The Doctor + Four. Jacqueline Diamond

mental effort.

      “I like a woman with passion.” He dug in, leaving the double entendre hanging in midair.

      She decided not to touch it. Besides, she was eager to hear more about his world. “How long have you worked at the newspaper?”

      “Six years, since my mother’s accident. She was the editor. I’m the only other remaining journalist in the family, so I replaced her.”

      “The only other remaining journalist?” The phrase struck her as odd.

      “My father used to edit the paper. He died while I was in prison.” For an instant, Barry grew cold and distant, a glimpse of an alternate self. The loss must have hit him hard. Then he shrugged. “I was lucky to find a job in my field.”

      “You’re both a reporter and an editor?”

      A nod. “It’s great not having anyone with veto power over what I write. Leaves me free to needle public officials and deflate the arrogant, although they show an incredible talent for reinflating.”

      She could tell he enjoyed the subject. “You’re lucky to have found your niche.”

      “I can’t complain.” Upon reflection, he amended, “Yes, I can. My dream was to establish myself as an international correspondent or an investigative reporter. I still fantasize about setting the world on fire—not that it’s likely to happen.”

      “What’s stopping you?”

      The hardness returned. “Lack of a portfolio, and a little something called a criminal record.”

      “You don’t have to be an angel to work as a foreign correspondent.” She recalled movie images of seedy types in dinner jackets, lounging in tropical bars. Barry would look incredibly sexy in an outfit like that. A woman might be tempted to seduce him out of it.

      “Anyone can call himself a reporter and post stories on the Internet,” came the reply, mercifully short-circuiting her thoughts. “I’m both more practical and more egotistical, which means I’d like a real news organization behind me, along with a paycheck. So far I haven’t come close to getting hired.”

      “You should go for it anyway.” Sonya had no right to give advice, she supposed. “Sorry. I’m sure you’ve reviewed all the angles.”

      “Yes. Besides, I’ve got a few things to prove down home.” Scooting away from the table, he transferred the dishes to the counter.

      Meal over. Time to go.

      She didn’t want him to. Especially not when he’d just turned stiff and remote again. He deserved a happier ending to the evening.

      “In my book, you’re a hero,” she told Barry. “Sorry I forgot to mention that earlier.”

      “Glad we both lived to tell the tale.” In the sink, he filled the pans with water. “These should soak.”

      “Thanks.”

      Watchfulness, ruefulness, resignation—she read those emotions on his face as he removed the apron and picked up his jacket. He’d earned so much more, and suddenly she yearned to share the sense of trust and closeness he inspired. Even if it only lasted for one night.

      “Don’t go.” Her words stilled his movements.

      “Be careful what you ask for.” He waited. I’ll follow your lead.

      Sonya rose. “For once in our lives, let’s do what we want. No strings and no regrets.” In case that wasn’t clear enough, she added, “Make love to me.”

      “You don’t have to ask twice,” he answered, and drew Sonya into the powerful, hungry embrace she’d been longing for all evening.

      Chapter Four

      Barry’s experiences with women had been limited. Brief encounters after his release from prison as he’d traveled from one short-term job to another, then two affairs guaranteed from the start to lead nowhere.

      He’d never learned how to tantalize and seduce. But Sonya apparently wasn’t in the mood for subtlety. When Barry caught her to him, her wildness thrilled him. Her tongue probed his mouth and her breasts thrust forward, the tips hardening.

      Her intensity had drawn him from the moment they’d met, and during the course of the evening the attraction had deepened. Beyond her sensuous dark beauty, even beyond her compassion and determination, the unexpected quirks and the walled-off pain fascinated him.

      At a level that was new to him, he simply needed her. But right now her physical delights drove anything else from his mind.

      He couldn’t stop exploring the curve of her hip and the inward flare of her waist. And those liquid eyes! Barry stroked the tangled hair off her temples and savored the honesty in her gaze.

      On tiptoe, she brushed another kiss across his mouth. Then she went to work on his shirt, undoing the buttons and smoothing her palm across his chest. The throbbing from his bruised ribs paled before the fire she stirred inside.

      Some women might have fussed over the injury. Sonya merely slanted him a sympathetic smile before sliding both hands beneath his waistband.

      Blissful agony swelled his groin. “Good grief, woman, do you realize what that does to me?”

      “I’m hoping to find out.”

      Barry raised her knit top to reveal the lacy curves of a bra. Grateful for front snaps, he opened it and bent to savor her breasts. She arched against the table for support.

      He raised his head. “Let’s find a more comfortable place.”

      “We might make it to the bedroom, if we’re lucky.” Catching his hand, she pulled him into the front room.

      They barely made it to the first carpeted step. She simply folded and Barry eased on top, lips seeking hers, both tugging at each other’s clothing. The hardest part was removing her jeans at the ankles, where a stubborn pair of jogging shoes formed a roadblock.

      From the slick, sweaty glow of their entwined legs to the flick of tongue on teeth, sensations brought Barry to the point of abandon. Enough of his brain still functioned for him to ask, “Are you on the pill?”

      “No. Sorry.”

      He fished for his wallet and extracted a condom he carried just in case. Sonya helped unroll it, teasing his erection until he nearly lost control. When she seized his hips and guided him inside, Barry closed his eyes and opened himself to a whole new world.

      Glaciers split apart. Beneath his heated thrusts, green shoots broke through the ice as he and Sonya connected.

      “It’s like flying,” she whispered.

      Barry wished he were a poet so he could tell her how much this meant. “Off the rim of the earth,” was the best he could do.

      She rode him from atop, skin exuding a hint of flowers. Joy spread into his marrow as the stairwell filled with her cries.

      Their ardor spent, they pretzeled against the steps. As normal sensation returned, Barry discovered a cramp in one leg and a hard ridge digging into his spine.

      “Where’s that bed?” he asked. “Or were you just putting me on?”

      “I kind of like it here.” She kissed his shoulder. “After tonight, this place will hold some of my fondest memories.”

      “What’s the medical term for a crick in one’s back?” he persisted.

      “Musculoligamentous strain.”

      When he laughed, a twinge shot through his ribs. Instinctively, Barry gave a jerk, and only quick action kept Sonya from skidding down to the floor.

      He caught her arm. “Definitely time to stretch out.”

      “I’m