Night Fever

“I never call your cell.”

“I know.” He glanced at his watch. “Interestingly enough, I have a date tonight.”

A pause. “Have, as in, it has yet to begin?”

“Uh-huh. She’s coming here after she gets off work.”

“And you talk about Brian working strange hours.”

“She’s a doc and puts in time at a free clinic.”

“Same difference.”

Sam bit his tongue to stop himself from saying it wasn’t.

“Is this serious? I mean, you never have anyone at the house.”

“I suggested a restaurant but she didn’t bite. As for the serious part, this is our first date.”

“First date…at your house. Mmm. I was going to ask her name, but I won’t, because I get the feeling her name won’t come up again anyway after tomorrow.”

“Ouch.”

“Don’t ‘ouch’ me, Sam. When are you going to stop all this dangerous playing around and get serious about someone?”

“Just as soon as I meet someone I want to get serious about. And what I’m doing is not dangerous. I have plenty of condoms.”

“You should hold stock in the company.”

“Actually, I do.”

She sighed heavily. “You know, one of these days I’m going to give up on you, big brother.”

“No you won’t.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because you love me.”

She laughed. “Yes, you big lug, I do.”

Shortly thereafter Sam pressed the disconnect button on the phone then stood silently in the middle of his kitchen. Heather was ten years younger than him and was indirectly responsible for his having chosen to become a doctor. They were the only two children of Bruce and Louise Lovejoy of Toledo, Ohio, a quiet couple whose own parents before them had emigrated from England when they were young. But it had been Heather’s being born with a cleft palate, and a local doctor’s muck-up of the reconstructive surgery, that had given Sam the idea of becoming a doctor himself. A doctor that wouldn’t make the same kind of mistakes his sister’s doctor had.

He shook his head, wondering what had made his mind go back there. It had been a very long time since he’d thought about the genesis of his interest in the medical field. While Heather’s scars were still visible because she refused to undergo further surgery, he’d spoken to her on the phone, not face-to-face, so seeing her scars hadn’t been the reason for his recollections.

He glanced at his watch again. Layla should be closing the clinic doors right about now. Of course, that didn’t mean she would be heading this way.

He grinned. Nor did it mean that she wouldn’t be.

He placed a call to a local restaurant and ordered up dinner for two to be delivered in fifteen, then headed for his bedroom and the shower beyond, not about to make it easy for her to refuse him if she did make the trip all the way out to his place.

OKAY, so Mallory was right. She did want to go to Sam’s place. More than that, she was sitting in her car outside his house, hesitant about pulling into the driveway of the sloping ranch-style dwelling that could have held five of her cramped apartment.

Of course, she doubted Sam Lovejoy had the student loan debt that she had, either. His house alone stood testament to the fact. Never mind the sleek black Jaguar parked in front of the door.

God, he was home.

She wiped her damp palms on her skirt, not realizing until that moment that she’d secretly hoped he wouldn’t be there. Then she could have placed the blame for their not seeing each other on him.

But he was home and she was there and it would be stupid for her to do anything else but go in. Maybe have a cup of coffee or water or something. Then say something about an early morning and hightail it out of there if she felt the least bit uneasy.

She made a face, backed up then pulled her ten-year-old Pontiac behind his sports car. Who was she kidding? She didn’t want to hightail it out of anywhere. She wanted to see if his mouth was capable of doing all the things she’d dreamed about last night. And, let’s face it, it had been a good long time since she’d had an orgasm that required somebody else being in the room. Much too long.

And if a little voice told her that this might not be such a good idea, sleeping with a fellow doctor, much less a boss of sorts, she ignored it. While Sam Lovejoy might be staff administrator, he was also a man. And while she couldn’t really say she knew him all that well, she got the distinct impression that any indiscretions would be kept between the two of them. Unlike what had passed between her and Jim Colton. It seemed the entire Center knew that she’d had an affair with a married man. The only people who hadn’t had a clue, it appeared, were her…and his wife.

“Turn off the car, Layla,” she quietly ordered herself.

She did, then forced herself to climb out. The lawn on either side of the drive was nicely landscaped. Flowers blooming everywhere. But that didn’t mean anything. All the houses out this way had professional landscapers. It didn’t mean that…

What? That Sam was married?

She stretched her neck. No, she’d been extra careful this time out. If there was one thing she was absolutely positive of, it was that Dr. Lovejoy wasn’t married.

Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t in or hadn’t very recently been in a serious relationship on the verge of marriage.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Layla, get over yourself. Just because you’ve been burned once doesn’t mean you’ll be burned again.”

There were no guarantees that she wouldn’t be, either, she reminded herself.

She walked to the door, straightened her skirt, then raised her hand to knock.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re just here for the sex.”

The door opened midway through her comment to herself and Sam stood there in all his handsome glory, a mile-wide grin on his striking face. “Did I hear somebody say ‘sex’?”

4

OH, YEAH, sex was definitely what was on Sam’s mind. Hot, sweaty, monkey sex with one very delectable looking Dr. Layla Hollister.

And he wanted it now.

In fact, given his immediate and acute reaction, you’d have thought she’d shown up at his door wearing a see-through teddy rather than the same skirt and blouse she’d had on this morning. It was then he noticed her clothes looked a bit rumpled. Also, strands of her dark hair had sprung from her once neat French braid, and whatever makeup she’d had on was long gone. But rather than make her unattractive, the effect was…phenomenally appealing. Her green eyes were huge, her lips sexily kissable, her hair tousled in a way that made him think of smooth sheets and squeaky bedsprings.

And Sam wanted to forgo all pleasantries, throw her over one shoulder and take her to his cave so he could have his wicked, wicked way with her.

She smiled slightly. “That’s it. I’m convinced of it. All men are born with sex branded across their cerebral cortexes.”

Sam opened the door farther. “Mmm. I wasn’t the one who said the word.” He watched her enter hesitantly, her gaze taking in everything she could see. “It’s the rest of the sentence I’m curious about.”