Читать книгу Night Fever - Tori Carrington, Tori Carrington - Страница 10

OH, YEAH, sex was definitely what was on Sam’s mind. Hot, sweaty, monkey sex with one very delectable looking Dr. Layla Hollister.

And he wanted it now.

In fact, given his immediate and acute reaction, you’d have thought she’d shown up at his door wearing a see-through teddy rather than the same skirt and blouse she’d had on this morning. It was then he noticed her clothes looked a bit rumpled. Also, strands of her dark hair had sprung from her once neat French braid, and whatever makeup she’d had on was long gone. But rather than make her unattractive, the effect was…phenomenally appealing. Her green eyes were huge, her lips sexily kissable, her hair tousled in a way that made him think of smooth sheets and squeaky bedsprings.

And Sam wanted to forgo all pleasantries, throw her over one shoulder and take her to his cave so he could have his wicked, wicked way with her.

She smiled slightly. “That’s it. I’m convinced of it. All men are born with sex branded across their cerebral cortexes.”

Sam opened the door farther. “Mmm. I wasn’t the one who said the word.” He watched her enter hesitantly, her gaze taking in everything she could see. “It’s the rest of the sentence I’m curious about.”

“I bet. Do you mind?” She rested her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she slipped out of her low-heeled shoes. He waited to see if she had any other article of clothing in mind next, but unfortunately she stopped there.

“You know, as your doctor, I have to tell you those shoes don’t do anything for your posture when you’re on your feet all day.”

“So now you’re my doctor?”

He shrugged. “No. I just play one at work. And it looks as though you need one.”

She laughed quietly. “As far as compliments go, Dr. Lovejoy—” Was it him or had she just shuddered? “—that one leaves a lot to be desired.”

Desired…

Oh, that was a word that nicely described what she was for him. He desired her—in his house, at this late hour, looking like she needed a sack session as badly as he did.

She released her hold on him, swept her shoes to the left of the doorway, then walked a little farther into the room.

Sam’s gaze skimmed up the back of her long, long legs, to the waist of her impossibly long skirt, and up to where wisps of hair teased the back of her collar. “How long has it been since someone has looked after you?”

She slanted a gaze over her shoulder, wariness backlighting her eyes. “And the compliments only get better.”

He chuckled, suddenly glad he’d put on a polo shirt and jeans. If he had answered the door buck-naked, as he had wanted to, she likely would have run in the other direction.

Not to mention that he might have ended up scarring the food-delivery guy for life.

Somehow he wouldn’t have guessed that the lovely Layla would have casual sex problems. The way she flirted indicated she was up for anything anytime. But the way she seemed so guarded now…

Sam considered her.

Yes, this Layla would take a little bit of work. But, oh, what a job it would be. He had little doubt that once he stroked her in just the right way, she’d purr like a sex kitten and fulfill all of his fantasies.

He hiked a brow. All of them? Now that was a concept. He usually liked different women for different reasons.

But Layla…

Layla he found he wanted every which way he could have her.

“I ordered some delivery. It’s in the oven keeping warm. Are you hungry?” She shook her head. He’d suspected that would be her answer. He’d have to take things a little slower yet. “When’s the last time you had a bath?”

She turned her head so he could see her profile. “Are you saying I’m unclean now?”

He cocked a grin. “No, I’m saying you look like you could use a soak.”

Her head bent toward her chest. “I think I was four the last time I had a bath.”

“That long?”

She rubbed the outer part of her left arm with her opposite hand. “Pretty much. The place I live in now only has room for a shower.”

Two steps brought Sam near enough to smell her. The subtle scent of vanilla teased his nose along with that lemony tang he’d smelled last night at the bar. He realized the second scent must be her hair.

He lightly touched her shoulders. She jumped slightly, apparently unaware he was so close, but didn’t protest when he steered her toward the long counter separating the living room from the kitchen. The coiled tension in her muscles nearly singed his palms.

Then again, that could be the result of a sexual tension so strong that it had her on fire. The question was, would it be so overpowering he’d get burned?

“Wine. Red. How about we start with that?”

She allowed him to sit her down on a wood bar stool, but he suspected that was more because she wasn’t up to fighting him than because of any real desire to sit. She glanced at her watch. “You know, I shouldn’t even be here. We’ve both got…”

“Shh,” he said, noticing that her hand was trembling slightly. “A little wine never hurt anybody.”

Then a bath. Yes, definitely a bath. He could already see her stretched out in his whirlpool, bubbles foaming around her sexy shoulders.

He opened the pantry door, then the refrigerator and looked around on top of the counter before he remembered he had one of those wine-cooler things under the cabinet she sat at. He chose a bottle from a selection someone else had stocked, then turned to find a corkscrew, all the while aware of her watching him and looking around the open living area, her eyes growing narrower.

“Got it,” he said, finally locating a newfangled corkscrew from a drawer filled with cooking accessories.

He poured a portion into a glass he blew into first and then he tried to hand it to her. But she was holding up her hand and getting up from the stool.

“Whoa. What’s going on here?”

Sam took the wine back, holding the glass to his chest. “How do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, the pink and red pillows on your sofa? No man would ever pick those out.” She frowned. “At least no man interested in women.”

He looked at the decorative pillows she was referring to, admitting she had a point. He certainly would never have chosen them.

She was gesturing with her hand as she backed up toward the door. “You didn’t even know you had a wine cooler, for God’s sake. And the corkscrew…” Her neck snapped straight. “Only a married man doesn’t know where everything is in his own house.”

Sam grimaced, not liking where this was heading. “Or a man who just recently moved into a house, doesn’t spend a whole helluva lot of time in it, had a professional see to the decorating and has a housekeeper who comes in a couple of hours in the morning and stocks everything when he’s not here.”

The wariness hadn’t left her eyes, but at least she’d stopped moving backward.

He casually rounded the counter and came to stand in front of her.

She brushed the loose strands of her dark hair back from her face. “I’m…sorry. It’s just…”

He held out the glass again. “Hey, no apologies necessary. More people should be so cautious.”

She accepted the glass and drank slowly from it.

“Speaking of caution, did you bring condoms?”

LAYLA nearly spewed the mellow Merlot all over the front of his white polo shirt.

Oh, that would be cute. She fingered her lips as she took him in. Had she ever met a man as charmingly disarming as Sam? One minute he seemed to be insulting her. The next he made a comment so bawdily sexy and funny that she wanted to laugh and strip her clothes off at the same time.

Never mind that his grin did sizzling things to her nerve endings.

He slid his hands into his jeans pockets then shrugged. “’Cause, you know, if you didn’t, I don’t want you to be shocked that I have them on hand.”

Not only was he not exasperated by her moronic behavior, he was going out of his way to help her relax. Not many men were capable of doing that. Then again, she was coming to see that Sam wasn’t like many other men.

She glanced over the living room again, noting that it did have that new, unlived-in feeling about it. Even the magazines on the coffee table looked untouched. And the plants artfully placed around the room were all silk.

“You know,” Sam was saying, “You should feel privileged. I don’t invite many women back to my place. And on the first date…well, virtually unheard of.”

Layla smiled widely. “Privileged, huh?”

“Mmm. Yeah, some women get weird when you let them through the door of your house. You’re not going to get weird on me, are you, Dr. Hollister?”