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“Damn it!” He reached for the stack of napkins he’d brought from the hospital’s cafeteria and wiped down the monitor. Then glared at it.
Glared at her.
His fantasy. Gazing back at him with the vibrant, pearl-white smile that had set his pulse racing. Instantly.
She looked quite a bit different than when they’d met. This time, her hair was long and sleek, pulled up on the sides to really show off her sculpted face and almond-shaped, tawny eyes. Eyes he’d stared so deep into that he’d actually gotten lost in them.
Here was the woman he’d silently invited into his hotel suite, the woman he’d kissed heatedly, the woman he’d been buried inside of, who had made him come so damn hard that the orgasm had echoed in his body and in his brain long after it’d ebbed.
And she owned a shoe company.
Not just any old shoe company. Not one that manufactured orthopedic shoes. Not one that sold safe, sensible walking shoes or sneakers.
This company was all about high heels. The really tall heels. The ones that, on a daily basis, caused various injuries to women the world over. He knew from personal experience. They were his patients.
“Fuck,” he grumbled. His heart sank. His gut clenched. He’d been suckered. By a woman who’d claimed to be a bit too far out of the game to start playing it now.
My. Ass.
His jaw set in a hard line as he thought of how she’d wanted anonymity. He’d been dying to know why. Now he connected potential dots. She’d ascertained who he was and had staged her shoe show to coincide with the podiatry conference he’d been attending. It seemed to be the most plausible answer. And either by luck of the draw or some serious finagling, she’d ended up with a suite right across from his.
That was his very best guess because it was all too convenient to be coincidental, right?
Worse, Evan knew exactly what she wanted with him. From him. It had nothing to do with sex. That’d just been the primer, to soften him up to her cause. To hook him and reel him in.
Evan put two and two together and deduced that Staci Kay was contacting him because Evan was operating on a supermodel and, just recently, he had become extremely vocal about the ill effects of stilettos.
And Miss Kay wanted him to back off.
That had to be her goal. The reason she’d been “locked out” of the suite across from his.
Evan closed the web browser, deleted the email, and blocked her address. He also tried to delete that erotic night at the Four Seasons from his mind.
Staci Kay wasn’t about to get her wish this time. Hell no. Her reaching out to him now only made Evan more determined to spread the word about sparing one’s feet, instead of suffering for the sake of fashion.
He was also more determined than ever to pretend he couldn’t still feel this woman’s soft, silky body against his. Hear her moans and sobs. Her pleas for more…
Christ. What sort of rabbit hole had he really fallen down?
* * *
Staci’s thoughts were still divided. She was thinking about her shoe designs, but she also continued to ride the fencepost about her Valentine’s plans and needed to make a decision soon. So when she arrived home around nine, she’d called Jen, her younger sister by three years, who lived in Denver. But Jen was busy baking—her therapeutic vice. One she’d instantly adopted following her explosive divorce.
Jen baked everything for everyone. She literally filled baskets full of muffins, cookies, and cupcakes to deliver to neighbors during the week. She single-handedly covered the eight-foot tables set out for bake sales at church and school functions. And took goodies to all the soccer moms and kids out on the field on the weekends.
So she didn’t have time to chat up Staci—or give thought to whether they both ought to join their parents on the cruise.
Jen definitely had the freedom to take an impromptu vacay, since she was currently debating a career path after years as a housewife. She had no kids, and was not the least bit interested in remarrying and starting a family.
She’d been burned that badly.
Staci felt for her. When she joked about her sister being so perfect, it was because Jen really was perfect. So much so that it’d always grated a bit on Staci’s nerves. Everyone adored Jen’s porcelain-doll looks, society manners, and gentle demeanor. Jen never had verbal outbursts when faced with adversity—except for that one time, when Ken had explained he had to follow his heart and leave her for his male lover.
Yes. Jen and Ken. They’d been the perfect couple. With one teeny, tiny fly in the ointment: Ben.
So, yes. Now it was Ken and Ben. No doll company could have come up with a preppier threesome. And speaking of…
Ken had not initially chosen his lover over his wife. When she’d accidentally walked in on them together, Ken had offered a ménage. Not just sexually, but as a live-in arrangement.
