Rebel Doc On Her Doorstep. Lucy Ryder

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