Starting with a Kiss. Barbara McMahon

him about the incident, and then expanded to include her entire day, embellishing each incident, making sure he understood the appalling gaffes she’d made with the other doctors, all the time wearing a lab coat with a huge coffee stain on it. She wasn’t sure, but once or twice she thought she heard Greg chuckle. That was as far as she could go to dispel the rumors.

      “Are you laughing at me, Doctor?” she asked suspiciously, her spirits inexplicably rising.

      “And if I were?”

      “I’ll have you know these were serious incidents.”

      “Right, and I have a bridge to sell you.”

      “I know, the Golden Gate.”

      “Right. I called about the conference.”

      “At eleven o’clock at night? Couldn’t it wait until I was at work?”

      “I tried work, three times today.”

      “Oh.” She thought about the small stack of pink phone messages waiting on her desk. She’d had her secretary pull any urgent ones, and every one relating to her patients. The rest she’d left to deal with tomorrow.

      “It was a hectic day, sorry I didn’t get back to you.” She bet he ran his life with more order. Did he ever have to wait until the next day to return calls?

      “No problem. We can talk now, unless I’m keeping you up.”

      “I was ready for bed,” she said without thinking, then could have bitten her tongue. It felt strange to talk to him wearing only her nightgown. But there was no reason he had to know what she was wearing.

      Idly she wondered if she could sound seductive and sexy on the phone. Not that she’d ever try such a thing with Greg Hastings!

      “Are you wearing some prissy long white virginal gown?” he said, his voice suddenly rough.

      She frowned. How had he known that? Was that her image? Prissy and virginal? No, quiet and mousy. Is that what mousy women wore? No wonder she needed to change her image. No woman of thirty wanted to be thought of as prissy and virginal!

      She didn’t answer right away. He thought he was so smart. Could she shake that assurance a little? Show him she wasn’t as predictable as he thought? Without further thought, she blurted out, “Actually I’m wearing a cream-colored silk teddy. It is cut really high on the sides. It’s plunging in front and back and covered in lots of sheer lace with tiny straps that I hope will hold it up during the night.” She’d seen the teddy at Pam’s, but never in her life imagined wearing such a frilly concoction. Still, Greg didn’t need to know that.

      His groan was clear across the telephone wire.

      “What are you wearing?” she asked, hoping the laughter in her voice wasn’t transmitted.

      “Nothing. Not a stitch.”

      Liquid heat coursed through her instantly as she pictured his powerful, sexy body lying on white sheets. She knew his shoulders were wide, his chest muscles hard, with no extra flab anywhere. She blinked. Raised on a ranch, and trained as a doctor, she had a healthy understanding of the human body and procreation. She could picture Greg, and her breathing became difficult.

      “Abby?” His low voice reverberated gently against her ear.

      “What?” she said, glad he couldn’t see her. Why had she thought she could sound sexy on the phone? Just the thought of him on the other end of the line naked in bed was shattering her equilibrium.

      “I wish I could see you in that teddy.” The velvet tones wrapped around her, heated her, excited her.

      She prudently kept quiet.

      “Abby? Are you still there?”

      “Yes, but not for long. Good night, Greg.”

      She hung up the phone while she had an ounce of strength left. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she tried to sleep, but the picture in her mind refused to let her relax. Over and over she imagined him making love to her. She knew it would be glorious!

      She seemed to know how his hands would feel on her bare skin. She knew they would be hot and electric against her breasts, her belly, her thighs. His body would be hard, sculpted with muscles. Her own hands would trace their outlines, learn his particular shape. Her mouth could explore his skin and learn his taste as he’d be learning hers.

      With a groan, she rolled over and pulled a pillow on top of her head. Now she was driving herself crazy.

      It rained Wednesday and Thursday and Abby was afraid it would continue through the weekend. She caught glimpses of Greg several times through the rest of the week, though they never had a moment to talk, and he’d never told her why he’d called about the committee.

      Friday night when Abby turned the key in the door to her apartment, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a quick dinner and bed. She was exhausted! She’d had two difficult cases in the past two days and one emergency at three in the morning.

      She had gone directly to work after the emergency and put in a full day. The uncommonly long hours proved difficult, though she usually loved her job. She had worked hard for a long time to attain her present position and wasn’t about to complain about the down-side—though she was tempted. It was times like today that she especially missed Carol. And Jeb.

      In earlier times, she would have called them. The three of them would have gathered at their favorite pizza restaurant and regaled each other with the trauma of practicing medicine. Sharing problems always made them seem lighter.

      But those days were forever gone.

      Kicking off her shoes, she wandered into the bedroom and collapsed on her bed. It was a wide four-poster, covered with a colorful quilt and a mound of pillows. Closing her eyes, she relaxed completely. Long, slow minutes slid by, then, worried she’d fall asleep still fully dressed, she forced herself up and into a bath.

      Later, dressed in her most comfortable faded jeans and a loose cotton top, her hair still drawn into a high ponytail from bathing, she fixed a quick omelette for dinner. Revived by her bath and dinner, Abby turned on the television. It was something to while away the hours until bed. She was sleepy—it wouldn’t be long.

      When the doorbell sounded, Abby turned down the volume on the television and went to see who it was. She wasn’t expecting anyone. It could be Kim, though she usually had a date on Friday nights.

      Or Jeb?

      No, surely he’d be out with Sara.

      Greg Hastings was the last person she expected to find standing in the hall when she opened the door.

      He wasn’t wearing a suit, but dressed comfortably in dark slacks and a baggy tweed sweater. Obviously he’d been home and changed. What was he doing here?