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
