More Than Words: More Than, Book 3

by Jess Dee

  “You don’t think the fall was an accident.”

  “My gut tells me no.”

  God, who’d want to hurt a four-year-old?

  She silently thanked Sam for teaching her to distance herself from the patients and their lives. If he hadn’t, Molly would be an emotional wreck every day.

  Molly took the stack of papers and articles Sam had put on the desk and began to sort through them. A pile for his desk, a pile to be filed and a pile for the bin. She tossed a page with a red line scrawled through it into the bin. “Have you contacted the Child Protection Helpline?”

  If Sam hadn’t yet contacted them or DOCS—the Department of Community Services—one of the nursing staff was probably doing it right now.

  “We decided to wait until Greg had been stabilized and hopefully regained consciousness, in case he could give us more information.” He shook his head grimly. “But Greg hasn’t woken up, and we didn’t want to leave it any longer. Ella from CCU was phoning when I left. Meanwhile, I need you to get a hospital social worker on the case.” Sam grabbed a notepad and started writing. “This is the patient’s full name, his parents’ names, ward details, bed details and…” He swallowed. “My suspicions.”

  His handwriting was close to illegible—perhaps the only flaw Molly could find in him, but she’d long ago mastered the art of deciphering his script.

  “What about getting the police involved?”

  Sam grimaced. “Yeah, we’re going to see what Child Protection recommends. They might contact them as part of the procedure.”

  She wondered which of young Greg Avery’s parents could be responsible for the old bruises. And possibly the new ones too. “Mother or stepfather?”

  Lines of worry marred Sam’s face. Molly restrained her need to caress his cheeks, ease his pain.

  “I’m not sure. Instinctively I suspect the stepfather, but that’s because he’s both physically bigger than the mother and emotionally more removed. She’s the talkative one. He didn’t open his mouth the entire time. Just sat there tightlipped and let Mum do the talking.”

  “Are they aware you’re contacting DOCS and the social worker?”

  “I warned them in all cases like this we had to notify the authorities.”

  “How did they react?”

  Sam pursed his lips. “They didn’t, and that worries me even more. The stepfather became quieter and more removed, and the mother blathered on about something irrelevant.”

  “Is the biological father in the picture?”

  “He’s in Paris, on business. Mum got hold of him earlier. Apparently he’s catching the first flight home.”

  “I’ll get right on the social worker.” Molly understood the urgency. Sam was passionate about his patients. He lived to make them better, or when that was unachievable, make them as comfortable as possible. A child who’d been deliberately hurt at his parent’s or stepparent’s hand was likely eating him up inside.

  Molly sometimes suspected Sam had done a better job teaching her to distance herself than teaching himself.

  She quickly finished sorting through the papers as he wrote and held out her hand to take the sheet when Sam finished scrawling on it, then added it to the journal articles she had in her other hand.

  “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. You had a visitor today.”

  “I did?” He looked up at her.

  “Sarah popped in to return your surfboard.”

  Sam’s expression changed from weary to delighted. And damned if his happiness didn’t cut Molly straight through to the bone.

  “The board’s in my office. I have a message from her too.”

  “Yeah?” He grinned.

  Lord, if he didn’t have the best smile in Sydney.

  “She says thank you from the bottom of her heart.”

  “No worries there. It was my pleasure.”

  Oh, Molly bet it was. She frowned and did her best to restrain the jealous monster. “Wait. There’s more.”

  The doctor raised an eyebrow.

  “I think she wants to marry you.”

  Sam snorted out loud. “She does, does she?” Amusement danced in his beautiful hazel eyes.

  “She’s looking for a ring, Doc.” Molly wiggled her ring finger at him. “Her exact words were you are indeed the kind of man she could marry, and if circumstances were different she’d march you down the aisle tomorrow.”

  This time it was pure pleasure that filled Sam’s face.

  Down, jealous monster. Down. Now!

  “So, should I be investigating churches and reception halls for the two of you?” She doubted Sam would have the time. Or maybe she hoped he wouldn’t.

  Sam grinned. “Not necessary, Miss Molly. I have full faith that when the need arises, Sarah will manage that part fine on her own.”

  Her stomach heaved, and suddenly she couldn’t discuss the prospective wedding any longer. Not without throwing herself at Sam’s feet and begging him to lose the surfer woman permanently. “Well, as I said, the board’s in my office.”

  “Thanks.” Sam’s gaze was losing focus. His mind was already back on his patients. It was time to get on with work.

  “Can I get you a coffee before I make the calls?” she offered.

  “I’d kill for one. Thanks.” Sam opened a case file, aaaand…his attention was no longer hers.

  Molly dumped the sheets on her desk and headed to the small kitchen to make him his usual choice of coffee: strong cappuccino, very little milk and half a sugar. Since he’d bought the Nespresso, both she and Sam were drinking altogether too much of the stuff. But Molly had almost as big a crush on the machine as she did on the doctor.

  What other boss spoiled his receptionist rotten by buying her a coffee machine? Sam had brought it to the office the day after she’d tossed an almost-full cup of seriously bad coffee from the hospital canteen into the sink.

  “Can’t have my receptionist moaning about her drink,” he’d said as he plugged it in. “If a good hit of coffee is all it takes to make her smile, a good hit of coffee she will get. As often as she likes.”

  Of course Molly had fallen a little bit more in love with Sam for buying the Nespresso. Which did her no good whatsoever now, seeing as he and Sarah were talking about marriage.

  She added a white chocolate Tim Tam to the saucer. Sam had a weakness for the biscuits, and Molly made sure to keep ample stock of them in the kitchen at all times. If it were up to her, she’d keep a fresh supply of cupcakes too. They were her weakness. Luckily for her hips, they went stale too quickly to stock.

  She took the cappuccino back to his office.

  “Beauty, mate. Thanks.” He took a bite of the Tim Tam, closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure.

  Silently, Molly sighed right along with him. Sam looked way more delicious than the Tim Tam ever would.

  “Can you phone the ward? Get Ella on the line and put her through to me? Also, I’m waiting for results from blood work I sent through, and I need the file for the glioma patient from yesterday. Have to confirm surgery times with Masters.” Masters was the pediatric neurosurgeon Sam preferred to work with.

  “No worries. I’ll get on it now.”

  “Oh, and I got a call from Lianne Anders. Simone is getting worse. I told her to come in this morning. Can you phone and give her a time?”

  “To see you, or to be admitted?”

  “To come to the rooms.”

  She scowled at him.

  “We’re too busy today?” Somehow he managed to look both charming and shamefaced at the same time.

  “You’re already overbooked.” His schedule was always crammed full, and some days—like today—were more full than others. But the man refused to say no to anyone. She sighed. “It’s going to be a jolly full morning.”

  Sam gave her an enigmatic smile. “You’ll manage. You always do.”

  Sheesh, the darn flatterer could coax her into anything, even managing an unmanageable day. But Sam was right. She’d slip Simone in at ele
ven fifteen. Sam would have to drink his midmorning cappuccino at his desk instead of stealing five minutes from his day to share a coffee with her in the kitchen.

  “I’m waiting on results from two MRIs and a CT scan from radiology. Can you get those for me, stat?”

  “Absolutely.” Molly made a quick mental note of all the things she needed to do. “Anything else?”

  Sam shook his head. “Nothing else.”

  “Right, then I’ll get started on that list.” She cast him one more look, devouring him with her gaze. Even stressed, worried and exhausted, Sam looked edible.

  She turned, grateful he’d been too distracted to notice her lustful stare, and made for the door.

  “Uh, Miss Molly?”

  “Yeah, Doc?”

  He smiled at her, sending a fresh rush of heat through her. “Thank you.”

  She smiled back. “Just doing my job.” And once again, Molly headed to her desk, her limbs supple from the warmth that had flooded her muscles.

  Sam’s first patient of the day arrived while Molly was on the phone to the ward. As she connected Sam to Nurse Ella she turned to greet Liam Collins and his mother. Within five minutes, Liam was digging through the big orange toy box in the corner of the waiting room, alongside two other patients.

  Molly was talking to the hospital social worker when a fourth patient arrived. No sooner had the girl, Jeanette, sat down, than she began to convulse. Sam tended to her right there on the floor, beside the bright green-and-red chairs that lined the walls, as everyone else stared on in morbid fascination.

  Molly stood close in case Sam needed anything. Watching him in action did funny things to her heart. He worked with a calm and a confidence that seemed to ease Jeanette’s mother and the other onlookers. He also spoke to Jeannette the entire time, telling her what was happening and explaining what he was doing.

  When the worst of the convulsions had passed, Sam carried Jeanette through to his consultation room. He asked Molly to organize a wheelchair from reception so they could take the patient down to Emergency once he had her stabilized.

  With the chair on its way, Molly retrieved the email from the lab. She’d minimized it earlier but needed to send it to Sam now. The door opened, and in walked a man carrying three envelopes.

  The results from radiology.

  She forwarded the email to Sam, accepted the envelopes with thanks and was helping a new patient fill in the necessary forms by the time the radiology messenger left.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jeanette’s seizure was under control and she was on her way to the ward instead of Emergency, as Sam wanted to monitor her through the night.

  He had the scans in hand and was taking Liam into his office as he called over his shoulder. “Uh, Molly? The blood results you sent through earlier?”

  “Yep?” She looked up at him.

  “I think you sent the wrong mail. Want to check on that and send the right one?” And then he was gone, walking through the door behind Liam and his mother.

  Which was just as well, because it meant Sam never had the opportunity to witness Molly’s abject horror.

  Holy shit.

  Chapter Two

  Utterly wiped out, Sam lowered his ass into his chair and hit Enter on his computer. Greg Avery still hadn’t regained consciousness, and a copy of his case file—recording every one of Sam and Ella’s concerns—was currently sitting with DOCS. Simone Anders was back in hospital, Jeanette Green’s epilepsy was once more under control, and Allan Bennet’s surgery was scheduled for 10:00 a.m. the next morning. Which took care of less than a fifth of the patients he’d seen today.

  The screen flickered to life, the only light in his now dark and empty rooms. He squinted, searching for the email icon, and opened his inbox.

  It was late, the hospital downstairs deserted of visitors. Sam knew he should have headed home after his final ward round. The thought of his bed made his body yearn for the hard mattress and soft sheets. His residency days were long behind him, which meant he no longer functioned adequately when exhausted. In total he’d had all of ninety minutes’ rest in the last thirty-six hours.

  But Sam couldn’t leave. Not until he read the rest of Molly’s email. God knew the first couple of paragraphs had blown his mind. He wasn’t prepared to wait until he got home to see the whole thing.

  Damn pity he couldn’t have read it earlier. But with one crisis after another, time had not been his friend. Didn’t mean her words hadn’t remained in his thoughts the whole day.

  His indispensible, capable, funny, sassy and sexy-as-hell receptionist had been with him from day one, when he’d moved from the public Sydney’s Children’s Hospital to his own private practice three years ago.

  Molly was the sister of one of his patients at the time, a five-year-old girl who’d broken her back in an MVA a year previously.

  The then twenty-three-year-old Molly had stepped up to the plate, taking responsibility for Mickey’s care and livelihood. In effect, she became her new mother, since Molly and Mickey’s mum had died in the car accident.

  Hiring Molly had been the best damn idea he’d ever had. She’d needed the work, and he’d needed her help.

  Molly took care of his rooms, leaving him free to focus on medicine. She knew every patient by name and could rattle off personal details about them that Sam had no knowledge of. He trusted her implicitly, as did his patients and their parents. She was the backbone of his practice.

  Hell, she was his backbone. Sam was totally reliant on her.

  Yet today he hadn’t been thinking about her as a big sister or a receptionist or an employee. Nope, today—when he’d had a minute to think—he’d thought about her as a woman. A damn sexy woman, at that.

  Something he’d tried for four years not to think about her.

  He found the mail he sought and opened it.

  Dear Sam,

  I think it’s time you knew how I really feel. Perhaps once you know, you’ll understand why I’m addressing you as Sam and not Dr. Sherman. Under the circumstances “doctor” sounds a little, well, formal.

  Okay, so he hadn’t imagined those first few lines—even if they made no sense. He’d been asking Molly to call him Sam for three years now—since she came to work with him. But she insisted on sticking to Dr. Sherman. Sometimes, when she wasn’t concentrating, she called him Doc, much the way his friends did.

  He read further, gobbling up the words.

  Then Sam’s jaw dropped. He blinked hard and rubbed his eyes, sure he’d misread a few things. But starting over only confirmed what he thought he’d seen. To make doubly sure, he read the first few paragraphs again, and then he couldn’t stop reading.

  He devoured the letter.

  By the time he’d reached the “All my love and kisses” Molly had signed her name with, he was hard as a freaking rock.

  Jesus.

  For a good few seconds, Sam sat where he was, stunned.

  His receptionist had written him a dirty letter. An erotic, dirty letter. And damned if it didn’t stun him all the way down to his bones—and turn him the fuck on. Make him want to haul her into his arms and shower her with every one of those kisses she craved. Soft and sweet, long and deep…

  His chest tightened and his dick ached.

  Kisses to her lips and to her pussy.

  Ah, Christ.

  For four years, Sam had forced himself to overlook Molly’s charm and beauty. He’d pretended there was nothing about her that sang to his soul. Ignored the blond hair that tumbled over her back, her soft almond gaze that seemed to look deep into his heart—and see things he never showed anyone—and her cute little nose. And he absolutely wouldn’t let his thoughts dwell on her breasts. Even if they were the best he’d ever seen.

  Not that he’d ever seen them. Well, not uncovered anyway. But he did somehow manage to get a good look at her clothed ones every day.

  Yes, he’d almost drooled the first time he’d met her. Instinct had dictated he ask her out, get to k
now her better, talk to her for hours—about anyone and anything. Professionalism and a need to focus on her sister had brought him back in line. Molly and Mickey had been in crisis, and the last thing either of them had needed was for the consultant on the case to take a personal interest in the big sister.

  Even though intuition had told him there was something special about Molly—something that went far beyond physical attraction and whacked him in the gut every time she was near—he’d treated her as he did every other one of his patients’ family members.

  Besides, Molly’s attention had been on Mickey. And on making ends meet. On somehow finding the money to pay for what would amount to an enormous medical bill for Mickey’s year in treatment and rehabilitation.

  Sam’s decision to offer her a job had been a no-brainer. She’d needed the money, and he’d known she’d be perfect for the position.

  Not that he’d stopped thinking of her as sexy over the years. Hell no. He’d just forced himself to take his attraction to her out of the equation. Molly was now his receptionist. End of story. It would be totally inappropriate and unprofessional to ogle her tits or drool on her feet whenever he spoke to her.

  Truth was, if he ever let himself see her as the beautiful woman she was, he’d be all over her like cheap perfume.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. Hell. Her letter had his balls so twisted in knots he was thinking in dumb clichés. But fuck. She’d admitted she wanted him to lick her pussy. How could he possibly think clearly? How could he focus on anything other than how that pussy would taste as he ran his tongue over the seam of her lips, flicked it over her clit…

  So consumed was he by the images, by the desire that tackled him, tackled his best boss intentions, he almost failed to notice a second email from his receptionist. Yep, more than half the mails in his inbox came from her, but it was the title of the email that caught his attention:

  Letter Of Resignation

  Sam’s erection died a sudden death.

  He sat up a little straighter and opened the mail.

  Dear Dr. Sherman,

  So, no more “Sam”?