More Than Words: More Than, Book 3

by Jess Dee

  “One, there will be no talk, at all and whatsoever about the emails.”

  “Bu—”

  “No. No arguments. I can’t do it. I can’t discuss them with you. It’ll make work hours way too awkward, and frankly that’s not fair to either of us or to your patients.”

  “Okay, you have a valid point. I’ll agree to it on one condition.”

  “And that is?”

  “You don’t stop the emails. And let me warn you, Miss Molly. I’m greedy. I want one a day, at least, for the rest of the week.”

  Ack! “A-and then?”

  “And then we can reassess. Depending on the symptoms, we may need to increase it to two a day. Or more.” He shrugged. “Time and treatment will tell.”

  Two a day? Heck, she could fill his inbox with erotic emails about him. Tingles raced up her back. Anticipation shot through her veins. “Fine. You have a deal.”

  “Good.” He stuck out his hand. “Let’s shake on it.”

  Uh-oh. She eyed his hand warily. Molly made it a practice never to touch Sam. Nestled in the very act was temptation. If she touched him once, even with a little handshake, she feared she might never stop touching him.

  “What?” Sam challenged. “You won’t shake my hand? Don’t tell me. That’s the second limit you’re going to set.”

  Pshaw. Absolute nonsense. Of course she could shake his hand. And she did. Only the second he folded her palm into his, she regretted it—kind of. His hand was large, capable and warm. And her hand fit in it perfectly. The feel of his fingers against hers sent a wave of pleasure through her.

  If his hand felt so good, how would the rest of him feel?

  She wondered if he’d mind if she checked. If he’d be happy to stand there while she ran her hands all over that scrumptious body of—

  Damn it, Mol. It’s just a handshake.

  She gave his hand a firm shake and pulled away.

  Phew. Thank heaven that was over. But now her palm tingled like crazy. “Okay, limit number two…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I can’t call you Sam. You’re Dr. Sherman, and that’s that.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Molly. You called me Sam twice, a few minutes ago.”

  “I did. And then I almost jumped you. I can’t go around behaving like that in your rooms. It’s unprofessional.”

  “You almost jumped me?” Sam’s grin was huge and smug. Oh, and so damn sexy, Molly melted all over again. She blushed too, if the fire in her cheeks was anything to go by.

  “That’s the point, Dr. Sherman. I can’t go around behaving like that here. Imagine if I did, and a patient walked in.” She grimaced.

  “Okay. How about a compromise?”

  “What kind of a compromise?”

  “During office hours, I’ll be Doctor. Outside of the office though, I’m Sam.”

  Molly mulled the idea over and decided it was a good one. The only time she’d have need to address Sam outside of office hours would be in her letters, and then she’d call him Sam anyway. She could do it, easy-peasy. Besides, she never saw Sam anywhere but at the hospital. “All right. Agreed. It’s a deal.”

  Out came his hand again.

  “Really?” She squirmed, both with the need to touch him and the need to restrain herself. “We have to shake on this too?”

  “Hey, a deal’s a deal. And a deal has to be sealed…with a handshake.”

  Damn it, how did he manage to look innocent and mischievous all at the same time? He was altogether too good at those ambiguous looks.

  She pointed to her watch. “Time.”

  “Time?”

  Sheesh, wasn’t she Miss Verbal this morning? “L-look at the time, Sa— Dr Sherman. It’s office hours.”

  “What about the rest of our limit-setting?”

  “We’re done. It was just those two points I had to get across. Now that we have, we’re okay to start the day.”

  He regarded her with that beautiful, seductive hazel gaze for a long moment.

  The world around her ceased to exist. All she could see was that gaze, and all she could feel was its magnetic pull calling to her. Every instinct told her to heed the call. To get up, walk around the counter and go to him.

  The air was suddenly thick with potential, rich with all the possibilities that could be. The longer Sam stared at her, the more intense her need became, until finally Molly had no choice. No choice at all.

  She blinked, snapping the connection.

  Sam blinked too. And just like that, the moment passed.

  She leaned over to get a file and handed it to Sam, heading right into receptionist mode—which frankly was easier than dealing with her hormones and this very seductive doctor. “The social worker was here ten minutes ago. She wanted to discuss Greg Avery’s case with you.”

  After a few long, long seconds, where his gaze—still heated, but no longer quite so potent—held her pinned to her chair, he nodded. “Okay. If this is how you want to play it, this is how we’ll play it. Business as usual—during office hours.” He opened the folder and glanced over the first page. “Can you get her on the phone for me when I’m in my office?”

  “Sure.” Phew. Crisis averted. For now. “Has Greg woken up yet?” She didn’t ask to keep his attention diverted. She was genuinely interested. Mickey had been unconscious for thirty-eight hours after the accident. Sam had spent a long time explaining the ramifications of a closed head injury and losing consciousness. The longer Greg remained comatose, the smaller his chances of making a complete recovery.

  Mickey, fortunately, had not suffered a brain injury. Her spine was a different story.

  Sam shook his head. “Nope. But I have him lightly sedated. Don’t want him thrashing around until we’ve established the extent of the injury to the brain.”

  “Still think it’s a case of abuse?” Grateful her hand held steady, Molly passed him a pile of paper slips, each with a phone message written down.

  “More with every passing hour.” He held up one of the notes, asking about it.

  And finally the morning became another regular day at the office. They ran through the rest of the notes, with Molly jotting down all of Sam’s requests. Then he headed off to his office, leaving Molly to catch her breath. And she would have done that had the door to the rooms not exploded open.

  Chapter Four

  A man tumbled into the waiting area, looking around in desperation. Worry clung to him like dark shadow.

  “Where is he?” he demanded.

  “Where is who?” Molly kept her voice calm. The man was so distraught, she feared he might have a full-blown panic attack where he stood.

  “My son, Greg.” He lurched to the counter, dragging a suitcase behind him. His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes badly wrinkled and his hair a mess. “I need to see him. Need to know he’s okay.”

  Greg’s father. That explained his distress.

  “He’s downstairs. Why don’t you give me your name, and I’ll get Greg’s doctor to have a word with you about him?”

  “Ethan. Ethan Avery.” He grabbed the counter, his knuckles white. “Is he okay? Is my boy going to be all right?”

  Molly’s heart clenched. The man had spent the last twenty-four hours flying halfway around the world, knowing his child was seriously hurt. How had he gotten through the trip without losing his mind? “He’s been admitted to the children’s Critical Care Unit.”

  “How do I get there? To Critic—” His voice broke. “How do I get to Critical Care?”

  Molly didn’t need to answer. She gestured to Sam, who was already walking towards them. “I’ll take you.” Sam offered the man his hand. “I’m Sam Sherman, Greg’s neurologist.”

  Ethan shook it. “I’m Greg’s father. His real father.” His expression blackened, and he clenched his free hand into a fist. “Unlike the worthless son of a bitch who put him in hospital.” For a second Molly thought he might punch the wall or counter, but then his expression changed, going from enraged to bleak an
d despairing. “Please tell me my son’s okay. Lisa gave me no information on the phone. She just said I should come straight upstairs and talk to you.”

  “Let’s sit and chat a minute before we go see Greg.” Sam led Ethan over to the empty chairs. “Leave your bag here. Molly can stow it behind the counter for now.” He looked over his shoulder, confirming that was okay with her.

  “Of course,” Molly agreed. She rolled the case into her office, setting it where the surfboard had been the day before, then slipped into the kitchen to let them talk.

  She prepared two cappuccinos. One the way Sam liked it, and the other extra strong with two heaped teaspoons of sugar. The little boost might help Ethan Avery get through the rest of his day.

  She placed a few Tim Tams from Sam’s stash on a plate and took it all through to the two men. Sam had told her umpteen times that coffee-making was not one of her duties, but Molly prided herself on recognizing necessary caffeine moments. Sam was going to need a coffee almost as much as the devastated dad.

  Sam smiled his thanks. Ethan didn’t notice. His face had collapsed and tears streamed down his cheeks. “He did it,” Ethan told Sam. “Martin. The bastard Lisa married.”

  “Did what?” Sam’s astute gaze was trained on Ethan’s face.

  “Hurt Greg,” Ethan growled. “It was no accident. He’s been smacking my son around for months.”

  Sam was super alert. “You know this for a fact?”

  “Hell, yeah, I know it for a fact. I’ve laid charges against him. Alerted the daycare teachers to look out for signs. I even phoned DOCS. Jesus, I’ve filed for full-time custody, but everything in the system takes so damn long…” He swiped a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have gone on this trip. Shouldn’t have left Greg alone with them, put him in that kind of danger…”

  “Beating yourself up won’t help,” Sam said practically. “I need you to be strong for Greg. Need you to be his anchor. If what you say is true, the police are going to be called to the hospital. DOCS is already involved. The case worker was here yesterday and is coming again today. We’re going to have to ensure you’re here at the same time, so you can report all of this directly to her.”

  He picked up one of the cups Molly had set down and gave it to Greg’s father. “Drink this, have a biscuit and we’ll head downstairs. I know you’re anxious to see him.”

  Sam clapped the man on his shoulder, took his own cup and walked over to Molly, giving Ethan a minute to compose himself.

  With his back turned to the distressed man, Sam’s expression changed, allowing Molly a peek into his thoughts. The narrow set of his eyes spoke of his concern for Greg. His pursed lips hinted at contained fury—a fury Molly had no doubt was aimed at the stepfather. And then there was Sam’s determined nod, as though he were devising a plan of action to deal with the whole tragic case.

  Molly was already dialing when Sam told her he needed to speak to the social worker, stat. “I’ll connect the call to your office,” she said softly. “Should I conference in Ella?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. She has the case worker’s details.” He lowered his voice so only Molly could hear. “Get security up to CCU too. If the stepfather is there when we get down, things could get ugly.”

  Sam’s call had been a good one. Security had stepped in the minute Ethan had walked into Greg’s room and seen Martin. He’d lashed out wildly, throwing punches at the other man.

  Martin had wisely chosen to leave, and Sam had spent a minute calming Ethan, reminding him his priority was Greg, not the abusive stepfather.

  Things had been tense between the boy’s divorced parents too, but the social worker, who’d met them in CCU, had dealt with that. The case was no closer to being resolved though. Greg remained unconscious, although he was responding to physical stimuli, which was good, and police had been called in to investigate Ethan’s allegations and Sam’s concerns.

  By the time Sam had returned to his office—running forty minutes late—Molly’d been forced to deal with a waiting room full of irritated parents. As usual, she’d done a stand-up job of pacifying them.

  But Sam’s mind was no longer on work. Nope, he was home at a reasonable hour, and he intended to unwind with a scotch and his iPad. He’d been checking emails the whole day with little success. Tonight he hoped to find a letter from Molly.

  She owed him one. Had even shaken on their deal.

  Their chat this morning had been…interesting.

  Yeah, right. Interesting.

  It had been flat-out arousing. How Sam had stopped himself from hauling his receptionist into his arms and kissing her the way she’d asked him to kiss her in her email was a mystery.

  It was probably respect for Molly that had stopped him. Even though she dropped little bombs about how she’d like to jump him, she’d been determined to keep things purely professional during office hours, and it was hard to argue with that kind of logic.

  Wanting to wash the hospital off his skin, Sam took time for a quick shower before settling onto his couch, glass in hand, wearing nothing but his towel. He took his sweet time opening his emails. The anticipation alone had his cock stiffening. And his chest swirling with warmth.

  There’d be a letter. He knew that for sure. One thing about Molly, she was honest to a fault. If she’d told him she would send him an email, he’d get it.

  And there it was. Sitting in his inbox, simply titled, Symptoms Worsening.

  He took a long sip of scotch, letting the drink heat his belly before placing it on the coffee table, resting his feet beside it and opening the mail.

  Dear Sam,

  He freaking loved her calling him Sam.

  I thought long and hard about sending you this email, wondering if it was the right thing to do, what with me being your receptionist and all.

  But then I got distracted by the long-and-hard part, and before I knew it, I was typing. You know why, don’t you?

  Because that’s how I imagine you when you’re aroused. Long and hard.

  Sam placed a hand over his erection in a useless effort to ease the pain as it rose to full glory. Yeah, Molly’s letters turned him on. But they did something else. Made him feel in a non-physical way. Made his chest ache from thoughts of what could be between them—given the chance.

  Do you have any idea how many times I’ve imagined you aroused? There aren’t enough fingers on my hands—or in Sydney, for that matter—to count. I try not to let the images flood my mind at work, and mostly I’m successful. Especially when there are patients in the room or I’m busy working on your files.

  But then there are times like this, when the office is deserted, you’re out checking on a patient and I’m on my lunch break. I can’t help thinking about you then. Have I ever told you how much I admire the way you care for your patients? How my heart swells when you go that extra mile for them, like you did for Mickey? I know you’re with Allan’s parents now. Know you’re providing them with whatever comfort you can. That’s part of what makes you so special. You don’t have to do it. You don’t have to be there. But you know it will ease their pain, so you do it anyway.

  God knows you eased my pain. Mickey’s too.

  Of course he did it. It was part and parcel of his work.

  Although he’d been far more involved with Mickey’s case than he should have been. He’d found it difficult to tear himself away from the frightened, devastated child and her overwhelmed sister.

  Fortunately, Allan had come through today’s keyhole surgery like a champ. Masters hadn’t gotten all of the glioma. There was still tissue attached to the brainstem that would have put Allan at risk had Masters removed it. But neither Sam nor Masters was overly concerned. As long as they kept an eye on the tissue, there shouldn’t be too many complications. Now all they need do was wait for results from pathology. If his and Masters’ suspicions were right, then the tumor would be low-grade, with little risk of recurrence.

  They’d have results by Friday. Same day as Molly’s birth
day.

  Uh-oh, I’m getting distracted. Confusing the caring Sam with the sexy one. But yeah, it’s hard to keep the two separate, and when I see you in care mode, I find you sexier than ever.

  For the sake of this letter and the possible epidemic we have on our hands, let’s get back to sexy Sam with the long, hard erection.

  Okay, wow.

  It happened. I got all turned on. The thought of your erection makes me close my eyes and squeeze my thighs together. I have goose bumps too, and my stomach’s all jumpy.

  You know what I think about when I picture your erection? Besides you all naked and gorgeous, I mean? I imagine my hand wrapped around the base of your cock, and my mouth inches from the head.

  Sam’s soft groan filled the air. He tugged his towel open and wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, exactly the way Molly described.

  This is another one of my fantasies. Me kissing you. Yeah, I’d like to kiss your mouth too. Like to start with little sweet kisses to your lips, light, feathery kisses to tease and tempt. I’d follow that up with a little pressure of my lips molded to yours, hinting at the promise of temptation to come. I’d like to taste your tongue too. Slide mine against yours in a kiss so intimate you feel it right through your chest.

  I’d never stop there, Sam. I’d taste all of you, run my mouth from your lips, over your chin, down your neck to your chest.

  I’d kiss you all over every inch of your gorgeous chest. Taste the salt of your skin, touch the hard muscle of your pecs.

  Have you ever caught me staring at your chest? At the small patch you reveal when you leave the top buttons of your shirt undone? It’s like a beacon to my eyes. I can’t stop looking or imagining what it’ll taste like.

  I can’t stop imagining how your long, hard erection will taste either. It’s the reason why in this fantasy my mouth is mere inches from your cock. I’ve worked my way down from your chest, over that six-pack of yours and found what I’ve been searching for.