, her head cleared enough to recall the brotherly advice she’d received over the years. But actually doing it was a far cry from practicing on three hulking males who thought it hysterically funny to simply put a big hand on her head and hold her an arm’s length away while she “practiced” taking them down.

Bolstered by the fact that she knew a few badass moves and could totally defend herself—she hoped—Paige breathed in and out a few times then headed for the door. She carefully poked her head into the passage, swallowing a squeak of terror when she heard a crash and another round of inventive cursing.

Gulping, she slapped a hand over her galloping heart before it crashed right through her ribs and went tearing off down the stairs, probably to escape out the front door.

Oh, yeah. She was totally kicking this badass thing.

But that was okay, she thought, lifting the flashlight like a baseball bat and giving it a practice swing. The flashlight could probably crush a skull or break a kneecap. Maybe. Probably...in the hands of someone weighing more than one twenty-five soaking wet...but it was all she had.

Tiptoeing to the landing, Paige peered over the railing where light from a nearby streetlamp shone through the stained-glass door inset, illuminating the entrance like a church. She hoped it wasn’t a sign that she was about to sing with the angels.

Squaring her shoulders, Paige descended the stairs, bare feet silent on the treads, muscles tensed in preparation for a quick getaway through the front door, and...rolled her eyes.

Look at her, all brave and fierce.

If her brothers could see her now they’d probably die laughing. Or disown her.

There was another loud thud and a couple of beats later a round of pithy curses. Huffing out a breath that disturbed tendrils of wild bed hair, Paige tightened her grip on the flashlight and reached for the landline phone mounted on the wall. She heard the voice of the 911 operator in her ear asking about her emergency and it took a few seconds to realize the intruder was moving again.

Towards her.

Eek.

She caught a brief glimpse of a huge black shadow, arm outstretched like the walking dead, and before she could stop herself she opened her mouth and let rip with a scream worthy of a B-grade slasher flick.

The hulk stopped, swayed for a second before shoving out a hand to steady himself against the wall. A deep voice snarled, “What the—? Who the hell are you?”

She let out another shriek and reacted by heaving the heavy flashlight at him. She heard it connect solidly, he gave a soft grunt, and the next second toppled. Just like a giant redwood. Whomp! Landing hard enough to shake the earth.

For several long moments he didn’t move and neither did Paige as the flashlight spun in crazy circles on the wooden floor. The impact must have switched it on and with each rotation its beam briefly illuminated the man lying face down on her entrance floor.

Just like a corpse on TV.

When he remained motionless, Paige grabbed the flashlight mid-spin and trained the beam on him, ready to whack him if he so much as twitched.

Beam wobbling in her sweaty grasp, she edged closer and gingerly stretched out a leg to poke him with her foot. He gave a low groan and she jumped back, a strangled squeak catching in her throat.

After a minute of nothing but Paige’s ragged breathing, she prodded him a bit harder. Okay, so it was more of a kick but she needed to make sure he wasn’t lulling her into a false sense of security before grabbing her and giving her a coronary before she turned thirty.

When he didn’t move or make any more creepy sounds, she leaned a little closer...and... Holy cow...sucked in a shocked breath.

He was gorgeous.

At least what she could see of him under all the scrapes and bruises. She didn’t know what she’d expected an intruder to look like, but yeesh, gorgeous wasn’t it.

Damn. What a waste of man candy.

Had she...?

Her heart skipped a couple of beats until she saw that his right hand and arm was encased in a cast. Exhaling in a gusty whoosh, she decided that no way had she done all that. Besides, she was five-five and he was...over six feet...and solid looking. Big enough to squash her like a bug if she hadn’t panicked and thrown the flashlight at him.

He was all hard angles and masculine power, with the face of a warrior angel...fierce and awesome male beauty relaxed in...

Paige gulped.

Oh gosh, she thought a little hysterically, had she just killed the hottest guy in the northern hemisphere? A guy who looked like he’d gone a couple of rounds with the Exterminator and survived. Only to be felled by a...a—

Reality finally hit her and she sagged against the wall, a shaky laugh escaping. It was filled with more than a little hysteria because... Wow. She’d done it. She’d totally taken out the bad guy.

In her head she did a little victory dance. She was awesome! Who’s the girl? Who’s the—?

From down a long tunnel she heard a tinny voice telling her to remain calm, that the police were on their way. Baffled, Paige looked around and noticed the receiver hanging from the wall unit by a long spiral cord. And blinked.

Oh. Right—911.

Eyes locked on the hot guy, she fumbled the receiver with shaking hands and lifted it to her ear, managing to whack herself on the cheek in the process.

“Ouch.”

“Hello, ma’am. Ma’am, can you hear me? The police are on their way. Are you hurt?”

Blinking back tears that were most likely from fear and the massive doses of adrenaline still pumping through her system, Paige managed to croak out, “N-no, I’m n-not hurt. But I’m p-pretty sure I just k-k-killed the hot guy.”

Her breath escaped in a loud whoosh. A seriously hot guy came willingly into her house and what did she do? She killed him, that’s what, she thought with a splutter of hysterical laughter. Frankie was going to disown her.

* * *

Dr. Tyler Reese swam up through thick layers of consciousness aware of a vicious pounding in his head. Having recently become familiar with the sensation, he let out a rough groan, thinking he was back in the ER after his accident.

A low husky voice ordered him not to move but he disregarded it and lifted a hand to his head before recalling that his arm was encased in a cast from elbow to knuckles. And the move had him sucking in a sharp breath of agony that had nothing to do with his headache.

“I told you not to move,” the voice said, sounding a little exasperated. “And use the other hand before you give yourself another bruise. But I warn you. Try anything funny, and it’s lights out.”

His head pounded harder and a burning pain radiated out from his shoulder. He knew without being told he’d dislocated it—especially as the pain was accompanied by the almost overwhelming urge to toss his cookies.

Wasn’t that just freaking peachy? Another damn injury to add to the ones he’d recently acquired.

“What the—?” he slurred, prying open his lids and blinking up into the faces swimming a couple of inches above him. Faces that looked remarkably like...faeries? He blinked again and two momentarily became one.

Yep. A freaking crazy-haired faerie. Although what the hell one was doing almost cross-eyed half an inch from his face was something he wasn’t ready to contemplate.

He narrowed his gaze until his vision cleared, revealing a faerie that was more likely to grace the pages of a graphic novel than a children’s bedtime story book—which meant he was hallucinating and his mild concussion had just been bumped up to serious head trauma.

Realizing he was scowling up at her, she gave a startled squeak and scuttled out of sight—too fast to see if she had any wings. The sudden move made him dizzy so he closed his eyes to prevent a brain aneurysm and gave a silent snarl.

Great. Just freaking perfect. His life officially sucked. He’d escaped an aggressive drunk intent on mowing him down only to be felled by a pint-sized attacker intent on splitting his head open like a watermelon.

What the hell had he done to deserve this?

His musings were interrupted by a soft sound of throat-clearing and a shaky but peremptory, “Hey.”

He cracked open an eye and mulled over the fact that she was still there, and couldn’t decide if it was good or very bad. Good that he wasn’t hallucinating and bad because...yep, there was still a wild-haired, wide-eyed faerie staring at him like he’d crash-landed in her flower patch.

Then he spotted the flashlight raised ready to bean him if he so much as twitched and he decided that if he was hallucinating she would be dressed in gossamer wisps, not a huge ratty old USMC T-shirt, looking fierce and crazy and ready to inflict more pain.

His heavy sigh emerged as a low groan. So much for that fantasy. He’d finally lost his mind if the sight of this wild exotic creature made him want to smile when he had absolutely nothing to smile about. His surgical career might very well be over thanks to a drunk who’d sideswiped him, leaving him with broken carpals and ulna in his dominant hand, along with damaged ligaments.

Suddenly his well-ordered life had been invaded by a horde of women eager to take care of him and to escape the chaos he’d packed a bag and headed for the one place on the planet he’d been happy—his father’s house on the Olympic Peninsula.

It had been an impulsive decision but Ty wanted to be alone. What better place than his childhood getaway in Port St. John’s? He’d spent summers here escaping from the rigidly stifling atmosphere of his mother’s house until he’d turned eighteen. Maybe he should have called first, but his battery had died and, frankly, it hadn’t even occurred to him that Henry Chapman wouldn’t be home.

Or that he’d be attacked by a wild faerie commando barely reaching his chin. It was humiliating, dammit. He just hoped his friends never found out or he’d never live it down.

And another thing—what the hell was this creature doing in his father’s house?

He pushed up with his good arm, intending to demand answers, and promptly froze when pain had him sucking in an agonized breath. Sweat popped out on his forehead and he was forced to sag embarrassingly against the nearest wall to breathe past the nausea.

“Who...are...you?” he gritted out in a voice guaranteed to send hospital staff running. “And what the hell did you throw at me?”

The faerie arched her brow at him as though he was a grumpy adolescent who’d momentarily forgotten his manners. “You first,” she said, with only a hint of a quiver in her voice.

It both irritated and earned his reluctant admiration because it took guts to hold off a guy almost a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier with nothing but a firm little chin, a steely-eyed stare and a flashlight. All while dressed in nothing but a huge, faded T-shirt and a kick-ass attitude.

That mouth—wide, lush and soft—was another matter altogether. A mouth like that gave a man ideas. Ideas that would probably earn him another concussion.

“That way we can get the introductions out of the way before I inflict any more pain on you,” her mouth said, completely destroying the fantasy forming in his head.

He squinted at her silently for a couple of beats before looking pointedly at the flashlight. “Thinking of giving me concussion?” He gave a hard laugh. “Hate to rain on your parade, babe, but some idiot already beat you to it.”

“No,” she said, gesturing to his shoulder with a jerk of her chin. “I’m going to reset your shoulder, babe. You dislocated it when you took a header into the floor.”

Her tone suggested he was an idiot, which irritated the hell out of him enough that he tersely pointed out, “Which I wouldn’t have done if you hadn’t tried to split my skull open like a watermelon.”

“Which I wouldn’t have done if you hadn’t broken into my house and scared me half to death,” she retorted just as shortly, visibly relaxing when they heard a car screeching to a stop outside. Car doors slammed and there was the sound of boots thudding up the stairs, then a brisk knock at the door.

“The cops?” he demanded, outraged. “You called the damn cops?” He knew he was being unfair, but the whole situation was surreal, taking him back to the last time he’d been in this Washington seaside town, beaten up and in trouble with the cops because he and his buddies had thought they had something to prove in a bar filled with local roughnecks.

He’d just turned eighteen and had wanted to flex his I’m-now-officially-cool muscles. He vividly remembered standing in a jail cell while his mother had coldly and furiously berated his father for not keeping Ty on a short leash.

Yeah, right. Henry Chapman had worked all the time and as long as Ty hadn’t ended up in his ER, he’d pretty much trusted him to stay out of trouble.

That had been the last time he’d spent summers in Port St. John’s because he’d been in med school and then establishing his surgical career, but mostly because he’d been mad at Henry for not standing up to Ty’s mother. For not fighting for a relationship with his son.

It had been pretty juvenile but if his recent accident had taught him anything it was that life could be snuffed out in an instant and it was time to mend his relationship with his father.

He was distracted from his inner musings when he caught her over-the-shoulder glance that suggested his IQ was lower than a rock’s. It didn’t faze him because, let’s face it, it wasn’t the first time he’d been an idiot. He’d thought he’d outgrown his impulsive tendencies but apparently not or he’d never have hopped on the first flight into SEATAC airport and headed for the Olympic Peninsula.

He didn’t know what he’d been thinking because it hadn’t even crossed his mind that Henry Chapman would be out of town—or that his childhood sanctuary would have been invaded by a crazy faery wearing an oversized US Marine Corps T-shirt.

“Of course I called the cops,” she snorted, backing towards the door and rising onto tiptoe to peer through the stained-glass inset. “I’m not an idiot. Besides, you could be a serial killer on the run from the FBI, for all I know.”

He found himself staring at her, wondering if he’d face-planted into an alternate universe. “I think you’ve been watching way too much TV.”

“I’m a city girl,” she replied, reaching out to unlock the door. “We’re taught from the cradle to be suspicious of strangers.”

The door opened to reveal two cops, who flashed their badges as they stepped into the entrance hall, identifying themselves only as, “Police Department, ma’am.”

She waved the flashlight at Ty, her voice a little wobbly as she hit a light switch and continued to address him. “Especially strange men who break into their homes in the middle of the night.”

Ignoring her, Ty squinted up at the cops as light flooded the entrance. There was something familiar about the big guy taking in the situation with cool, assessing cop’s eyes but he couldn’t think past the headache the crazy woman had inflicted on him.

“The question here should be what the penalties are in St John’s for illegal squatting,” he growled, scowling at the way the bigger cop was now smiling at GI faerie and asking her gently if she was okay, as though he liked what he saw and wouldn’t mind getting her number before hauling Ty off to county lockup.

Yeah, right. Like that was happening.

He shifted to get to his feet but his vision swam along with his stomach, so he held up his good hand to get someone’s attention. Someone who wasn’t so damn busy flirting, that was.

“Hey,” he growled irritably, when everyone continued to ignore him. “A hand here.” They all turned, surprised by his request. Okay, so it was more of a demand, but what the hell? “When you’re done flirting, that is,” he ended snidely, hiding a smirk at the big cop’s hard look—which he returned. The younger guy grinned and GI faerie huffed out a startled laugh.

She went to shove her hair out of her face and nearly conked herself on the head with the flashlight. Ty watched her face flush as she swung away.

“I was... I was... I was just about to call for an ambulance,” she ended on a rush, clearly more than a little rattled.

“No!” he yelled, wincing when the sound echoed through his skull and everyone tensed, the cops turning, hands on weapons. He sucked in a deep breath. “No,” he repeated more calmly. “I’m fine.”

“You most definitely are not fine,” she said decisively, waving the flashlight around again. “Look at you. You’re a mess. You need a hospital.”

Insulted, he snarled, “I don’t need a damn hospital. And will someone take that damn flashlight away before she injures herself?” He waited until she slammed it down on the entrance table and turned to him, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Good. Great.” He shifted and winced. “I just need a little help, that’s all. An explanation would be even better.”

“For what?”

“Maybe we’ll start with what the hell you’re doing in my house and then move on to the unprovoked attack.”

“Unprovoked?” she squeaked in outrage. “You looked like the walking dead after my brains. What the heck was I supposed to do?” Three pairs of eyes swung her way and Ty noticed the cops’ similar expressions of male confusion. She must have too because she pushed out her lush lower lip, crossed her eyes and huffed out an exasperated breath. “For your information,” she continued primly, “this is my house.”

“No, it’s not.” And when no one moved or spoke, “Dammit, will someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

She made a tsking sound at his language and turned to the cops. “If he won’t go to the hospital, you’ll have to hold him down while I do it here.” Her voice dropped and she whispered...loudly. “It’s going to hurt. We usually strap them to the bed and stick them with a bunch of needles before we try this.”

“Hold me—? Needles? Whoa, you hold it, lady. Right there.” He lifted his good hand in the universal stop gesture and dared them to come any closer. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She studied him silently for a couple of seconds before sharing a look with flirty cop. “I’m going to fix your shoulder.”

Oh, no. No way in hell.

“No offense, babe,” he snorted, gritting his teeth against the agony as he struggled to his feet. Where he completely embarrassed himself by swaying as sweat exploded from his pores. His vision swam and it took supreme self-control to stay upright. Fortunately he hadn’t eaten since the questionable airline food or he’d be totally humiliating himself. “But I’m not letting a bossy faerie commando anywhere near my shoulder.” He jerked his chin behind her. “They can help.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she snorted, stepping close now that she had two burly cops with guns at her back. “I think the bossy faerie commando is more qualified to do this.”

Yeah, right. “I doubt it.” He glared at the cop. “Flirty cop here can help me.”

“It’s Detective Petersen.” Flirty cop arched his brows and looked amused but made no move towards him. Fine. He turned to the younger cop and got a helpless shrug.

“See,” she said smugly. “They know who’s in charge here.” She patted his shoulder. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll let Detective Petersen help. And don’t worry about it,” she soothed, as if she was talking to a frightened kid. “I know what I’m doing. You won’t feel a thing.”

Ty ground his teeth together and sent her a touch me and die glare that she totally disregarded by tugging gently but firmly, clearly wanting him back on the floor.

Which was no way in hell happening. He tried to shrug her off and ended up slapping a hand against the wall when the world spun.

“It’ll be much easier this way,” she soothed in a soft husky voice that had him blinking and scowling at her again.

“Easier for whom?” he slurred woozily.

Unperturbed, she sent him a smile that was so bright and sweet it distracted him from the crafty gleam in her eyes.

“For you, of course,” she murmured, smoothing a hand down his back like he was seven and scared of the dark space under his bed. The move both irritated and pleased him, especially when flirty cop went on hard-eyed alert. Then she added, “This way you won’t get any more injuries when you pass out again and crack the floor with your head,” and his irritation became outright male insult.

“I am not going to pass...” he began, only to suck in a sharp breath when the world tilted woozily and he slid down the wall to the floor. “Okay...okay, so maybe I do need to, um...lie down.”

Clammy and panting, Ty lay on the hard floor, cursing and battling humiliation as the pint-sized tormentor ordered the two cops into position and disappeared upstairs. Dammit, this was usually his gig. If word got out he’d never live it down.

Cursing himself for thinking he could just waltz into town and everything would be okay, Ty opened his mouth to order the cops to help him up but she was back with a large towel. “Relax,” she soothed. “I can’t send you to jail like this.”

She slipped the rope towel beneath his back, under his armpit and across his chest. Completely ignoring his gritted curses, she handed the ends to the cops.

Then she planted her knee on his chest and gripped his arm above his cast. Exotic eyes locked with his, she said, “Ready?” and gave it a sharp, hard yank.

Pain exploded through him as his shoulder popped. He let out a ragged groan and lay sweating and groaning while his mini-tormentor sat back on her heels with a loud sigh of relief.

Looking pleased, she gave his chest a comforting rub and rose, affording Ty an unimpeded view of surprisingly long, shapely legs—right up to a pair of teeny boy shorts beneath the baggy T. Boy shorts that were currently hugging world-class curves.

Huh, he thought woozily. Maybe the view from here wasn’t so bad. Then from down a long tunnel he heard her instructing them to take him to the hospital and his pain fog miraculously cleared.

“No,” he said firmly, sitting up and hugging his arm to his chest, relieved that the excruciating agony was down to an almost bearable throb. “I told you, no hospital.”

“But—”

“No hospital,” he all but snarled, and was awarded with a huff of exasperation. “Besides,” he slurred, “I’m not leaving you in my dad’s house.”

No way was he telling anyone that the thought of going into a hospital made him break out in a cold sweat. He couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not when his future as a trauma surgeon looked so grim.


CHAPTER TWO (#u0d28a9e6-3470-5204-86d8-6cd5b9fcb85e)

“FINE,” PETERSEN SAID TIGHTLY, helping a wobbly Ty onto his feet and all but marching him into the living room. “Let’s go. But I warn you, your story had better be good because Dr. Carlyle is here legally. You, not so much.”

Ty wanted to shrug off the support but his legs refused to obey the directives from his brain. A lamp was switched on and he blinked in the sudden bright light as he sank down onto the sofa with a groan. Then the man’s words registered and he stilled. “Hold it. Who the hell is Dr. Carlyle?”

“I am.”

Mini-commando appeared at his side with a huge emergency kit and glass of clear liquid, which she offered. He hoped it was neat vodka and opened his mouth to tell her to just bring the bottle but it emerged instead as a snort of disbelief. “Sure you are,” he drawled, taking the glass and saluting her. “Because they let adolescents practice medicine now.”

Gold flecks hidden in the swirls of her blue and green eyes flashed, reminding him of sunbursts reflecting off water. It distracted him until he realized that he was letting himself be bewitched by a pair of striking eyes.

Annoyed that it was working, he transferred his attention to the contents of the glass and said tersely, “This is water. Don’t you have anything stronger?”

“No. Alcohol exacerbates swelling and internal bleeding.” He looked up to tell her that if he had any internal bleeding she was responsible for it, and got caught in her gaze again.

“But I can give you a shot for the pain if you like,” she announced, wide-eyed innocence totally belied by the laughter in her eyes.

“Yeah, right,” he snorted. Okay, so maybe he’d got ahead of himself there for a moment, but the woman was clearly tougher than she looked. “I have my own meds.”

“So,” Petersen interrupted, impatient with the delay. “Now that you’re all cozy and comfortable, maybe we could see some ID?”

Ty considered telling him what he could do with his request but he was exhausted and knew any argument would just delay their departure.

Collapsing against the back of the sofa, he muttered, “Front pocket.”

Neither cop made a move towards him. In fact, they shared a stone-faced look until bossy faerie said, “I’ll get it,” in a voice that suggested they were all idiots.

He stretched out his leg to give her room and sent Petersen a challenging smirk. He couldn’t exactly reach into his pocket with an injured arm and the other holding a glass. Besides, if letting her stick her hand in his pants annoyed flirty cop and got him to leave sooner rather than later, then Ty was game.

But it had been a long time since he’d let a woman reach for anything in his pocket and much to his shock—and stunned bemusement—his body stirred.

What the—?

No way, Ty thought with a sharp sideways look. No way was he attracted to Little Miss Commando. It just wasn’t possible.

Was it?

Absolutely not. He didn’t like mouthy, bossy women and he didn’t like women who attacked defenseless people without provocation.

Her gaze caught his and she flushed, yanking his wallet out and tossing it at Petersen as though it was a live grenade.

Not meeting anyone’s eyes, she grabbed the glass out of his hand and downed the contents before shooting off the couch and bolting behind an armchair as if he was contagious.

Amusement vied with insult. So, Ty mused, fascinated by the rosy flush creeping up from the gaping neckline of her T, she handles an intruder without losing her nerve but sticking her hand in a guy’s pocket freaks her out?

She flashed a glare out the corner of her eye when she caught him staring. Her flush deepened and so did her scowl.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Ty wondered what the heck he was thinking. He’d come to Washington to be alone. Yet here he sat—head pounding like a jackhammer—hugely entertained by his attacker while being interrogated by local cops.

Déjà vu.

* * *

Paige slid a sideways glare at the man sprawled on her sofa like he belonged and everyone else were intruders. This was all his fault, she decided huffily. He’d broken into her house, scared her into a new blood group and now he was sitting there looking all impenetrable and imposing, pumping off waves of masculine irritation and blasting testosterone and pheromones around the room like a leaky nuclear reactor.

Silent and deadly.

Especially to unwary females.

Except she was very wary. She’d grown up with three older brothers and knew how the alpha mind worked. Innately confident of their place in the world, they silently and arrogantly challenged the rest of humanity. Like her brothers, he seemed to dominate the room completely and effortlessly. As though he wore an invisible sign that said, “Badass territory, enter at own risk.”

Curious, she took another peek and caught him still studying her like she was a new species of bug he’d just discovered and wasn’t all that impressed by what he saw.

Her face heated and she shifted nervously because she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the foyer mirror and just had to look like a wreck the night a hot, rumpled guy broke into her house.

Paige studied him as light from the nearby lamp cast his features in bold relief, highlighting his fierce beauty and illuminating stark blue eyes made bluer by tanned skin.

A shiver snaked through her, promptly tightening her nipples.

What the—?

Paige quickly crossed her arms over her breasts, rubbing her arms as if she was cold. Stop looking at him, she ordered herself silently. He broke into your house and scared you. He is not yummy and he’s not harmless.

No, he wasn’t harmless, he was trouble, she admitted. The kind of trouble smart women avoided. Fortunately Paige was very smart and could spot trouble at a hundred paces. But even battered and bruised he exuded an almost tangible authority that was pretty darned hard to ignore.

He was one of those seriously hot men—like a Hollywood action hero women sighed over and men secretly wanted to be—with black silky hair tumbling around his lean angular features like a dark halo, highlighting his ice-blue eyes and the unmistakable gleam of intelligence and mockery.

And yet...also unmistakable was a hollow-eyed weariness that made her chest ache. But he wasn’t one of her little patients. More like a hot grumpy warrior angel who’d lost his wings in a recent altercation with dark forces and had found himself stranded on earth.

Paige gave a huge mental eye-roll at the fanciful thoughts and ruthlessly ignored the quiver in her belly. Guys with all that seething testosterone usually didn’t give her a second glance. Instead, they buzzed around the tall popular girls—girls with long legs and big boobs—like flies around a carcass.

Fortunately the detective turned, interrupting Paige’s unwelcome thoughts. He tossed the wallet on the coffee table. “So. What brings a fancy LA doctor to our modest little town?”

Interest caught by his odd tone—kind of confrontational and mocking—she looked at her intruder a little more closely. “LA? Doctor?”

His mouth curled in a slight smirk as he coolly eyed the detective. “Yeah, and I’ve been sitting here wondering how the hell you became a cop, Petersen.”

Petersen’s laugh was more of a snort. “Who’d have thought, huh?” He shoved his hands on his hips, jacket open exposing his gun and shield in a blatantly aggressive move. “Your dad know you’re here?”

“No. I didn’t get a chance to call.”

Bemused by the undercurrents in the room, Paige demanded, “Dad?” Her gaze bounced between the three men, hoping to get some clue about what was going on, but they were all wearing their let’s be macho and inscrutable faces.

“Phone your father and get this sorted fast, Reese,” Petersen said, before turning away and heading for the door. “Oh, and welcome home.”

“Not arresting me, Detective?” Ty taunted.

The cop paused at the door, his eyes amused as he took in the scene. “Not today. This is your free pass, Reese. Don’t make me regret it.”

Thoroughly confused and annoyed by the baffling man-speak, Paige demanded again, “What? What did I miss? Who is he? And, dammit, why are you leaving?”

Petersen gave a huge sigh and shook his head. “Ask him.”

“What? No,” Paige said, jumping to her feet. “You can’t just leave him here. What am I supposed to do with him? Take him away.”

“He’s harmless,” the cop said with faint mockery. “And it really is his house.”

And before Paige could do more than stutter, “B-but,” the detectives had disappeared down the passage. Through the roaring in her ears she heard the front door closing behind them.

For several long seconds she stood staring open-mouthed at the doorway, before turning and demanding, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” “fancy doc” sighed, rubbing a large hand over his face. “Ancient history. But he’s right, I’m harmless.” And when she opened her mouth to laugh at that big whopper, he drawled, “Believe me, doing anything more strenuous than breathing is currently beyond my capabilities.” He shifted then winced. “I just need a drink and a place to crash. The rest can wait till morning.”

Realizing she was still clutching the emergency kit like her life depended on it, Paige set it down on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary.

“No.”

She didn’t quite know what she was saying no to, the alcohol, him spending the rest of the night in her house or the fact that her life was spinning out of control...and just when she’d thought she was finally getting it together.

“No?”

She caught his expression and nearly laughed at the stunned disbelief on his face. As though people—women most probably—didn’t say no to him very often. She gave a silent snort. They probably didn’t. Not looking the way he did—all simmering male irritation and dark angel looks. Women probably lined up hoping to tease a smile from that mouth...or something that required mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Her spine snapped straight. Well, not this woman. She could resus herself just fine, thank you. And all those yummy pheromones flying around like busy little bees looking for the nearest flower to pollinate could...could...well, they could just buzz off.

There would be no pollinating.

Not this flower. Nuh-uh. No way.

Not that he looked like he wanted to pollinate her flower, she admitted with brutal honesty. He’d called her an adolescent and a bossy faerie commando—which put a big black mark against him as far as she was concerned. He was just like every other alpha guy who thought they were in charge and everyone—women especially—was eager to obey.

“No,” she repeated more firmly. “No alcohol.” Right. Let’s go with that one. “And no crashing on the couch until you tell me who you are and why you broke into my house. You can do that while I strap your shoulder. Besides, I know the owner and you are definitely not him.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead like she was giving him a headache when the opposite was actually true.

“Look,” he said wearily, “I’m fine. I don’t need doctoring. And before you get all bent out of shape,” he continued curtly when she opened her mouth to argue, “I can handle my own damn injuries.” His ice-blue eyes took a lazy trip from the top of her head to her bare toes. “And as appealing as you are...” his mouth curled up at one corner as though her appearance amused him “... I just want to be alone. I really, really need that.” He closed his eyes. “So...can you wave your magic faerie wand and disappear?”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” she snapped. “If you think I’m about to head off to bed with a stranger on my couch, you can think again.”

The look he sent her most probably sent people running for cover. Paige, who had weathered scarier looks and survived, returned it coolly.

Finally he muttered something that sounded like, “Bossy little smartass,” and gestured to the emergency kit. “Fine,” he said wearily. “Just get a move on so we can both get some sleep before the night is completely shot. And there’s my ID.” He jerked his chin at his wallet on the coffee table. “Knock yourself out. Call Dr. Henry Chapman too if it’ll make you feel better. I might not have seen him in a while but I’m pretty sure he still remembers he has a son.”

* * *

Paige was halfway down the stairs the next morning when she caught sight of her flashlight on the entrance table and remembered her boss and landlord’s grumpy son on her sofa. Or, as she’d dubbed him—after he’d grunted and promptly thrown an arm across his eyes after she’d strapped his shoulder, in a blatant message for her to get lost—Dr. Bad Attitude.

Feeling like a thief in her own house, she tiptoed to the living room and peered around the door to find him still sprawled across her sofa where she’d left him. One long leg hung over the end, the other was foot-planted on the floor, probably to keep him from rolling off the sofa.

The blankets and pillow were halfway across the room as though he’d flung them there in a fit of temper.

The breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding escaped in a silent whoosh. So...she hadn’t dreamed him up. Neither had she dreamed up what a very fine specimen of manhood he was, she admitted with dismay.

But she didn’t need this kind of complication, she told herself firmly. Boss’s son or not, she’d send him on his way the instant he opened his sexy blue eyes.

Catching herself drooling at the sight of all that taut tanned skin highlighted by neon pink taping, Paige tried schooling her features into a frown. It didn’t work, especially when she recalled his reaction at her liberal application of pink. Instead of making him look ridiculously feminine—which was what she’d intended—all it had done was emphasize his dark smoldering masculinity.

Covering her mouth to stifle her snickers, Paige yawned and retreated to the kitchen. She needed a hefty dose of caffeine if she was going to get him out of her house.

She filled the reservoir and measured out ground coffee then pressed the start button and was in the middle of a jaw-cracking yawn when she heard ringing. The sound galvanized her into action and she shot out of the kitchen, following the sound because she couldn’t remember where she’d left her phone.

Muttering frantically, she prayed the ringing would stop before it woke the grizzly camped on her—

“Oops,” she said breathlessly, rushing into the living room to find the bear, wearing low-slung jeans, a mile of pink tape and a black scowl, with her shoulder bag in his hand, dumping the contents on the coffee table.

“Hey,” she said when he shoved everything out, presumably looking for her cellphone. When he found it he stabbed at the screen with a long tanned finger, heaving a huge sigh as it went silent.

“Hey,” she said again, rushing forward to snatch up her phone, glaring at him when she saw that he’d ended the call. But he’d already resumed a horizontal position with one arm slung across his eyes and all she could see of his face was a very nicely sculpted, very grim mouth and a hard jaw covered in a few days’ growth.

Her own black scowl was completely wasted. “That could have been an emergency.”

He grunted in what he probably thought was a very eloquent reply before adding, “Since when is ‘kick-ass grl’ an emergency?” in a deep rough voice that might have sent shivers up her spine if she hadn’t been annoyed.

“Maybe that’s what I call my boss,” she shot back heatedly, because she’d totally felt the shivers, darn it. When a ping came from her phone, she stabbed the screen bad-temperedly to access the message.

Hrd abt lst nite. Sid’s in 15. I’m buying.

She didn’t question how “kick-ass grl” knew about her midnight visitor. St John’s wasn’t that big and everyone—especially emergency personnel—seemed to know everything that happened within minutes of it happening.

Frankie Bryce was an EMT and seemed to know stuff before it happened. Probably because she had friends in high and not-so-high places.

But it’d been a long week and Paige wasn’t about to turn down free breakfast, especially at Sid’s, which was a hugely popular diner on the boardwalk. It overlooked the harbor where the coastguard did their water training—in skin-tight wetsuits and sometimes jammers—and served the best coffee and pie in town.

That she’d have to cough up details of last night was a given but Frankie had grown up in Port St. John’s and might know about Tyler Reese, hot and grumpy son of Port St. John’s favorite doctor, and fancy LA doctor of who knew what?

She thumbed a quick reply then bent to scoop up all the purse junk Dr. Cranky had exploded all over the coffee table, turning her head in time to see him eyeing her butt. She squeaked out a protest and straightened so fast she almost gave herself whiplash.

“Hey,” she accused, slapping her hands over her bottom. “Eyes off, Mr. Cranky, or I might decide not to offer you any coffee before I toss you out.”

* * *

Ty snorted, unconcerned that he’d been caught ogling her posterior. “You had your shot.” He yawned, eyes as gritty as his temper. “The next one’s mine.”

She stomped off muttering about rude unwelcome guests and Ty waited until he was alone before pushing to his feet. He followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen, feeling like he’d been run over by a train.

A train named Paige Carlyle, he thought darkly.

He’d already inhaled one mug and was reaching for his second when she bolted down the stairs, looking flustered and sexy in a bright blue tank top tucked into faded jeans. The outfit hugged her sweet curves and clung to surprisingly long, shapely legs.

Dragging his gaze away from her legs was difficult but he managed, noting absently that her wild hair had been tamed into a shiny inky bob that swung against her delicate jaw. Feathery bangs framed her exotic face, making her eyes appear bigger this morning—if that was possible.

She stopped short when she saw him, no doubt because he was staring at her like she’d just popped through a tear in the space-time continuum. But what was he to do? The transformation from wild faerie commando to...to girl-next-door was startling.

“What?” she demanded, looking down at herself, probably to check for missing fabric, a streak of toothpaste...or a big neon sign that said, “Bite me.” Apparently finding nothing amiss, she looked up and with her arms out at her sides in a what’s wrong with my appearance? gesture she asked, “What?” again, this time with annoyance.

Alarmed to find his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, Ty just shook his head. No way was he telling her that she looked good enough to eat and that he suddenly couldn’t remember his last meal. Turning away, he poured himself more coffee and decided that Dr. Paige Carlyle was too fresh and sweet, too vulnerable for someone as cynical as him.

She’d probably grown up loved and indulged by her family while he...well, needless to say he didn’t believe in love or happily-ever-after. His mother regarded her two children with cool disinterest, unless they disappointed her then it was with cold displeasure; and his father with absent-minded affection. He’d seen Henry Chapman look at his dog that way too.

Better that she think he was rude and obnoxious.

Besides, she was hardly his type anyway. He dated tall sophisticated women; women who knew the score and weren’t interested in anything more than dinner and a good time. He was fairly sure Little Miss Medic hadn’t even heard there was a score. And with that mouth, she certainly wouldn’t be easy to ignore.

Okay, so the rest of her wasn’t easy to ignore either but he was pretty sure it was because she reminded him of a creature from some graphic novel fantasy world.

She appeared in the doorway, wearing a little jacket, shoulder bag slung casually over her shoulder. “You’re still here,” she said, nibbling on her soft lip and looking adorably self-conscious.

Instead of answering, he lifted the mug in a silent toast, spooked by the abrupt desire to yank her against him and taste her shiny pink mouth. In fact, if she didn’t leave soon he might do just that and forgo mainlining caffeine altogether. It would go a long way to waking him up.

“Anyway...” she continued in a way that made Ty think she was rolling her eyes in her head. “I was thinking.” She bit her lip uncertainly. “About what Detective Petersen said last night?” He arched his brow, wondering where she was going with this. “Anyway,” she sighed impatiently, “I wondered why you came here instead of going to your father’s house.”

Ah. His mouth twisted wryly as he studied her over the rim of his coffee mug. The last thing he wanted was to discuss his almost non-existent relationship with his father...but...then again he supposed he did owe her an explanation.

“My grandparents built this house. It’s where my father grew up and where I spent every summer until I was eighteen.” She tilted her head and confusion marred the smooth skin of her forehead.

He sighed. “I would have called my father but my phone died and I thought I’d surprise him. But don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as this caffeine kicks in.”

She was silent a long moment before giving a short nod. “Do you need help...um...dressing?”

Immediately an image of her helping him undress flashed into his mind and before he could stop it, his mouth curved. Seeing it, she rolled her eyes and went bright pink.

“You are such a...a guy,” she accused, turning away. “I have to get going. And since you’re my boss’s son, I’m not going to throw you out or call the cops. But I am going to assume you’ll be gone by the time I get back.”

He moved to the archway to watch her open the front door. “Lock up behind you,” she tossed over her shoulder and closed the door with an almost slam.

He found himself smiling for no reason other than he’d managed to get under her skin and lifted the mug in a cocky salute to the fact that he finally had what he wanted—blessed silence.

He enjoyed it for a few moments until his amusement faded. Turning, he rinsed out his mug and placed it in the dishwasher. Somehow all the air, all the life had been sucked out with her departure. It had never happened before—with anyone—which meant he needed to get out of there before she returned.

Before he was tempted to help her undress and find out if she was a figment of his overactive imagination or the real deal.


CHAPTER THREE (#u0d28a9e6-3470-5204-86d8-6cd5b9fcb85e)

PAIGE HEADED FOR SID’S, telling herself that she was giving Dr. Bad Attitude exactly what he wanted—space. But the truth was she’d been grateful for the excuse to escape.

It was unnerving to have a man in her living space—especially one who made her want to growl and sigh at the same time. Who made her tingle in places that hadn’t tingled in far too long one minute, and stifle the urge to throw something at him the next.

She didn’t like it. Not one little bit. She’d learned early on that guys like him weren’t attracted to women like her. She was the eternal “cute girl” they treated like a little sister.

Wanting something—or someone—she couldn’t have reminded her too much of a past she’d thought she’d long outgrown.

She’d had everything until her mother had died. She lost both parents that day, her mother to ovarian cancer and her father to grief. He’d retreated into his work, leaving a devastated pre-teen to cope with her grief alone because her brothers were much older and didn’t do girly things like talk about their feelings.

As if grieving for the loss of the most important person in all their lives was somehow unmanly.

She’d tried and failed to keep the family together, as she’d promised her mom. One by one her brothers had left, Bryn, the oldest, to accept a position as assistant manager of a football team in San Diego, Eric for the SEALs program, and Quinn to the US Air Force, where he flew classified aircraft on top-secret missions.

Then her father had unexpectedly remarried and it had been like losing everything all over again. Her brothers had rarely visited and she’d suddenly felt like an unwanted reminder of her father’s pain.

To be honest, he hadn’t known what to do with her and he’d probably thought a new mother and step-siblings would help her cope with grief. But they hadn’t, and instead she’d retreated into her school work.

In her senior year salvation had come in the form of a full bursary to med school and everyone had seemed to heave a huge sigh of relief. With Paige gone there had been no need for her father to feel guilty every time he saw her.

She’d thought that by acing her exams she would get his approval, but despite finishing her degree early and at the top of her class, her father hadn’t even attended her graduation. Instead, he’d sent a gift and a note with his apologies that the family would be in Aruba.

Dammit, she’d always wanted to go to Aruba.

At least her three brothers had made it—Eric in fatigues on his way home from a mission and Quinn in full US Air Force uniform. They’d made her laugh with their antics and she’d scarcely felt her father’s absence.

Fine. She’d been devastated but she’d finally acknowledged that she was on her own. Her brothers had their own busy lives and their father...well, she could totally take care of herself.

Besides, it was safer not to let people close. It hurt too much when they left.

* * *

Francis Abigail Bryce was already in their booth, looking like a movie star in her dark blue paramedic jumpsuit. She’d ordered coffee and was sitting there with a faraway expression on her face. And because she looked just a little bit sad, Paige said the first thing that came to her mind as she slid into the booth opposite her.

“You do know that redheads are supposed to have freckles, don’t you?”

“And did you know that people who’ve beaten up late-night intruders with their awesome ninja skills aren’t supposed to look so fresh and perky the next day?” Frankie answered smartly, eyeing Paige with sharp green eyes. “Why do you?”

Paige grimaced. “You heard, huh?”

“That’s like saying have I heard the coastguard is in town,” Frankie snorted, and slid a latte across the table. “I was on duty last night when your call came through. If I hadn’t had an emergency I would have helped you bury the body.”

Paige grinned and lifted her latte in a toast. “You’re the best friend ever. But...” She paused to take a huge gulp, sighing in pleasure when the hot creamy liquid hit her stomach. “As it turned out, he wasn’t dead, just concussed. But breakfast first, I’m starving,” she said as the waitress approached.

Once the waitress left with their order, Frankie demanded a minute-by-minute account of her midnight adventure, laughing when Paige recounted Ty calling her a bossy little smartass and a faerie commando, and snorting indelicately at his manly reaction to pink tape.

“Men are idiots,” Frankie said dryly, “including Ty Reese, so don’t go getting any idiotic ideas about saving him.”

Paige rolled her eyes and waited as the waitress delivered their food. Tyler Reese needed saving about as much as a prowling mountain lion. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious about him.

Trying for casually offhand, she said, “So...you do know him?”

“Hmm,” Frankie murmured, looking amused.

“And?” Paige prompted a little impatiently, when her friend took another bite of omelet without replying. “Spill already before I hurt you.”

Frankie nearly choked. “Like you could,” she snorted, wiping her mouth with the napkin Paige shoved at her. “Ty’s right. With those huge exotic eyes and delicate face, you do look like a faerie. If you weren’t my best friend, I’d hate you.”

Paige snorted, “Yeah, right,” because Frankie was one of those exotically beautiful redheads. Smooth creamy skin, thick lustrous hair and...and darn...she looked a million dollars in a swimsuit.

“So...what do you know about him?”

Frankie studied Paige for a moment. “You mean other than he has a thing for stacked blonde Malibu beach babes?”

“Yeah.” Paige sighed, wondering at the rush of intense disappointment at the news. It was a ridiculous reaction to have about a guy who’d broken into her house and scared the heck out of her. Besides, guys like Tyler Reese had genetically built-in radar for beautiful blondes—or redheads—and having grown up with three brothers who’d dated endless lines of stacked blonde bombshells, it was something she thought she’d accepted.

“Other than that. Which is hardly breaking news, by the way. Guys always go for the hot blondes.”

Frankie sighed and said again, “Men are idiots,” and looked miserable, but after a couple of beats she seemed to shake off her strange mood. “He’s not for you.”

That brought Paige up short. Her breakfast abruptly turned to lead in her stomach. “Not that I’m interested or anything,” she said shoving her plate aside, “but what’s wrong with me?”

“It’s not you, it’s him.” Frankie broke off and studied Paige silently before saying, “Okay, maybe it is you.”

Paige didn’t know why the idea that Frankie thought she wasn’t good enough for Tyler Reese hurt so much. She should be used to being ignored, not pretty, sexy or popular enough, but the truth was, it would be nice to be a kick-ass girl they drooled over. Like Frankie—movie-star beautiful and built like an underwear model, only with attitude.

A lot of attitude.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, honey. I only meant that you’re too open and generous for someone whose mother is the Wicked Ice Witch of the West. Believe me,” she continued when Paige opened her mouth to deny that she was interested in Ty Reese, “I’ve known him my whole life. At one time he, Nate and Jack were inseparable. They did everything together. Including try their stupid moves on everything with breasts. No, jeez,” she snorted. “Even before girls got breasts they were stealing kisses and breaking hearts.” She shook her head. “You don’t want to go there.” After a moment’s silence she said vehemently, “It’d be like stuffing your heart in a mincer and turning it on grind. You don’t deserve that. No one deserves that.”

Paige knew Frankie’s brother Jack had been an army ranger before being KIA a few years ago. She opened her mouth to ask about Nate but was distracted by the odd expression on Frankie’s face.

Concerned, she turned and followed her gaze in time to see three guys entering the diner. They were dressed in US coastguard uniforms and the hotness factor was enough to raise the temperature in the diner by a thousand degrees.

“Who’s that?” she asked curiously, when Frankie made a little sound of distress. She looked stunned. Kind of like she’d run into a wall.

“Huh?”

Paige jerked her chin at the newcomers. “Who’s that?”

Her friend took a deep breath, looking strangely flushed and panicked. “No one,” she muttered, lurching abruptly out of the booth. “Look, I gotta go. I’m teaching a first-aid class in twenty minutes.”

This was news to Paige. “I thought you were off duty for the next few days.” But because Frankie looked so rattled—a look Paige had never seen on her before—she didn’t pursue her sudden suspicion that Frankie knew at least one of the coasties.

Or was maybe running scared?

“JT bailed from the senior center program at the last minute so I said I’d take it. Don’t worry,” she said, when Paige opened her mouth to remind her of their plans. “I haven’t forgotten our hiking trip. Meet you at twelve?”

Paige nodded, her fascinated gaze moving beyond Frankie to the tallest and hottest of the trio and... Oh, wow... Her eyes widened. The tall dangerous coastie...he must be the one her friend was running from because the guy was staring their way, and the abrupt tension emanating from Frankie told Paige there was definite history there.

She must have made a sound because Frankie’s eyes widened and she looked spooked—like she wanted to bolt but was forcing herself to act cool.

“I really have to go,” Frankie said abruptly. “But a word of advice here. Stay away from those guys, Paige. They’re bad news. In fact, stay away from the whole male gender. They suck.”

And with that she spun on her heel and headed for the door.

Fascinated, Paige watched the tall, hot coastie looking granite-faced and dangerous as he contemplated her friend’s stiff departing back.

That’s one hot BAB, she thought, referring to her and Frankie’s name for bad alpha boys. Or was that badass boys? She couldn’t remember because they’d both been a little tipsy at the time.

She could feel the simmering testosterone and attitude from clear across the room. Then he turned and their eyes met. Yikes, she thought, a very bad BAB. And, boy, he had “military” badass written all over him.

Used to dealing with alpha males, Paige narrowed her eyes and mouthed a fierce “I’m watching you”, feeling invincible because just last night she had taken out an intruder with nothing but a flashlight and her awesome ninja skills.

After a long moment his mouth kicked up at one corner like he found her cute and amusing, and right there, in Sid’s Diner, Paige decided Frankie was right.

Men sucked and Paige was going to have no problem heeding her own as well as Frankie’s advice.

She was going to stay away from men—especially the tall dark cranky ones who broke into people’s houses as easily as they broke women’s hearts.

* * *

Ty was trying to dry himself one-handed after a shower when he heard pounding on the front door. Wondering if some of the crazy women he’d left LA to escape had tracked him down, he wrapped a towel around his hips and whipped open the bathroom door...coming face to face with—

“Aaaai-ya!”

He ducked just in time to avoid being beaned with a...frying pan?

Reacting without thinking, he shot out a hand and yanked the pan away before Paige Carlyle could take another swing at him.

“What the hell, woman?”

She let rip with an ear-piercing shriek and scrambled backwards, her expression one of shocked surprise. Before Ty could reassure her that he wasn’t a pervert hiding in her shower, the front door crashed open and heavy steps pounded up the stairs.

A large man appeared at the top of the landing in a fighter’s crouch, dark eyes hard and cold, ready to take down the enemy. In that instant Ty’s towel lost the battle and slid to the floor.

The newcomer instantly took in the scene and after a stunned pause visibly relaxed. His mouth kicked up at one corner as he rose to his full height.

“Well, now,” he drawled, hooking the arm of his aviator shades in the neck of his tee-shirt. “Am I missing something, T?”

Ty didn’t know who was more surprised by the frozen tableau on the landing, him, Paige or—

“Nate?”

Slapping a hand to her chest, Paige gasped furiously, “Omigod! What are you doing here?” and collapsed against the banister. She wrapped one arm around the landing rail as though to keep her from sliding to the floor. “I thought you’d left,” she squeaked, her tone rising into the stratosphere. “I thought you’d... Who is he?” She gestured wildly at Nate, nearly whacking herself in the head. “And what the heck is a m-military B-BAB doing in my h-house?”

He and Nathan Oliver—whom Ty had last seen just before he’d deployed to some hotspot six months ago—shared a confused look. “Military BAB?” Ty asked what was on both their minds.

She finally lost her battle with gravity and plopped onto the floor, breathing as though she’d run up the north face of the Olympic Mountains. “I’m still asleep, aren’t I?” she gasped, rubbing the heel of her hand against her chest and clearly on the verge of a coronary. Then she looked up and locked eyes with the part of him at eye level and gave a strangled squeak.

“Omigod!” she gasped, slapping a hand over her eyes. “My eyes.”

Nate snickered as Ty whipped the frying pan up to cover himself. He sent his friend a dark look and turned to apologize but Paige had drawn up her legs and dropped her forehead on her knees. She was breathing heavily and muttering to herself.

“This is just a nightmare, Paige,” he heard her mutter in a singsong voice. “Wake up and take a deep breath.” She made a few gasping sounds. “That’s it...nice and easy.” For several long moments she continued to breathe like she was practicing for the labor ward while he and Nate watched in fascination.

Finally... “There you are. Now you’re going to open your eyes and everything will be back to normal. Nice...and...normal.” Another deep breath, this one less panicked. “No more sexy...naked...men.” She gave a snorting laugh that he was pretty sure was an insult to his manhood. “Or military BABs anywhere. Poof. Gone.”

Ty grimaced and bent to scoop up the towel, managing to wrap it clumsily around his waist before Paige looked up.

“You’re still here,” she accused, taking in the towel clutched at his hips before cutting her eyes to Nate. Arms folded across his chest and leaning casually against the wall, he studied them with a casualness belied by his watchful eyes. “Why are you still here?”

Ty wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or Nate and opened his mouth to apologize but, “You think I’m sexy?” slipped out instead.

Nate snorted rudely and Paige rolled her eyes. “Please. You’ve clearly let yourself go,” she said breathlessly, her gaze cutting to his towel and then sliding away. “You’re a mess.”

Not likely, he thought when Nate laughed with the appreciation of a long-time friend. “You said sexy naked men. And as I’m the only naked one here—”

“Don’t mind him, sweetheart,” Nate interrupted dryly. “He’s always been shy about letting girls see him naked.” He pushed away from the wall and pulled Paige to her feet. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Nate and you must be the cute doctor that took down a dangerous intruder one-handed.”

“It was dark,” Ty growled, wiping water out of his eyes on his equally damp shoulder. “Don’t mind me,” he muttered when Paige allowed herself to be steered towards the stairs. “I’ll be down as soon as I get dressed.”

“Take your time,” Nate called over his shoulder. “Dr. Cutie and I are going to get better acquainted.”

After a couple of beats Ty turned and returned to the bathroom. By the time he descended the stairs, Nate was shoulder-propped against the arch leading into the kitchen, sipping coffee.

“Still spreading joy and happiness everywhere you go, I see,” his friend drawled laconically.

“And you’re still trying—and failing, I might add—to look like the coolest kid on the block.”

Nathan Oliver chuckled. “I don’t have to try any more, T, it just comes naturally. You, on the other hand, look like sh—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, catching Paige’s quick furtive sideways look and the faint flush staining her cheeks. “I know exactly how I look.”

“I heard you got beaten up by a girl and just had to see for myself.” He chuckled at the exasperated sound Paige made in the back of her throat and reached out to ruffle her hair. “Did a good job on him too.”

Ty’s eyes cut to Paige, wondering at the casual way his friend had touched her. “I already looked like this before a crazy person jumped me and tried to beat me up with a flashlight.”

She heaved a huge sigh and Ty could almost hear her eyes roll around in her head. He moved into the kitchen and purposely crowded her as he went for the coffeepot, biting back a smile when she sucked in a sharp breath and scuttled out of his way, muttering what sounded like, “He’s just a stupid BAB, Paige. Get a grip.”

“What’s a bab?” he asked, after pouring coffee for himself and leaning against the counter. He eyed her over the mug rim and tried not to notice the silky smoothness of her skin.

She started, like he’d caught her doing something indecent. “BAB?”

A frown slowly wrinkled the smooth skin of her forehead and Ty had to restrain himself from reaching out and smoothing it with his thumb. What the hell? He wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy so why the hell did he suddenly want to touch her?

Again refusing to meet his eyes, she muttered something beneath her breath and he had to dip his head to peer into her flushed face.

“What’s that, Dr. Cutie? You say something?”

“No.” She shoved her way past him. “Excuse me,” she said with excruciating politeness, and headed for the stairs, muttering, “And the next person to call me that is dead meat.”

“Where are you going?” he asked, watching her take the stairs at a mad dash. He heard her say, “Out,” as she disappeared. Thoroughly confused, he turned to Nate. “What the hell did you say to upset her?”

“Me?” Nate drawled. “I didn’t do a thing but rush to rescue the damsel in distress. You, on the other hand, were the creepy stalker standing there dressed in nothing but pink tape, and...” he leaned forward and sniffed “...smelling like a spring garden.” He chuckled and flashed a look up the stairs where Paige had disappeared. “Maybe I should invite her sailing. Cute and feisty is an irresistible combination.”

“And maybe you should back off,” Ty growled, feeling unaccountably annoyed. “What are you, seventeen? She’s not the kind of woman you take sailing just because you need to get laid. Pick someone who knows the score.”

“Oh, yeah?” Nate drawled. “And how would you know? I thought you two only met last night.”

“We did,” Ty growled. “When she tried to crack my skull open.”

“Then what’s your prob—? Ah.” Nate nodded sagely. “I get it. You want her for yourself.”

“What—? Of course not,” Ty scoffed, feeling his gut clench. “She’s a bossy pain in the ass who decorated me in pink, for God’s sake.” He jerked his chin at his cast. “I’m here because I need peace and quiet to think about what I’ll do if I can’t do surgery again. I don’t need an annoying distraction, no matter how cute and feisty. Besides, she’s not my type any more than she’s yours.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nate said, thoughtfully. “I think cute and feisty would be a refreshing change, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t. It would be suicidal.”

Behind them they heard a sound and turned to see Paige standing at the bottom of the stairs looking like she was considering which of them to maim first.

“Oh, hey,” Ty said. “I was just—”

“I’m leaving,” she interrupted. “I hope your visit with your father goes well. I left his address on the entrance table. Please lock up when you leave.” Her tone, as cool as her expression, suggested she hoped it was soon.

She’d obviously heard.

“Listen, I didn’t mean—” he began, but the front door slammed. Hard. He winced. “I think she heard.”

“Yep.” Nate clamped a hand on Ty’s shoulder in brotherly support. “And now you’re scum just like the rest of us. Welcome to the club.”


CHAPTER FOUR (#u0d28a9e6-3470-5204-86d8-6cd5b9fcb85e)

A FEW DAYS LATER, Paige was still smarting over the fact that Tyler Reese thought she was an annoying distraction he didn’t want. She told herself she didn’t care that “cute and feisty” wasn’t his type because snarly and arrogant certainly wasn’t hers.

She still shuddered because, as far as she was concerned, cute was a metaphor for “fun but too ugly to date” or “you’re like a sister to me”. She wouldn’t go there if her hair was on fire and he held the only glass of water left in the universe.





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