Night Fever. Tori Carrington
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.”
“I bet. Do you mind?” She rested her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she slipped out of her low-heeled shoes. He waited to see if she had any other article of clothing in mind next, but unfortunately she stopped there.
“You know, as your doctor, I have to tell you those shoes don’t do anything for your posture when you’re on your feet all day.”
“So now you’re my doctor?”
He shrugged. “No. I just play one at work. And it looks as though you need one.”
She laughed quietly. “As far as compliments go, Dr. Lovejoy—” Was it him or had she just shuddered? “—that one leaves a lot to be desired.”
Desired…
Oh, that was a word that nicely described what she was for him. He desired her—in his house, at this late hour, looking like she needed a sack session as badly as he did.
She released her hold on him, swept her shoes to the left of the doorway, then walked a little farther into the room.
Sam’s gaze skimmed up the back of her long, long legs, to the waist of her impossibly long skirt, and up to where wisps of hair teased the back of her collar. “How long has it been since someone has looked after you?”
She slanted a gaze over her shoulder, wariness backlighting her eyes. “And the compliments only get better.”
He chuckled, suddenly glad he’d put on a polo shirt and jeans. If he had answered the door buck-naked, as he had wanted to, she likely would have run in the other direction.
Not to mention that he might have ended up scarring the food-delivery guy for life.
Somehow he wouldn’t have guessed that the lovely Layla would have casual sex problems. The way she flirted indicated she was up for anything anytime. But the way she seemed so guarded now…
Sam considered her.
Yes, this Layla would take a little bit of work. But, oh, what a job it would be. He had little doubt that once he stroked her in just the right way, she’d purr like a sex kitten and fulfill all of his fantasies.
He hiked a brow. All of them? Now that was a concept. He usually liked different women for different reasons.
But Layla…
Layla he found he wanted every which way he could have her.
“I ordered some delivery. It’s in the oven keeping warm. Are you hungry?” She shook her head. He’d suspected that would be her answer. He’d have to take things a little slower yet. “When’s the last time you had a bath?”
She turned her head so he could see her profile. “Are you saying I’m unclean now?”
He cocked a grin. “No, I’m saying you look like you could use a soak.”
Her head bent toward her chest. “I think I was four the last time I had a bath.”
“That long?”
She rubbed the outer part of her left arm with her opposite hand. “Pretty much. The place I live in now only has room for a shower.”
Two