But she knew this much. No first name, but the last name was Sullivan. His sister had called to set up the appointment for him, citing intimacy issues. There was a line about “difficulty moving on from last relationship,” and a reminder that discretion of the highest order was vital, since the patient was a prominent businessman.

Not a problem. Never a problem. Discreet was Michelle Milo’s middle name. She hadn’t even breathed Shayla’s name out loud to Jack when she’d called her service late in the middle of the night to talk.

Well, let’s see what we’ve got. She was ready to focus on this Sullivan fellow for the next hour.

When she heard a knock at two o’clock sharp, she opened the door to her office, and all thoughts rushed out of her brain but one.

One word. Blaring like a neon sign.

Smoldering.

This man was smoldering.

And she’d already met him last night.

NIGHTS WITH HIM

1

Surprise

No way.

There was no way she was his shrink.

This was a cruel joke his sister was playing on him. Casey had to be setting him up, right? Or his buddy Nate, who loved to pull these sorts of pranks. Except Nate had no clue he was here. He hadn’t given Nate a single meaningful detail about last night.

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him and he was seeing Michelle everywhere. If he closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them again, perhaps the Dr. Milo his sister had booked his appointment with would turn out to be a school-marm type. A grandmotherly lady. Hell, how about a man?

Anyone fucking else, please.

Anyone but the absolutely enticing sex kitten he couldn’t stop thinking of since last night’s mind-blowing up-against-the-wall-in-a-dimly-lit-hotel-room sex. Not the owner of the hottest pair of legs, the most sinful mouth, and the wildest abandon he’d ever encountered.

He had plans for her. So many plans. Positions. Places.

Frozen still, they were two statues caught in shock. Jack gripped the doorframe and swallowed hard. Michelle’s brown eyes were wide, etched with complete surprise as her hand remained wrapped around the doorknob, her knuckles white from the tight hold she had on it. The silence lasted, spinning from one second to the next to the next. As if this moment of sheer dumb bad luck would unspool if they did nothing. As if it would rewind into something that made sense. Finally, she went first.

“I suppose I have the answer now to the ‘what’s your last name’ question,” she said in a strained voice.

He nodded. “Sullivan. Jack Sullivan.” Then, manners and protocol kicked in. He extended a hand. She stared at his hand as if it were an object acquired from a distant planet, a space rock she needed to study. But then, she took it, and the second they made contact, memories of her hands slammed into him.

He pictured them in his hair, grabbing his ass, trailing over his chest. Touching her own breasts.