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He rolled the iced-tea glass between his palms.
“I’ll bet you are a darn good doctor,” she blurted. The man sitting across from her had just implied it took heart to be a good doctor. Meg sensed Steve cared deeply, and when she got this kind of feeling, she was never wrong.
The cold glass soaked the heat from his hot flesh. Sitting across from Meg Graham had made his hands warm and sweaty. With all the talk about being a doctor and whether he planned to go back to medicine, the top of Steve’s head felt like it was about to blow off.
“I’m not a doctor anymore.” Those words were his mantra now. And at times like this they felt right. He picked up the glass and drained it. Then he pushed the wooden chair back and stood.
She gave him a sincere look. “Sorry to hear that.” Her brown, velvety eyes filled with compassion.
Meg’s words soothed him for a moment. He did miss his old life, but it was better this way.
“I need to get back to the house. Thanks for the tea and the use of your phone.” He crossed to the door. The screen squeaked as he pushed it open.
Steve heard her chair scoot against the linoleum, and he turned back. She picked up the empty glasses and made her way to the sink, her hips swaying.
A fiery blaze started in the pit of his stomach.
If he was in any mood to be attracted to a woman, it would be Meg Graham. She possessed a delicate yet strong face and a sensuous mouth. And her body…
His eyes stroked over her full, lush curves.
Indulging himself a moment longer, he let his gaze slide up slowly, admiring every tempting inch. Meg was sexy. Steve thought of soft skin and sweet scents. It would be easy to let his problems fade away, with her in his arms.
With no hesitation, he imagined Meg without a stitch of clothing. He liked what his mind conjured up, and the need to get Meg into his arms rushed through him.
She faced him, her lips curled in an inviting smile. “Have you decided where you’re going to sleep?”
The tightness in his jeans increased. “Uh…in my car.”
“Oh, no!” Her chin tipped up, showing her smooth, curved throat.
His mouth went dry and his thoughts swirled with wonder. What would it be like to kiss her porcelain skin and let his lips trail down to the sweet indentation at the beginning of her throat?
“That’s bound to be uncomfortable. There’s not much room in the back seat of a BMW, is there?”
“I don’t know.” The answer hung in the air between them.
“Well, back seats aren’t all…that comfortable.” Meg’s cheeks flushed. “Not that I’ve been in the back seat of a car in years.…”
Hot summer nights and Meg!
His body pulsed with the need to hold her in his arms. What the heck was he thinking about? He needed to keep his mind on his house, his new life.
“There aren’t any motels close by. I want to start on the house repairs early tomorrow.”
She leaned back, her right hand resting on the curve of her hip. “I have plenty of room right here, and it’s next door. Why don’t you stay with me?”
“What?” The offer sent a powerful sensual message to his brain. He and Meg together!
“My guest room is warm and clean, and it sure is a heck of a lot more roomy than—”
“That would be too much trouble.” Good sense told him he needed to stay away from Meg, yet he knew that wasn’t going to be easy.
“You won’t be any trouble. I’m hardly ever home. And you don’t have to worry about the rent. Around Jackson we barter a lot. I get bread, pies, even eggs for my services.”
“I don’t have anything to trade.”
She smiled again and his heart beat faster. She was so pretty and sweet…so sincere.
“Sure you do. Everyone has something someone else wants.”
Right now all he wanted from Meg was to hold her and kiss her pleasing lips.
“While you’re working on the Lemon House maybe you can help me with a few odd jobs around here.”
Her practical suggestion made Steve realize a soft, clean bed would be better than the back seat of his car. And he’d have access to a working bathroom. Yet he’d vowed to stay far away from anyone who had anything to do with medicine. Meg Graham, he’d learned already, was a dedicated doctor.
“Come on. You’ll be doing me a favor.” Her soft, feminine voice feathered against his reserve like smooth silk. With eyes closed, Meg took a deep breath, and the action melted a thin layer of ice surrounding his heart. For a moment, Steve forgot where they were.
“How would I be doing you a favor?” he asked.
She opened her eyes and crinkled her nose. “The house repairs.”
“I don’t have any experience with what you’re talking about.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m a patient woman. I’ll get you a key.” She went to the teddy bear cookie jar on the counter and took off its baseball cap lid. “This fits both the front and back doors.” She crossed the kitchen and held out the extra key.
He knew he shouldn’t, but he let his fingers uncurl. She placed the warm metal in his palm, and he stared at the key. Meg could talk a blind man into buying eyeglasses.
If he did a few odd jobs around her place, he wouldn’t be obligated in any way. And in a few days, he’d be only her neighbor, not her houseguest.
As if to negate his last thought she laughed. “It’s official. You’re my roommate. And once you get the Lemon House livable, you won’t have far to move.”
Steve thought about giving back the key, but she’d crossed to the sink.
“Go ahead and bring your stuff in,” Meg nonchalantly called over her shoulder. “I only have one bathroom, so we’ll have to share.” She turned on the water, which pumped from the faucet full blast. She hummed a familiar tune and her hips swayed to the melody.
Steve forced himself to stop gazing at those sensual undulations. If he was going to live with this mesmerizing woman for a few days, he had to draw a line. He made his way to the door and stepped out into the September night, wondering if he was in his right mind, accepting her invitation.
A mixture of emotions coursed through his veins. Sure, it would be convenient living just up the road from his house. But common sense told him he shouldn’t let himself get any closer to Meg.
She sat on the couch and wondered if her earlier prediction was coming true. Maybe she was going off the deep end. Why in the world had she asked Steve Hartly to stay at her house? She’d never done anything like this in her life. But an uncanny feeling told her everything would be okay. She could trust Steve.
And she couldn’t let him stay in his car, or worse, the Lemon House. She gulped and forced herself to think realistically. With Steve Hartly on staff, she could keep her clinic open. And she might be able to get some much-needed sleep. The last thought wreaked havoc with her rationale. If anything, Steve’s presence in the house would preclude her sleeping.
Meg imagined Steve’s fingers tracing against her skin, his body warmth enveloping her.
With a jolt she stood. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t about to be attracted to another man uncommitted to his medical career. The experience with Andy had been enough for one lifetime.
Oh, for goodness’ sake, Meg. Get a grip. You just met the guy and already you’re comparing him to Andy.
She was acting silly. She was tired and worried about her patients and the clinic. Meg sank down again and groaned. Steve Hartly created havoc within her. What in the world would he be able to do when he was living in her house? She rubbed her eyes.
This kind of thinking had to stop. Getting involved with Steve physically wasn’t going to help the situation—it could only hurt it. She had to convince the man to work at the clinic. The insurance company meant business with that letter, and she wasn’t going to let her clinic close.
She tapped her bottom lip with her finger. Steve had been adamant about not practicing, but she only needed his help for maybe three months at the most. Just until she could get another doctor to move out to Jackson. And what was so terrible about rescuing him from that awful house next door?
The thought of anyone living in the Lemon House made her stomach knot. Why in the world would he buy a place like that?
She heard the screen door squeak open and shut. Her gaze darted up. Carrying one suitcase, Steve made his way through the kitchen to the living room.
“Can I help you bring in the rest of your bags?” Meg sprang off the couch, hoping to stop her heart from pounding so hard.
He lifted the bag a little. “This is it.” He’d taken off his jacket and his forearm muscles rippled.
“Your room’s on the right. Bath’s the next door,” Meg announced, and plopped on the couch again. Trying to seem unruffled with her new houseguest was hard work.
“Thanks.” He tramped down the hall and found the guest room.
Meg watched his every step.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower, then hit the sack,” he said over his shoulder. He placed his bag against the wall and flipped on the light. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked around.
“There are extra towels in the cupboard under the sink. Help yourself,” Meg called. Steve moved out of her sight, and she stared at the carpet. From the gentle rustle, she knew he was taking off his shirt.
“Hope I’m not keeping you from anything.” His words brought her chin up, and she gazed at the man standing in the hallway. His chest was bare, his right shoulder braced against the wooden doorjamb.
Meg tried to keep her eyes off her new neighbor’s torso but found it impossible. Hard muscles etched an almost perfect physique. A fine matting of curly hair enhanced his chiseled chest.
She consciously closed her eyes. Maybe she was asleep, and Steve Hartly, standing in her hallway half-naked, was a sadistic dream her subconscious had conjured up.
Opening her eyes, she shook her head. Nope! There he stood in all his sexy glory. The first man to stand in her hallway looking like that, ever!
She drew in a breath and tried to relax. “Make yourself at home. If you need anything, just look around.” She stood and prayed her legs would hold her.
“Thanks.” The sensual sound of his voice was all Meg needed to propel her into the kitchen—as far away from Steve Hartly as she could physically get.
Chapter Four
The whoosh of water told Steve that Meg was up and getting ready for another hectic day. He’d had many hurried days in the Houston ER. Days when there wasn’t enough time to even think clearly. Yet his work had been very fulfilling.
Steve made his way out of bed to the window. The pale gray morning was slipping the bonds of night, and the beginning of a Texas sunrise splashed across the sky.
Not far away the Lemon House sat in all its rundown glory. Steve shook his head. He was determined to get the place in shape and livable.
He stepped back to the bed and straightened the twisted covers. He’d thought the dreams troubling him would go away when he left Houston. But early this morning, when he’d found himself soaked in cold sweat and the sheet wrapped around his legs, he knew the move to Jackson hadn’t helped at all.
The scent of Meg’s perfume trailed down the hall and under the door, jarring him fully awake. Her fragrance reminded him of how beautiful she was. He raked fingers through his hair, then picked his clothes off the floor.
Moments later he padded out to the living room, hoping she hadn’t left the house yet. He couldn’t help himself; the need to see her again overwhelmed any other emotion. Lights were on in the kitchen, and he caught a glimpse of Meg as she crossed from the table to the counter.
Steve stopped in the kitchen doorway. Meg’s shiny hair was tousled and she looked sleepy and warm. She was wearing jeans and a pale blue T-shirt. The softness of the shirt outlined her delicate shoulders and hugged her full breasts. A tiny red logo stretched across the supple curve of her bottom. His glance traced down to her bare feet. A slash of pink nail polish caught his eye before his gaze drifted up again.
The rich fragrance of coffee filled the air. Sniffing, he enjoyed the homey smell. “Good morning,” he said, managing to keep his tone of voice neutral.
She met his gaze with a welcoming smile. Her face was bare of any makeup and she looked natural and pretty. “I thought I heard you. How about some coffee?”
“Sounds good.” His body loosened a little. He couldn’t stop staring at her. He hadn’t been with a woman in the gray, quiet morning for a long time. And standing in the doorway of the kitchen studying Meg caused him to feel, for a split second, alive and at peace with himself.
Meg turned back to the coffeepot and checked it. Steve remained in the doorway, and she felt his eyes on her. She tried not to enjoy the idea that he might be admiring her as she pulled two cups down from the cabinet.
Suddenly she yawned as she placed the mugs on the counter. Early this morning Steve’s voice had woken her. At first she’d sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding but then she’d remembered he was in the next room. She’d fallen back against the pillow, her heart still thumping.
As she listened, he’d moaned a little and called out in a husky, sleep-ridden voice. She couldn’t decipher anything he said; the only thing she knew for sure was that his voice was filled with torment.
“Coffee smells good,” he said from the doorway.
She glanced over her shoulder and motioned him into the room. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah.” He remained where he stood, his body filling much of the space. “How about yourself?”
She nodded despite the fact she hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after his nightmare. All she could do was lie in the dark and think…about him.
She wanted to question him now, but knew she needed to mind her own business at six o’clock in the morning. Besides, after last night, she knew that kind of conversation would be much too intimate, and she was afraid he’d bolt. She needed to keep emotionally distant from him, for the clinic’s sake.
She placed the mugs on the table and poured coffee into them. He found a chair and sat. “Thanks.”
Smiling, she took a seat with the glass coffeepot still in her hand. “I bet you take it black.”
He nodded.
“So do I. Learned to drink coffee that way in med school.” She set the glass pot on the table.
“Yeah, me, too.”
She lifted her mug to her lips and took a sip. “Good. Hot, though.”
He reached across the table and outlined the name embossed on the mug. “Jim? A boyfriend?”
She smiled. “Hardly. It’s my dad’s. Mom gave it to me after I graduated from med school, before she moved to Galveston. It’s about the only thing I have of his. I drink my coffee from it every day. Kind of a ritual. He’s the reason I went into medicine. Whenever I feel like I can’t go on, I think of my dad.”
“He’s gone?”
“Yes.” She brought the coffee to her lips again, trying not to give in to the memories. She didn’t want to talk about her father right now.
“You must miss him.”
Her chest ached with the statement and she knew she’d better change the subject. “Remember pulling thirty-six-hour shifts in med school and drinking this stuff by the gallon?” Meg rubbed her fingers against the blue porcelain, hoping to crush the tiny hurt starting in her heart.
