Night Fever. Tori Carrington

him from his private practice when he’d taken on the role of staff administrator.

      “It’s a plant. All plants like sunlight.”

      “Not pothos. It likes bright, diffused light, but not direct sunlight.”

      “We’re in L.A. All light is diffused—by pollution.”

      She ignored his comment as she arranged files in his in-box, took items out of his out-box, then went through those items, putting half of them back on top of his desk. “You forgot to sign the follow-up release on the Golan woman. And I need you to rewrite your comments on the Fitzpatrick evaluation. I’ve warned you about your chicken scratches. If I can’t read them, no one else can.”

      He grinned at her, not about to admit that he often had a hard time making out his own handwriting.

      “What, do they teach that in How to Write Like a Doctor 101?” she asked, finally standing in one place long enough for him to get a look at her that didn’t include a blur.

      “Yeah, and I aced the course.”

      “Of course you did. Your sister says you aced all your courses.”

      “You sound disappointed.”

      “No. Just, after four years as your assistant I’m still looking for signs that you’re human, that’s all. Now are you going to move that plant, or shall I?”

      He held up his hand. “I’ll get it. Heather would never forgive me if she found out you helped me in any way whatsoever with this damn thing.”

      “Ah, Heather. That explains it. Another point she’s trying to make, I take it?”

      “Yeah. She said she’d wanted to get me a dog, but she thought a plant might be a better bet right now.”

      They both stared at the dying plant for a long moment, the comment settling in.

      “Yeah, well, anyway.” He put his coffee down on his desk then moved the sorry excuse for a plant from the window to his desk, just out of the sunlight.

      Nancy held the documents to her chest. “Your nine o’clock is outside.”

      A good ten minutes early, Sam estimated. He liked punctuality in a woman.

      Then he remembered that rather than looking forward to this meeting, Layla Hollister was dreading it.

      “Well, we don’t want to keep Dr. Hollister waiting now, do we?” He motioned toward Nancy while, at the same time, he signed the documents she indicated. “Send her in.”

      Two minutes later Sam forgot all about the conversation he’d had in the coffee room and remembered only how attracted he’d been to the woman the night before. Even in her plain white lab coat, she looked better than any woman had a right to. Last night she’d had her dark hair down. It was now in a French braid, exposing her nicely curved neck.

      Well, at least the little of her neck that was visible above the white, chin-high collar.

      Hadn’t anyone told her this was L.A., not North Dakota, which was the only place it would be cold enough to wear such a shirt in October?

      Layla’s gasp told Sam he’d forgotten something else. Namely, that he’d purposely withheld his name from her the night before.

      And, right now, seeing the look of horror on her face, he almost wished he had a different name.

      EARTHQUAKE? Aftershock? Pre-shock? Layla fought to keep her balance as she matched the strikingly handsome face of the man standing in front of her with the face of the man who had haunted her dreams last night.

      Her stomach bottomed out as she remembered just how very vivid those dreams had been. And just how many naughty things she’d had him do with that sexy mouth of his.

      Unfortunately, her loss of equilibrium had little to do with the San Andreas Fault. Rather, it was shock due to the fact that this man had just reinforced her latest lesson in regards to men: they were all lying, cheating pigs who—if not for the temporary sexual relief they brought, or their procreative abilities—could line the bottom of the Pacific for all she cared.

      “Dr. Hollister,” he said, rounding his desk and reminding her just how very tall he was. She had to look up at him, something she wasn’t used to since she was five foot eleven in heels. “Officially we meet.”

      He extended his hand. Layla curved hers against her leg to wipe the dampness away before stretching it out. “And last night would have been…”

      “Unofficial.”

      “Ah. Yes. Of course.” She tilted her head. “Which would make your not introducing yourself a simple omission rather than an out-and-out deception.”

      He feigned a wince. “Ouch.” He seemed reluctant to take his hand back. And Layla realized with a jolt she was reluctant to have him take his hand back.

      “Sam Lovejoy,” he said casually, leaning against the edge of his desk. “And, yes, while it would probably be easier to pretend I didn’t know who you were last night after you mentioned your…dislike of your new boss…” He let his words trail off. “Well, honesty is always the best policy, as they say.”

      “A little honesty probably would have gone a long way last night.”

      He rubbed his chin as if trying to erase his grin. It wasn’t working. And neither was Layla’s instinctive desire to respond with a smile.

      “I probably would have told you at some point last night,” he said. “You know, had you stuck around.”

      She crossed her arms. “Before or after we’d slept together?”

      “Oh, after,” he said without hesitation. “Definitely after.” His gaze traversed her leisurely, making little shivers scoot all over her.

      His cockiness, in addition to his bold honesty, made her feel hot all over. It was rare that a man could make Layla feel…small, somehow. No, not so much small, but vulnerable. If she threw up her hands right that minute and feigned a fainting spell, she imagined Sam Lovejoy would not only catch her, but would take complete advantage of the situation.

      “Oh, I like that expression you’re wearing right now. What are you thinking?” Sam asked.

      Layla’s smile widened. “None of your business.”

      “I’m your boss, in a manner of speaking, so everything that happens here at the Center is my business. Give.”

      Oh, he was good. “Well, let’s just say that my thoughts were inappropriate, given our professional surroundings. Allow me to apologize for my insubordination.”

      The gleam in his eyes told her he was impressed and intrigued by her daring comeback.

      She held up her hand. “Let me get one thing straight, Dr. Lovejoy.” She cleared her throat, suddenly unable to say his name without shivering. Funny, just the day before she couldn’t say his name without feeling disdain. “If you haven’t heard already, I made the mistake once before of becoming…intimately involved with a professional colleague.”

      He nodded. “I’ve heard.”

      “Fast worker.”

      “You have no idea.”

      She cleared her throat again. “Well, then, let me say point-blank that following that experience, I have no intention of getting involved with another colleague.”

      His brows rose, nearly meeting the hair that swept across his forehead. “Never?”

      She smiled and shook her head. “Never.”

      Layla could hardly believe she was saying these words. She didn’t play coy. She didn’t indulge in verbal tit for tats. She didn’t flirt the way she was doing with the handsome but very off-limits Dr. Lovejoy. This time her shiver nearly shook her from her sensible shoes.

      And