Page 11 of My Reluctant Valentine

“That’s... that sounds perfectly acceptable.”

He smiled then, stepped back, a professional mask sliding back into place. “Let’s go.”

All I could think about on the way to the office was that he’d agreed to deflower me. I tried to distract myself by reciting the bones of the foot, but then I made the mistake of looking at his hands on the steering wheel and my mind went straight to what those hands were going to do to me.

“You’re thinking medical terms again,” he said without looking at me.

“How can you tell?”

“You get this little wrinkle between your eyes. It’s adorable.” His voice roughened. “Makes me want to kiss you until you can’t remember any of them.”

I huffed. “I do not get wrinkles. Though the corrugator supercilii muscle can cause temporary—”

“Tonight,” he cut me off. “I’ve arranged something special.”

The promise in his voice made me squirm. “Special?”

“You’ll see.” His smile was half indulgent, half satisfied male. “Try not to think about it too much during work.”

Of course, that was all I could think about. That and the goodbye kiss he’d given me. For the first time, I truly understood the meaning of the word French kiss.

“Earth to Dr. Hawkins.” Sally’s voice snapped me back to reality. “You just wrote ‘sexual intercourse’ instead of ‘strep throat’ on the chart.”

“What? No, I didn’t.” But there it was in my handwriting.

She snatched the chart away and quickly corrected my error. “Okay, spill. What happened?”

“Cole agreed to my proposal,” I whispered. “About the... extra lessons.”

“The sex lessons?” Sally practically squealed. “Emergency shopping trip at lunch. No arguments.”

“Shopping?” I blinked. “For what?”

She gave a dramatic eye roll. “What do you think. I know the odds are against you owning anything sexier than those practical cotton panties you’re wearing right now.”

I neither denied nor confirmed her observation. “What’s wrong with cotton? It’s breathable and hygienic.”

“Everything,” she declared. “Everything is wrong with cotton panties for a night like tonight. This is a lace and silk situation.”

And that was how I found myself in an upscale lingerie shop on my lunch break, surrounded by scraps of lace that probably cost more than the textbooks from my last semester in med school.

“But the elasticity coefficient of this material can’t possibly provide adequate support,” I protested as Sally held up something that was more string than fabric. Honestly, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it, much less wear it on my curvy frame.

“Stop.” She held up a very lacy, practically see through bra. “No more medical analysis of lingerie. This isn’t about support or breathe ability. This is about making that man’s brain short-circuit.”

“But—”

“No buts. Well, actually, yes butts. This will look amazing on yours.”

I eyed the garment skeptically. “With my curves? I don’t think so.” I reached for a pair of boy briefs that I normally favored.

“Oh, honey. Let me tell you something about curves.” She gestured to her own voluptuous figure. “You see this? I’ve been married five years, and my James still looks at me like I’m dessert. Men like Cole? They want a woman, not a hanger.”

“But in medical school, this one guy said—”

“If you quote one more med school boy who couldn’t handle a real woman, I’m going to prescribe you a reality check.” She sorted through the racks with determination. “Trust me on this. I saw the way Cole looked at you when he picked you up. Like he wanted to take a bite out of that ass you’re trying to hide.”

I felt my face flame. “Sally.”

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