Dr. Dad

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It would have been nice to talk to his brother about Starr, to get his opinion. God, he missed that...missed talking and laughing with someone who knew him better than anyone else in the world. He would have told Sam about Starr’s tight jeans and her tight bottom. Then he’d have complained about his lack of self-control and latent immaturity. The big goon would have sniggered and called him a Neanderthal—marriage had turned Sam into a real nineties kind of guy.

Noah gave himself a mental slap. He’d progressed beyond the ogling stage in his early twenties. Hadn’t he? Maybe it was just Starr. She was entirely too intriguing. And at the moment, she was also entirely too accessible.

He opened his mouth. “Do you know how tight your jeans are?”

“What?” She let her hands drop.

Uh-oh. A classic Freudian slip of the tongue. “I just meant...er...they look great.”

Watching closely, Noah could have sworn a trace of color touched her cheeks. Of course, it might have been from the crisp ocean breeze; Starr wasn’t the blushing type.

“You’re a Neanderthal,” she said tartly.

Suddenly Noah felt a lot better. Granted, it wasn’t Sam insulting him, but it was the same insult. Maybe they could just be friends.

No... He stopped and looked her up and down again. Friends and lovers maybe, but never just friends. A platonic relationship with Starr would never work. Never.

“How do you work in those? I mean, they’re really tight,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m surprised you can even walk.”

Starr ran her fingers over her thighs, enjoying the feel of the soft, worn fabric. She didn’t think jeans were worth anything until they’d been washed and worn to the last inch of their life. “Not that my clothes are any concern of yours, but I have big, baggy ones when I’m working, with lots of room in the pockets.”

“That’s good, because there’s no room in those pockets. Thank God,” he said with an exaggerated leer.

“Men,” she mumbled. They were all the same, no matter what language they spoke. Still, it was kind of cute. And rather surprising, considering the man was wearing a suit. On a Saturday, no less. It made him seem like a regular guy, not an uptight yuppie.

Uptight?

Starr bit her lip to keep from laughing. This whole thing was awfully funny, because Noah reminded her of the McKittricks, who were also a bit uptight.

Except...on him it was okay.

All at once panic hit Starr. She didn’t want to care about Noah Bradley. She didn’t want to think he was cute, or any other superlative like handsome or sexy, or even likable. And she certainly didn’t want to fall in love with him. So why had she kissed him? Temporary insanity?

Get a grip, she ordered silently. Her response to Noah was way out of proportion. Like getting so upset at his negative attitude toward reporters. She was used to that—she shouldn’t have let it become personal.

Noah lifted one of her hands and traced lazy circles over the base of her wrist.

Drat.

Starr tried to control her feminine response to his touch...and failed utterly. It was baffling. How could he make her so hot and shaky with a single touch?

“What are you doing?” she asked, a shade of desperation creeping into her tone as his gaze dropped, taking in the taut thrust of her breasts.

“Damned if I know,” he muttered. “I must be losing my mind. What is it about you that keeps me so confused?”

Starr couldn’t be sure, but she suspected his confusion was caused by his intellect arguing with male instinct On a purely rational level he obviously didn’t want to get involved with her. But on a physical level...maybe he wasn’t so sure. A small, embarrassed smile tugged at her lips—it was flattering, even though she didn’t want to get involved, either.

Of course, for men, sex didn’t necessarily mean “getting involved.” Hmmm. She’d have to think about that for a while. And what was so wrong with her anyway?

“For the record...” she said thoughtfully, “what do you dislike so much about me? I mean, aside from my impulsiveness and career. Oh, yes—and the fact I’m a friend of the McKittricks.”

“You want some kind of list?” he asked, giving her a teasing grin.

She smiled back—showing her teeth—and Noah’s expression became a lot more cautious. “Just hit the high points,” she said with an overdose of sweetness.

“Er...I don’t dislike you. But we’ve got different lives. Different priorities.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“Aren’t you going to pull Becky into this? You seem determined to dictate the terms of my relationship with her.”

He sighed, an I’m being as patient as possible sigh. “I just suggested you keep things casual, at least until she’s a little older. She’s too young to really understand what happened to her mother and father, and she’s having a few problems adjusting. I don’t want anything else to upset her. She could get really fond of you, and then...” He shrugged.

Starr blinked. She respected Noah’s protectiveness of Becky, though it seemed to be a little in the overprotective category. Yet she couldn’t help thinking he was mostly looking for an excuse, not so much to keep her out of his niece’s life, but out of his. “I’d never do anything to hurt her.”

“Not intentionally.”

“Look, if you’re talking about the fire again, I was perfectly safe.”

“Yes,” he said tensely. “I’m talking about the fire. I’m talking about something happening to you...something permanent. You do some pretty crazy things.”

Starr glared. “What do you mean by that?”

Uh-oh. Rocky territory. Noah already knew the warning signs. Flashing eyes. A stiffened spine. And a tightness to her generous mouth worthy of a schoolmarm. Sheesh, she was prickly. One innocent little statement and she was ready to flatten him.

“Hell, Starr. Look at your life. You don’t exactly live by the rules.”

“Your rules, maybe.”

“Dammit. You’re deliberately misunderstanding me!” Noah waited a tense minute, not wanting to say something he’d regret. Starr’s life was her own concern. If she wanted to throw it away for some photographs, then he didn’t have the right to object. But he wanted to. He wanted to nail her shoes to the floor so she couldn’t take such wild chances. “You have an unusual life-style. Most people are a little more...”