by Jess Dee
I am not seeing Sarah. I am not interested in Sarah. Not in any way other than as a friend. I never have been, I never will be. And for God’s sake, please believe me, we are not getting married. Ever.
That was a joke that began when I helped her get together with her boyfriend. (Yes, she has a boyfriend. His name is Charlie.) She told me then if she wasn’t so in love with him, she’d marry me tomorrow. (And that’s only because I helped her find true love, not because she actually wants to marry me.)
I could never have taken this letter-writing business any further than that first email if I were seeing anyone else.
The only woman I want letters from is you. The only woman I think about is you. The only woman I have any interest in is you.
I left Greg’s bedside to get upstairs before you left so I could clear the air. Explain that Sarah is with Charlie, not me.
To tell her that her letters had his balls tied in knots and his heart beating irregularly.
He had to let her know his practice wasn’t the only thing that would fall apart if she ever left—he would too. Sam wasn’t just reliant on his receptionist. He was hopelessly in love with her.
He had been for years. From the minute he’d seen her at Mickey’s bedside.
It explained why he spent so much time at the hospital. He preferred being here, at the rooms with Molly, than anywhere else on earth. There was no point going home and establishing a social life when the only woman he wanted to socialize with was his receptionist.
And by “socialize with”, he meant fuck senseless. And make long endless love to. And kiss, for hours and hours and hours. Hell, he just wanted to touch the woman. Hold her. Take her in his arms and find his center. His balance.
Molly’s letters had helped cement Sam’s feelings. Helped bring them to the forefront. But they weren’t new. He’d felt like this forever—he’d just never let himself actively think about it.
Sam considered including all of this in the email, but in the end decided against it.
Telling a woman you loved her required more than words written in an email.
There’s more I’d like to tell you, but it can wait until I can look into your big brown eyes and say it in person. The wait might kill me, but I’d prefer to say it to you, not to your inbox or voicemail.
Sam took a deep breath and stepped back a little. If he kept up with the sentimental tones of the letter, he’d tell her he loved her via email, and that wouldn’t cut it.
Did you hear Greg Avery woke up? It’s a major breakthrough and we’re all pretty excited. I wish I could tell you he’s going to be fine, but there are complications. His dad is freaking out. Understandably. It would have been good to discuss his case with you, Miss Molly. Hashing details out with you helps me gain perspective on things.
Maybe I could talk to you about it tomorrow?
I hope so. The minutes spent discussing my patients with you, or just speaking to you, are the best of every day.
Sam
Chapter Eight
Molly headed straight to the kitchen for a coffee when she arrived at work the next morning, grateful Sam hadn’t gotten in yet. His absence gave her a few extra minutes to brace herself for impact. Seeing him again was going to be tough.
She’d managed to ignore his calls last night. But she couldn’t ignore him anymore. It was unprofessional and rude.
“Morning, Miss Molly.”
Aaaand…her few extra minutes alone were over.
Instinct told her to keep facing the coffee machine. To offer Sam her back as she greeted him, but that was just plain cowardly, so she turned to face him.
“Hello, Dr. Sherman.” She tried. God help her, she honestly tried to lift her gaze and look him in the eyes, but she couldn’t do it. Courage deserted her at the last second. Instead she stared at his tieless shirt, at the little V of exposed skin she longed to lick.
Then she mentally kicked herself because licking that skin was off-limits, forever—even in her fantasies.
“Christ, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” He stood in the doorway, briefcase in hand, white coat slung over his shoulder. “I am so damned happy to see you.”
She tried to ignore the excited lurch in her belly. “I, er, I noticed a few missed calls from you. Was everything okay here?”
“Everything was fine. I just wanted to speak with you.” Sam paused for a few seconds. “I emailed too.”
“You emailed me?” She’d considered checking her inbox before getting into bed last night but had decided against it. The mere thought had unnerved her. It was emails that had gotten her into this sticky situation in the first place.
“I did.” His voice was soft and there was a tone to it she couldn’t identify. “I’d hoped you’d read it before coming to work.”
“Oh, er, no. Sorry.” God, this was so uncomfortable. Tension thrummed through her, like an elastic string pulled taut. If it pulled any tighter she would surely snap.
She tried to change the subject, to lead him away from the whole email debacle. “How’s Greg doing?”
“He woke up yesterday.”
“I heard.” Molly smiled but didn’t look up. “That’s fantastic news. He’ll be okay then?”
Sam shrugged, his shoulders lifting and dropping, hiding the V of his skin for a second. “Time will tell. There are complications.”
“What kind?”
“The speech kind. He’s having difficulty finding the right words to use.”
“Aphasia?” She’d learned a lot since coming to work with Sam. Aphasia wasn’t something she’d understood three years ago.
“Yes. I’m not sure yet whether the damage is permanent.”
“Any movement?”
“Yep. The full range. Fortunately his spinal cord wasn’t damaged in the fall.”
For that miracle, Molly was grateful.
She tried desperately to reply to Sam, but like Greg, she too had difficulty finding words. After comfortably working side by side with him for three years, she now had no idea what to say. She had no idea how to act either.
A long, stilted silence filled the air. This time it was Sam who broke it.
“Are you going to look at me, Molly? Or are you going to stare at my shirt for the rest of the day?”
She forced her gaze up—and instantly wished she hadn’t. His lips were pursed, his eyes fiery. He stared at her with such intensity and heat she couldn’t bear to hold his gaze. Yet she couldn’t look away.
“Reading my email wasn’t the only thing I hoped you’d done.” Some of the gentleness returned to his tone, but there was also a hint of frustration. “I’d kind of looked forward to receiving a response.”
The tears she’d held at bay since Ruth’s visit yesterday filled her eyes so quickly, Molly couldn’t blink them back. “Under the circumstances, I hardly think it’s appropriate to send you another letter.”
He grimaced. “And what circumstances are you referring to, exactly?”
Shit. Really? He was going to make her go there? Going to insist she say it out loud? As if she wasn’t humiliated enough?
Fury flooded her veins. Yesterday she’d been too shocked to let it out, too upset to express her disappointment and her confusion. Today she couldn’t hold it back. “You’re seeing another woman, Sam. Remember? It’s hardly appropriate for me to be sending explicit letters about how many different ways I want you to fuck me while you and Sarah are making wedding plans, don’t you think?”
“Fuck.” He swore so loud, his words bounced off the cabinets and counters. “She means nothing to me. Nothing. She’s a friend, that’s it. I’m not marrying her. I’m not even seeing her. I’m not in the least bit interested in her.” Sam’s coat and briefcase hit the floor. He crossed the kitchen so fast he blurred, and then he was so close Molly couldn’t focus on his face.
“You’re my center, Molly. You balance me.” His voice held a tortured quality. “How could I be interested in anyone else when I’m in love with you?”
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With that, he hauled her into his arms, clamped a hand around the back of her head and before she had a chance to object or to pull away, crushed his mouth to hers.
His lips took full possession, demanding she respond. Demanding she return his kiss.
How could she? She was so bamboozled, all she could do was stand there like a bumbling idiot.
Sam was in love with her?
Sarah truly was nothing more than a friend?
The relief was so intense, it melted every muscle in her body. Melted her resistance as well.
Sam’s mouth melded to hers, his tongue slipping between her lips and claiming ownership.
How could she not grant it?
He seduced and he demanded, not just using his mouth to possess her but his entire body.
One hand angled her head so he could deepen the kiss and push his tongue farther into her mouth. The other found her bottom and dragged her closer, pressing her hips against his, molding her pelvis to his erection.
His skill was masterful, mesmerizing. Heart-stopping. It took her breath and made her knees even weaker. This was, undoubtedly, the single most delectable kiss she’d ever received. Stunning in its unexpectedness and startling in its perfection.
It was a fantasy come true. Her every fantasy come true.
Sam was kissing her. Single, unattached, not-getting-married Sam.
She was helpless in his arms. Bewildered. A useless sack of bones. Very aroused bones, but useless nonetheless.
Sam loved her—Molly. Not Sarah.
She’d never have predicted this—not after Ruth’s most recent visit to the office. Yet here she was, in Sam’s embrace, his chest pressed against her breasts, his mouth on her lips, his tongue sliding over hers, seducing, ravaging, reducing her to a shivering mess.
Her relief and joy were so intense she couldn’t think straight. Stopped trying. She simply let go of every one of her defenses and did what she’d been wanting to do forever. Kissed Sam back. Wrapped her arms around his neck, clung tight and kissed him with every iota of emotion she’d ever felt for him.
It lasted hours. Or maybe seconds. Molly couldn’t tell. She didn’t try. She just gave herself over the incredible reality of finally, finally being kissed by Sam.
And when he let her go, when he stepped back, his breath as ragged and uneven as hers, she had to grab the countertop for support.
His expression was as fierce as it had been before, as intense. His eyes were blazing and his breath erratic, but somehow his voice was steady, which was a total mystery to Molly, seeing as she couldn’t have strung a sentence together had her life depended on it.
“Read your email, Molly. I’ll be in my office, waiting. For you.”
With that, he walked out of the kitchen, pausing long enough to look over his shoulder. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
Molly gaped at her office in amazement.
Twenty minutes ago, when she’d arrived at work, it had been her normal, regular office. Now it was filled with sunflowers. Bunches and bunches of them, her favorite flower.
There were cupcakes too. A whole selection, beautifully packaged in a baker’s box: vanilla, chocolate, red velvet, choc-mint and strawberry. Each of them was covered with thick, butter icing—her weakness—and had “Happy Birthday” piped on top in a rainbow of colors.
The card attached to the vase of flowers closest to her computer held a simple message:
May all your birthday wishes finally come true.
Sam
That was it. That was all it took to open the floodgates. Molly sat in her chair, card in hand and stared sightlessly at the cupcakes as tears streamed down her cheeks.
She’d been right. In that first letter she’d sent him, eons ago, she’d told Sam she’d probably cry if he ever kissed her. She’d said the reality would be overwhelming.
And it was. Totally and utterly overwhelming.
He’d kissed her—quite magnificently really.
He’d said he loved her.
Sarah was his friend. Nothing more.
He’d filled her office with flowers and cupcakes.
He hoped all her birthday wishes would come true, and—thanks to that first email—he knew exactly what those birthday wishes were and whom they involved.
It took forever, but Molly’s vision finally cleared enough for her to open her inbox and read Sam’s email.
What he’d written took her breath away.
Sam hadn’t misled her about Sarah. He’d been straight up and down the line the whole time.
The knowledge made her want to sprint to his office, throw herself into his arms and tell him how darn much she loved him. But—as Murphy’s Law dictated—she’d barely wiped the tears from her cheeks when the first patient arrived, and any further personal access to Sam was blocked for the rest of the morning.
Which left her with several hours to work out the best way to tell Sam she loved him too.
Sam stared listlessly at his inbox. Allan Bennet’s lab results were in, and like he’d expected, the glioma was low-grade and benign, a brilliant result all round. Yet Sam couldn’t really focus on it. Couldn’t concentrate. His thoughts were consumed by the woman sitting on the other side of his office door.
He’d kind of hoped for more than a phone call from Molly. Sure, she’d thanked him for the flowers and cupcakes, but she’d been all business about it, announcing his first patient was there at the same time. And that was about as much communication as they’d had the whole morning.
No mention of the earth-shattering kiss they’d shared in the kitchen earlier. Or of the fact he’d told her he loved her. And explained his relationship with Sarah went no further than friendship.
His computer pinged, and he closed Allan’s results to check his inbox.
There was only one new mail, from his receptionist, and it was flagged as urgent.
Hospital in quarantine, doctors’ rooms locked down.
What the fuck? Jesus, no wonder Molly had tagged it urgent.
Dr. Sherman,
I received a call from the hospital administration.
There have been two reports of an as-yet-unidentified virus spreading through the doctors’ offices. Administration is concerned it may reach the wards downstairs, and as a result has put the hospital in quarantine and locked down all doctors’ rooms.
Holy shit!
This was a first. Sam had never experienced a hospital lockdown. It seemed surreal, something that happened on TV, not in real life.
Maybe he was caught in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. That would surely explain away the drama in his life this last week.
Until such time as the virus has been identified and contained, we’re confined to these rooms.
Fortunately the alert went out minutes ago, during your lunch hour, so there are no patients left in the waiting room. Still, I’ve taken the added precaution of locking the door.
Something prickled at the base of Sam’s spine, a tingle of awareness.
Just like that he grinned, his stomach filling with a familiar warmth.
It’s only you and me here, Sam.
Yeah, fuck warmth. That was heat searing his insides. Raging fire.
It’s only fair to warn you I may be affected. I believe I have picked up the virus. Fact, I believe I picked it up a while ago. Admin sent out a list of symptoms, and I’m suffering from a whole host of them, including, but not limited to:
Chills
Fever
Shivers
Difficulty concentrating
Fluctuating emotions
Uncontrollable bouts of crying
Flushed skin
Inability to catch breath
Pressure on the chest
Lightheadedness
Insatiable appetite for cupcakes
A deep ache in the belly
A mysterious attraction to the boss
Desperate urges to be kissed
Uncanny inability to keep clothes on
&
nbsp; Disappearing underwear
It’s weird, Sam. When I came in this morning, I know I had on my panties and bra. But now, it doesn’t matter how hard I search, I can’t find them. I wonder if the virus affects memory as well?
I’m not at all well. What I need now is a doctor who can help analyze my symptoms and come up with an adequate course of treatment.
Do you know anyone I could contact?
I’ll wait right here, searching for that missing underwear, until I hear back from you. Hmmm, now that I think about it, I may have accidentally left my panties in the top drawer of your desk while you were talking to Nina and her mum at reception.
Silly me.
Oh, Jesus.
There it was again. The heart attack threatening to happen.
Sam tugged on the drawer, and there, nestled beside a pile of patient folders was a neatly folded, white lace and silk g-string.
Now I have to remember where I put my bra…
Much love always,
A feverish and flushed Molly
Sam had no idea how he managed to stand and walk out of his office. The massive erection that had sprung to life made every step an exercise in agony.
Clutched in his hand, burning a hole through his palm, was that wisp of lace and silk Molly had mislaid.
He barely made it a meter out of his door when he was forced to lean over and pick up a second wisp of lace and silk. Molly’s bra. Sam couldn’t help himself. He brought the lingerie to his face and rubbed it against his cheek.
The lace rasped over his skin, and a hint of Molly’s perfume hit his nose, citrus and sunshine boggling his brain. The woman had him so tied up in knots he couldn’t even think straight. So he followed his instinct and walked to the reception area.
Molly wasn’t looking for her bra. She was sitting at her desk, her blouse buttoned, eyes closed, vanilla cupcake in hand. She swiped a finger through the thick icing on top, scooped up a generous dollop, and proceeded to pop that finger in her mouth and lick it clean.