“Can you picture me lying next to you?” she asked

Could he? “Uh-huh.” This woman was killing him. If only he knew who she was.

“Touch me,” she murmured. “Yes, there.”

The woman was practically panting. Ken imagined himself covering her waiting body. Their moans would mingle at the union. “When you’re ready,” he whispered, “take me with you.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Together…now.”

Ken’s eyes closed as he joined her in a powerful release. After a few moments he managed to say, “That was…great.” He felt utterly, wonderfully drained.

“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed with a silky laugh, then cleared her throat. “I…guess I’d better let you get back to sleep.” She’d retreated into shyness. “Good night, Rob.”

Ken heard the faint click, then the dial tone. He floundered to sit up and managed to knock the phone off the nightstand.

He’d seen, done and heard a lot of things during his years as a cop.

But this was the first time he’d stolen physical pleasure meant for another man.

Dear Reader,

We all dream of having more romance and excitement in our lives, and good girl Georgia Adams is no different. Under the pressure of a Birmingham heat wave, she becomes so frustrated with her lackluster love life—and her uninspired boyfriend—that she takes a gamble. She decides to call him for a little phone flirtation…and more. Her bold experiment is wildly successful—only Georgia doesn’t realize she dialed the wrong number!

Meet the wrong number, Officer Ken Medlock. When this rugged cop is accidentally introduced to Georgia in person, he falls hard for her. But how long can he keep the secret that he’s the one with whom she’s been sharing her phone fantasies?

I hope you enjoy this scorching-hot romp! Please watch for my next Temptation novel, available in November 2000, followed by a sizzling BLAZE anthology I’ll share with two of your favorite Harlequin authors. Search for my name at the Harlequin Web site (www.eHarlequin.com) for a complete list of my back titles.

And don’t forget to share the wonderful world of romance with a friend—you’ll change her life!

Much love and laughter,

Stephanie Bond

Too Hot to Sleep
Stephanie Bond

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Chris,

my telecommunications story consultant

and permanent love-scene research partner.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

1

GEORGIA ADAMS GNAWED on her thumbnail as she read aloud the instructions for her new deluxe telephone answering system in hopes the words would make more sense the third time through. “When you select the dial pad mode, you are toggling the live dial pad option. When live dial pad is on, the hands-free option is activated if the auto answer feature was previously selected. See page 38-B, diagram H.” Georgia pursed her mouth, then mumbled a curse word that was not in the manual, although she planned to call the company and suggest they include a handy reference page for expletives as soon as she got the bleeping phone working.

After hitting the “clear programming” button, she unplugged all three cords and started over at the beginning of the dog-eared book. Ninety minutes and six fingernails later, she achieved a dial tone and shrieked with success. Doing a victory dance on her sisal area rug, she spiked the instruction manual and gloated when it landed near her VCR that, after three years, still flashed “12:00.” Thank goodness her VCR and television had been spared during the electrical storm that had zapped her phone. Positive that any minute she’d mysteriously lose the ability to dial out, she dropped onto her hard couch and dialed her friend Toni’s number.

“House of bondage,” Toni answered.

“You are terrible,” Georgia said, laughing. “What if this had been Dr. Halbert calling you in to work?”

“I’m not going even if he does call. I wouldn’t miss this bachelorette party for anything.”

Georgia cleared her throat. “About the party—”

“Oh, no you don’t, Georgia Arletta Adams! You’re not backing out on me.”

“How did you find out my middle name?”

“The question is, how many people in the hospital ER will I tell if you don’t go with me tonight to Bad Boys? Besides, Stacey will be crushed if you don’t show.”

“Stacey will be smashed and won’t care.”

“Oh, come on, Georgia, have some fun. Afraid Rob the Blob won’t want you ogling naked, sweaty, muscle-bound men?”

Georgia shifted on the firm cushion in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position, then reached to straighten a picture on her side table, one of her photographic creations. “No. Rob’s working late and said he didn’t mind if I went.”

“Good grief, woman, you mean you really asked him?”

Actually, she’d secretly hoped he’d be the slightest bit jealous, especially since she’d yet to see him naked after ten months of dating. Instead, he’d sounded surprised, but added that he wasn’t the jealous type. He trusted her, for heaven’s sake—how patronizing. “Asking him was the considerate thing to do.”

“It was the pathetic thing to do. The man doesn’t own your orgasms.”

You’re telling me.

“Besides, what the heck else are you going to do tonight?”

Sleep sounded good, but Georgia recognized the early signs of insomnia by now and knew she’d be wide-eyed most of the night. She floundered for a chore that sounded remotely engrossing. “Program numbers into my new phone.”

Toni scoffed. “Which will take all of ten minutes.”

“Not for the gadgetronically challenged like myself.”

“Pshaw. I’ll expect you at my place in one hour. Show some skin and bring plenty of one-dollar bills.”

Georgia mumbled goodbye, then frowned at the handset, searching for a disconnect button. These newfangled portable models would make slamming down the phone obsolete. Not that she was the slamming sort, but at thirty, she expected many character-building experiences ahead of her and it seemed prudent to keep relevant props nearby. Fumbling for a button would not have the same impact.

At last she hit the Talk button, surprised when she heard the resulting dial tone. Her confidence bolstered, she pushed the programming button and after a few minutes of jockeying with arrow keys, managed to enter the numbers of the people or places she dialed most often: Rob, Toni, her mother, her sister, the personnel office at the hospital, various friends, the pizza delivery place, the Thai delivery place, the Chinese delivery place and the Mexican delivery place. Then she jotted down the names and corresponding two-digit numbers on the little pullout tablet on the base station, the most impressive doohickey on the entire gizmo, in her opinion.

Georgia wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the hem of her T-shirt. Was it her imagination, or was her apartment the hottest spot north of the Equator? From her vantage point, she could see the blasted programmable thermostat in the hall. The building manager had reset it for her three times and the place still felt like a sauna. Oh, well, she’d look for that instruction manual tomorrow—she might be on a technological roll, but she didn’t want to push her luck tonight. Besides, sweating was good for the pores.

She leaned her head back on a stiff cushion, thinking how much she’d grown to loathe the beige sectional sofa. Two years ago she accepted her registered nurse’s position in emergency medicine. When she had first moved to Birmingham, Alabama, leaving behind her mother and sister, she’d bought ultramodern living room furniture for her apartment as a symbol of her newfound independence. Soon, however, she’d come to realize that the harsh lines and drab colors were less than friendly when settling in to watch a classic romantic movie. On the other hand, Rob said he found her furniture a welcome change from the flowery styles preferred by most women.

Georgia smirked, thinking that Rob’s preference for furniture could also describe his preference for sex—the man was a minimalist. A heartbeat later, she regretted the thought because Rob Trainer was a hardworking, ambitious accounting consultant and a consummate Southern gentleman. Well, maybe consummate was an unfortunate word choice.

An overhead stretch to pull her tired shoulders turned into a full-body yawn. Her insomnia, combined with Rob’s gentlemanly ways, was testing her physical endurance, which was precisely why she’d prefer to skip the party at the male strip club. She pulled a hand down over her face, trying to squash the provocative images swirling in her mind, and the quickening in her thighs. She’d never been to a strip club, but she had a bad, bad feeling that such a place would only fuel the flame in her belly she was trying desperately to smother.

She pushed herself to her feet and strolled the perimeter of her living room, opening windows to let in air an nth degree less stagnant than the air inside her tiny third-floor apartment. Thick and pungent, the evening wafted indoors. Street noises rose up to lure her outside—revving engines and bright lights and blaring horns and booming stereos, scantily dressed women laughing and calling to men driving convertibles and straddling motorcycles. Everyone was in search of sex on this hot, southern night.

Including Georgia Arletta Adams.

She sighed and pressed her nose against the window screen. Even people close to her would be shocked if they knew that she, Nurse Goody-Two-Shoes and everybody’s little sister, suffered from her own private affliction: a breathing, burning, pulsing, vigorous, distracting, overblown sex drive.

She stopped short of calling herself a nymphomaniac because she wasn’t promiscuous. In fact, she had a reputation for being a bit of a prude, which, she’d discovered years ago, was an effective safeguard against a dangerous tendency. She had simply refused to bend to the will of her restless body.

Oh, there’d been a couple of unremarkable encounters with other grad students in college, and one or two brief relationships since. But the men hadn’t excited her, hadn’t tapped into her secret garden.

Georgia walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, sighing with relief when the cool air hit her skin. She lifted the tail of her T-shirt to cool her stomach, then removed a banana from the crisper to munch while her refrigerator worked overtime.

She eyed the banana and sighed—everything looked phallic these days. She bit off the end and fanned her shirt. By immersing herself in work, she’d managed for the most part to keep a lid on her powerful urges…until a year ago. Then, triggered by either the surge of hormones most women experience in their early thirties, or years of repression, or this damnable relentless southern heat, her body had launched a quiet rebellion.

Georgia had always assumed she would marry one day, but she’d stepped up her efforts to find Mr. Right, thinking that exploring her fermenting sexuality would at least be safer within the confines of a monogamous relationship. Rob Trainer had seemed like the perfect candidate: handsome and successful, well-mannered and reflective, intelligent and friendly. She liked him immensely. But after investing the past several months in their relationship, she had come to one conclusion: the man had no interest in sleeping with her.

She was ripe for the picking, and he seemed content to walk around the tree.

And, if truth be known, it was more than the sex she craved—it was the closeness, the intimacy generated when two loving people shared sex. The tingly “you complete me” stuff she saw in movies but observed between too few couples these days. If the specter of true love still existed, she wanted it. Matchless love, not the desolate, co-dependent relationship her parents had passed off as a marriage. She wanted a man who would lower his guard, a man who would make a fool out of himself for her, a man who would cherish her.

Georgia sighed and fanned herself. Meanwhile, that inner rebellion was now reaching cataclysmic proportions. During her nursing studies, she’d read documented cases of spontaneous combustion. At the rate her internal furnace was stoking, and with no end in sight to the scorching summer heat wave, she feared she might be approaching flashpoint.

She finished the banana, and reluctantly closed the refrigerator door, then studied the deep crimson pedicure on which she’d splurged in the feeble hope that Rob nursed a foot fetish. But last night he hadn’t even blinked when she’d worn her new strappy high heels. Instead he’d warned her about falling and breaking her neck, then suggested that she double-check her disability insurance coverage and kissed her on the cheek. She’d never thought of herself as the kind of woman who would end a relationship because the guy wouldn’t take advantage of her, but she had needs that were clamoring to be met. Somehow she had to find a way to let Rob know she was ready to take the next step, and soon.

She made a face at her sofa as she passed through the living room on her way to the bedroom. Soon, too, she’d buy a comfortable couch, but for now, school loans and tips for nude dancing men took precedence. Georgia idly lifted her long hair from her moist neck, winding it into a loose knot. She dreaded the evening, and fervently hoped she wasn’t about to ignite a blaze Rob might not be able to put out.

2

“COME ON, GEORGIA, stop gawking and start squawking!” Toni laughed and dragged Georgia to her feet, then cupped her hands over her mouth and hooted at the gyrating man on stage. The naked bodybuilder wore a headdress and twirled a short stick with fire at both ends, seemingly oblivious of the danger to his lineage. He moved across the stage in little hops to the beat of the calypso music blaring from speakers at deafening decibels. His body was remarkably muscled and proportioned to the point of deformity. Georgia could only stare, and Toni cheered like a woman who’d never before seen a baton.

In fact, the entire room undulated with hundreds of standing women, their hands raised to offer tips, their voices lifted to offer encouragement to the men who performed on the U-shaped runway. Of course, the dancers didn’t require much urging to remove every stitch of clothing and wag the audience into a frenzy. The throbbing music and high-pitched screams reached such a staggering crescendo, Georgia was certain the shaking mirrors that flanked the stage would shatter at any moment.

She suddenly swayed and grabbed the back of the chair in front of her for support. Embarrassment rolled over her in waves. Every square inch of her skin tingled. Her breasts felt heavy and, since the room was stifling hot, she couldn’t blame their hardened points on the cold. Her stomach swam with dizzying desire.

Georgia held her breath and allowed the atmosphere to consume her. The scent of the performers’ body oils, the taste of perspiration on her upper lip, the press of bodies around her, the flashing spotlights that criss-crossed the room, the pulsing music, all swirled around her like a haze of sexually charged ions. It wasn’t so much the dancers’ naked bodies but the blatant openness that she found so titillating, the fact that the men were proud of their physiques, and that the women weren’t afraid to express their appreciation.

Georgia wet her salty lips. It was enough to drive a decent woman to do things she might not ordinarily do.

She fumbled behind her for her untouched rum drink. Curving her hand around the cool glass, she lifted it to her feverish cheek. Georgia glanced at Toni to see if her friend had noticed she was quietly freaking out, but Toni was laughing and waving dollar bills.

Thinking the alcohol might numb her too-keen senses, Georgia gulped the drink. The fire twirler exited in a blaze of glory, only to be replaced by a construction worker with a swaying tool belt. Within minutes, he had stripped down to his hard hat and was taking bids from the women on the perimeter of the stage. Georgia felt a tingling in her thighs and frustration crowded her chest. She tried to project Rob’s face onto the body of the dancer, but she couldn’t reconcile the two separate images of stability and sensuality.

“Some hammer, huh?” Toni asked, nudging Georgia out of her reverie.

“Hmm?” Georgia scanned the man’s considerable attributes. “Oh, yeah, I guess.” She drained her glass in another deep swallow.

“Hey, are you okay? I was just teasing about Rob earlier. Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“No.”

Toni’s eyes narrowed and she jerked her head toward the ladies’ room.

Georgia grabbed her purse and followed a bit unsteadily, sensing an inquisition but grateful for the break from the onslaught of erotic cues.

Before the door closed behind them, her friend had lit a menthol cigarette. Georgia frowned, then opened her purse and retrieved a lipstick. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Toni exhaled and leaned her rail-thin body against a condom vending machine. “Special occasions only. So, are you having a good time?”

She ran a finger around the collar of the sleeveless white button-up shirt she’d worn tucked into loose black jeans. “Sure.”

“Liar. You’ve been in another world all night.”

Her heart pumped the rum through her body, bypassing her empty stomach and sending the alcohol straight to her brain, making her feel floaty and somewhat philosophical. “I have the all-overs.”

Toni squinted. “The all-overs? Funny, I don’t remember that one from school.”

Georgia turned and stared at her flushed reflection in the mirror and talked while she drew an uneven line of mocha lipstick onto her mouth. “I’m restless, fidgety, distracted.”

“Horny?”

Leave it to Toni to cut to the chase. She sighed, puffing out her cheeks, liking the way her laugh lines disappeared. “Toni, do you think I would know if Rob was gay?”

Her friend choked, then coughed out a cloud of smoke. “Probably. Why would you think that?”

She blotted the lipstick with a rough paper towel. “I don’t really. It’s just that I can’t figure out his…likes and dislikes.”

Toni chortled and dismissed Georgia’s concern with a wave. “They all have hang-ups, babe. My old boyfriend liked Aerosmith on the stereo when we made love. Go figure.” She pressed fingers to her temples and closed her eyes. “Let me guess. Rob wants the lights off, and his socks on.”

Georgia gave her a wry smile. “I wouldn’t know.”

Her friend’s eyes bulged. “You mean the two of you have never had sex?”

“Right.”

Toni pursed her lips. “Wow. How far have you gone? Second base? Third?”

Georgia quirked her mouth side to side. “I’ve never been quite sure what constitutes second and third base.”

“You’re stalling.”

“Okay, we’ve kissed.”

“No uncontrolled groping?”

“No.”

“No nipplage?”

“Nada.”

“No oral sex?”

She shook her head.

“Damn, no wonder you think he’s gay. But I have a lot of homosexual friends, and I’d bet money that Rob is not gay.”

Georgia tilted her head and inspected her own reflection. “Which means he doesn’t find me sexually attractive.”

Toni’s face appeared over her shoulder. “Look at you—great hair, great face and great body. I’m telling you, the man is probably intimidated.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, that’s me, Miss Intimidation. I’m not exactly a siren, Toni.”

“Precisely. Most of the time you look like Miss Untouchable.” The cigarette bobbed wildly. With a flick of her wrist, she removed the clip that held Georgia’s dark hair away from her face, then fluffed the long layers. “And here.” Toni removed a cranberry-colored lipstick from her purse. “Toss that brown stuff and try this.”

Georgia applied the new color, then frowned. “It’s bright.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She twisted Georgia sideways, then unbuttoned her white shirt until the little pink bow on her bra was exposed. “Do you have to wear the bra?”

“Yes!” Bare skin under thin white cotton? Oi.

“Okay, okay.” Toni pulled out Georgia’s shirttail and tied the front ends high enough to expose her navel. “There. You just need to loosen up. I’m sure all Rob needs is a signal.”

She looked back to her reflection and pursed her mouth. “You think?”

Toni dotted the cranberry lipstick onto Georgia’s cheeks, then blended the color with her thumb. Someday her friend would make a wonderfully smothering mother. “Definitely. Do something to shake him up a little. You know, show up at his place wearing nothing but a belt or something like that.”

Georgia chewed on her lip. “And what if he turns me down?”

Toni shrugged. “It’ll be his loss and then you’ll know where you stand. But trust me, he won’t turn you down.”

Her friend had a knack for making things seem so black-and-white. And even as her tongue formed more words of protest, Georgia stared at her new wanton image in the mirror and warmed to the possibilities. She’d worked her way through college and three years of post-graduate work. Every day she handled life-threatening situations at the hospital. So why would she be worried about making a pass at a man she’d been dating for several months? Maybe because it was safer to let him go on thinking she was Miss Modesty than to risk unleashing the passion that boiled beneath the surface. She didn’t want to come across as some kind of…well, any of those names her mother had called her father’s string of faceless girlfriends.

“Come on,” Toni said, snuffing out her cigarette. “Let’s buy Stacey a table dance—I saw her eyeing the pirate. Besides,” she added with a wink, “we have some planning to do.”

Georgia followed her friend, rubbing the headache forming just behind her ear. While most people had a conscience, her conscience had a conscience—a something that reined in her urges, and kept her on her best behavior.

She swallowed. At least so far.

GEORGIA SLIPPED INSIDE her apartment door and swatted at the light switch. Still buzzing slightly from her last drink, she kicked off her shoes next to the couch and glanced at her new phone contraption, but the message light wasn’t blinking. How flattering. She removed the portable phone from the base and headed for the bedroom, not the slightest bit sleepy. In fact, her pulse kicked higher with every step.

Over the past few hours, she’d thought about Toni’s advice and allowed herself to be carried along on the crest of the erogenous wave rolling through the strip club. She’d decided her friend was right—Rob was waiting for her to make a move. So, during a shared cab ride home, Toni had settled upon the least threatening, yet highly erotic option: phone sex.

Despite that phone sex was a favored fantasy of hers, Georgia felt obligated to protest on behalf of the upstanding girl she was purported to be. Besides, she didn’t know how to do it.

Toni had pshawed. “What’s to know? You talk, you moan, you hang up.”

“But how do I ask him if he wants to?”

“Don’t ask, just do.”

And if Rob were totally offended, Georgia reasoned, she could always move to the Midwest and change her name.

Moving slowly in the dark, she slipped out of her shoes. Could she pull it off? The fact that she’d never participated in phone sex before only heightened her anticipation. Her chest rose and fell more rapidly, her breasts tingled, her thighs grew moist.

She turned on a lamp, then dimmed the illumination to bathe her Verdigris iron bed and the mustard-colored comforter. After stepping out of her jeans and folding them over the padded seat of her vanity table, Georgia sat on the edge of the bed and sank her crimson-tipped toes into a green hooked rug she’d made when she was fifteen—a lifetime ago. At that age she had fantasized of romance and physical bliss, never imagining one element without the other. She had thought by now she would’ve met a man who could provide a constant supply of both. Could Rob?

She sighed. Well, soon enough she would know if her fantasies would get him off, or scare him off.

Georgia glanced at the clock. One-thirty, Wednesday morning. Rob would be in deep REM sleep. Although if things went to plan, he’d be wide awake within a few seconds. Before she had time to reconsider, she slipped off her white cotton panties and left them lying on the rug. Her hands shook slightly as she held the phone and pushed the button to retrieve Rob’s preprogrammed number.

When his phone began to ring, warmth flooded her abdomen. After the third ring, she panicked and started to hang up, but before she could locate the darned Talk button, she heard his sleep-fuzzy voice come over the line.

“Hello?”

Her heart thudded so loudly she could barely hear him. “Hi, Rob, this is Georgia.”

“Hmm?”

“D-don’t talk,” she said, then leaned back against a pile of pillows and lowered her voice to what she hoped was a sexy tone. “Just listen.”

3

AFTER SIX YEARS on the police force, Officer Ken Medlock should have been used to late-night calls, but he still had trouble focusing on the voice at the other end of the line. He reached for the lamp on the nightstand, but remembered a split second after the sound of the hollow click that he’d forgotten to replace the burned-out bulb.

Did the woman say she was “Georgia”? His mind spun as he tried to place the name—a new dispatcher? Blinking seemed to help clear the cobwebs. One-thirty. Damn, the last time he’d looked at the clock had been less than an hour ago. His intermittent insomnia seemed to have grown worse as the temperature climbed—and now this interruption.

“Rob, I know it’s late, but I’ve been thinking about…us…all evening and I was wondering…that is…” The woman with the sultry voice inhaled and Ken opened his mouth to tell her she had the wrong number.

“I’m not wearing panties.”

His mouth snapped shut and his manhood stirred, proving at least one part of his body was processing information.

A small trembling laugh sounded. “I’ve always wondered if you were a boxer man or a brief man.”

What was the mystery woman’s intention? Engage in a little late-night dirty talk to entice this Rob guy to come over? “Boxer,” Ken blurted, then swallowed and leaned back onto his requisite three-pillow stack. Had he lost his mind? Or more appropriately, had he lost his shame?

“Mmm. Do you sleep in them?”

When I sleep. He couldn’t remember such a welcome interruption though—few of his dreams were this good. He might have thought his partner was playing another practical joke on him, but even Klone wouldn’t go this far. And the woman sounded so sincere, she had to be the real thing. His job required him to make life-and-death split-second judgments, but suddenly he was gripped with indecision—’fess up, hang up, or play up.

His body made the decision by sending a flood of desire to swell his deprived loins. What would be the harm in succumbing to one wild impulse? Before he had time to reconsider, he muttered, “Mmm-hmm.” Knowing she might realize her mistake any second, he held the mouthpiece a few inches away from his mouth. On the other hand, if she didn’t know what kind of underwear Robbie Boy wore, maybe she’d just met the man. Or maybe she was a prostitute. Ken had lived in the South for most of his adult life, but had never met a woman named Georgia.

“I thought it was time to let you know how I feel.”

Or maybe her boyfriend simply didn’t know how good he had it. “Okay,” he offered.

“But not if this makes you uncomfortable.”

He found the crack in her confidence endearing. Did she have any idea how sexy her voice sounded? And the only thing uncomfortable at the moment was his hardening erection. “I’m fine. Um…go on.” When silence followed, he was afraid she was onto him.

“Can you shed those boxers?” she whispered.

In for a penny, in for a pound. Ken reached beneath the warmish pilled sheet and slid off his shorts in three seconds flat, not an easy feat in a waterbed while juggling a phone. The TV remote he’d left on the bed crashed to the wood floor. “They’re gone. Are—” Ken wet his lips, “are you undressed?”

“Not yet,” she said. “I’m wearing a white button-up blouse and a white bra.”

Ken closed his eyes. “Take…take them off,” he urged.

From the rustling sounds, he surmised she was stripping. His mind whirled, wondering what this woman who called herself Georgia looked like. Was she redheaded? A brunette? Blonde? Brown eyes? Blue? Hazel? Long hair? Short? Sections of his fantasy woman clicked into place like the tiles in a vertical slot machine. Long, dark hair, blue eyes, a great smile, curvy. And peeling off her clothes.

“They’re off.”

Ken bit his tongue to keep from asking more questions that might end the phone call. His hand slid beneath the sheet, and he imagined Georgia easing into the bed next to him.

“It’s hot over here,” she continued, much to his relief. “And I just couldn’t sleep after leaving the club. All that nudity affected me.”

She was a stripper? That explained the stage name. His conscience eased somewhat. At least she wasn’t some innocent lady shedding her modesty for the first time. And she must have an incredible body. Her shadow of an accent didn’t belong to a Southern belle, but in his mind, Georgia was as lush and sticky-sweet as her name implied.

“I need to relax,” she said, sighing.

Ken could almost feel her breath warming his neck. His answer was a low groan of encouragement.

“Lately I’ve been hoping we could become more…intimate.”

“I never knew,” he replied in a low tone. The truth.

“We’ve both been a little shy, but somehow, it’s easier to talk about my fantasies on the phone like this.”

A hot flush traveled over his skin. “Go on.”

“My breasts,” she said, her voice suddenly tentative again.

Round? High? Firm?

“Sensitive. So sensitive.”

Not as visual, but he could make it work. “Mmm-hmm.”

She was breathing harder now. “My hair is down and tickling my breasts.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“Can you picture me lying next to you?”

Could he? “Uh-huh.” She was killing him. Moonlight streamed through a window next to his bed, transforming the tangled sheets into a woman’s figure. Her skin was smooth and golden with faint and minuscule tan lines. Beautiful. Their hands tangled as they stroked and caressed each other.

“Touch me lower,” she murmured.

His breath caught in his chest.

“Lower,” she urged, and he moaned, picturing the dip of her navel and the tangle of dark hair in the vee of her thighs.

“There,” she moaned, gratified. “Yes, there.”

Ken tensed, moved by the emotion in her voice. “I can’t wait much longer.”

She was practically panting now. “Yes…now.”

He imagined himself ready over her waiting body. Their moans would mingle at the union. She would close around him as he sank deeper and deeper in her warmth.

Her voice reverberated in his head, a stream of soft moans, punctuated with throaty inflection to capture a rhythm he matched without hesitation. He could never tire of her voice. “Talk to me,” he begged.

“S-so…good…ohhhhhhhhh…harder…faster…”

Ken obliged, his breathing becoming more ragged with every thrust. “When you’re ready,” he whispered, “take me with you.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Together…now…oh, yes…”

Ken’s eyes rolled back as he joined her powerful release. Their voices culminated in staccato cries, then gentled to quiet moans. Satisfied sighs hummed on the line as they both labored to control their breathing.

“That…was…great,” he managed between great mouthfuls of air. His body spasmed with residual pleasure and he felt utterly drained.

“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed with a silky laugh, then cleared her throat. “I…guess I’d better let you get back to sleep.” She’d retreated into shyness. “Good night, Rob. Call me tomorrow.” He heard a faint click, then a dial tone.

Ken floundered to sit up and managed to knock the phone and other clutter off the nightstand. He swung his feet to the floor, his heart still recovering from his unexpectedly naughty phone call. He’d seen, done, and heard a lot of things during his years as a beat cop, but this was a first. Unbeknownst to her, the woman had performed a public service.

Today—no, yesterday—had been one of the lousiest days he could remember. No deaths, thank goodness, but he’d answered an excessive number of domestic violence calls, and the criminals seemed to get younger all the time. He became a cop partly because he wanted to pass a safer world on to his nieces and nephews, and partly because he felt law enforcement was the best possible use of his God-given physical strength and mental discipline. He’d simply underestimated the sheer malice with which people treated one another, especially members of their own family.

Every cop experienced times when he simply didn’t want to get up and go to work, and Ken had been entertaining such thoughts when he lay down. And although his body now tingled with muscle fatigue, his spirit sang with new vitality. Ken decided he needed to get his priorities in order and find a good woman, then maybe he wouldn’t dwell on the misery he encountered every day.

And maybe he wouldn’t be tempted to steal an orgasm meant for another man.

His conscience poked at him, but what could he do now? Nothing, he decided hastily, rising and striding toward the bathroom. Chalk up the misdirected phone call as a once-in-a-lifetime experience and let it be. Tomorrow, Georgia and Rob—whoever they were—would have a big laugh when they realized she’d coaxed a wrong number to climax.

Ken leaned against the sink and ran a hand through his flattened hair, thinking about the sometimes shy voice of his unwitting partner. What if, instead, she felt humiliated and kept her secret? What if she worried about the identity of the person with whom she’d shared such an intimate experience?

Nah.

He splashed his face with handfuls of cool water, then stumbled back to bed, unable to stop a slow grin and a wide yawn as he fell onto his pillow. One thing he did know. His insomnia was cured for tonight.

4

“SO HOW DID IT GO?”

Georgia jumped at the sound of Toni’s voice over her shoulder, then smiled sheepishly at her friend. In fact, despite a slight headache and sitting on gum stuck to the bus seat this morning, she’d been gloating ever since her alarm had sounded. She was officially a naughty girl. Life was good.

Toni snapped her fingers in rapid succession. “Come on, you were humming, for Pete’s sake.”

Georgia glanced at the charts she was working on, then checked her watch. “I’m due a break. Want to get some coffee?”

“Sure.”

After letting the admissions clerk know she’d be away for ten minutes, Georgia wrote “break” beside her name on a dry eraser board. “How are things in the nursery?”

Toni looked heavenward. “Please tell me what possessed me to transfer up to the fourth floor.”

“You love babies, and you have the hots for the new head of obstetrics.”

Her friend frowned. “Oh, yeah.”

“And how’s that little ploy going, by the way?”

“Well, he calls me ‘Terri.’”

“Oh.” Georgia hid her smile and led the way into the staff vending room. Two med students sat at a corner table, one studying, one asleep sitting up.

Toni threw up her hands. “My question is, how did the man get through anatomy if he can’t remember names?”

Georgia poured them both a paper cup of coffee, then handed Toni a packet of sugar. “He’ll come around.”

“I hope so. I was planning to have snared a doctor by now. No offense, Georgia—I’m not as enamored with the nursing profession as you are. I’m here to get a husband. A rich husband with talented hands.”

Georgia laughed. “Liar. You’re a good nurse, Toni. By the way, how was Stacey feeling this morning?”

“Not so good, but she’ll recover.” After glancing at the med students, she leaned forward. “So I’m dying here. Did you call Rob and…you know?”

Feeling a blush climb her neck, Georgia blew into her cup.

“What, what, what?”

“Yes.”

Toni squealed. “I knew you could do it if you just let go. Did he like it?”

She pursed her lips, reliving flashes of last night’s erotic conversation that still sent stabs of desire to her stomach. His responses had been unexpectedly enthusiastic and sensual—a side of him she’d never seen but had hoped for. “I think so.” She lowered her voice and added, “It was fabulous.”

Toni grinned. “You vamp, you.”

Basking in her awakening, Georgia lifted her chin and smiled. She’d misbehaved and she hadn’t been struck by lightning. She hadn’t grown horns. And she hadn’t been tempted to ogle strange men on the bus this morning. She had her unfettered hormones perfectly under control.

“I take back what I said about Rob being a bore. The man’s obviously a sleeper.”

“A sleeper?”

“You know, unassuming. Awakens unexpectedly.” Toni wagged her eyebrows.

“Ah.”

“When will you see him again?”

“I told him to call me today.”

Slurping her coffee, Toni said, “Let’s hope he didn’t get all Republican at the light of day.”

Georgia’s smile fizzled. “What do you mean?”

Toni crinkled her nose and pulled an innocent face. “Nothing.”

“Oh, no, what do you mean?”

A sigh escaped her friend. “The whole buyer’s remorse thing. I just wondered if it was the same with phone sex as it is with real sex. You lose one out of three guys to morning-after malady, you know.”

Doubts crowded her previous good cheer. “You mean you think he enjoyed it last night, but he doesn’t respect me this morning?”

Toni tossed her half-empty cup into the trash can and wiped her hands together in a “that’s that” motion. “Forget I said anything.”

She frowned. “I’ll try.”

“When do you get off?” Then she winked and poked Georgia in the ribs. “Again?”

“Oh, you’re a riot. I clock out at three.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll call. Ta ta.”

Georgia pushed aside her nagging concern and threw herself into the chaos of the afternoon. But every E.R. triage nurse typically experienced at least one day a week during which she questioned her decision to become a nurse in the first place, and today turned out to be hers. Her adolescent dreams of fixing people’s bodies—and, thus, their souls—seemed ludicrous in the wake of stomach flus, food poisonings, puncture wounds and other less palatable ailments. No dramatic lifesaving procedures today. She blamed the heat for the elevated tempers. Every patient tested her patience, bickering about the wait, second-guessing the treatments she offered. As her shift progressed, Georgia’s anxiety level increased. And as her anxiety level increased, her confidence waned. And as her confidence waned, she felt less and less good about her recent foray into the world of the sexually assertive.

What if Toni were right and Rob had decided her forwardness was uncouth? How would she be able to face him? She’d whipped up a little fudge sauce for their plain vanilla relationship, but had it been too rich for his blood? Since his consulting assignments required that he travel, and due to the nature of her job, they rarely spoke during the day. But after she clocked out, she’d make an exception and call him to gauge his reaction.

“What kind of a nurse are you?” a big, unpleasant-smelling man demanded when she refused to give him a physical for his medical insurance.

Georgia put her hands on her hips. “Sir, this is an emergency room, not your family doctor’s office.”

“I don’t have a family doctor. That’s why I came here. I figured it would be faster.”

“Get out,” she said, jerking her thumb toward the door. “You’re taking up room for people who have legitimate emergencies.”

Her statement really wasn’t true, at least not today, she noted with an irritated grunt as the man stalked out. Almost every person who came through the door had made a mockery of E.R. medicine, a mockery of her childhood aspirations. She woke up every morning, eager to aid those in need, eager to make a real difference in someone’s life. But even Nurse Goody-Two-Shoes had her limits. God help the next person who came in to waste her time and the hospital’s resources, because she certainly wouldn’t.

“WHISTLING? Man, you must’ve gotten lucky last night.”

Unwrapping a hamburger on his knee, since every square inch of his desk was occupied, Ken cut his gaze toward his partner. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Klone. I slept well, that’s all. Damn near forgot what it was like.”

The older man grinned and proceeded to talk with his mouth full of club sandwich. “What, no hot number to keep you up all night?”

A wrong hot number. “Man, you ask too many questions.”

“Job hazard,” Klone said, undaunted. “You’ve been complaining about your insomnia for weeks, but I think you’ve just been up late womanizing and partying.”

“Yeah, my life isn’t half as interesting as you lead people to believe.”

“Well, then maybe you’ve been moonlighting.”

“Klone, I haven’t been moonlighting.” Unless he could get paid for working crossword puzzles in the wee hours of the morning.

“Because if you need some extra cash to fund your lifestyle, every business in town is clamoring for cops to direct traffic on their off-hours. If you ask me, the city needs to put up a few more stoplights. Where are you working?”

“Klone, I have not been moonlighting.”

“Well, if you ask me, it’s high time you find a good woman to settle down with.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

“That’s why you’re not sleeping, because you’re yearning for a soul mate.”

Ken grimaced and looked around at their colleagues moving about. “Jesus, keep your voice down. Have you been reading Cosmo or something?” He grunted. “I’ve told you before, marriage isn’t for me.” He wanted his mind squarely on his job. His first partner out of the academy had been a good-natured fellow, top of his class, with a successful career ahead of him until he met his “soul mate,” a woman who messed with his mind so badly, he’d committed grievous errors on the job. The last time Ken had seen him, the guy was unemployed, divorced, and a tad on the bitter side.

Ken’s own experiences were somewhat less dramatic, but he’d tired of vapid women who seemed determined to worm their way into his life regardless of his feelings on the matter. Although he was larger than the average man, he was brighter than most women gave him credit for. Relationships in general were a giant hassle. Last night was the first time he’d had sex with a woman without worrying about whether potpourri would suddenly appear in his bathroom.

Klone took another bite. “All I’m saying is that with a stressful job like this, you need a warm body to go home to every night. Someone to remind you that everyone in this world ain’t a criminal. Eighteen years now and Louise and me still do the deed every Friday night during The Tonight Show. Well, except for the two times she was in the hospital after the kids were born.”

Ken was forced to listen while he chewed the overdone burger, then he swallowed. “I can’t tell you how much I didn’t want to hear that. And don’t talk with your mouth full, for Crissake.”

Klone made a perfunctory swipe at his mouth with a wadded-up paper napkin. “I’m just concerned about what you’re doing with your life. You don’t have to get all aggravated.”

Immediately contrite, Ken ground his teeth, then said, “Klone, I like being single.”

His partner shook his head and expelled a grave sigh. “Son, someday you’re gonna learn the hard way that we can’t always have things the way we like them.”

Ken banked the half-eaten burger into a trash can, trying to block out the voice of Georgia the mysterious phone seductress. I’m not wearing panties. That, he liked. “Where does the Fleming burglary case stand?”

Klone shifted in his seat, oblivious to Ken’s strategy to change the subject. He held up a smudged piece of paper with a dollop of mayonnaise on the corner. “I got a tip to check out a pawnshop for some of the missing jewelry.”

Ken took the piece of paper, heedful of the mayonnaise and his navy uniform shirt, then pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll look into it.”

Klone half stood. “You want some company?”

“No, I volunteered to pull truancy duty at the mall this afternoon, and this place is on the way.”

His partner made a face. “Better you pulling truancy than me.”

“My good deed for the week,” Ken agreed wryly. “Catch you later.” On the way out of the station, he stopped by the locker room to brush his teeth. The small square mirror reflected sharp cheekbones—probably due to his lousy appetite of late—and his dark hair seemed more unruly than ever, despite his efforts to keep the length short enough to curtail the curl. Damned humidity.

But for once, his dark eyes weren’t red-rimmed, and his neck didn’t have a crick in it. His persistent insomnia had affected him more than he’d realized, leaving him restless and irritable and susceptible to behavior in which he wouldn’t normally indulge.

Such as pretending to be the deserving boyfriend of a woman who was more passionate than anyone he’d ever dated.

He banged his locker door closed, then exited to the parking garage, whistling tunelessly in an attempt to stop himself from thinking about how he caould find the woman on the phone. After swinging into his squad car, he checked the dash equipment, then started the engine and pulled out onto a side street. No sir, he wasn’t about to consider ways he could use the resources at his disposal to find out who she was.

Like checking the dozen or so strip joints for a dancer named Georgia.

Like performing a computer search on the city directory database for female residents named Georgia.

Like checking his own phone records to see from where the call had originated.

He thumped the steering wheel in frustration, hating himself for allowing the unknown caller to get under his skin. It was no big deal, he told himself as he wheeled into the parking lot of the pawnshop. Because the woman was nobody to him and probably wouldn’t give the incident much thought even after she discovered the blunder. And because the woman was a nymphette who had more interesting things going on in her life than worrying about the schmuck who had filched a freebie. No, he really shouldn’t be concerned that the woman might be disturbed when she realized her mistake.

So, why was he?

With much effort, Ken blocked out the voice of the seductive caller to take care of the tasks at hand. The stop into the pawnshop proved to be fruitful. Based on the written descriptions from the burglarized homeowner, he recovered two rings and a bracelet, along with the bad Polaroid photo of the woman who had pawned the pieces. He locked the bagged articles in the trunk of his car, then slid behind the steering wheel, suddenly looking forward to truancy duty, despite the smart mouths of the hooky-playing teens he would inevitably find walking the corridors of the mall and hanging out in the parking lot. Kids could be puzzling these days, but he had a good motivator—the memory of the cop who had routed his own behind out of an arcade twenty years ago and harassed him back into high school.

Ken eased into fast-moving traffic—drivers were always willing to let a police car merge—then turned in the direction of the mall. Out of the corner of his eye, Ken saw a small figure dart into the street directly in his path. His heart vaulted to his throat as he slammed on the brake so hard he was sure he would trigger a pileup. A sickening thunk sounded as his front left bumper made contact with a yielding body. Horns blasted all around him. Miraculously, the truck behind him stopped with no impact. Immediately Ken flipped on the blue lights, then sprang from his seat, praying every step of the way.

Fear nearly paralyzed him when he saw blood on his car and the lifeless form on the street. Two seconds later his knees weakened with relief that he hadn’t hit a child. Still, the sight of the large dog lying beneath his bumper put a stone in his stomach. His hands shook slightly as he touched the animal to see if it was alive.

It was. Although he didn’t know much about dogs, this one appeared to be a mutt. Multicolored long hair covered its body, although its face was broad and blunt. He wore no collar. When Ken stroked its back, the dog opened his eyes and whined, then tried to stand, only to collapse, emitting painful little barks.

“Sorry, boy,” he murmured, aware of a crowd gathering around. One of the dog’s legs bent at an odd angle, and he was bleeding badly from the hip. Gathering his wits, Ken looked around and spied the entrance to the County Hospital emergency room less than a half block away. Perhaps someone there could at least stop the bleeding until he could transport the dog to a veterinary clinic.

Decision made, he tied a handkerchief around the dog’s muzzle to keep him from biting in his pain, then bundled the dog into the back seat of his squad car. He covered its trembling form with a blanket from the trunk, knowing the gesture probably gave him more comfort that it gave the dog. He hoped against hope he hadn’t mortally wounded the poor pooch. Ken slid into his seat, and zeroed in on the emergency room entrance. He’d find help there.

5

“SEE YOU TOMORROW,” Georgia called to a co-worker as she walked toward the E.R. exit.

What a ghastly day. She removed her name badge and her pace quickened at the thought of talking to Rob. After mulling the matter for hours, she’d decided that he couldn’t have feigned his responses last night. She knew abandon when she heard it, and he’d had it in spades. He’d probably already left her a message at home.

The service door next to the stairs burst open and a tall uniformed police officer emerged carrying a small body wrapped in a blanket. “He ran in front of my car,” he said, his chest heaving. “He’s bleeding, and I think his leg is broken.”

Adrenaline and years of training took over and she bolted into action, waving him toward a triage room and yelling ahead as she jogged beside him. “We have a small victim who was struck by a car! Which room is available?”

“Three,” the clerk said, handing her a chart as she passed. People parted and Georgia looked for the attending doctor as she led the way into the empty room. “Somebody get Dr. Story,” she called before the door closed, then automatically grabbed a pair of surgical gloves from an overflowing box.

She felt a split second of sympathy for the broad-shouldered police officer who lowered his bundle gently onto the examining table. His shirt was bloodstained and his face was creased with worry that pulled at her heart. This was the basis of E.R. medicine. This was how she could make a difference in the world. She felt an instant bond with the man. He, too, was in the business of saving lives.

“Do you have the victim’s name?” she asked, stepping forward.

“No,” the officer said, then pulled back the blanket. “He wasn’t wearing a collar.”

Georgia froze as she surveyed the hairy mass. “It’s a dog.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

His Southern manners aside, exasperation puffed her cheeks as the bond between them vanished with a poof. She stripped off the surgical gloves and strove to keep her voice even. “We treat people here, Officer, not animals.”

He frowned. “Can’t you make an exception?”

“Absolutely,” she said ruefully, “if I wanted to lose my job.” She stepped to the door and yelled, “Cancel the call for Dr. Story.” Turning back to the dark-haired policeman, she pulled her most professional face. “We have health codes to maintain. You, of all people, should know that.”

His dark eyebrows knitted and he adopted a wide-legged stance. “You could at least bandage the cut.”

Her heart went out to the poor dog, and she crossed her arms to keep from following her instincts to heal. She also had instincts to eat, pay rent and not default on school loans, which would be difficult to satisfy if she were fired. Even after a year, she was still considered a greenhorn in emergency medicine. Dr. Story watched her like a hawk. A flagrant violation like this one could be the end of her career at County Hospital, a stain on her record. Georgia swallowed and averted her gaze. “I’m sorry—hospital procedures. The veterinary clinic on Sixteenth Street is the closest facility.”

The officer’s anger was palpable. But instead of leaving, he turned and scanned the shelves of supplies, his big hands touching everything.

“What are you doing?”

“What you should be doing,” he growled, then yanked a roll of gauze from a box and unrolled several lengths.

She opened her mouth to protest, then realized the futility of arguing with a man twice her size, with three times the determination. Georgia hung back, but as he clumsily wrapped the gauze around the dog’s body, something…happened. Unexpected warmth and admiration expanded her chest. The man hadn’t a clue what to do, but was driven to act. However misguided, she couldn’t help but respect his zeal. When he unwound another twenty feet or so of the gauze, she shook her head. Just like a man to overdo.

“That’s enough,” she said quietly.

He glanced up, his eyes flashing, ready for battle.

“He won’t be able to breathe,” she added, then donned more gloves and found tape and scissors. With resignation that she’d probably get written up and reprimanded, if not out-and-out fired, Georgia leaned forward and finished the bandaging, then gave the animal a perfunctory examination. The dog and the cop were wide-eyed and silent, but she could feel the man’s anger had dissipated. “Officer—?”

“Medlock,” he supplied.

“Officer Medlock, my knowledge of a dog’s anatomy is limited, but it appears he does indeed have a broken leg. He might have a broken rib or two as well, but his breathing is good, so I don’t believe his lungs were punctured. There’s no blood in the mouth, nose, or ears, so if he has internal bleeding, it does not seem to be profuse. And that—” she stepped back and peeled off her gloves “—is absolutely all I can do.”

He smiled suddenly and her breath caught in appreciation. Officer Medlock was a great-looking man. Pushy, but great-looking. When she realized she was staring, embarrassment swept over her. Her appreciation of his masculinity was stirred only because of her state of…stirredness.

“Thank you, Dr.—?”

“I’m an R.N.,” she said. “Nurse Adams.”

“Nurse Adams,” he repeated. “Thank you for giving me peace of mind, ma’am.”

Her pulse kicked higher under his scrutiny. Few, if any, grown men called her “ma’am.” It was kind of…pleasurable. “You’re welcome. Now please get out of here while I still have a job.”

Ken tried to study the woman’s face without appearing to. Her dark blue eyes were heavy-lidded and astonishing, and her mouth…The woman had that fresh-faced, girl-next-door vitality that provoked neighboring boys to buy binoculars. He mentally shook himself, realizing that last night’s incognito phone call was behind his heightened awareness. The dog whined, reminding him of his immediate priority. Gently, he rewrapped the animal and lifted the bundle from the table.

The nurse held open the door. “I was just going off duty,” she said with the barest hint of a smile. “I’ll show you the exit.”

“To guarantee I make it out of here?” he asked wryly.

“Something like that.”

As he laughed good-naturedly, she removed a leather shoulder bag from behind a counter, then told a clerk she was leaving and ordered an immediate disinfecting of exam room three. As she joined him, he was overwhelmed with the urge to know her, to find out if she were involved with anyone. He scoffed inwardly. Of course someone as beautiful as she would already be involved, maybe married, and probably to a doctor who earned ten times as much as a policeman. Ken tried to keep the dog’s head covered as they headed toward the exit so he wouldn’t get the woman into trouble, but the poor mutt whined most of the way, raising eyebrows. His unwilling cohort kept her eyes averted and walked swiftly.

“Georgia!”

At the sound of the name that had been on the periphery of his brain all day, Ken halted midstride. The woman next to him hesitated, then kept going.

“Georgia!” someone repeated, louder. He turned to see a plump woman jogging toward them. The comely nurse turned as well.

Ken’s feet stopped moving as his brain tried to assimilate the information. This woman’s name was Georgia? He’d never met anyone named Georgia. What were the chances he’d meet two in less than twenty-four hours? He zeroed in on her voice and tried to match hers with the one running through his head. It was possible—he almost laughed—but highly unlikely.

Still, his mind raced for a logical-sounding question that might help him determine if this fabulous-looking woman was the same…No, she simply couldn’t be.

“Get out of here,” she hissed out of the side of her mouth.

But his feet refused to move.

“Georgia,” the woman gasped, lumbering to a halt in front of them. Then she zeroed in on the whining blanket. “Is that a dog?”

“Melanie, did you need something?” Nurse Adams asked her, while frowning at him and nodding toward the exit.

The other woman craned her neck, eyes alight with curiosity, then handed his companion a yellow sticky-note. “I almost forgot to give you this message. Rob phoned and said he was called out of town unexpectedly.”

Ken swallowed and nearly dropped his patient. Rob?

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