Instant Gratification by Jill Shalvis

’tude and cool, steady hands, with the voice like sweet honey, and the bod to match. Surprised to see her, he pulled back, and Nick zipped right past him and over the finish line.
    Emma parked the truck and hopped out, and pretty much leveled him with one flash of those baby blues.
    Over the past few days he’d assured himself she wasn’t as hot as he remembered.
    But she was as hot as he remembered.
    Maybe even more so as she made her way directly toward him, irritation blazing out of her pretty ears.
    She wore another fancy pair of trousers, gray today, and a white top. No doctor’s coat, which allowed him to see all those extremely pleasant curves she carried on her strong, lithe frame. She had real breasts and hips, the ones so often missing fromthe extreme athletes in his world. The last woman he’d dated had been so toned, she hadn’t had an ounce of softness to her.
    Dr. Emma Sinclair was soft.
    At least on the outside.
    Her fiery auburn hair was loose today, and it flew around her face in the light wind as she strode toward him with purpose, her face tense and not exactly friendly.
    Which was a damn shame, as he was feeling quite friendly. “Hey, Doc,” he said, getting off his bike, barely managing to control his wince from the pain his ribs gave him at the quick movement.
    “What are you doing?”
    He leaned his bike up against a tree. “Just enjoying the day.” And the view. “How about you? What brings you out this way?”
    She came toe to toe with Stone, in her very classy and expensive black heels which now had some mud on them, pressing up to his Nikes. Her eyes were stern and serious, conflicting with the scent of some exotic shampoo, and his brain got mixed signals. Sexy woman. Pissed woman.
    “Are you stupid?” she asked. “Or just stubborn?”
    “Uh, is there a third option?”
    “You’re still recovering. You have no business riding like that, getting air, risking crashing—” She went up on her tiptoes and ran a finger over his forehead.
    Yeah, mixed signals, he thought dazedly as her voice brought to mind a teacher-to-errant-pupil sexual fantasy. His gaze ate her up as her fingers ran along his forehead. He couldn’t help it, she was within the perfect eating up distance of about two inches. Hell, if he leaned in even a little bit, they’d be kissing.
    Which would be nice. Really nice.
    “It’s okay,” she said in relief. “You haven’t ripped any stitches. You having pain?”
    Yeah, in his ribs, but he was afraid of the black bag she hadslung over her shoulder, so he smiled. “Aw, look at you. Caring about me.”
    Her eyes locked on his. “I care about all my patients.”
    “You make house calls for all of them?”
    She narrowed her eyes and pursed those lips that were a little bit distracting for their fullness. “Delusional,” she decided. “We should have that checked, too.”
    He grinned. “See? Falling for me.”
    “That would be a mistake. I don’t make mistakes. You shouldn’t be mountain biking, Stone.” Without asking, she put her hand on his side, probing at his ribs. She was watching him carefully so he didn’t dare grimace, but she shook her head, reading right through him. “You shouldn’t be doing anything strenuous.”
    The image of him doing just that, being strenuous with her naked in his bed, wouldn’t leave him alone. He wondered if she’d lose some of her tension if he got her out of those city clothes.
    “Honest to God,” she muttered. “Men.” She dropped her hands from him and stepped back. “Racing when you’re still in pain.”
    “You call that racing?” Nick asked, coming close with a laugh. “ Please . I could have beaten him with both my hands tied behind my back if I’d wanted.”
    Stone shot Nick a not helping look, and smiled at Emma. “Honestly, I’m fine.”
    “You have seven stitches in your head, a cracked rib, and more road rash than a used car.” She shoved up his shirt, revealing his abs. Her fingers brushed