Just Fooling Around(7)

Jenna thought about denying it, but that would involve confessing deeper, darker secrets involving sexual motivations. No, copping to the easier answer seemed best.

“That was my first approach, yes.”

“It won’t work.”

Yes, she was beginning to get that.

Boldly, she gulped down the last of the wine and conquered her nerves. She was thirty-one, not thirteen. He found her attractive—dare she say it, highly attractive. Gathering her courage, she inhaled deeply, breasts rubbing against cool silk and lace. It was erotic. It was liberating. Doctor Sugarpants was in.

“Then I’m on to Plan B,” she said in a silky voice. Emboldened, she pulled the band from her hair, shaking it loose, and she noticed the way his hands bit into his thighs. Hard.

It was about time the patient respected the doc.

“What’s Plan B?” he asked.

She shot him a half smile and coughed discreetly.

“Sex.”





3




TAKING ADVANTAGE OF her momentary adrenaline rush, Jenna stripped her dress over her head and flung it on the other side of the couch. When she was finished, she braced her arm across the back of his couch and gave him a smoldering look, a Penthouse siren in black lace bra, panties and sheer black hose. There was no man alive who could resist her.

Across from her, Cam sat. Frozen. Resisting her.

Keep the adrenaline moving. Flowing. Ignore the icy chill. You’re a siren. Be the siren. You play God on a daily basis. How hard can this be?

Still he sat.

In her highly overworked mind, this whole evening had gone much differently. For instance, in her version of how everything would play out, he would have ripped her clothes off immediately.

Where was the ripping?

“Don’t you have anything to say?” she asked, and yes, there might be been a quiver in her voice.

“I think I swallowed my tongue.”

“Then it’s very convenient that I’m a trained professional,” she answered. Some of her nerves were starting to ease. Now they were talking. Now he was falling into line.

“Dr. Ferrar…” he started, and she held up a hand.

“Excuse me, but when a woman is in your living room in her underwear, it’s best to drop the formalities.”

“Jenna.”

It pleased her to hear him say it. The way his voice got deep and rumbled in his throat.

“Yes?”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I know it’s not a good idea, but it’s the best one I have.”

There was an odd look on his face, uncomfortable and annoyed. Finally, he spit it out. “I don’t like being a mercy fuck.”

Mercy fuck? Jenna could only stare. He had no idea how long she had worked with a personal trainer. The lengths she had gone to to find the exact perfect lingerie. Yes, she might be a doctor, committed to the caring and compassion, but compassion only went so far. As far as Jenna was concerned, there was compassion and then there was sex, and never the twain shall meet.

“There is no mercy involved.” Except perhaps for that moment when he was pounding inside of her, and she was begging and pleading for mercy….

“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to keep me here. It’s flattering and really bighearted, but seriously, I’m not your personal mission.”

Did he truly believe that, or was this some devious, underhanded way of subverting her authority and going about his own merry way, terrorizing emergency rooms everywhere?

Jenna studied the innocent gleam in his eye, and decided that yes, this man was devious, underhanded and stubborn.

She chose her words carefully.

“Don’t be so stupid. You are a man. A sexual being. If you sit there rejecting my advances, then I’ll have no choice but to assume that either I’m repulsive or you’re gay.”

The innocent little twinkle faded, and he cupped his burgeoning crotch. “Not gay.” She glared and he backtracked even further. “And you’re not repulsive. Not even close.”

“Glad to get that out of the way, but I’m a little out of my depth here. Yes, I’m willing to strip and portray myself as a woman of loose morals and yogalike flexibility. But for the record, it won’t be pretty. It won’t be graceful, but it would be heartfelt.”

“I think it’d be real pretty,” he murmured, a flattering bit of awe in his voice. It was about time he showed some appreciation for a naked, not repulsive woman in his living room.

“Cam…” she said, leaning forward with earnest sincerity and not in some slutty move to flash him her breasts.

The breast move worked. She could see that some of the determination faded, and when he spoke, he spoke to her cleavage. “Jenna, this is not smart.”