More Than Words: More Than, Book 3 Read online

  Dedication

  Dawn, Fedora and Kelly, thank you. Your thoughts made a huge difference to this book.

  Jennifer, it’s pretty safe to say I have the best editor on earth.

  Chapter One

  Molly Harris blinked twice, sure her eyes must be deceiving her. But focusing her gaze only confirmed what her brain had told her the first time. The woman in the white coat who’d walked into the reception area of the doctor’s waiting room was indeed holding a surfboard.

  After three years of working as a medical receptionist in the private hospital in Sydney, Molly had seen her fair share of unexpected surprises, but the vibrant red, yellow and white surfboard against the backdrop of the bluish-grey walls? That was a first.

  The board was much bigger than the pretty redhead holding it.

  Molly tried to hide her astonishment. “May I help you?”

  “Uh, yeah, please.” The woman smiled as she walked over to the counter. “I’m looking for Sam.”

  “These are Dr. Sherman’s rooms,” Molly confirmed, “but I’m afraid he’s not in right now.” It was a little before eight thirty in the morning, which meant Sam was busy with ward rounds.

  “Darn. I thought I’d catch him before work.” The woman frowned. “I need to return his surfboard. I’ve already had it a few days, and I’m pretty sure he’s starting to miss it.”

  Molly caught her jaw before it dropped. Sam had lent someone his board? His only escape from work? He treasured that thing.

  “Would it be okay if I left it here for him?”

  “Of course. Why not bring it into my office, and we can lean it against the wall, out of the way?” Her office was separated from the waiting room by the counter, which doubled as her desk. If the surfboard rested against the back wall, no one would see it.

  “That would be great.”

  Molly beckoned her around the counter and pointed to the appropriate spot, between her office and the kitchen. “Prop it right over there.”

  “Would you mind giving Sam a message for me?” the surfer asked as she balanced the board in place. It looked enormous in the smallish space.

  “Not at all.” Well, maybe she would mind a bit. It depended on the message. If Sam was lending his surfboard to the woman, it meant he was hanging out with her, and the thought about killed Molly.

  Not that it surprised her. A gorgeous man like Sam should hang out with pretty women. He probably had flocks of them flanking his sides whenever he left the hospital. Harems.

  She fought off a grimace. Being a member of Sam’s harem held no appeal. Call her selfish…but she wanted him all to herself. Every scrumptious six-plus feet of him.

  Of course that wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t happen. First off, Sam saw her as nothing more than his receptionist, and second, she valued and needed her job way too much. The last thing she’d do was put it in jeopardy by throwing herself at him, no matter how appealing the idea—and the man—might be.

  “I’m Sarah,” the redhead said. “Would you tell Sam I came round to say thank y— No, wait, to thank him from the very bottom of my heart.” She smiled then, a small, private smile that told Molly the woman was thinking very intimate thoughts.

  It made her stomach hurt.

  She’d thought intimate thoughts about Sam too. Only that was all they were. Thoughts. They’d never be anything more. They’d never make her smile the way Sarah currently smiled.

  “Could you also let him know,” Sarah continued, oblivious to the ache in Molly’s heart, “he is definitely the kind of man I could marry. In a heartbeat. If circumstances were different I’d be tugging on a white dress and marching him down that aisle tomorrow.”

  Jealousy ripped through her. For a good few seconds Molly couldn’t respond.

  Damn it, she had no right to feel this way. She had no hold over Sam. He deserved to find a beautiful woman who could make him happy, and instinct told her Sarah was that woman. Beautiful, warm and very friendly.

  But the woman was talking marriage, for God’s sake—to the man Molly loved. That fact alone made Molly want to claw her eyes out.

  And roll up in a little ball and sob.

  Molly retracted her imaginary claws. Sarah smiled so sweetly, she was difficult to dislike. “You’d marry him for lending you his surfboard?”

  The surfer’s laughter echoed through the rooms. “No, I’d marry him because he’s wonderful, thoughtful, kind, generous and pretty darn gorgeous too. Oh, and he’s a pediatrician. C’mon, you can’t tell me that’s not a perfect package.”

  Of course she couldn’t. She didn’t try. Sam was indeed one perfect package. Molly put on her neutral, professional face. “He’s lovely to work for too.”

  Sarah nodded. “Oh, I can believe that.” She walked back around to the other side of the counter. “You’re lucky. You get to see Sam every day. I bet you’re the envy of every woman out there.”

  Molly’s laugh was genuine. “The only reason the women who come in here envy me is that I don’t have a sick child.” Well, not anymore, anyway. “Otherwise I’m guessing they’re too worried about their kids to even notice me.”

  “Ah, good point.” Sarah’s expression became serious. “Well, at least they know they’re in good hands with Sam.”

  “The best,” Molly agreed, then clamped her mouth shut. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start singing Sam’s praises, and wouldn’t that expose every one of those feelings she hid so deep inside?

  “Okay, I best be getting off to work. Please send Sam my love and give him my messages.”

  “No worries,” Molly reassured her, and Sarah walked out of the waiting room with a friendly wave, leaving Molly alone to ponder the surfboard, the pretty redhead and the fact that Sam was now further out of her reach than ever.

  She sat back down in her chair and scowled at the board.

  Okay, so she was a cow.

  Why couldn’t she be happy for Sam? After his last relationship with Dena the devil, or “bitch-face” as Sam’s sister had called her, she should be glad he’d found someone nice. Not just nice. The perfect woman for him. A surfer and—if her white coat was anything to go by—a doctor too.

  Molly couldn’t surf to save her life and would never be a doctor.

  Not that she wanted to be a doctor. She was perfectly happy working as Sam’s receptionist. The hours suited her—Sam had tailored them to suit her—the work was always stimulating, she was good at her job and she had the best damn boss in Sydney.

  The best-looking boss too.

  God knew she had endless fantasies about that boss of hers. Erotic fantasies that left her either breathless or panting. Inappropriate fantasies that no receptionist should have about her boss.

  The fantasies were almost as hot as the man.

  Now Molly faced a problem. How could she fantasize about Sam knowing he was with another woman? She should quit while she was ahead. Not quit the job. No, she loved her job—and needed it if she had any hope of supporting her sister, Mickey. Her only option was to toss her dirty thoughts out the window and never think of him again in that way.

  She’d focus on work instead. That was why she was here, wasn’t it?

  She turned with determination to her computer, opened her inbox and stared at the email on top. The afterhours lab had sent Sam, a pediatric neurologist, a letter titled For Attention: Dr. Sam Sherman.

  Even as she sat there, reading the results, another letter formed in her mind. A letter that had nothing to do with blood results and everything to do with the way Sam got her blood zinging by just looking at her.

  Before Molly could remind herself she’d given up on the Sam-and-Molly fantasies, she’d minimized the lab’s email, open
ed a new message and, for lack of any more creative ideas, given it the same title.

  Careful to leave the TO: box blank—because she had no intention of ever sending this particular letter—she got straight to work on the content, knowing it would be deleted as soon as she finished writing it.

  Dear Sam,

  And just like that, Molly’s fingers were flying over her keyboard, the thoughts coming faster than she could type.

  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.

  Don’t get me wrong. I do think of you as a doctor. The best doctor in Sydney, as your patients and their parents will agree. And after what you did for Mickey, you should be awarded a Nobel Prize. But this letter isn’t about your ability as a medical expert. It’s a little more…intimate than that.

  You may want to brace yourself, Sam. I’m about to get very personal.

  The truth is, when I think about you, my body forgets you’re a doctor. It forgets I’m your receptionist too. When I think about you, work of any kind ceases to exist. What I imagine is way more personal, way more intimate and way more…erotic.

  Thoughts of you make me all shivery inside. My stomach does these crazy flip-flops and my breasts begin to ache. Don’t worry. There’s no cause for concern. When I say ache, I mean it in the best way. As in my breasts become all tender and sensitive, and my nipples tighten into hard beads that need to be touched. And kissed. Licked too. And even nibbled. Tiny bites would always be appreciated.

  The thought of you leaning over my chest, your tongue leaving silvery hot streaks of yumminess on my nipples as you lick them…

  Phew. There are tons of shivers now, all of them racing up my spine.

  Molly took a deep breath and looked up, checking to see the rooms were still empty. It would do her no good whatsoever if Sam or his first patient arrived without her noticing.

  She needn’t have worried. All was quiet. It was still too early for Sam’s rounds to be over or for the first patient appointment.

  Consumed by her words, she returned her attention to the letter. She wished she could say the writing was cathartic, wished it could ease her blatant jealousy of Sarah the surfer. But it wasn’t, and it didn’t. And to top it off, the writing was making her horny.

  Oh, God. Now I’ve gone and done it. Gotten all turned on from writing to you.

  Can you picture that, Sam? I’m sitting in the chair you bought me (because you said it was chiropractor-approved and good for my posture) and squirming because I’m getting excited.

  You’re not surprised, are you? Haven’t you guessed how I feel about you? Don’t my huge puppy eyes give me away every time I look in your direction?

  I try to hide it. Try to act professionally, but there are moments when you say something or you smile or you look at me in that intense way you sometimes look at me, and that’s all it takes to get the shivers going again.

  I’m imagining you looking at me now. Your gaze makes me want you to touch me. You know how I mentioned you licking and kissing my breasts? Well, I’d hate for you to think I might not be interested in feeling your mouth anywhere else on my body. And by anywhere else, I mean down there! Between my legs.

  I dream about you licking my pussy.

  Are you shocked?

  That word sounds so…dirty. So naughty. But that’s what happens when I think about you. All these dirty, naughty thoughts cram into my mind. They make my pussy tingle and then I get all wet.

  That’s my fantasy, Sam, and it has been for a while now. Well, it’s one of my many fantasies anyway. You going down on me. Burying your face between my legs and licking my pussy until I scream—or cry—with relief.

  I’d probably cry. Not because I’d be sad. (How could I possibly be sad with your head buried between my legs?) But because I’ve felt this way for so long, the reality of you kissing me there—or anywhere for that matter—would be overwhelming.

  It would be like all my birthday wishes finally coming true.

  Any chance of you fulfilling those wishes? I’d have to warn you though, my coming on your tongue is not the only wish I have where you’re involved. There are so many it would take a lifetime to act them all out.

  But you know what I’d like the most? A kiss from you.

  A sweet kiss, on my lips, so I finally get to taste your mouth and feel your tongue against mine. I would love to kiss you, Sam. Soft, sweet kisses to delight, and long, deep kisses to arouse. And all the other kisses in between. I want to try them all with you. Before you’ve kissed my pussy…and after.

  I know these fantasies will never come true. Know you’ll never actually read this letter, so you’ll never l know how badly I want you to kiss me. How badly I want you, full stop. But that’s okay. Kinda.

  I’m happy to sit here and imagine…

  All my love and kisses,

  Molly

  P.S. It’s my birthday on Friday. I’ll be twenty-seven. Can you imagine how cool it would be if you made all my birthday wishes come true?

  She’d barely typed her name when the door to Sam’s—Dr. Sherman’s—offices opened and in walked the man himself, looking nothing less than scrumptious. Quick as a flash, she minimized the email with shaky hands. There was no time to delete it.

  Molly wasn’t sure she could hide the effect writing the letter had on her though. Her nipples were tight and beaded against her bra, her breath was shallower than usual and damn it, she was all achy and aroused.

  Seeing the man in question did not help her physical ailments one bit.

  Although Sam wasn’t looking quite as gorgeous as usual.

  Nope, wrong description. He always looked gorgeous. Today he simply wasn’t quite so fresh and vibrant. It was a bit before nine a.m., and he already seemed to be exhausted. As though he hadn’t gotten a minute’s sleep.

  Compliments of Sarah the surfer? Although if he had been with Sarah, surely she’d have given him the surfboard before they parted company?

  “Dr. Sherman?” The thought of his new girlfriend helped Molly get her over-aroused body under control.

  “Morning, Miss Molly.” Sam yawned.

  The nickname warmed her all over—like it always did. “Big night?”

  “Too big.”

  Argh. Jealousy made the warmth turn cold very quickly. Why couldn’t she be the one giving Sam his big nights instead of Sarah? Why couldn’t she confess her true feelings to him and be done with it?

  Because she was an adult woman with adult responsibilities and a little sister to take care of, that’s why. She couldn’t toss those responsibilities aside for the sake of a girly crush.

  “My phone rang at two this morning and I’ve been on the go since,” Sam said wearily. “Spent the last five hours in CCU.”

  Phew. Doctor time, not Sarah time. Which would explain the surfboard.

  Oh Lord, she was pathetic, getting all jealous of a medical crisis. What else would bring him to the Children’s Critical Care Unit in the middle of the night?

  “Emergency?” Duh. Silly question.

  “Yep. A complicated one too.”

  Molly waited. She suspected this had to do with Allan Bennet, the seven-year-old Sam had diagnosed yesterday with a brainstem glioma.

  She was wrong.

  “The patient, four-year-old Greg Avery, fell down a flight of steps, landed on his head and lost consciousness. The mother and stepfather called an ambulance at one thirty.”

  Molly balked. “One thirty in the morning?” But it was more the nature of the injuries that worried her than the time. An accident like that could cause both head and spinal injuries, something she unfortunately had altogether too much experience with.

  Sam nodded.

  “What was a child doing walking around at that time of night?”

  “That’s where the case gets complicated.” Sam frowned and motioned to Molly to f
ollow him into his office where he pulled off his white coat and placed his briefcase and an armful of papers on his desk.

  And there they were. His beautiful, broad shoulders. Shoulders that Molly could only admire from a distance. Lucky Sarah, she got to get all up close and personal with them.

  Sam wore no tie and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, allowing her a small glimpse of the top of his chest. Dear God, she wanted to lick him there. Along that patch of hard, naked male flesh. A little lick. She wouldn’t be too greedy. Enough to get a taste of that salty, musky skin…

  “The mother said he was sleepwalking.”

  Molly raised an eyebrow. Okay. That would make sense. But it didn’t explain Sam’s concern. “You don’t believe them?”

  “I’m not sure.” He sighed and dropped into his seat.

  It was the genuine care and concern he had for his patients that made Molly adore him all the more.

  “According to the mother, Greg’s walked in his sleep before. Apparently he goes from his bedroom to her and his stepfather’s and stands talking unintelligibly until one of them takes him back to his bed.”

  “So why your uncertainty?” Molly didn’t hesitate to ask. Sam always chatted to her about his difficult cases, claiming she helped him gain perspective and objectivity.

  “He has bruises.”

  “Wouldn’t you expect to see bruising if he fell down a flight of steps?” Really nasty bruising.

  “If they were only new ones, yes.” Sam rubbed his eyes. “But the ones I saw were…old. Brown and faded. Purple. Some were greenish. And there were several of them, on his chest, his upper arms, his stomach and his back. Places usually covered by a shirt.”

  Molly’s stomach rolled. “Ah.” No wonder Sam looked so unsettled. She felt a little queasy herself. If the child were clumsy or prone to falls, he’d have discoloration of his skin all over, not just in places usually hidden by clothing. The strategic placement of the bruising suggested something far more sinister than mere clumsiness.

  Oh, the things she’d learned working for a doctor.