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was progressing too slowly.
    The phone rang again, and she got to her feet. If she didn't answer it now, he would only call again later. Besides, it was wonderful that he was so interested in her career. It showed that he loved her.
    Twenty minutes later she put down the phone, feeling more drained than when she'd left the hospital. Why couldn't she make him understand that medicine was usually a day-to-day grind with occasional advances? You didn't start out as a medical student and work your way to head of staff in ten days or less. Why couldn't he be proud of what she had accomplished instead of demanding to know why she hadn't done more? She suppressed the question before it had a chance to take root. He was proud of her. He just didn't know how to show it. He wasn't a demonstrative man, that's all.
    She wandered back to the kitchen table and picked up her half-eaten sandwich. The food didn't look as good as it had a few minutes ago. She wrapped the sandwich in plastic wrap and rinsed out her milk glass. She was just tired. That's why her father's call was upsetting. That's why Flynn McCallister had seemed particularly dangerous.
    She'd planned to go out and do some shopping, but maybe it would be a good idea to take a long hot bath and spend the evening with a book. She could use the time to unwind. She had the next two days off, and a relaxing evening at home would be a nice way to start her small vacation.
    She left the kitchen and headed toward her bedroom, but she was sidetracked by Oscar who was sprawled flat on his back in the middle of the living-room floor. She stopped to scratch his ample tummy, and he took it as an invitation to play, wrapping his paws around her arm and chewing on her hand. His teeth sank gently into her fingers, careful not to bite too hard, and Ann responded by twisting her hand back and forth.
    The sudden pounding on the door interrupted the playful wrestling match. Ann jumped, jerking her hand away from the cat so suddenly that she inflicted a scratch on her arm when his claws sprang out in automatic reaction to the sudden noise. Oscar rolled to his feet and streaked for the safety of the bedroom.
    Ann stood up, staring at the door warily. No one had rung up from the lobby. Her father had just called her from the other side of town, and he was the only person she'd given the elevator code to. Of course, there was no telling how many people McCallister had handed out the code to. Maybe it was a friend of his who was too drunk to realize he had the wrong door. The pounding started again. She would direct whoever it was to the correct apartment and then she'd make it a point to complain to the management company. McCallister couldn't just go around giving out security codes.
    She grasped the doorknob, full of righteous indignation. This time he'd gone too far. It was one thing for him to be out at all hours of the day and night, and it was none of her business how many bimbos he brought home with him, but this was a matter of her own personal safety. She couldn't have him giving privileged information to all and sundry.
    She yanked the door open, ready to give whoever it was her iciest look—the one that had been known to cow junior nurses at a glance. She'd make it clear that she didn't approve of his intrusion on her time. Her lips parted to deliver a scathing put-down, but not a word emerged. Instead of the inebriated sot she'd expected to see, she was nose to nose with a masculine chest. Broad, muscled and matted with hair. She knew it was matted with hair because it was bared to her gaze. In fact, there was not a stitch of clothing in sight. Her eyes dropped automatically to find that the only apparel her visitor was wearing was a towel—a rather small one—knotted carelessly around his hips. Her eyes jerked upward, and she took an automatic step backward.
    The last thing she'd expected to find on her doorstep was Flynn McCallister, clad in nothing but a towel and a panicked