by Lucy Ryder
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
“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.
