More Than Words

Jess Dee is back with more, more, more! You ready to read More Than Words?!

He’s just seen the one thing that was meant for her eyes only.

More Than, Book 3

Molly Harris never intended to send that letter. It was only meant to be a secret record of her true feelings for her boss, gorgeous pediatrician Sam Shepard. But in the chaos of a crazy day at work, Molly accidentally hits “send” instead of “delete”.

Mortified by her mistake, Molly acts in the only way she can. She submits her notice of resignation. A professional-etiquette line’s been crossed, and there’s no going back.

Sam’s mouth goes dry—then it waters—when he discovers his receptionist has sent him a dirty love letter. Or to be more explicit, a wicked, erotic love letter, neatly outlining her many fantasies involving him.

Now Sam has two choices. Either he can be the ultimate professional and accept Molly’s resignation, or he can acknowledge the depths of his desire and maybe, just maybe, convince her to send him another saucy email…

Product Warnings

Could cause the uncontrollable urge to write—and receive—dirty love letters. But proceed with caution…you’re going to want to act on those letters. Immediately.

Excerpt:

Molly Harris blinked twice, sure her eyes must be deceiving her. But focusing her gaze only confirmed what her brain had told her the first time. The woman in the white coat who’d walked into the reception area of the doctor’s waiting room was indeed holding a surfboard.

After three years of working as a medical receptionist in the private hospital in Sydney, Molly had seen her fair share of unexpected surprises, but the vibrant red, yellow and white surfboard against the backdrop of the bluish-grey walls? That was a first.

The board was much bigger than the pretty redhead holding it.

Molly tried to hide her astonishment. “May I help you?”

“Uh, yeah, please.” The woman smiled as she walked over to the counter. “I’m looking for Sam.”

“These are Dr. Sherman’s rooms,” Molly confirmed, “but I’m afraid he’s not in right now.” It was a little before eight thirty in the morning, which meant Sam was busy with ward rounds.

“Darn. I thought I’d catch him before work.” The woman frowned. “I need to return his surfboard. I’ve already had it a few days, and I’m pretty sure he’s starting to miss it.”

Molly caught her jaw before it dropped. Sam had lent someone his board? His only escape from work? He treasured that thing.

“Would it be okay if I left it here for him?”

“Of course. Why not bring it into my office, and we can lean it against the wall, out of the way?” Her office was separated from the waiting room by the counter, which doubled as her desk. If the surfboard rested against the back wall, no one would see it.

“That would be great.”

Molly beckoned her around the counter and pointed to the appropriate spot, between her office and the kitchen. “Prop it right over there.”

“Would you mind giving Sam a message for me?” the surfer asked as she balanced the board in place. It looked enormous in the smallish space.

“Not at all.” Well, maybe she would mind a bit. It depended on the message. If Sam was lending his surfboard to the woman, it meant he was hanging out with her, and the thought about killed Molly.

Not that it surprised her. A gorgeous man like Sam should hang out with pretty women. He probably had flocks of them flanking his sides whenever he left the hospital. Harems.

She fought off a grimace. Being a member of Sam’s harem held no appeal. Call her selfish…but she wanted him all to herself. Every scrumptious six-plus feet of him.

Of course that wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t happen. First off, Sam saw her as nothing more than his receptionist, and second, she valued and needed her job way too much. The last thing she’d do was put it in jeopardy by throwing herself at him, no matter how appealing the idea—and the man—might be.

“I’m Sarah,” the redhead said. “Would you tell Sam I came round to say thank y— No, wait, to thank him from the very bottom of my heart.” She smiled then, a small, private smile that told Molly the woman was thinking very intimate thoughts.

It made her stomach hurt.

She’d thought intimate thoughts about Sam too. Only that was all they were. Thoughts. They’d never be anything more. They’d never make her smile the way Sarah currently smiled.

“Could you also let him know,” Sarah continued, oblivious to the ache in Molly’s heart, “he is definitely the kind of man I could marry. In a heartbeat. If circumstances were different I’d be tugging on a white dress and marching him down that aisle tomorrow.”

Jealousy ripped through her. For a good few seconds Molly couldn’t respond.

Damn it, she had no right to feel this way. She had no hold over Sam. He deserved to find a beautiful woman who could make him happy, and instinct told her Sarah was that woman. Beautiful, warm and very friendly.

But the woman was talking marriage, for God’s sake—to the man Molly loved. That fact alone made Molly want to claw her eyes out.

And roll up in a little ball and sob.

Molly retracted her imaginary claws. Sarah smiled so sweetly, she was difficult to dislike. “You’d marry him for lending you his surfboard?”

The surfer’s laughter echoed through the rooms. “No, I’d marry him because he’s wonderful, thoughtful, kind, generous and pretty darn gorgeous too. Oh, and he’s a pediatrician. C’mon, you can’t tell me that’s not a perfect package.”

Of course she couldn’t. She didn’t try. Sam was indeed one perfect package. Molly put on her neutral, professional face. “He’s lovely to work for too.”

Sarah nodded. “Oh, I can believe that.” She walked back around to the other side of the counter. “You’re lucky. You get to see Sam every day. I bet you’re the envy of every woman out there.”

Molly’s laugh was genuine. “The only reason the women who come in here envy me is that I don’t have a sick child.” Well, not anymore, anyway. “Otherwise I’m guessing they’re too worried about their kids to even notice me.”

“Ah, good point.” Sarah’s expression became serious. “Well, at least they know they’re in good hands with Sam.”

“The best,” Molly agreed, then clamped her mouth shut. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start singing Sam’s praises, and wouldn’t that expose every one of those feelings she hid so deep inside?

“Okay, I best be getting off to work. Please send Sam my love and give him my messages.”

“No worries,” Molly reassured her, and Sarah walked out of the waiting room with a friendly wave, leaving Molly alone to ponder the surfboard, the pretty redhead and the fact that Sam was now further out of her reach than ever.

She sat back down in her chair and scowled at the board.

Okay, so she was a cow.

Why couldn’t she be happy for Sam? After his last relationship with Dena the devil, or “bitch-face” as Sam’s sister had called her, she should be glad he’d found someone nice. Not just nice. The perfect woman for him. A surfer and—if her white coat was anything to go by—a doctor too.

Molly couldn’t surf to save her life and would never be a doctor.

Not that she wanted to be a doctor. She was perfectly happy working as Sam’s receptionist. The hours suited her—Sam had tailored them to suit her—the work was always stimulating, she was good at her job and she had the best damn boss in Sydney.

The best-looking boss too.

God knew she had endless fantasies about that boss of hers. Erotic fantasies that left her either breathless or panting. Inappropriate fantasies that no receptionist should have about her boss.

The fantasies were almost as hot as the man.

Now Molly faced a problem. How could she fantasize about Sam knowing he was with another woman? She should quit while she was ahead. Not quit the job. No, she loved her job—and needed it if she had any hope of supporting her sister, Mickey. Her only option was to toss her dirty thoughts out the window and never think of him again in that way.

She’d focus on work instead. That was why she was here, wasn’t it?

She turned with determination to her computer, opened her inbox and stared at the email on top. The afterhours lab had sent Sam, a pediatric neurologist, a letter titled For Attention: Dr. Sam Sherman.

Even as she sat there, reading the results, another letter formed in her mind. A letter that had nothing to do with blood results and everything to do with the way Sam got her blood zinging by just looking at her.

Before Molly could remind herself she’d given up on the Sam-and-Molly fantasies, she’d minimized the lab’s email, opened a new message and, for lack of any more creative ideas, given it the same title.

Careful to leave the TO: box blank—because she had no intention of ever sending this particular letter—she got straight to work on the content, knowing it would be deleted as soon as she finished writing it.

Dear Sam,

And just like that, Molly’s fingers were flying over her keyboard, the thoughts coming faster than she could type.

I think it’s time you knew how I really feel. Perhaps once you know, you’ll understand why I’m addressing you as Sam and not Dr. Sherman. Under the circumstances “doctor” sounds a little, well, formal.

Don’t get me wrong. I do think of you as a doctor. The best doctor in Sydney, as your patients and their parents will agree. And after what you did for Mickey, you should be awarded a Nobel Prize. But this letter isn’t about your ability as a medical expert. It’s a little more…intimate than that.

You may want to brace yourself, Sam. I’m about to get very personal.

The truth is, when I think about you, my body forgets you’re a doctor. It forgets I’m your receptionist too. When I think about you, work of any kind ceases to exist. What I imagine is way more personal, way more intimate and way more…erotic…