Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  He tasted of the endless cups of coffee he'd had at the hospital, and the bristles on his face were rough and vaguely abrasive, but Kitty didn't care. Her arms went around him and she held on for dear life.

  "I love your hair," he breathed into her lips as he laid her down gently on her bed and eased down beside her. "I love the feel of it, the smell of it, the glorious length of it. You can't...cut it," he murmured roughly as he be­gan to kiss her again.

  His hands were in it, gripping, savoring, and then they were under the bathrobe, against her thin slip, then under it, touching and tracing, delicately probing until she arched up with a moan that he took into his hungry mouth...

  A long time later, he managed to pull away, his eyes full of her flushed face with its swol­len, red mouth and wide eyes.

  The robe was gone and her gown was around her hips. He looked down at the vivid mauve tips of her firm breasts and the faint marks his mouth had made on the rest of them. She hadn't protested anything he'd done to her. Her eyes were still on him as she lay there like a creamy sacrifice, watching him, search­ing his face like loving hands.

  "I haven't had any sleep,'' he began gruffly.

  "Is that an excuse?" she asked breathlessly.

  "I don't need an excuse. If you ever come to work again dressed like you were this morn­ing, women's liberation notwithstanding, I'll lay you down on the floor in my office!"

  He was breathing heavily. Of course, so was she. Her arms were beside her head and she felt hot and trembly all over. She'd read in books that men touched women in the ways he'd touched her, but she hadn't understood what it felt like until now.

  She moved experimentally. Her body still felt shocks of pleasure go through it with every movement. She shivered a little.

  He watched her with indulgent amusement. He hadn't meant to let things go so far, but her shocked pleasure had made it impossible for him to stop. He enjoyed her fledgling re­sponses to his lovemaking. He enjoyed all of her. It had been years since he'd indulged in anything remotely resembling this heavy pet­ting. He found that his body still responded sharply to a woman's, and it pleased him that he wasn't completely dead from the neck down.

  He traced her face with his fingers, lightly touching, teasing. He sighed and eased down, stretching, before he pulled her completely against him and held her there, her bare breasts against his hair-roughened chest. His shirt was on the floor somewhere, along with his belt and her robe. They were both disheveled as hell, and he didn't care.

  His hand fumbled for the telephone. He lifted his head long enough to punch in num­bers.

  “Nurse Turner?" he murmured drowsily. "Call the hospital and tell them I'll be two hours late for rounds. I've got to have some sleep. They can reach me by my beeper. Yes. Thank you. She hasn't? Well, we'll start in two hours, I imagine she'll be back by then." He chuckled drowsily. "Oh, I think she'll get over it. I'm not easy to get along with when I haven't had any sleep. Yes, I will. Thanks."

  He hung up and pulled a stunned, still drowsy Kitty closer. Seconds later, they were both asleep.

  Used as he was to grabbing odd moments of sleep, Drew woke in a little over two hours, feeling an unfamiliar weight on his arm. He opened his eyes, turned over and stifled a gasp at what he saw.

  Kitty was lying beside him, her firm, pretty breasts bare, her glorious hair making a veil over the upper half of her body. She looked like a painting he'd once seen of a fairy, al­most glowing, beautiful, vibrantly alive.

  His hand lifted involuntarily and he touched her breasts, tracing their firm contours, de­lighting in their instant response. Even asleep, her body recognized him and lifted toward his searching fingers.

  He groaned deep in his throat and moved again, tracing Kitty's warm, soft flesh with his mouth.

  She stirred then and moaned breathlessly, lifting again.

  Something was touching her. She felt wanted, beautiful, wanton. She cradled the dark head to her breasts and moved sinuously, enjoying the unfamiliar warmth of Drew's hungry mouth against her bare flesh.

  "God Almighty," he breathed roughly, leaning his forehead against her while he fought for control, "what am I doing?"

  "Don't ask me," she whispered shakily, "I'm a novice myself." She laughed softly as she moved against the sheets. "But I wouldn't mind if you kept doing whatever it is."

  He lifted his head with a heavy sigh and looked down at her. She met his eyes with curiosity and drowsy pleasure. She smiled. Unthinking, uncaring, he smiled back.

  His lean hands cradled her face. He bent, kissing her tenderly. "I have to make rounds," he whispered.

  "I have to go to work," she whispered back.

  His body moved restlessly against hers. He ached all over with desire. He could have her. He knew it without a word passing between them. He was more than prepared, there would be no risk, none at all, of a child.

  But what then? His mouth lifted from hers with reluctance. He searched her soft eyes for a long moment.

  She could see him deliberating. Seconds later, she knew that he'd taken several mental steps away from her. Nothing else was going to happen. That iron control wasn't going to let him lose his head completely.

  Her arms fell away from him and she lay there, just watching him, without speaking.

  He rolled away from her and got up, shrug­ging into his shirt before he replaced his belt.

  She watched him do these routine things with pleasure. She should have felt embar­rassed, she supposed, but she didn't. It oc­curred to her in that moment that she was in love with him.

  His eyes slid to where she still lay on the bed and she tried not to let the possessiveness she felt for him show.

  "Get dressed," he said quietly. "We both have work to do."

  She didn't look at him as she sat up and replaced her slip. She got out of bed, pushing her hair back over her shoulders.

  He took her by the shoulders, smoothing his hands over the soft, warm skin. "I won't lie and say that I didn't enjoy it," he said quietly. "I did. But it's still too soon for me," he added.

  She looked up into his eyes, searching them quietly. "Was it me?"

  "It was you, not a ghost," he replied, un­derstanding the question. "You're very attrac­tive, and I think you already know what effect that hair has on me. You saw it in the office, when I lost my temper. I was so afraid that you'd cut it before I could get here." He laughed flatly. "I think I'd have cut my own throat. It's glorious hair."

  She pushed it away from her face. "Why were you so angry?" she asked belatedly.

  "The night I proposed to Eve, she had her hair in a similar fashion and she was wearing a white lacy Spanish dress," he explained. "I wasn't at all prepared for the way you were going to look in your new image."

  "I see. I'm sorry," she said through her teeth.

  "There's no need to apologize," he replied at once. "You look delightful, Kitty Cat," he teased softly. "Wear your hair like that any­time you please. I'll try to restrain my enthu­siasm."

  "Is that what it was?" she asked demurely.

  He linked his hands behind her waist and pulled her close. "It was affection punctuated with the purest lust I've ever felt," he replied, looking at her possessively. "I want you. I mean it. I'm not thinking of any other woman, either, when I touch you."

  "But it makes you feel guilty."

  His shoulders rose and fell. "Yes, it does. I loved Eve. I've never been able to let go of her memory." He looked her straight in the eye. "I never will. I loved her too much. I can offer you some passionate kisses. I can sleep with you. God knows I want to. But that's all it would be," he added, trying to be honest with her. His hands contracted. "Sex wouldn't be enough."

  Her eyes fell to his hair-roughened chest She wanted to touch him there, caress him, but she didn't. He wanted her. But he still loved Eve. It was always going to be like that.

  "We can be friends," he said. "Even inti­mate friends. I like you a hell of a lot. You're good company and you aren't afraid to sp
eak your mind."

  She looked up. "Friends."

  "Lovers, if you like," he added bluntly.

  She managed a soft laugh. “With everyone in town knowing?"

  "I'm afraid so. Your face is a dead give­away right now."

  "I suppose it is." She moved away from him, reaching to the floor to pick up her robe and wrap it around her. She felt cold.

  He went to her, and tilted her face up to his. "I can't love you," he said shortly. "I can't offer you marriage."

  "I know that." She tied the robe. "And I can't accept anything less." She moved away from him. "I want a husband and children."

  He drew a long, sad breath. "I'm sorry."

  "You can't help it. If I'd had someone that wonderful in my past, maybe I could settle for memories, too. I don't blame you." She turned to look at him. "But I'm only twenty-four and I have my whole life still ahead of me. I don't have any memories to live on."

  He stuck his hands into his pockets. "I guess not."

  She took a deep breath and coughed, then grimaced. "The pollen count's terrible to­day," she murmured, searching in her purse for her inhaler. She kept them everywhere: one in the bedside table, one in her purse, one in the pocket of the jacket she wore on walks. It staved off attacks if she used it soon enough.

  She did her spaced inhalations and then sat down, breathing better. "I walked to work this morning," she murmured.

  "Stupid."

  She shrugged. "It was beautiful outside, and I love flowers," she said with a nostalgic smile. "Life isn't fair, is it? I used to keep a garden when I lived with Dad. It was hard on my lungs when everything was blooming, but I wore a mask and hoed right on."

  "At least you don't mind using your med­icine. I have patients who never fill the pre­scription."

  "The same ones you have to see in the emergency room at two in the morning," she ventured.

  He smiled. "Exactly."

  He picked up the watch he'd laid on her bedside table and grimaced as he looked at it, shaking his head. "I'm really late."

  "So am I."

  He buttoned his shirt and put the watch back on, reaching for his jacket. He pulled out his comb and stopped in her bathroom long enough to put his hair back in its pristine con­dition.

  "You need a shave," she murmured when he came out.

  "Tell me about it. I was planning to have one when you walked into the office looking like Venus rising."

  “You said to get my hair fixed and buy new clothes," she said pointedly.

  "To attract Guy Fenton and Matt Cald-well," he shot back, scowling. "Not me!"

  She wrapped her arms around her breasts. "Sorry."

  He ran a hand through his thick hair, muss­ing it again. He couldn't bear to look at her. It made him hungry.

  "I'll see you at the office. I told Nurse Turner that you were probably upset and might be late getting back. She knew that I'd upset you." He sighed deeply. "I'm sorry," he added. His eyes went to the bed and then back to her. "But I don't regret one minute of this."

  Her arms tightened around herself. "Men never do," she murmured.

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Would you like to explain that?"

  "Not really." She walked toward the door.

  He caught her hand before she could open the doorknob and turned her to face him. "You're still going to the ball with me," he said firmly.

  "Are you sure you want me to?"

  He nodded.

  "All right, then."

  His dark eyes slid over her body in the bath­robe, down to her pretty feet and back up to her flushed, sad face. "It's hard for me to re­member that I'm a doctor sometimes. You have lovely breasts."

  She flushed.

  "Embarrassed?" he asked softly, and moved even closer. "There's no need. I'm not going to tell a living soul what I know about your body. Ever," he added solemnly.

  The flush got worse. She dropped her eyes to his chin. "I never did that before."

  His chest rose and fell. He touched her long hair gently. "You're young enough to enjoy first times."

  She met his eyes, worried. "You didn't en­joy it?" she blurted out.

  His jaw tautened. His eyes glittered. "Hell, yes, I enjoyed it," he said through his teeth. "Did you think your innocence didn't show?"

  "You... laughed."

  "Yes." He bent, brushing his mouth gently over her eyes. "It was so sweet when you con­vulsed, and I heard you cry out because the pleasure was so overwhelming. Your first time...and it was with me."

  "It wasn't...your first time," she whis­pered.

  "My first time was very much like yours," he whispered, smiling as he recalled it. "With an older girl who was too afraid of getting pregnant to let me go all the way. But it was sweet, just the same."

  "Were you ashamed, afterward?"

  "A little," he confessed. "I was brought up to believe that certain things only happened between married people."

  "So was I." She wouldn't look up.

  He tilted her face up to his. "You have a beautiful, innocent body. I did nothing to threaten your chastity."

  "I know that. But it was so intimate," she emphasized.

  "Yes." He kissed her forehead gently, feel­ing things inside himself that he'd forgotten he could. "Intimate."

  "I wouldn't, couldn't, let anyone else do that to me."

  He put her away from him. "I'm going home to shave. You'd better have lunch and go to work. We're going to have a busy af­ternoon."

  "I guess we are."

  He started to open the door. His black eyes snared hers. She looked vulnerable, somehow. He didn't want to leave her like that.

  "Don't beat your conscience to death, Kitty," he commanded.

  "Won't you?" she asked bitterly.

  He scowled. He didn't want to think about that It probably would. He shrugged, smiled faintly in her direction and left.

  Kitty went back to work, pretending that nothing more than Drew's outburst of temper had affected her. Nurse Turner, knowing no better, accepted the explanation. But she no­ticed that Kitty had her hair bundled up again and that she was wearing the old nondescript clothes she'd always worn to work. Drew might be sorry for what he'd said, but Kitty wasn't taking chances.

  He came back from making rounds at the hospital, glanced at her with strangely wounded eyes and went back to wait for his first patient.

  Kitty knew from his behavior that he was going to pretend it never happened. She went along. It would make things at the office more bearable if they could just be boss and recep­tionist. She tried. Only at night, when the memory made her twist and turn with painful longing did she give in to what she felt for Drew. And he wouldn't know, because she was adept at hiding her feelings.

  She dressed for the grand charity ball feel­ing like a limp Cinderella in her green satin gown. She was sorry that she'd bought it, be­cause when Drew saw it, the first thing that would occur to him was that he'd suggested the color. That couldn't be helped. She couldn't afford to buy another, not on her budget.

  But it didn't really surprise her when he sent word that he was called to the hospital for an emergency case and she'd have to meet him at the country club. She smiled to herself, knowing full well that any other doctor on staff would gladly have covered for him if he'd really wanted them to.

  She drove herself to the ball, crushing her pretty taffeta dress in the small confines of the little white car. She got out, her glorious hair in a becoming tangle down her back, her eve­ning purse gripped in her hand, and went in­side.

  The Coltrains were at the door to greet their guests, since they were the organizers.

  "Don't tell me," Lou said when she greeted Kitty, "Drew's been called to the hospital."

  "Fortunes of war," Kitty mused.

  Jeb didn't say a word. He smiled and said the conventional things and watched Kitty go to the refreshment table alone.

  Lou's hand clung to his unobtrusively. "He's fighting it."

  "Damn it," he muttered, contracting
his fingers around hers. "He could have gotten someone to cover for him at the hospital."

  She moved closer to him, momentarily rest­ing her blond head against his shoulder. “The road to true love is rocky."

  He looked down at her, his blue eyes nar­row and full of love as they searched her pretty face. He smiled. "But worth the climb," he murmured.

  She smiled. He bent his head and kissed her softly.

  "Cut it out," Matt Caldwell teased, grin­ning at them.

  They both flushed a little, still feeling like newlyweds after more than a year and several months of marriage.

  Matt had a hand in his pocket, and he looked devastating in an evening jacket, his black wavy hair neatly combed above a lean and dark face with dancing dark eyes. He was the most eligible bachelor left in Jacobsville, but no woman ever seemed to touch his heart. All the same, he never lacked for dates as a rule. But tonight he was alone.

  "Where's Kitty?" he asked, tongue-in-cheek.

  They both flushed even more. "Now, Matt," Lou began.

  He held up a hand. "It's all right. I knew why I was being invited. I like Kitty. I didn't have anyone in mind to bring anyway. Where is she?"

  "By the punch bowl," Jeb sighed. "She was supposed to come with Drew, but he had an emergency."

  Matt was looking past them at Kitty. He scowled. He'd known her since high school, although she was four years behind him, but he'd never seen her look like that!

  "Poor man," he mused. "His loss is my gain. See you."

  He went straight to Kitty like a shot, barely acknowledging the people who spoke to him as he walked through the crowd. He stopped in front of Kitty, towering over her.

  "Cinderella, I presume?" he mused, giving her a bow. "The prince is here."

  She laughed. Her sad face was radiant as she went gratefully into his arms, feeling like the belle of the ball. The number they were playing was an exquisite waltz, and it was one dance she did very well. So did Matt.

  He whirled her around the floor with pure delight, noticing that the other dancers moved aside for them. He had eyes only for pretty Kitty, with her contacts in and her glorious hair flying as he whirled her to the rhythm. Despite the fact that his name had been loosely linked with that of widow Elysia Craig Nash, he seemed to find Kitty enchanting.