The Hotshot
Heartthrob Hospital, Volume 3
Lori Wilde
Published by Lori Wilde, 2020.
The Hotshot
Heartthrob Hospital Book 3
Lori Wilde
Copyright © 2020 by Lori Wilde
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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
Epilogue
Excerpt from A Perfect Christmas Surprise
Also by Lori Wilde
About the Author
1
There was a naked man on her terrace.
Dr. Janet Hunter froze in mid-stride, her medical bag, purse, and a small flat briefcase tucked underneath one arm. Keys in hand, she had been on her way out the front door for her first day on the job as a junior member of the Blanton Street Group—Houston’s most prestigious pediatric practice.
She blinked in disbelief.
Yep. No mirage. A buck-naked man lurked among her wrought iron patio furniture.
“Mother, this time you’ve gone too far,” Janet muttered under her breath and took a third look.
Okay, so the guy wasn’t totally nude. He was strategically clutching an empty charcoal bag—presumably pilfered from the trash can beside her outdoor grill—in front of his manly appendages, but everything else was open for ogling.
And ogle she did.
It could have been much worse. The guy could have been a sumo wrestler. Instead, she found herself treated to a rather pleasing view. Mom’s tastes were definitely improving. She had to give her credit.
“Any other day, Mother, I could handle this. But today of all days, your timing really stinks.”
Janet set her medical bag and briefcase down on the kitchen table and slipped a can of pepper spray from her purse. She stalked to the sliding glass door and yanked it open.
“Hey, buddy!” she hollered, keeping the pepper spray hidden in her palm.
The man had his back to her and startled, leaping a good foot off the ground. He spun around, the empty sack of briquettes barely camouflaging his naughty bits.
He had nice biceps, a classic washboard stomach, and legs to shame a racehorse. Dark stubble encroached on the chiseled terrain of his masculine jaw. He possessed sandy brown hair, piercing cocoa-brown eyes, and powerful features.
Utterly gorgeous. Beyond perfect.
Well, except for that panic-stricken expression on his too-handsome-for-his-own-good face. If she had a testosterone meter mounted on the wall beside her outdoor thermometer, the mercury would have been erupting through the top.
What was the matter with her? Why was she admiring this guy’s body? That’s exactly what her mother wanted her to do, but Janet would subvert her. Yes, ma’am.
“Are you speaking to me?” he asked as casually as if they were companionable shoppers in the A&P produce aisle, squeezing cantaloupes and comparing their findings.
“You see any other nude reprobates hanging around? Tell the truth. How much is she paying you?”
“P-p-pardon me,” he stammered.
“How much is she shelling out? It can’t possibly be worth this kind of humiliation.”
It had been bad enough when Gracie Hunter had sent over an exterminator last week to spray Janet’s totally bug-free condo. Or when she’d called the fire department with a tall tale about a kitten caught in a tree. Or the time she had taken out a lonely hearts ad in Janet’s name. But depositing a bare buns male on her terrace was beyond the pale.
Ever since Gracie’s astrologer, Nadine Maronga, told her mother that if she wasn’t a grandmother by the age of fifty-two, then she never would be, Gracie had gone around the bend with finding her only child a husband.
Unfortunately for Janet, Nadine’s predictions were uncannily accurate. Gracie, who had been having her chart done twice a week for the last thirty years, believed every word the woman told her. Nadine had correctly predicted that Janet’s father would take a powder, that Gracie would need a gallbladder operation, and that she would win two thousand dollars in a lottery scratch-card game. Coincidence, surely, but Gracie never let Janet forget these things.
The clock was ticking. In eighteen months, Gracie would be fifty-two, and she was hell-bent on having a grandchild. Half in jest, Janet thought of her mother’s delusional affirmation as the Baby Predicate, as if Gracie’s determination to see her only daughter hitched and pregnant was strong enough to affirm a baby.
“Excuse me?” the guy said, jerking her back to the present. “What are you talking about?”
“The jig’s up. You’re not fooling anyone. I know you and my mother are in cahoots. Now, shoo!” She waved both hands at him like she was scaring crows from a cornfield, one thumb remaining wrapped around the pepper spray, just in case.
He looked at her as if she’d hopped the fence at a mental facility. “Sorry, lady, but I think you’re mixing me up with someone else.”
“You think so?” Janet arched an eyebrow.
“Could I please come inside for this discussion?”
She considered him a moment. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Mom finagled you into this situation. Let her get you out of it.”
“Ah, c’mon,” he begged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I swear it.”
“Then would you care to explain this scenario?” She sent a critical gaze over his body.
Zowie!
It ought to be illegal to look that good. A strange, shocking heat more forceful than a rain-swollen river flowed through her body. Her reaction was inexcusable. She had to stop feeling so...so...darned impressed with him.
“It’s a long story that has nothing to do with your mother, whoever she might be.” He gave her a shaky grin. “And I’m feeling a little vulnerable at the moment.”
Janet bit the inside of her cheek to bolster her resolve. She kept her eyes trained on his face and avoided looking down at all costs. “Obviously.”
“Let me inside and I’ll fill you in on all the gory details.”
“I might be mistaken, but didn’t the Big Bad Wolf hand Little Red Riding Hood a similar line?”
“Could be, it’s been a
