More Than Words: More Than, Book 3 (2 page)

A sweet kiss, on my lips, so I finally get to taste your mouth and feel your tongue against mine. I would love to kiss you, Sam. Soft, sweet kisses to delight, and long, deep kisses to arouse. And all the other kisses in between. I want to try them all with you. Before you’ve kissed my pussy…and after.

I know these fantasies will never come true. Know you’ll never actually read this letter, so you’ll never l know how badly I want you to kiss me. How badly I want you, full stop. But that’s okay. Kinda.

I’m happy to sit here and imagine…

All my love and kisses,

Molly

P.S. It’s my birthday on Friday. I’ll be twenty-seven. Can you imagine how cool it would be if you made all my birthday wishes come true?

She’d barely typed her name when the door to Sam’s—Dr. Sherman’s—offices opened and in walked the man himself, looking nothing less than scrumptious. Quick as a flash, she minimized the email with shaky hands. There was no time to delete it.

Molly wasn’t sure she could hide the effect writing the letter had on her though. Her nipples were tight and beaded against her bra, her breath was shallower than usual and damn it, she was all achy and aroused.

Seeing the man in question did not help her physical ailments one bit.

Although Sam wasn’t looking quite as gorgeous as usual.

Nope, wrong description. He always looked gorgeous. Today he simply wasn’t quite so fresh and vibrant. It was a bit before nine a.m., and he already seemed to be exhausted. As though he hadn’t gotten a minute’s sleep.

Compliments of Sarah the surfer? Although if he had been with Sarah, surely she’d have given him the surfboard before they parted company?

“Dr. Sherman?” The thought of his new girlfriend helped Molly get her over-aroused body under control.

“Morning, Miss Molly.” Sam yawned.

The nickname warmed her all over—like it always did. “Big night?”

“Too big.”

Argh.
Jealousy made the warmth turn cold very quickly. Why couldn’t she be the one giving Sam his big nights instead of Sarah? Why couldn’t she confess her true feelings to him and be done with it?

Because she was an adult woman with adult responsibilities and a little sister to take care of, that’s why. She couldn’t toss those responsibilities aside for the sake of a girly crush.

“My phone rang at two this morning and I’ve been on the go since,” Sam said wearily. “Spent the last five hours in CCU.”

Phew. Doctor time, not Sarah time.
Which would explain the surfboard.

Oh Lord, she was pathetic, getting all jealous of a medical crisis. What else would bring him to the Children’s Critical Care Unit in the middle of the night?

“Emergency?”
Duh. Silly question.

“Yep. A complicated one too.”

Molly waited. She suspected this had to do with Allan Bennet, the seven-year-old Sam had diagnosed yesterday with a brainstem glioma.

She was wrong.

“The patient, four-year-old Greg Avery, fell down a flight of steps, landed on his head and lost consciousness. The mother and stepfather called an ambulance at one thirty.”

Molly balked. “One thirty in the morning?” But it was more the nature of the injuries that worried her than the time. An accident like that could cause both head and spinal injuries, something she unfortunately had altogether too much experience with.

Sam nodded.

“What was a child doing walking around at that time of night?”

“That’s where the case gets complicated.” Sam frowned and motioned to Molly to follow him into his office where he pulled off his white coat and placed his briefcase and an armful of papers on his desk.

And there they were. His beautiful, broad shoulders. Shoulders that Molly could only admire from a distance. Lucky Sarah, she got to get all up close and personal with them.

Sam wore no tie and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, allowing her a small glimpse of the top of his chest. Dear God, she wanted to lick him there. Along that patch of hard, naked male flesh. A little lick. She wouldn’t be too greedy. Enough to get a taste of that salty, musky skin…

“The mother said he was sleepwalking.”

Molly raised an eyebrow. Okay. That would make sense. But it didn’t explain Sam’s concern. “You don’t believe them?”

“I’m not sure.” He sighed and dropped into his seat.

It was the genuine care and concern he had for his patients that made Molly adore him all the more.

“According to the mother, Greg’s walked in his sleep before. Apparently he goes from his bedroom to her and his stepfather’s and stands talking unintelligibly until one of them takes him back to his bed.”

“So why your uncertainty?” Molly didn’t hesitate to ask. Sam always chatted to her about his difficult cases, claiming she helped him gain perspective and objectivity.

“He has bruises.”

“Wouldn’t you expect to see bruising if he fell down a flight of steps?” Really nasty bruising.

“If they were only new ones, yes.” Sam rubbed his eyes. “But the ones I saw were…old. Brown and faded. Purple. Some were greenish. And there were several of them, on his chest, his upper arms, his stomach and his back. Places usually covered by a shirt.”

Molly’s stomach rolled. “Ah.” No wonder Sam looked so unsettled. She felt a little queasy herself. If the child were clumsy or prone to falls, he’d have discoloration of his skin all over, not just in places usually hidden by clothing. The strategic placement of the bruising suggested something far more sinister than mere clumsiness.

Oh, the things she’d learned working for a doctor.

“You don’t think the fall was an accident.”

“My gut tells me no.”

God, who’d want to hurt a four-year-old?

She silently thanked Sam for teaching her to distance herself from the patients and their lives. If he hadn’t, Molly would be an emotional wreck every day.

Molly took the stack of papers and articles Sam had put on the desk and began to sort through them. A pile for his desk, a pile to be filed and a pile for the bin. She tossed a page with a red line scrawled through it into the bin. “Have you contacted the Child Protection Helpline?”

If Sam hadn’t yet contacted them or DOCS—the Department of Community Services—one of the nursing staff was probably doing it right now.

“We decided to wait until Greg had been stabilized and hopefully regained consciousness, in case he could give us more information.” He shook his head grimly. “But Greg hasn’t woken up, and we didn’t want to leave it any longer. Ella from CCU was phoning when I left. Meanwhile, I need you to get a hospital social worker on the case.” Sam grabbed a notepad and started writing. “This is the patient’s full name, his parents’ names, ward details, bed details and…” He swallowed. “My suspicions.”

His handwriting was close to illegible—perhaps the only flaw Molly could find in him, but she’d long ago mastered the art of deciphering his script.

“What about getting the police involved?”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, we’re going to see what Child Protection recommends. They might contact them as part of the procedure.”

She wondered which of young Greg Avery’s parents could be responsible for the old bruises. And possibly the new ones too. “Mother or stepfather?”

Lines of worry marred Sam’s face. Molly restrained her need to caress his cheeks, ease his pain.

“I’m not sure. Instinctively I suspect the stepfather, but that’s because he’s both physically bigger than the mother and emotionally more removed. She’s the talkative one. He didn’t open his mouth the entire time. Just sat there tightlipped and let Mum do the talking.”

“Are they aware you’re contacting DOCS and the social worker?”

“I warned them in all cases like this we had to notify the authorities.”

“How did they react?”

Sam pursed his lips. “They didn’t, and that worries me even more. The stepfather became quieter and more removed, and the mother blathered on about something irrelevant.”

“Is the biological father in the picture?”

“He’s in Paris, on business. Mum got hold of him earlier. Apparently he’s catching the first flight home.”

“I’ll get right on the social worker.” Molly understood the urgency. Sam was passionate about his patients. He lived to make them better, or when that was unachievable, make them as comfortable as possible. A child who’d been deliberately hurt at his parent’s or stepparent’s hand was likely eating him up inside.

Molly sometimes suspected Sam had done a better job teaching her to distance herself than teaching himself.

She quickly finished sorting through the papers as he wrote and held out her hand to take the sheet when Sam finished scrawling on it, then added it to the journal articles she had in her other hand.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. You had a visitor today.”

“I did?” He looked up at her.

“Sarah popped in to return your surfboard.”

Sam’s expression changed from weary to delighted. And damned if his happiness didn’t cut Molly straight through to the bone.

“The board’s in my office. I have a message from her too.”

“Yeah?” He grinned.

Lord, if he didn’t have the best smile in Sydney.

“She says thank you from the bottom of her heart.”

“No worries there. It was my pleasure.”

Oh, Molly bet it was. She frowned and did her best to restrain the jealous monster. “Wait. There’s more.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“I think she wants to marry you.”

Sam snorted out loud. “She does, does she?” Amusement danced in his beautiful hazel eyes.

“She’s looking for a ring, Doc.” Molly wiggled her ring finger at him. “Her exact words were you are indeed the kind of man she could marry, and if circumstances were different she’d march you down the aisle tomorrow.”

This time it was pure pleasure that filled Sam’s face.

Down, jealous monster. Down. Now!

“So, should I be investigating churches and reception halls for the two of you?” She doubted Sam would have the time. Or maybe she hoped he wouldn’t.

Sam grinned. “Not necessary, Miss Molly. I have full faith that when the need arises, Sarah will manage that part fine on her own.”

Her stomach heaved, and suddenly she couldn’t discuss the prospective wedding any longer. Not without throwing herself at Sam’s feet and begging him to lose the surfer woman permanently. “Well, as I said, the board’s in my office.”

“Thanks.” Sam’s gaze was losing focus. His mind was already back on his patients. It was time to get on with work.

“Can I get you a coffee before I make the calls?” she offered.

“I’d kill for one. Thanks.” Sam opened a case file, aaaand…his attention was no longer hers.

Molly dumped the sheets on her desk and headed to the small kitchen to make him his usual choice of coffee: strong cappuccino, very little milk and half a sugar. Since he’d bought the Nespresso, both she and Sam were drinking altogether too much of the stuff. But Molly had almost as big a crush on the machine as she did on the doctor.

What other boss spoiled his receptionist rotten by buying her a coffee machine? Sam had brought it to the office the day after she’d tossed an almost-full cup of seriously bad coffee from the hospital canteen into the sink.

“Can’t have my receptionist moaning about her drink,” he’d said as he plugged it in. “If a good hit of coffee is all it takes to make her smile, a good hit of coffee she will get. As often as she likes.”

Of course Molly had fallen a little bit more in love with Sam for buying the Nespresso. Which did her no good whatsoever now, seeing as he and Sarah were talking about marriage.

She added a white chocolate Tim Tam to the saucer. Sam had a weakness for the biscuits, and Molly made sure to keep ample stock of them in the kitchen at all times. If it were up to her, she’d keep a fresh supply of cupcakes too. They were her weakness. Luckily for her hips, they went stale too quickly to stock.

She took the cappuccino back to his office.

“Beauty, mate. Thanks.” He took a bite of the Tim Tam, closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure.

Silently, Molly sighed right along with him. Sam looked way more delicious than the Tim Tam ever would.

“Can you phone the ward? Get Ella on the line and put her through to me? Also, I’m waiting for results from blood work I sent through, and I need the file for the glioma patient from yesterday. Have to confirm surgery times with Masters.” Masters was the pediatric neurosurgeon Sam preferred to work with.

“No worries. I’ll get on it now.”

“Oh, and I got a call from Lianne Anders. Simone is getting worse. I told her to come in this morning. Can you phone and give her a time?”

“To see you, or to be admitted?”

“To come to the rooms.”

She scowled at him.

“We’re too busy today?” Somehow he managed to look both charming and shamefaced at the same time.