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took pity on her muffled cries, moving to kneel between her legs. His
mouth explored her more fully now, slipping like water across the beaded nub of
her flesh before tunneling inside her body, only to withdraw and repeat the
thrilling process.
    He held her down as her body began to shake, his arms
anchoring her legs into place as she thrashed upon the bed. His tongue never
once wavered from its mission as it swirled round the knotted bundle of tissue.
Then he took the clamp between his teeth and tugged, the shock of sensation
sending her soaring as the second orgasm ripped up her stomach. Just when she
thought she couldn’t fly any higher he pushed his fingers inside her again,
spearing her with a single thrust as the wave of climax pulled her under.
    All too soon he pushed away, running his fingers across her
mouth as he went to the bathroom. Isabella nearly jumped out of her skin when
someone knocked on the door. Scrambling to put on her discarded clothing, she
wondered what time it was and when Zayne had eaten last. To her relief a tray
of food had been left outside his room, which she brought in and sat on a
table.
    He would be checking his blood sugar and administering his
insulin, she realized when he continued to remain in the bathroom.
    Then she thought he might be waiting for her to take the
hint and leave—that he didn’t want her hanging around after they were finished
for the night. In a haze of indecision she paced across the floor, making
certain she left nothing of her personal belongings behind before she longingly
glanced once more at the bathroom door, willing him to return and ask her to
stay.
    He didn’t. That was all she needed to know as she stepped
out of the realm of fantasy and back into her normal life.
    But the scent of him lingered on her skin, and her body
still tingled with the power of his touch. It was all she had left of their
night together. It would have to be enough.

Chapter Three
     
    Zayne arrived at her office precisely on the hour first
thing Monday morning, but Isabella, in an irrational streak of
self-consciousness, took an extra fifteen minutes to gather her courage enough
to step into the examination room.
    She’d toyed with the idea of changing her hairstyle—leaving
it out of its usual bun so it would partially cover her cheek—then cursed
herself to seven different hells for acting like an adolescent.
    When she’d first agreed to meet him at the club she knew
this day would come and she owed it to him as a professional—and as a woman who
had been satisfied in every way possible—to take his appointment seriously and
give him the best in health care.
    But the sight of him sitting on the edge of the table—shirt
off, his skin glowing bronze and sleek in the stark white of the office—was
enough to make her second-guess her decision.
    She should never have met him at the club.
    She should have referred him to another doctor.
    She should not imagine him naked and erect, ready to take
her should she give the sign.
    “Good morning, Mr. Saladar,” she said in her best office
demeanor. “I am very glad to meet you.”
    “And you as well, Dr. Seda.” If he was taken aback by her
appearance he didn’t show it as she took the stethoscope from around her neck,
put in the earpieces and placed the chest piece against his skin, listening to
the steady beat of his heart.
    Then she moved to listen at his back, noting the jagged scar
across one side. Her fingers traced the puckered line of tissue but she pulled
her hand away when she realized her touch was verging on a caress. “Does it
still give you any pain?”
    He shrugged, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “Not
physically,” he answered enigmatically.
    “Good.” Isabella nodded. She refused to ask him to tell her
exactly how it had happened, how he and his wife had ended up in such a deadly
situation and did he still long to have her back by his side. Such thoughts would
only make her crazy, jealousy and