down. It was now in a French braid, exposing her nicely curved neck.
Well, at least the little of her neck that was visible above the white, chin-high collar.
Hadn’t anyone told her this was L.A., not North Dakota, which was the only place it would be cold enough to wear such a shirt in October?
Layla’s gasp told Sam he’d forgotten something else. Namely, that he’d purposely withheld his name from her the night before.
And, right now, seeing the look of horror on her face, he almost wished he had a different name.
EARTHQUAKE? Aftershock? Pre-shock? Layla fought to keep her balance as she matched the strikingly handsome face of the man standing in front of her with the face of the man who had haunted her dreams last night.
Her stomach bottomed out as she remembered just how very vivid those dreams had been. And just how many naughty things she’d had him do with that sexy mouth of his.
Unfortunately, her loss of equilibrium had little to do with the San Andreas Fault. Rather, it was shock due to the fact that this man had just reinforced her latest lesson in regards to men: they were all lying, cheating pigs who—if not for the temporary sexual relief they brought, or their procreative abilities—could line the bottom of the Pacific for all she cared.
“Dr. Hollister,” he said, rounding his desk and reminding her just how very tall he was. She had to look up at him, something she wasn’t used to since she was five foot eleven in heels. “Officially we meet.”
He extended his hand. Layla curved hers against her leg to wipe the dampness away before stretching it out. “And last night would have been…”
“Unofficial.”
“Ah. Yes. Of course.” She tilted her head. “Which would make your not introducing yourself a simple omission rather than an out-and-out deception.”
He feigned a wince. “Ouch.” He seemed reluctant to take his hand back. And Layla realized with a jolt she was reluctant to have him take his hand back.
“Sam Lovejoy,” he said casually, leaning against the edge of his desk. “And, yes, while it would probably be easier to pretend I didn’t know who you were last night after you mentioned your…dislike of your new boss…” He let his words trail off. “Well, honesty is always the best policy, as they say.”
“A little honesty probably would have gone a long way last night.”
He rubbed his chin as if trying to erase his grin. It wasn’t working. And neither was Layla’s instinctive desire to respond with a smile.
“I probably would have told you at some point last night,” he said. “You know, had you stuck around.”
She crossed her arms. “Before or after we’d slept together?”
“Oh, after,” he said without hesitation. “Definitely after.” His gaze traversed her leisurely, making little shivers scoot all over her.
His cockiness, in addition to his bold honesty, made her feel hot all over. It was rare that a man could make Layla feel…small, somehow. No, not so much small, but vulnerable. If she threw up her hands right that minute and feigned a fainting spell, she imagined Sam Lovejoy would not only catch her, but would take complete advantage of the situation.
“Oh, I like that expression you’re wearing right now. What are you thinking?” Sam asked.
Layla’s smile widened. “None of your business.”
“I’m your boss, in a manner of speaking, so everything that happens here at the Center is my business. Give.”
Oh, he was good. “Well, let’s just say that my thoughts were inappropriate, given our professional surroundings. Allow me to apologize for my insubordination.”
The gleam in his eyes told her he was impressed and intrigued by her daring comeback.
She held up her hand. “Let me get one thing straight, Dr. Lovejoy.” She cleared her throat, suddenly unable to say his name without shivering. Funny, just the day before she couldn’t say his name without feeling disdain. “If you haven’t heard already, I made the mistake once before of becoming…intimately involved with a professional colleague.”
He nodded. “I’ve heard.”
“Fast worker.”
“You have no idea.”
She cleared her throat again. “Well, then, let me say point-blank that following that experience, I have no intention of getting involved with another colleague.”
His brows rose, nearly meeting the hair that swept across his forehead. “Never?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Never.”
Layla could hardly believe she was saying these words. She didn’t play coy. She didn’t indulge in verbal tit for tats. She didn’t flirt the way she was doing with the handsome but very off-limits Dr. Lovejoy. This time her shiver nearly shook her from her sensible shoes.
And if ever there was proof that sometimes no meant yes, she’d just provided herself with exhibit one. Because if Sam put on the brakes and stopped flirting with her, she didn’t know what she would do. She rested her hand against her neck, finding her skin burning. Well, she didn’t know what she would do short of shoving him against the tall filing cabinets to her right and having her way with him.
“Point taken,” Sam said, pushing off the desk and rounding it so he could sit down.
Two can play at this game, Sam thought as he tried to wipe the grin from his face and motioned for Layla to have a seat opposite him.
She seemed inordinately preoccupied with his filing cabinet. He wondered why as he watched her carefully sit down in the soft leather guest chair, her shapely knees together, her legs crossed at the ankles.
He couldn’t recall a time when he’d enjoyed flirting with a woman more. Her initial disappointment at his deception pushed aside, she gave as good as she got. He fought the sudden urge to pull at his collar, knowing she’d be the same way in bed. Competitive. Bold. And so very, very naughty.
“It says here in your file that you volunteer at a free clinic,” he launched into his official getting acquainted session.
“Ah, down to business,” she said, finally meeting his gaze again. Was it him, or were her pupils a little large? “Actually, the clinic started paying me last year when the staff physician retired and moved back to St. Louis, and I essentially took over the role.”
He made the notation on a pad. “This was the clinic you went to last night?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“How many hours do you put in a week?”
“Right now, since they’re short of staff…about forty.”
He raised his brows. “And you put in forty here.”
“That’s right.”
Sam
