caught, and his testosterone raged.
What was it about this woman that made her seem so different from the others?
“Make love to me, Kyle.” Then she unbuttoned his shirt and pressed herself to him, stoking a blaze deep within him.
He tore himself from her embrace, just long enough to dig through the nightstand drawer for a condom. His efforts were thwarted by haste and desire, as he fumbled with the foil packet and tried to protect them both.
When he joined her on the bed, their hungry kiss resumed and tongues mated in a lover’s frenzy. Caught up in a fire that might never burn out, Kyle realized his only hope for relief was to bury himself in her.
As he entered, she arched up to meet him, and he was lost. Lost in lust and passion.
Kyle had wanted their first time together to be special, but all he could think about was how good it felt to be inside of her, to have her meet each of his thrusts, to be shaken to the core by a powerful climax that made her cry out in pleasure and damn near turned him inside out.
He’d wanted to love her with a slow hand, taking the time to make tonight memorable for them both, since a continuing relationship wasn’t wise and certainly wasn’t in his game plan. But his fiery passion burned out of control.
When he’d had a chance to catch his breath and grow hard again, he would take it slow and easy, making sure the rest of the night was every bit as good as it could be.
But for the time being, he would hold her until the last wave of pleasure ebbed.
Milla glanced at the clock on the wall—3:00 a.m. The scent of lovemaking filled the air, and her naked body still hummed from the last sweet joining, just an hour before.
Kyle held her close, one of his arms tucked under her waist and the other draped across her breasts. His gentle breathing told her he was asleep, contented and sated.
But she wasn’t.
Well, she was definitely sated. Their lovemaking had been great—mindless and hot, but fulfilling.
She’d found much-needed comfort, as well as pleasure, in Kyle’s arms. But after the loving, when her conscience had a chance to sneak in and shake a finger at her, contentment slipped by the wayside.
Making love to Kyle had seemed right, but in the wee hours of the morning, after the waves of the last powerful climax had ceased, her good sense returned.
Her conscience, which had deserted her earlier in the evening, surfaced with a vengeance. Yes, she’d willingly followed Kyle home. And she’d enjoyed the best lovemaking she’d ever known. Not that she had anything to compare it to—one boyfriend in college who’d been a mistake from the get go.
She’d wanted to make love to Kyle, and he hadn’t disappointed her. He was a great lover, considerate and gifted in the fine art of seduction and pleasure. Of course, that was probably because he’d had so much practice.
But Milla hadn’t been thinking clearly. Her head had been in a romantic cloud and her hormones had taken over.
While in Melinda’s parking lot, making out like a couple of teenagers, she hadn’t given a hoot about what her mother might say. But now, after the loving, she realized her mother would never understand Milla having a relationship of any kind with Kyle.
Not that Milla hadn’t crossed her mom on other occasions and weathered the storm. Truthfully, Milla dating a Bingham would be a big thorn in her mother’s backside, but their mother-daughter relationship wouldn’t suffer any serious consequences.
More troublesome than her mother’s disapproval was that Milla had become intimately involved with a co-worker. What if word of their…indiscretion leaked out?
That problem, she supposed, could also be dealt with.
But the next accusation her conscience hurled at her struck hard, knocking the wind out of her like a tumble from a tree and a belly flop on the lawn.
What if the Canfields learned that Milla and the pediatrician who would testify in her defense were sleeping together?
Things were certain to get uglier than they already were.
Sure, Milla and Kyle both knew the Canfields didn’t have a case. But malpractice suits didn’t have to be based on medical logic. The Canfields could sue—and win—without having any concrete medical evidence. If taken to court, the publicity alone would hurt the Janice Foster Clinic, as well as Milla’s reputation. And the case would also result in higher malpractice insurance premiums for her and the clinic.
No, the problems the malpractice suit could bring hadn’t disappeared. And, in fact, they had probably been compounded by her decision to make love to the doctor who would testify on her behalf.
Kyle slept soundly, obviously having no qualms about their night of passion.
But Milla had plenty of reservations. And regrets. No matter how good it had been.
Carefully slipping away from his embrace, she quietly dressed and tiptoed from his room. She grabbed her purse and heels from the living room, not taking time to slip on her shoes, and stole out of the house.
A small, adolescent voice inside called out, Hey! What about Kyle? What about what we just shared?
But Milla needed to face the truth. There couldn’t be anything between her and Kyle. Not now.
What if he calls? the young voice cried. What will you tell him?
The voice of reason stepped in to answer. Kyle is probably a player, just like his dad—a guy who loved whatever lady he was with.
If Kyle called her—which wasn’t likely, given his playboy daddy’s blood—she’d tell him their…intimacy had been a mistake.
Milla Johnson had enough to worry about without the complications a relationship with Kyle Bingham would bring.
Chapter Three
Milla arrived home while the stars still glittered in the morning sky.
Once inside the small, darkened bedroom she shared with her mother, she moved quietly, but only as a courtesy—not out of fear of discovery. Milla had never had any trouble standing up to her mom when they’d had confrontations. But she was much too tired to stir things up now.
“Is that you, honey?” her mom asked, voice heavy with sleep.
“Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry for waking you.”
“It’s all right. Those babies never choose a convenient time to be born, do they?”
Milla bit her lip and held back a response. As a midwife, she’d spent many nights at the bedside of a laboring woman, providing obstetrical skill and support. It was a job she loved, a career in which she thrived despite its demands on her time.
It was natural for Sharon Johnson to assume her daughter had been working.
Milla had always been honest, even if that honesty ruffled a few maternal feathers, but she couldn’t bring
