before she could climax, he stopped. She opened her eyes and stared at him in disbelief. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
She reached to touch his head, his face, his hair. She was on fire and she would die if he didn’t continue, didn’t finish.
“Please,” she breathed, holding him tightly. “Don’t stop. Don’t.”
Nora woke with a start. She was still curled up on the sofa, clutching the pillow to her belly. Confusion filled her, then cleared as she realized it had been nothing more than a dream. A stupid dream that didn’t mean anything.
She sat up and realized that while her mind might have figured out it was just a dream, her body was less aware of what was going on. She was aroused and ready to make love. To Stephen Remington of all people. How dare he get into her mind and mess with her that way? How dare he—
She moaned as she remembered the feel of his mouth against her body, then she shivered. She’d spent a couple of hours with the guy and he’d invaded her sleep? What was going on?
Nora vowed that whatever it was she would figure out the problem, then fix it. She wasn’t interested in having a man in her life. Not now, not ever. They were annoying and difficult and not for her. Not even Dr. Stephen Remington.
Chapter Three
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Nora froze at the sound of the too-familiar voice. The voice of the man who had haunted her sleep for the past two nights, invading her time of rest and assaulting her with hot kisses and erotic touches that left her aroused and frustrated when she awoke.
She ignored him by focusing on her client—an elderly lady stretched out on a chair, with her neck propped on the edge of the shampoo bowl in a back room of the Lone Star Retirement Village.
“Don’t distract her,” Mrs. Bailey said in her wavering voice. The white-haired, birdlike woman was nearly ninety. “Nora is busy making me beautiful. It takes longer these days than it used to.”
“I would never dream of getting in the way of a lovely woman and her appointment with beauty,” he said. “I just wanted to say hello to my favorite hairdresser.”
Nora was wrist-deep in shampoo and hair, but she couldn’t help glancing at Stephen as he leaned against the door frame of the small room. He wore a white coat over a dust-colored shirt and brown slacks and there was a knowing look in his dark eyes. As if he suspected she’d spent the past couple of nights dreaming about him.
“Not likely,” she muttered, referring more to him guessing her secret than to her being his favorite hairdresser.
“It’s true,” he protested. “You’re the only hairdresser I know.”
She nearly snorted at the adolescent comment. “Aren’t you the clever one? How very humorous. It’s amazing that I can keep upright, what with the laughter coursing through my body at that one. Gee, Doc, if medicine doesn’t work out, you have a career in stand-up comedy at the ready.”
He didn’t budge. Worse, he didn’t even blink at her tirade. “Does the word overkill mean anything to you, Nora?”
“No. Some things can’t be dead enough.”
She gave him an insincere smile, then flipped on the water. When the fine spray heated to the correct temperature, Nora rinsed off her hands, then carefully removed the shampoo from Mrs. Bailey’s white curls.
“I’d like to talk with you before you leave,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of running water.
She had a strong urge to tell him that she didn’t care what he wanted, but she didn’t want to sound like a petulant child. She shrugged her acceptance of his statement, then felt more than saw him leave the room.
“Why don’t you like Dr. Stephen?” Mrs. Bailey asked as Nora wrapped a towel around her head and helped her into a sitting position. “He’s very nice. Besides, he’s really a dish.” Mrs. Bailey blinked her pale blue eyes and smiled. “I suppose you young people would say he’s hot.”
Nora wrinkled her nose. “I’m not going to say anything at all about the good doctor’s appearance. I’m sure he’s everything he should be. But I’m not interested.”
“Nora, you can’t hide from men forever.”
“Why not?” The plan had been working so far. If not for those darned erotic dreams.
“Because you’re a beautiful young woman who should be married with a family.”
The elderly woman’s words caused a tiny ache to take up residence in Nora’s heart. “I wouldn’t mind the kids,” she said honestly. “In fact I’d like them very much. It’s the husband I object to.”
“Men aren’t so bad.”
“Neither is an allergy to shellfish. That doesn’t mean I want one.”
Mrs. Bailey chuckled. “Nora Darby, you’re a pistol, girl. But mark my words. One day you’re going to meet a man who sweeps you off your feet. You’re going to lose your heart to him and then where will you be?”
“Running for my life.”
“No. You’ll be very happy.”
Stephen looked up at the light knock on the entrance to the makeshift office he used when he was called out to the Lone Star Retirement Village. Nora Darby glared at him, her beautiful brown eyes snapping with temper, her hackles already raised as she prepared for the slight she was so sure was coming.
Stephen bit back a grin. Nora was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen—at least in person. He remembered a couple of adolescent fantasies that had come close. Today she wore her dark, curly hair pulled on top of her head in a ponytail. Curls tumbled down to the nape of her neck, where they teased the faintly tanned skin there. The temperature had climbed into the mid-eighties—not unusual for spring in Texas, or so he’d been told. In honor of the heat—or maybe just to torment him—Nora had dressed in a cropped short-sleeved white shirt that had impossibly tempting, tiny buttons that started at the valley between her breasts and continued to the hem of the shirt, at her waist. Her low-slung denim skirt left about two inches of skin bare around her middle. Long, tanned legs disappeared into worn cowboy boots.
“What did you want?” she asked, folding her arms under her breasts. The movement pulled the shirt higher, exposing more of her tummy.
Nora Darby had a body built for sin, he thought, amazed that he could feel heat flaring through his body. He hadn’t wanted a woman in so long, he’d assumed that part of him had died…or at least been frozen. Apparently he’d only needed the right kind of inspiration to wake things up.
“What’s that expression?” he asked. “The one about a woman being a long, tall drink of water?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m tall. Five-nine. Is that what you wanted to talk about? And while we’re on the subject, I don’t appreciate being ordered into the
