Hot Single Docs: Giving In To Temptation. Lynne Marshall
point of being around him? Because she liked him? Found him sexy? The thoughts caused her to pause on the pavement.
That’s when he reached for her hand, wrapping his long, strong fingers around it, and pulled her brusquely along the crowded street toward Angel’s.
POLLY TAGGED ALONG behind John at a fast and challenging clip. They rushed through the hospital lobby towards the elevator, past the “welcome” clown pacing on stilts and the piano player, who was smack in the middle of “Old MacDonald”. Diverse entertainment for visiting hours. He moved like a man with a single thought on his mind—how to dump his dinner date. Yet he never let go of her hand.
Still not saying a word on the crowded elevator trip to the sixth floor, he tugged her down the hall and, having left his office door unlocked, whisked it open, practically dragging her inside. Only then did he release his grip. She went directly for her bags and personal items, assuming he wanted her gone. Now.
Why had she thought that offering John Griffin pizza was a good ice-breaker in order to bring up her question about whether or not to go out with an old boyfriend? All she’d done had been to tick him off.
He stood off to the side, staring out the window, hands crammed into the pockets of his slacks, looking like he was doing battle with a slew of demons in his head. Had she done that to him?
“I feel like you’re mad at me,” she said, stating the unmistakable.
He turned abruptly. “I’m not mad at you, I’m angry about how you try to please everyone else and overlook yourself.”
She bunched her hands into fists. “I’ve had a lifetime of practice. Old habits die hard, you know?”
He tugged his earlobe. “I know.”
Relieved that he wasn’t fuming at her but was more irritated at her situation, a wave of mismatched feelings swept deep, causing confusion in her mind and her eyes to water. She glanced away.
“If you don’t mind—” her voice sounded congested “—I’ll change out of these shoes for the subway first.”
He turned and watched as she sat on the edge of a chair. “I thought you were going to the movies.” The man had gone tighter than a stretched rubber band and the muscle at his jaw twitched as he blatantly ground his molars.
“It was a comedy, and I’m kind of not in the mood now.”
He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“It isn’t because of you.” She slipped off one shoe. “I guess I just realized how tired I am. It’s been a long day.” She stretched out her foot and toes. “A long week.”
His gaze jumped all over her, from her face to her chest to her hips and legs and finally to her foot. His expression changed from indecision and caution to longing and oh-what-the-hell. Something had snapped in him, some decision Polly wasn’t privileged to know, yet his change was as plain as the sudden jangled nerves in her stomach. He made an abrupt move, came in front of her and dropped to his knees. Without a word he handed her his handkerchief for her teary eyes then removed her other shoe. His warm, strong hands caressed her foot, sending shockwaves through her.
Polly stiffened as the idea registered of John Griffin giving her a foot massage. She inhaled raggedly while he gently worked the ball of her foot and the arch with amazingly talented fingers. Soothing sensations tiptoed up her calf, causing tingles behind her knee.
Oh, my God, what do I do?
A crazy answer popped into her mind as she wiped away the tears from her eyes with his monogramed handkerchief. Enjoy it.
He splayed her toes and worked each joint right out to the tips of her nails. She tensed and sighed, and felt his touch all the way up the insides of her thighs, though his hands never left her foot.
“The problem with women these days,” he said, increasing the pressure on her heel, “is they mess up their feet with these super-sexy shoes. All men want to do is get them off.” She looked down at his short-cropped, silver-salted hair, discovering a small endearing cowlick in the middle. His voice sounded hoarse, strained, like maybe he really was mad at her. Yet his hands told a completely different story. Was he turned on? “I say that as an orthopedic surgeon.”
That made her smile, his rubbing her feet in such a sexy way yet trying to pull off a professional manner. He was looking out for her well-being, though, wasn’t he? His ministrations were so amazing she couldn’t help but sigh again, so he reached for her other foot. Call her easy, but her shoulders slumped and her head dropped back, savoring the heat of his hands on her totally susceptible skin.
“You’re too kind to me,” she whispered, shifting her gaze from the ceiling to his serious face as he concentrated on the task at hand—her foot. Her incredibly lucky foot. Her mind wandered to what it would be like if his hands touched her everywhere like that.
“This isn’t about being ‘kind’ and you know it.” He stopped his massage and delved into her eyes as if measuring the level of her understanding. She concentrated on his mouth and the hair-thin scar above his upper lip on the right. The growing warmth between her thighs weakened when he stopped touching her, but she’d read his message loud and clear.
He wanted her.
Just as much as she wanted him.
At some point, as he’d stood by that window, he’d made a decision. She’d sensed it then and felt it with every fiber now. Saw it in the serious dark eyes staring at her. Whatever he’d needed to overcome, he had, and now...he wanted her.
A deep desire to break out of her usual by-the-rules role and not to let this magical moment pass made her lean towards him, take his life-weary face between her hands and press a kiss to his irresistible mouth.
Surprisingly soft, his lips were warm and responsive, and he soon took over the advance, proving her hunch had been right. He needed her as much as she wanted him. His hands clamped around her waist, squeezing with urgency as he deepened their kiss.
She ran her fingers across his short, springy hair then down his powerful neck as she kissed him back. Solid. The man was solid. She smelled his lingering forest-scented cologne and enjoyed the end-of-day stubble of his beard. His tongue found hers and she let him have his will, matching exploration for exploration and tasting a hint of Chianti. The warmth pooling between her thighs quickly renewed as her pulse thrummed throughout her body.
A sharp knocking on the office door shocked her out of her dream about kissing her boss. Oh, wait, it was really happening.
“Environmental Services,” a loud voice called. “Dr. Griffin, are you still in there?”
“Just leaving, Constantine, give me a couple of minutes.” His voice sounded heavy and forced. Heat radiated from John’s darkened eyes as he stared at her. “I know a place we can go. Will you come with me?”
The question of the day—will you come with me?
Overcome with his no-nonsense sex appeal, his smoldering gaze, and their incredible kiss, there was only one answer she could think of.
“Yes, Johnny,” she whispered, banishing from her mind their age difference and concentrating on their total attraction to each other.
He hastily gathered her things as she used the back of her hand to wipe her already kiss-swollen lips, trying her best to recover from the mind-bending introduction to making out with Dr. John Griffin. She could barely wait for more as he grabbed his jacket and her hand and led the way out.
“Goodnight,” he said in a clipped voice to the janitor as they passed, as if he dragged a woman from his office every night of the week and Housekeeping should think nothing of it.
Was the fact that she was barefoot a dead giveaway to what they’d been doing?
The janitor