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“Who did your nose?”
WHO…did…her…nose…?
Layla absently rubbed the facial feature in question. It wasn’t so bad that he had asked the question. It wasn’t even bad if she had had her nose done. But the fact that an attractive nose—just like attractive breasts—instantly made other people think it was unnatural…well, rankled. The whole Hollywood bunch had made it virtually impossible for anyone outside the business to lead a normal life. She’d once joked that they should have some sort of government certification service that checked your body composition so that you had a certificate of authenticity that you could show to someone whenever they asked a stupid question like this.
Because no matter how she answered, the status of her nose would still be in question. After all, how many people who’d had cosmetic surgery admitted to it?
She opened her mouth and turned to give it to him good…but just looking into his handsome, inquisitive face robbed the air from her sails.
“Uh-oh. I’ve insulted you again, haven’t I?” he asked good-naturedly. “Let me guess. The nose is yours.”
“One hundred percent. And not in the ‘I bought it so it’s mine’ way either.”
“I guess I should be the one to apologize now.”
She propped her elbow up on the bar and leaned her head against her hand. “No. It’s not necessary. In this town it’s a perfectly natural question. If anyone should be immune to L.A.-speak, it’s me.” She twisted her lips. “I don’t know why I’m so touchy tonight. No, wait. Yes, I do. Because today I just found out I have a new boss.”
“Ah. Someone I take it you don’t like.”
“Not a lick.”
Layla picked at her napkin. Actually, she couldn’t even say that, really. After all, she’d never met the guy. But his reputation had definitely preceded him. Known as the ultimate Chop Doc of L.A., he could nip, tuck, enlarge and siphon off whatever it was your li’l ole heart desired. From what she’d heard, wealthy clients and aspiring actresses alike lined up around the block for his services, and he had a waiting list as long as the Declaration of Independence. Except, in his case, the document would be entitled the Declaration of Dependence. Namely, dependence on a doctor to give you what nature hadn’t.
Of course, it didn’t help that it was rumored the doctor in question dated many of the patients he worked on. A new take on follow-up, she supposed. Nothing like getting a really good squeeze of the breasts you’d enlarged.
“I think that’s why I’m so sensitive about anything related to plastic surgery tonight. I mean, I could have taken it if he was only another doctor at the Center, but he just signed on as senior staff administrator.”
The man’s hand knocked against the lip of the wood bar causing the club soda he held to splash out all over his wrist. He shook his hand and blotted his skin with a napkin. “Center?”
She nodded as she handed him her napkin. “The Trident Medical Center. Heard of it?”
“Santa Monica, right?”
“Right.”
“You’re a doctor?”
“A general practitioner, more specifically.”
He motioned for the bartender to bring him another soda. “Not many of those around nowadays, are there?”
God, he was good-looking. He had breathtaking brown eyes that could put any actor’s to shame. And that jaw…it came in second only to his mouth in items she most wanted to kiss in that one moment.
He looked at her pointedly, reminding her that he’d asked a question, albeit an indirect one. “No. There aren’t many general practitioners around anymore. Everyone usually specializes in one branch of medicine or another. Me…well, I couldn’t make up my mind.” She smiled, liking the way he appeared to be listening to her. Not many men knew how to do that. “And there really wasn’t any reason to do so. It turns out general practitioners are in high demand. Patients like to have one person to refer to instead of twenty.”
“Mmm.”
She pushed her elbow off the bar. “Now I feel as if I’ve said something to insult you.”
His brows rose. Brows a shade darker than his dark blond hair. “Oh?”
“Yeah, you got awfully quiet. Change your mind about watching the wallpaper peel?”
“Fade,” he corrected, then thanked the bartender when he got his drink. “And no,” he said, looking at her, that suggestive glint returning to his eyes. In fact, the invitation in them seemed to go up a couple of notches. “Truth is…I’m very intrigued by what you said.”
Intrigued?
Her purse vibrated in her lap again, reminding her that she was still waiting for Mallory and Jack.
“Pardon me,” she said, fishing the wireless out. Yep, it was Jack. She turned slightly away. “Don’t tell me you’re canceling, too?”
She could hear traffic on Jack’s end of the line. She instantly envisioned him driving his old Chevy with his windows rolled down. “Reilly cancelled?” he asked.
“How did…”
“I know because Mall just called from the 101. Engine trouble. I’m heading over to help her now.”
Layla made a face and looked at her watch. “Sorry to hear that. I was really looking forward to tonight. Oh, well. It’s busy here anyway. Maybe I’ll just get a salad and head home. Give me a call later to let me know everything’s all right?”
“Will do.”
SAM WATCHED the sexy doc clap her phone closed and slip it back into her purse, feeling curiously as if he’d been whacked upside the head and sucker-punched at the same time. The first because he hadn’t felt this strongly attracted to someone in a very long time. The second because, well, he barely knew her and she hated his guts. Not because of something he’d said. But rather because he was the new senior staff administrator at Trident.
Aw, hell. Talk about your small worlds.
Sam pretended to focus on something the guy on the other side of him was saying about the poor service, rather than on the doc’s enticing legs. Meanwhile he considered his dilemma. Either he came clean now with the certainty that the attraction arcing between them would vanish like a flash of lightning. Or he continued to play dumb, pretending that she hadn’t been specific about her information. Then he could try to take things on a bit with her—possibly even take her back to his house in the Hills—then hope that she would forgive him in the morning.
And he would have to face the music in the morning because if memory served him correctly, his first appointment tomorrow morning was with one Doctor Layla Hollister, the center’s only female general practitioner. A getting-acquainted meeting that he’d prefer to conduct right now under present conditions…and without her knowing who he was.
“Your friends cancelled out, huh?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder, tucked the grocery-store rag under her arm and started to get up.
“Are you up for dinner with me, then?”
She looked at him, obviously tempted. “I thought you had business to conduct.” She tilted her head. “I never asked what you did, did I?”
“No. And about the business dinner…I can always reschedule.” He grinned at her, having made his decision not to reveal his identity. Not just yet. “This is just too good an opportunity to pass up.”
She laughed. “Unfortunately, I don’t make a habit of picking up strange men in bars.”
“Shame.”
She nodded. “Definitely a shame.” She motioned to the waiter and placed an order for a salad to go. “Hold my chair for me? I’m just going to go freshen up before I leave.”
“I think I can handle that.” Good. At least this wasn’t goodbye. Not yet…
He watched her head toward the restrooms at the back of the bar area. The material of her skirt hugged her high, firm bottom just so. Suddenly the temperature in the place seemed to jump at least twenty degrees. Sam tugged at his tie, emptied his soda, then got up. The bartender glanced at him as he slapped a twenty on the bar. “Hold both seats, will you?”
Sam navigated through the sea of hot, young bodies crowding the restaurant, his mind on one hot, young body in particular. Oh, no, he didn’t intend to let her get away that easily. He stopped outside the ladies’ room and leaned against the wall. An opportunity was an opportunity. And he planned to take complete advantage of it.
The door to the restroom opened to let out a perky blonde. Sam rubbed his chin, then crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring her suggestive look.
The door opened again and Layla came out, stuffing something into her purse and appearing not to notice him. Sam lightly grasped her arm as she began to edge past him.
She blinked up into his eyes and a curious mixture of vanilla and lemon teased his nose. She smiled. A little welcoming, a little nervous. A slight upturning of the edges of her full mouth that made his stomach crave something other than food. “I thought you were holding my chair,” she murmured, her gaze flicking over his features.
“Mmm. I was. But there was something I needed to find out first.”
Someone walked by, forcing her to step closer to him to make room. He watched her swallow thickly and saw her green eyes dilate in a telltale sign of arousal. “Oh? And what’s that?”
Heat surged through Sam’s groin. “Whether or not you taste as good as you look.”
He slowly closed the few inches separating his mouth from hers, giving her plenty of time to pull back. She didn’t. In fact, she leaned forward. Sam made a low sound of satisfaction. He liked a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid of taking it.
And, oh boy, she tasted even better than she looked. She might smell like vanilla and lemon, but her mouth was a juicy, fleshy peach just begging to be devoured. He flicked his tongue out, licking the rim of her lips then dipping it inside. So hot, so sweet, so utterly intoxicating.
He felt her hand on his waist, her fingers splaying against the muscles there, boldly probing. Sam snaked his arm around her and tugged her closer yet, feeling every inch of her clothed body against his as he slanted his head and took a deeper taste of her. Damn, but she felt good. Need, sure and swift, swept over him as he slid his hand down her slender back toward the upper curve of her bottom.
Something between them vibrated. For a moment, Sam thought he was feeling the electricity generated by their mutual passion. But then he realized it was her cell phone.
He opened his eyes, surprised that he’d completely forgotten where they were.
He had to give Layla credit. Rather than jerking away from him or displaying surprise, she laughed softly and rested her forehead briefly against his. Then she cleared her throat. “So what’s the verdict?” she asked.
“Hmm?” Sam had to restrain himself from pulling her back to him when she stepped out of his arms. “Oh. You definitely taste as good as you look. Better even.”
He heard that sultry laugh again as she dug into her purse and clicked open her cell phone. “Hello?”
Hello was right. Hello, sunshine.
If only tomorrow’s forecast didn’t call for rain.
She snapped the cell closed. “I have an emergency at the clinic.” She began to walk away, then hesitated. “It was nice meeting you…”
Nice didn’t begin to cover it. “Same here.” He took her hand and shook it, trying to ignore the heat that shot through his body at the contact. The dampness of her palm made him think of all things hot and wet. Now, how should he handle her subtle prompting for his name? “Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”
Her smile widened. “Why not?”
Why not, indeed? Sam thought, watching her walk away. He tried to keep a mental image of that beautiful smile, because he had a feeling that come tomorrow morning, he might never see it again.
2
THREE HOURS LATER Layla was stationed in the cramped room that served as the attending doctor’s office in the San Rafael Free Clinic. She took a deep breath and dared to peek out into the waiting area, which, she saw thankfully, was nearly empty. Just a short time ago it had been overwhelmingly full.
She smoothed back a couple of stray strands of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. While the time she put in at the free clinic was rewarding, it was also exhausting. And often disheartening. So many people. So few doctors willing to help. It was especially disheartening when they’d just lost another attending physician and she’d been called away from a perfectly inviting encounter to fill the void.
Lupe Rodriguez, the clinic’s long-standing head nurse, popped into the doorway and handed her a file. “Room two. Three-year-old with upper respiratory congestion. Room three, Ashanti’s getting into position for her annual pap.”
Layla watched an elderly woman tuck a tattered blanket more snuggly across a frail man’s legs.
“Ola, Layla?”
“Hmm?” She glanced at the Hispanic woman waving a hand in front of her eyes.
“There’s a thirty-something wealthy bachelor in room one looking for a hot night out.”
Layla blinked several times then grimaced at Lupe. “That’s not even funny.”
Especially since the man she’d met at the restaurant bar earlier in the evening kept intruding on her thoughts. Sometimes it would just be a flash of his grin. Other times it would be his suggestive comments. But mostly it was the feel of his mouth sliding against hers. She’d be peering down a teenager’s throat and remember the way he’d invited her to have dinner with him. Running her stethoscope across a patient’s back and recall how wide his shoulders were. Definitely hot.
“How long’s it been since you been out on a date?”
Layla took the patient file from Lupe and reviewed the preliminary information there. It wasn’t that the question was intrusive, really. It was just that she’d been asking herself the same thing all night.
And the answer? Much too much time had passed since she’d sat across a dining table from someone who engaged her on every level. And the man in the bar had appealed to her physically and mentally.
“None of your business,” she said to Lupe, smiling.
Lupe made a tsk sound. “That’s what I thought. Too long.”
Layla scratched her head. “Who’s got time to date? I certainly don’t.”
Lupe crossed her arms over her ample chest. “I work here, what? Fifty, sometimes sixty hours a week for the past fifteen years and I not only dated, I got married, had five kids, and still manage to have a pretty good sex life, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I do mind. What you and your husband do behind closed doors is your business.”
“And you?” Lupe teased. “What do you do behind closed doors, Dr. Hollister?”
“We already established that I don’t date.”
“What’s a man got to do with it?”
Layla stared at her as if antennae had sprouted from her black, over-permed hair.
“Hmmph. That’s what I thought.” Lupe held the door open. “Let’s go help someone who can be helped. You, Layla, are absolutely beyond hope.”
Layla preceded her out of the room, trying to hide her exasperation. It was hard enough to successfully ignore the poor status of her love life without other people showing interest in it. Who else talked about her and her pathetic dating abilities? Oh, sure, she was busy. But as Lupe so adeptly pointed out, time or lack thereof had very little to do with a person’s personal life.
Five kids? Did Lupe really have five kids?
She shook her head then strode to examining room three, opening the patient’s file as she entered.
Ashanti. A nineteen-year-old who had more sex than ten women combined.
Or at least ten Laylas.
The young woman smiled at her from the examining table. “So, Doc, how they hanging?”
