When Staci Takes Charge (Leave Your Shoes On 2)

Damn it. He was so screwed.

“Dinner it is,” he reluctantly said. Then he added, “Let’s take a look at your ankles, shall we? Make sure you didn’t break or twist anything when you fell.”

She sassily asked, “What about my ass?”

Evan couldn’t fight the grin. “I can have someone X-ray it if you’d like.”

“Nice to see you have a sense of humor, Doc. But I’m not sitting on a copy machine with my pants around my ankles just so you can get back at me for hijacking your evening.”

“Tempting though that notion is, Miss Kay, we’re a bit more high tech here at Mount Sinai. I can upgrade you to the flatbed scanner, and we can instantly email the results to your primary care physician.”

She laughed, full and lush.

Continuing, he said, “I’m sure your backside is fine. Plus…you’re not wearing pants.”

Unfortunately for him. Because now all he saw were the bare, tanned, and toned mile-long legs he’d enjoyed having wrapped around him. That he still craved to have wrapped around him. He couldn’t escape her silky-looking, honey-colored skin, either. For fuck’s sake, even her knees were gorgeous.

Forcing himself to not ogle her—no easy feat because Staci Kay was by far the most stunning woman to ever cross his path, even in a business suit rather than skimpy lingerie—he reached for the small handbag that had slipped from under her arm and handed it over. Then he very carefully removed her heels, which were, alas, sexy as hell.

No, he hadn’t forgotten how sensational she was from the top of her red head to the tips of her crimson-painted toes. A siren in, irony of all ironies, six-inch heels.

He handed them over as well. Then he scooped her up in his arms and stood.

“Whoa!” She gasped. “What the hell?”

“We don’t typically store wheelchairs on the administrative floors, and I need to check you out before you put those shoes back on. Which I strongly advise against. But I have the distinct impression you won’t heed the warning, even after falling flat on your ass.”

“Hey,” she countered as she slipped an arm around his shoulders, “I didn’t fall because of the shoes. I fell because the floor was wet. And that means I am not paying for a trip to the emergency room here at your prestigious Mount Sinai.”

“I’m not taking you to the ER.”

“You’re not?”

“Do you really think I want you making a scene in there?”

“Excellent point. You’re quite clever, Dr. Hart.”

“May as well call me ‘Evan,’” he begrudgingly said.

“Not ‘Ev’?” she teased in her sultry, soul-stirring voice. “I am in your arms, after all.”

He scowled, doing everything in his power to keep his hormones on an even keel and his pulse from shooting off the charts with this woman. Especially with her in his arms.

Still, he said, “You realize you crawl under the skin, don’t you?”

“In a good way, right?” She gazed at him and added, “I mean, you did agree to have dinner with me.”

“You were going to sue the hospital.”

“Oh, you agreed before that. Admit it.”

The woman made his head spin. They reached the glass doors to his office area, and he told her, “Take my badge from my coat pocket and swipe it over the reader. Then push the button to automatically open the doors.”

She did as instructed without argument or a flip comment—a total surprise. They passed through the doors and he carried her toward his office. His assistant jumped up from behind her desk and flashed her own card over the reader outside of Evan’s office, then pushed the door open for them.

“You must be Tanya,” Staci said. “So nice to meet you in person.”

“And you must be Miss Kay.”