"I'm paying for it. I want to clear up all your doubts. Solve your mysteries." He tipped her face up to his. "All the unknowns are driving me crazy, Sarah. It must be a hell of a lot worse for you."
"It would be unbearable," she admitted, "if it wasn't for one Dr. Connor Wade, the sweetest, kindest, sexiest man I've ever known."
His mouth lifted in a wry half smile. "Yeah, but at this particular time, I'm the only man you've ever known."
"That's entirely beside the point," she retorted, knowing that he'd exaggerated only slightly.
"No, actually, that is the point. It's—"
She shushed him with a tender kiss.
"Mmm." He slid his hands beneath her silken robe, around her waist and along the curve of her back, pressing her naked body to his clothed one. "Mmmmm."
Passion sparked between them and heated their kiss. She felt his arousal swell and harden beneath his trousers. She moved against him in a mindlessly sensual response.
He groaned, plunged his tongue deeper into her mouth and cupped her bottom, lifting and tilting her against him. His erection pulsed strong and hot behind the cool zipper.
"Connor," she said in a breathy whisper, "you've got to go to the office."
He pulled his hips away slightly, and she felt his hand slide down between their bodies, working at his zipper. "So I'll be late," he uttered gruffly.
A sweet, torturous ache grew within the very core of her as he unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down his muscular thighs.
"I need you, Sarah," he rasped against her ear. "I need to be inside you."
"I want you there."
He shoved the robe off her and invaded her mouth in a hot, demanding kiss. She groaned, wove her fingers into the plush depths of his hair and kissed him with all the passion he incited.
His hands coursed downward in a greedy, groping caress until at last they curved around her bottom and lifted her. His hard, blunt fingers fanned and pressed into sensitive valleys. Shards of pleasure shot through her from every probing fingertip.
She folded her legs around his powerful thighs as their mouths mated. He angled his hips and guided hers in a sleek, precise motion. Their kisses slowed, but in no way lessened. The smooth, hard tip of him teased and probed at her entrance, forcing her into wilder gyrations.
She needed—desperately needed—deeper penetration.
With a hoarse cry, Connor lodged her against the closet door and gave it. Repeatedly.
With every thrust, he gritted his teeth in an effort to withstand the pleasure; to delay the ever-nearing climax. He plunged in farther each time, aiming for nothing short of her heart. Or maybe her soul. He needed to be there. Needed to stay there.
You're mine. No one else's. Only mine.
At noon on that warm but overcast Monday, Sarah made the short trek down the road from Connor's house to town, then crossed the Main Street Bridge over a waterfall and into the triangle-shaped business district of Sugar Falls.
Connor had insisted she meet him for lunch.
She hadn't been too keen on the idea. "People will have heard Lorna's version of the Juneberry Lake incident. I'm not sure I'm ready to face the music."
"We'll face it together. It'll be better that way."
She didn't follow his logic. To her way of thinking, they'd only be adding fuel to the fire.
He persuaded her to come, though, by explaining he wanted to set up an account at his bank for her—a loan, as they'd agreed—to give her access to money whenever she needed it.
"I don't have identification," she reminded him. "No bank will let me set up an account or cash checks."
"I'll set up the account. You'll have an ATM card."
She'd liked the idea of having access to cash without having to carry much around with her. And though she didn't particularly relish the idea of publicly presenting herself in town, she did look forward to having lunch with Connor.
It seemed she couldn't get enough of his company.
As she walked past quaint, awning-shaded shops, boutiques, a candy store and a hair salon, she found herself daydreaming about him. She had to smile at that. Her life was a mess, her past and future little more than question marks, but thoughts of Connor dazzled her with the sweetest, brightest happiness.
Could she possibly have fallen in love with another man the way she had with him? If so, why had she withheld her body?
The wedding band, she decided, must have been someone else's. She hoped she would remember more about it soon. It seemed likely that she would. Memories had been seeping back to her since their horseback ride yesterday.
This morning, while she'd been unpacking boxes in Connor's third bedroom, she'd remembered that she liked to dance—the swing, the cha-cha, the tango.
She also remembered that she'd owned two little Maltese dogs named Honey and Spice. She'd left them in somebody's care while she made the move to Colorado.
Who?
She tried to remember, but only drew a blank. How frustrating! She had to keep faith that the memory would surface in its own good time, along with others.
She reached Connor's office before she'd realized it. The neat, carpeted waiting room reminded her of her first visit and the agony of filling out that medical form. What a difference Connor had made in her life since then!
Just the thought of him made her heart sing.
She stepped up to the receptionist's window in the small medical office and gave her name to a prim, middle-aged brunette whose pleasant face was dominated by thick bifocals. "Could you please let Dr. Wade know I'm here?"
Before the receptionist answered, a willowy blonde rose from a chair behind her. Sarah recognized her with a ridiculous pang of dismay.
"Hello there," Mimsey greeted, her china-blue eyes glittering with barely concealed surprise and curiosity. "Sally, isn't it?"
"Sarah."
"Sarah. I'm s-o-o-o sorry, but you've come at the wrong time. The office is closing for lunch until two. And after that, Dr. Wade is booked solid. He can't handle any walk-ins."
"He's expecting me."
She arched a blond eyebrow. "Is he? Well. Isn't he a softie? He can't resist helping anyone in distress. It's why he became a doctor, you know."
Despite her determination to remain unfazed, Sarah felt her muscles clench. She couldn't deny that Connor was helping her in a time of "distress"…
"The problem," continued Mimsey, her voice oozing cordiality, "is that some people take advantage of his kindness."
A doubt shadowed Sarah's heart. Was she taking advantage of his kindness?
"And worse than that," Mimsey confided, "is when the person he's helping takes it for more than it is. Charity, really." She cocked her head. "You've run into trouble lately, haven't you, Sally? Something to do with losing your job?"
Sarah refused to react. "Tell him I'm here, please."
"I've buzzed him, Ms. Flowers," interjected the brown-haired receptionist, looking embarrassed. "Come on back here through that door, hon. You can wait in his office, if you'd like."
As Sarah entered the area where Mimsey and the receptionist sat behind the billing counter, Connor walked in through an opposite doorway with his nurse Gladys, quietly talking to her as he wrote out a prescription.
With his crisp, white lab coat worn casually over his shirt and khaki trousers, a stethoscope around his neck and a patient's chart in his hands, he reminded her forcibly of the first time she'd ever seen him. Her heart stood still, just as it had then. Tall, muscular, tanned and potently masculine in his doctor's garb, he had to be the sexiest man she'd ever seen.
He ripped off a page from the prescription pad, handed it along with the patient's chart to Gladys and raised his vivid hazel gaze to Sarah.
For a moment, neither of them said a word. Less than five hours had passed since they'd made passionate love against his closet door. The memory of it charged the air between them.
His gaze left hers to meander down the length of her. She'd taken time t
o dress for their lunch date. Leisurely he surveyed her short, casual dress, strappy high-heeled sandals and bare, tanned legs. "Hello." The male appreciation in his drawl made the word more a compliment than a greeting.
"Hello."
"You're late." A smile played in his eyes as he consulted his watch. "By two minutes and fifteen seconds."
The sunshine returned to her heart to melt away the hesitation Mimsey's words had caused. "I ran into a slight delay."
"Yeah, a cat," muttered the receptionist, glancing sideways at Mimsey. "With claws."
Connor raised his brows in question.
Sarah felt her face grow warm. She preferred to forget the humiliating insinuations Mimsey had made. "Ready for lunch?"
"Sarah, have you met everyone?" Ignoring her question, he took her arm and turned her toward Mimsey and the receptionist. "This is Joan Phelps, receptionist extraordinaire, and Mimsey Whittenhurst, whom you may have met at Lorna's. Ladies, I'd like you to meet Sarah. When she comes in, take good care of her." He slipped his arm around her waist and gazed at her with the unmistakable warmth of an intimate relationship. "I'm hoping she'll drop by for lunch on a regular basis."
With her face still uncomfortably warm—more in response to his nearness and touch than in embarrassment—Sarah murmured polite responses to the women's greetings. Mimsey, she noticed, uttered a brief, dry reply without meeting her eyes, then busied herself with paperwork.
Connor's perceptive gaze seemed to pick up on something amiss in Mimsey's reaction. "Wait for me outside by my car, Sarah. It's parked in the side lot. I'll be there in a minute."
He waited until the door had closed behind her before addressing his two-member clerical staff. "Just in case there's any doubt, I'd like to make my feelings understood." Though he spoke to both women, his gaze remained on Mimsey. "Whenever Sarah calls or comes in, you tell me. Immediately. I don't care if I'm performing open-heart surgery on the Pope. You tell me."
"Yes, Doctor," Joan replied, casting another reproving glance at her co-worker.
Mimsey pursed her lips. "I hope you know what you're getting into, Connor. Have you taken a good look at her chart? The phone number for her previous doctor isn't valid. The area code isn't even right for the city. She's got no address or phone number, and—"
"What were you doing with her chart, Mimsey?"
"I … I was entering insurance information into the computer."
"She paid with cash."
"Cash? Yes … well … somehow her chart got mixed up in my insurance pile, and before I realized it, I'd—"
"Her chart has been in my desk drawer since her visit. At least, that's where I put it."
Mimsey stared at him, red-faced. "I'm only trying to watch out for you, Connor."
"Uh, Joan, would you excuse us for a moment, please? I'd like to talk to Mimsey in private." With a nod, Joan hurried into the back offices. Turning to Mimsey, Connor said, "The confidentiality of my patients has to come before any personal concern. You've stepped over the line, Mimsey." Holding his anger in check, he told her softly, "You're fired." Flicking on the intercom, he said, "Joan, Mimsey will be leaving us. Please help her clear out her things."
When Joan returned, Connor murmured a few discreet instructions to her, then headed for the door. With a sudden thought, he looked back at the stunned, openmouthed blonde. "Oh, and Mimsey … if anything you've learned in this office gets around town, you'll answer to my attorney."
He strode out of the office and around the corner to the side parking lot, wondering what Mimsey had said to Sarah. He wouldn't tolerate slights against her. He'd do battle with the whole damn town if he had to.
The sight of Sarah leaning against his Jaguar with a welcoming warmth in her gray eyes distracted him from his anger. The light knit of her dress—a soft shade of coral—clung to her curves in all the right places and ended mid-thigh. The short sleeves just capped her shoulders, leaving her arms provocatively bare. She'd caught her dark hair up in a twist with tendrils trailing seductively down her slender neck. And the high-heeled sandals added a wicked glamour to her long, tanned legs.
She was enough to bring any man to his knees. He was ready to drop to his now … and kiss his way up those endless legs, beneath the flirty dress, and lose himself in the taste of her. He wanted to light fires inside her so she'd wrap those legs around him again, like she had this morning…
He hooked a hand around her narrow waist and rasped into her ear, "Don't take that dress off till I get home."
A smile curved her mouth and a familiar sensuality darkened her eyes. He kissed her, forcing himself to keep it quick and light. If he didn't, he'd end up driving her home and spending his lunch hour making love to her.
Not a bad idea…
But he'd promised to take her to lunch and to the bank. Besides, he wanted the town to see them together—to know she wasn't alone; that he'd stand beside her; that whatever had happened between them on Saturday had been more than just a meaningless rendezvous at Juneberry Lake.
He wanted them to know she was his, even if she herself didn't understand that yet.
He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her into step beside him. They dodged cars as they walked across the street, then sauntered hand in hand to an outdoor café. He introduced her to the hostess who seated them, and to the owner of the café, and to an elderly couple at a table as they passed by it.
He then guided her to a cozy corner, where they ordered sandwiches. She told him about the memories that had returned that morning. He teased her into promising to teach him the tango.
She wondered aloud if her dogs, Honey and Spice, were okay. He assured her she wouldn't have left them with someone irresponsible.
"That reminds me," she said. "I'd like to check with the pound and see if Lorna really did give Tofu away."
Connor narrowed his eyes. "And if she did?"
"He'll be miserable there, Connor. And who knows if he'll find another home. He's a smart, dominant little Shih Tzu, and if he's allowed to exert that dominance, he's a joy."
"Something tells me," he said with droll dryness, "that I'm going to have a Shih Tzu living at my house who's named after soybean curd."
She beamed at him. "Really, Connor? You wouldn't mind? Timmy and Jeffrey could see him, then."
"Good Lord. I'm going to have the Hampton boys dropping by, too, aren't I?"
"I hope so." She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Warmth radiated from her like sunbeams, warming him all the way through.
A slender young man with a mustache stepped up to their table, and Connor recognized him as the waiter who had served at Lorna's dinner party.
"André!" Sarah exclaimed with cheery welcome.
"Sarah, I thought that was you," André replied with a French cadence in his voice. "You look—" he lifted his shoulders in a uniquely Continental shrug "—magnifique."
She blushed and murmured thanks.
"I want to thank you for your advice about my bird," André continued. "I did what you said, and—voila—she has stopped attacking my roommate and spitting on my nose."
"Spitting on your nose?" Connor repeated.
In a discreetly lowered voice, Sarah explained, "It actually involves more than spitting. It's part of a mating ritual. You see, the bird formed an emotional bond with—"
Connor held up a hand. "More than I wanted to know."
She laughed and turned to André. "I'm glad the suggestions worked. I'm sure Lulu will be happier, too."
André nodded, uttered a few more words and left them.
"Is Lulu his roommate, or his bird?" Connor asked.
"His cat."
They laughed, held hands and smiled into each other's eyes. Connor leaned across the table and kissed her.
When their kiss had ended, Sarah whispered with a self-conscious glance around, "People are watching us."
"They're not used to seeing me kiss anyone." He ignored the stares angled their way. "I'm usually a private kin
d of guy."
"Then why are you kissing me now?"
"I can't help it," he answered truthfully, then kissed her again. "Besides, I want to make my intentions known."
She raised her brows playfully. "And just what are your intentions, sir?"
To marry you. There was no doubt left in his heart. He wanted her with him always, as his wife, his partner, his lover. The mother of his children. Nothing else seemed quite as important as winning her.
Yet, he couldn't tell her. He hadn't missed the uneasiness in her eyes that morning when he'd said she belonged to him. He had to move slowly, cautiously, or risk scaring her away. "My intentions," he replied, "are to keep you safe and happy … and with me."
Tenderness warmed her gaze, and he knew he couldn't kiss her then, or he really would make a spectacle of them.
They finished their lunch and walked to the bank, where he signed papers that the clerk had waiting for him. As they left the bank, Connor handed her an ATM card. "Use as much money as you want. All of it in that account is yours."
She remained strangely silent as they walked to his office and around the building to the back door. She then lifted a tear-shiny gaze to him. "I'll pay you back every penny of this loan, with interest. And I'll be the best housekeeper you've ever had. I'll—"
"Sarah." He took hold of her slender shoulders and gently shook her. "I'm not in this for a payback of any kind. Not even your gratitude. God—" he murmured more to himself than her "—especially not your gratitude." He could so easily mistake it for love. Was that the emotion he saw in her gaze—gratitude?
Her eyes swam with unshed tears. "I just want to show you how much I appreciate everything you're doing for me."
Feeling somewhat desperate at the thought that her tenderness and passion could spring from mere gratitude, he whispered fiercely, "Then promise me something, Sarah. Promise you won't leave without talking it over with me first."
"I wouldn't do that!"
"Swear it."
"I swear." Overwhelmed by the deep, chaotic emotion she felt for him, Sarah sealed the vow with a devout kiss. He pulled her closer, and they leaned against the brick building to prolong the contact for another few needful moments.
SAY AHHH... Page 12
