More Than Words: More Than, Book 3 (4 page)

Dear Molly,

For the second time, Sam was typing a reply before he’d thought twice.

As a pediatric specialist, I find the adult nature of your condition intriguing. Further investigation is advised, as it appears your symptoms may be contagious.

Since reading your letter I have experienced aches and shivers similar to the ones you described. My body has forgotten you are my receptionist, and I am inundated by a sudden abundance of dirty thoughts.

Perhaps you could send through a more detailed description of your physical state so I can effectively analyze the situation and formulate an adequate course of treatment—for both of us.

Warm Regards,

Dr. Sam Sherman

MBBS, MSc(Med), FRACP

Before hitting send, Sam read over the email once, then deleted his formal signature at the bottom, instead signing the letter with a simple
Sam
. Now that he understood why Molly had addressed him as such, he was loath for her to ever go back to calling him Dr. Sherman.

In fact, now that he knew why she thought of him as Sam, he wanted to hear her say his name out loud. And whisper it in his ear in an intimate moment, and moan it on a breathless hiss of air—as he licked her pussy.

Sam was suddenly hungry—no, starving—for a taste of his receptionist’s pussy.

More than that, he wanted her to look him in the eye while they spoke casually—about anything—and call him by his name. He wanted the emotional connection with her as much as he wanted the physical one.

Shit, he’d been working way too hard these last few months, with no break to focus on his social life. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he had a woman in his bed. Which might explain why Molly’s letter had him wound up beyond decency.

With a shake of his head, he grabbed his briefcase, stood and walked out of his office. He took a detour into Molly’s office to grab his surfboard, glad to have it back. If he got enough sleep tonight, he’d put the board to good use in the morning and hit the beach at dawn. After the two days he’d had, he could use the exercise and the opportunity to de-stress.

Working off a little of the physical and emotional reaction Molly’s words had wrought would be a good thing too. Although Sam knew he’d soon be working that reaction off in the shower at home—with the help of his hand and his friend, Mr. Soap.

His mind was already anticipating the next personal email he’d receive from Molly. So long as it had nothing to do with resigning, he couldn’t wait to read it.

Hours after tucking Mickey in bed and giving her a final kiss goodnight, Molly sat on her bed with the laptop and checked her inbox for the one hundred and seventy-third time since getting home.

Her hands shook and her belly lurched.

Her mistake today had officially landed her on the front page of the Annals of the World’s Dumbest People. It had also landed her in the pits of hell. Sam now knew how she felt about him. In one fell swoop, she’d humiliated herself and ruined the best job she’d ever had.

Even Mickey had picked up on her anxiety and mortification, asking if she was okay countless times. She’d done her best to reassure her sister but hadn’t exactly succeeded. There was no way she could promise Mickey everything would be fine if she didn’t believe it herself.

Now how would she support them? How would she pay off the massive loans the bank had been reluctant to give her in the first place? She’d lose her car and her credit rating, and she and Mickey would have to move somewhere more affordable than the matchbox-sized two-bedroom unit they currently lived in.

What a huge, horrible mess.

The previous one hundred and seventy-two times Molly’d checked her emails had been fruitless, so she’d forced herself to wait at least an hour before checking again. It was the longest hour of her life.

This time when she looked, there was not one email from Sam, but two.

Both desperate to see his response and terrified to read what he’d written, she opened the letter of resignation first—with a billion butterflies in her belly.

Then promptly burst into tears.

Sam had refused her resignation. She didn’t have to leave. Didn’t have to panic about where her next paycheck would come from or how she’d afford to put food on the table or clothes on Mickey’s back.

The relief was so overwhelming, Molly began to hyperventilate. The room spun, forcing her to place her head on her knees and focus on the almost impossible task of inhaling and exhaling evenly.

She’d no sooner established a reliable rhythm of breathing when the mortification hit her all over again. Sam may have rejected her resignation, but how on earth could she ever face him? Ever look him in the eye knowing he’d read
that
letter?

With hands shaking even harder than before, she clicked on the second email. It took a good few seconds before she could pry her eyes open and read the damn thing. And when she did, when she’d reread every word at least twice, the tears had ceased and her jaw hung open in disbelief.

Holy shit.

Sam had liked the letter. More than liked. He’d been aroused by it. Aaaand…he wanted her to write him another one.

Molly started to smile. And laugh. And then hiccup as her breath lost its rhythm again.

Sam was aroused—by her.
She’d
turned him on.

She threw herself back on her bed and lay there grinning stupidly at the ceiling. Of all the scenarios she’d pictured after sending through the wrong email, this one had never occurred to her. Dr Sherman wanted her. His receptionist. He also wanted another letter from—

Hang on!

Yeah, Molly might be grateful, happy and dumbstruck, but she wasn’t a complete moron. She may have overstepped the boundaries of the doctor/receptionist relationship, but Sam was overstepping other relationship boundaries. Boundaries that didn’t sit at all comfortably with her.

She hopped onto her knees and hit reply. This time she didn’t bother with pleasantries or formalities.

Sam—aren’t you forgetting something?

The letter was sent before she had time to second-guess herself.

Then the waiting began. It had taken over six hours for him to respond the first time. How long would it take—?

Her computer dinged.

Not too long apparently.

Forgetting what?

Sam

Molly rolled her eyes. Men!

Sarah.

His response wasn’t much longer.

What about Sarah?

Duh. What did he think?

She wants to marry you. Remember?

It’s hardly appropriate for me to send another email, don’t you think?

Even as she hit send, she blushed. Lord, was she really emailing the boss about her dirty letters and his almost-fiancée?

The next email took a couple of minutes longer to arrive.

Miss Molly, trust me. Sarah has absolutely no bearing on anything that happens between us. And I hope your mistakenly thinking she’s interested in marrying me doesn’t stop you from writing to me again.

After all, we have to identify these symptoms we’re both suffering from. Even more importantly, we need to find an effective treatment…

Sam

Molly almost passed out from relief.

So you’re not marrying Sarah?

I’m not marrying Sarah.

That was all it took for Molly to once again fling herself back on the bed and grin stupidly at the ceiling. This time, the light-headedness had nothing to do with relief or fear of being fired. It had to do with the world of incredible possibilities that had opened up. Possibilities Molly had never dared consider before.

Sam wasn’t getting married, and he wanted to explore the so-called symptoms both he and Molly were experiencing. Her boss wanted more emails!

Could she do it? Could she send him another explicit letter? And if she could, how did she then keep their private interaction separate from their professional dealings? Because no matter what might change between them personally, Molly was still his receptionist, and she needed to act as one.

Chapter Three

Molly willed herself not to blush as Sam stepped into his rooms. She willed her body temperature down to a gentle simmer and prayed to God she didn’t do something really stupid, like grab the good doctor as soon as he said hello and kiss him all over.

“Dr. Sherman,” she said in greeting, delighted, terrified and surprised to see him. He was earlier than usual by a good half hour.

Okay, so her voice wobbled a little as she spoke, but seriously, what had she expected? She was one huge jumble of overactive hormones, erratic excitement and ridiculous relief.

“Molly.” Sam closed the door to the waiting area and smiled that best darn smile in Sydney. There were no signs of the exhaustion and weariness that had dogged him yesterday. He just looked gorgeous.

And was it her imagination, or was his smile a little broader than usual?

“Don’t you think it’s time you called me Sam?” he asked. “After that email yesterday—”

“Whoa.” Molly stood and threw her hand up, palm facing Sam, cutting him short. She’d known she’d have to deal with Sam and the emails face-to-face, but she hadn’t expected to tackle them first thing in the morning. “Now you stop right there, mister. Er, Doctor. Not another word.”

Sam froze dramatically, stopping midstep, as she’d demanded. His eyes glinted with amusement.

Smartass.

God, she loved him.

“You have to stand there and promise me….” Molly shook her head. “No, swear to me, that you are not going to speak out loud about those emails. Not one word about them, at all, ever.” After long hours of thought—the entire night, spent tossing in bed—Molly had come to this conclusion. So long as Sam didn’t make any reference to their emails during office hours, she could maintain her professionalism around his patients and colleagues. She could be “just the receptionist”. But if he insisted on talking about them, if he crossed that line and made their work interaction personal, she simply would not be able to control her actions or her need for him.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss Molly.”

Oh, shit
. Her heart dropped, as did her hand. A bad feeling bounced around in her stomach.

He’d changed his mind. Sam must have decided to accept her resignation after all. He’d had a chance to sleep on it and must have realized she was right. She had to go.

Well, of course he had. What had she expected? Regardless of what he thought about the contents of the email, he knew that if she’d mistakenly sent the letter to him, she could have sent it to anyone.

Her shoulders drooped. “You want me to leave.”

“Huh?” He stared at her. “What?”

“You’re accepting my letter of resignation after all, aren’t you?”

“Christ, no.” Sam unfroze. He took the final step to her counter. “How’d you jump to that conclusion anyway?”

“You want to discuss the emails. What else could I think?” Sheesh, her heart pounded loud enough to deafen her. And so much for not blushing. The closer Sam got, the more her cheeks burned. She probably looked like a lava lamp.

“You could think that there is no question about your leaving. As I said in my first email, you
are
still working here, and the issue is not open to negotiation.”

“Doc, I accidentally sent you a dirty letter. I said things in there I should never have said.”
Well, typed.
“You should never have seen those things.” She peered up at his face, sure she’d see censure in it, but there was none. “I could have easily sent the letter to someone else, which would have been embarrassing for everyone. You have to want me to leave.”

Okay, really, Mol? You’re arguing against yourself now? Convincing Sam to fire you?

“Molly, relax.” Sam held out two hands as if to pacify her. “You’re not going anywhere. Hell, if you ever left, the practice would be a shambles by day two. I need you. End of story.”

She stared at him dubiously but couldn’t stop the relief that rushed through her. Or the little quiver of excitement at the idea of him needing her.

“Okay, let’s clear the air. Let’s get this out there so we can get on with the day.” Sam paused as though expecting her to object.

She didn’t. Why would she? She wanted to remain in her job more than she’d ever wanted anything. Except maybe for Sam.

“You made a mistake, that’s all. One mistake, which you tried to correct immediately. You can’t possibly believe I’d want you to leave because you sent me the wrong email.”