Dr. Forget-Me-Not. Marie Ferrarella

full of people waiting for you.”

      Mitch frowned. “Didn’t your director give you the message? I called,” he told her.

      “After the fact,” she pointed out since he had called almost an hour after he should have been at the shelter.

      “Better than not at all,” Mitch said sharply, wondering why he was even bothering to have this discussion with this annoying woman. He didn’t owe her any explanations.

      “Better if you came back with me,” she countered, going toe-to-toe with him.

      Her display of gall completely astounded him.

      “Better than what?” he asked. And then his eyes widened. “Are you by any chance actually threatening me?”

      She would have loved to, but she was neither bigger than Dr. Stewart was nor did she have anything on the doctor to use as leverage, so she resorted to the only tactic she could.

      “I’m appealing to you,” she retorted.

      “Not really,” Mitch shot back.

      The moment the words were out of his mouth—and he was glad he’d had the presence of mind to say them—he realized that they actually weren’t true. Because, strangely enough, she did appeal to him. What made it worse was that he hadn’t a clue as to why.

      If he’d had a type, which he’d long since not had, it wouldn’t have been a mouthy little blonde who didn’t know when to stop talking. He liked tall, sleek brunettes with tanned complexions, dark, smoldering eyes and long legs that didn’t quit. Women who kept their own counsel rather than making him want to wrap his hands around their throats to stop the endless flow of words coming out of their mouths.

      So why the contradiction in his head?