The Sweetheart Secret Read Free

life turned upside down, the chart in his hands fluttered to the floor, the pile of multicolored papers scattering like leaves in the wind, scuttling beneath the swivel chair, the exam table.
    In the doorway stood the last woman in the world he expected to see, the one woman he’d vowed never to see again after that night in New Orleans. Judging by the fury on her face, he wasn’t high on her friends and family list, either.
    â€œWhat the hell is this?” She waved a manila envelope in his face.
    â€œDaisy? How did you . . . where did you . . . what are you . . . ?” His brain misfired and the words got lost in his throat.
    Frannie, Colt’s receptionist/assistant/right-hand woman, squeezed past Daisy and into the room. Her florid face was blotched with red and her normally neat auburn chignon had come undone. “Doc, I’m sorry. I tried to stop her, but she was like a wildcat—”
    Wildcat.
That was the perfect word for Daisy Barton. She stood there, brunette hair cascading down her shoulders, a figure-hugging red dress that made the word
hourglass
seem like a sin, and full crimson lips that could tempt a man into doing things he knew he shouldn’t.
    Colt knew that firsthand. He’d tangled with Daisy—
willingly
—twice. Even though he knew any encounter with her was bound to end with a fight and regrets, seeing her again made his chest tighten and those straight lines begin to curve. Damn.
    He cleared his throat. “It’s okay, Frannie. I’ll handle this.” He returned his attention to Daisy. “Please wait outside. We can talk about this later.”
    Daisy put her hands on his hips. “Talk? Honey, you were never interested in
talking
with me.”
    Across from him, Greta’s mouth formed a surprised O. She glanced at Daisy, then at Colt. “Why, Doc Harper, it seems I have misjudged you. You have surprised me, and so few people do that at my age. No wonder you’ve been so distracted lately.”
    Damn. If he knew Greta, this little encounter with Daisy was going to be all over the Rescue Bay gossip channel before the end of the day. That was the last thing he needed.
    â€œI’m with a patient right now, Daisy,” he said, forcing a cool, detached, professional tone to his voice, when all his brain could do was picture her naked and on top of him, that wild tangle of hair kissing the tops of her breasts, and tickling against his hands. “Please wait for me in the lobby.”
    She eyed him, her big brown eyes like pools of molten chocolate. “You’re going to make your
wife
wait?”
    Oh, shit. Now he knew why Daisy had come in like a tornado.
    â€œHold the phone. Did you say . . .
wife
?” Greta kept glancing between Daisy and Colt, as if she’d just realized Big Foot and the Abominable Snowman were involved in a clandestine affair.
    Colt could feel those straight lines dissolving into a tangled, messy web. He glared at Daisy. “Please. Wait. In. The. Lobby.”
    Daisy took a step forward, placed the envelope in his hand, then pressed a hard, short, ice-cold kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be outside, dear,” she said, with a slash of sarcasm on the
dear
. “But I won’t wait long.”
    Then she was gone. The door shut, leaving behind the faintest trace of her dark, smoldering perfume. Colt jerked into action. He bent down, gathering the papers he’d dropped earlier, stuffing the envelope Daisy had given him to the back of the pile. He straightened, then let out an
oomph
when something—or someone—slapped him on the back. “What the—”
    â€œHow could you not tell me you’re married?” Greta asked. “And to a beautiful girl like that, too.”
    â€œI’m
not
married. Well, technically, maybe I still am, but . . .” He pushed his glasses up his nose. What was he doing? Confiding in Greta