Love on Call Read Free Page A

until her eyes met his. They were a deep brown, narrow and piercing. She held his gaze but felt as if he were looking into her mind. “Dr. Clayton, I’m not ill. I can drive myself home.”
    Brad stared at her for a long time. Mallory wanted to look away, remove herself from those piercing eyes, but she resisted the urge. Finally he hunched a shoulder and took a step back.
    â€œI don’t want to see you here for at least twelve hours.” His voice was level, yet the command in it was unmistakable.
    â€œIf it’s any of your business,” she said, slipping off the gurney, “I’m off tomorrow. But it’s not your call when or how often I work.”
    Mallory couldn’t believe she was saying these things. For a year she’d thought about having a conversation with him, and now she was arguing. It was as if he pushed some long-dormant buttons she hadn’t realized she had.
    As she headed for the opening in the curtain, Brad Clayton stepped aside. She stopped. “Dr. Clayton.” Her throat went dry when she raised her eyes to look at him. He was taller than she was by a head. Andhe had a powerful presence—the kind of thing they said about people who go on the stage or work as models. There was something about them that caused everyone else to pause and take notice. And he had it. “I apologize,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I will go home and do as you say.”
    He smiled. She knew that was rare. She’d stared at him from across the E.R., across treatment rooms, in the operating room and from the back of a crowd of interns on rounds during the last year. He rarely smiled except at his patients. Mallory would have sworn he didn’t even know she existed, but she was technically his patient. That could be the reason for his smile, but what it did to her insides had nothing to do with a doctor-patient relationship. The man was sexy as hell, and she wasn’t feeling like a doctor.
    She was feeling like a woman.
    As promised, Mallory drove straight home. She didn’t call her sister, but instead ran a hot bath, eased into the silky, scented water and promptly fell asleep. She woke up when the water cooled, got out of the tub and dried herself, but had no energy to find a nightgown. She crawled naked into bed.
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    Brad’s keys clinked in the glass bowl where he always dropped them upon entering his house. It was two o’clock in the morning, and he couldn’t remember ever being this tired. Still wearing his bomber jacket, he went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The light made his eyes smart. He really needed to sleep.
    Grabbing a bottle of water, he twisted the cap off and drank it in one long gulp. Throwing the plastic container in the recycling bin, he closed the fridge, plunging the room into darkness. Mallory Russell’s face suddenly entered his mind. He had barely noticed her before but her actions tonight meant everyone would remember her.
    She was no beauty queen. On days he did notice her, her hair was often unkempt, knotted on top of her head, with tendrils falling down her neck and ears. She often pushed them back, only to have them work free again. She wore little if any makeup, except some lip color. Her best feature was her eyes. They were large, as deep as an ocean, a dark brown-sugar color and fringed with lashes that were standard issue on girls under ten. By the time they started to curve upward puberty set in and the lashes were left behind in childhood. Mallory Russell had kept hers. Or maybe she just hadn’t reached puberty yet.
    The phone rang, jarring Brad out of his musings. He realized he was still standing in the dark. Bypassing the phone in the kitchen, he went into the family room and switched on a lamp. The caller ID showed him it was Rosa, his sister, who lived in New York City.
    â€œRosa, what are you doing up at this hour?” he said without the traditional hello.