by Lucy Ryder
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
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.
