Dear Reader,

Have you ever done something to protect a loved one? Something that hurt so deeply you thought you might never recover, but you did it anyway? Not everyone has had to make sacrifices like that, but I think most of us are willing to if it means the security and happiness of that other person.

This is the position that James Rothsberg found himself in when he unexpectedly fell for Mila Brightman. Only once he dropped the axe on their relationship he never expected to see her again. Years later Mila is back in town, and the two are forced to work together for the benefit of their community. And in doing so they find old feelings resurfacing at the worst of times.

Thank you for joining James and Mila as they struggle to get past old hurts and uncover secrets they thought long buried. And maybe—just maybe—they’ll rediscover love along the way. I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I loved writing it! Enjoy!

Love,

Tina Beckett

Three-time Golden Heart® finalist TINA BECKETT learned to pack her suitcases almost before she learned to read. Born to a military family, she has lived in the United States, Puerto Rico, Portugal and Brazil. In addition to travelling, Tina loves to cuddle with her pug, Alex, spend time with her family, and hit the trails on her horse. Learn more about Tina from her website, or ‘friend’ her on Facebook.

Winning Back
His Doctor Bride
Tina Beckett

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband and children…always!

Contents

COVER

Dear Reader

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

COPYRIGHT

PROLOGUE

Six years ago

THERE WERE CERTAIN benefits to returning to civilization, texting being one of them.

Without it, she doubted she would survive this party.

No. Not party. “Charity event,” as these A-listers liked to call their swanky affairs.

Whatever.

Mila Brightman’s thumbs glided over the keys with remembered ease.

I will let u know.

C’mon, Mila. He’s gorgeous and newly single.

Perfect. Just what she needed. A charity date to go with the charity event. She grinned at her own witticism. Okay, so her mental play on words hadn’t been all that funny. But, then again, neither was this party.

He’s ur bro. You have to say that. Does he even know u r trying to set him up on a date?

Not yet. But it’ll be fine. And he is cute. Promise.

She hadn’t even told him yet. Mila rolled her eyes, thumbs already responding.

That’s what u said about the last guy.

She’d let her new friend Freya Rothsberg talk her into going on a different blind date a week ago. That particular man had been good-looking all right, but their date had stalled when he’d road-raged his way down Hollywood Boulevard. She’d ended up hopping out of the car at a stoplight and hailing a cab to take her home.

This is different. PROMISE.

Uh-oh. Her friend had used the word promise twice in a row. This time in caps. Never a good sign. Freya was on the other side of the room, waiting for her supposedly gorgeous brother to arrive. Time to head her off at the pass. Maybe she could use humor to soften the blow.

With my luck ur bro is probably short and squatty. A real toad.

The screen stayed blank for almost a minute, and Mila wondered if she’d offended her friend. Then it lit up.

A toad? Really?

A smiley face followed the words. Whew! Not offended.

Yep. T.O.A.D. Warts and all.

Another long pause. Maybe the Wi-Fi reception in the hotel ballroom was glitching or something.

Why don’t you look up and see?

Something about those words caused a shiver to ripple across her midsection. Swallowing, she glanced over the top of her screen.

Freya stood right in front of her. Eyes wide. Mouthing something. “I’m sorry.”

In that instant, Mila realized her friend was no longer holding a cell phone. Neither was she alone. And the person standing beside her was neither short nor squatty.

Oh. My. God. Her thumbs pretend-typed the words as they sprinted through her head.

The man in the tuxedo was tall. Very tall. And gorgeous?

Yes. Oh, yes. He was also holding something up, turning the object to face her.

A phone—with all Mila’s text messages surrounded by a bold blue bubble. The air left her lungs, and she struggled to breathe.

He’d read what she’d written. And suddenly the banter didn’t seem quite so innocent. Or funny.

Before she could apologize, one side of the man’s mouth tilted up, the movement carving out several craggy lines in his face. If she were a swooner she’d have keeled over by now.

“You know what they say about kissing toads. One of them might just turn out to be a prince.”

Her brain fought to process anything other than that low sexy tone. Although she could have sworn the word “kiss” had been in there somewhere. At least, she hoped it had.

She gulped, her eyes straying back to his mouth just as the other side tipped to form a smile that scorched across her senses. If she moved she feared she’d crumple into a pile of ash.

As if reading her thoughts, he passed the phone back to Freya, his gaze never leaving Mila’s face. “Shall we test that theory?”

“Th-theory?”

Before she knew what was happening, he’d swept her out onto the dance floor and off her feet. And when his kiss came a few hours later, just as the party was winding down, it was indeed magical. Only there was no need for any kind of transformation. Because James Evan Rothsberg already looked like a prince. A prince whose kiss was every bit as deadly as his smile.

Right then and there Mila knew, without a doubt, her world would never be the same.

CHAPTER ONE

Present day

BZZZZZZ...

No matter how many different ringtones James tried—and it seemed like he’d tried them all—he still hated receiving text messages. The flat sound of his current tone was no different. His pulse sped up and his throat went dry, even though he knew it wasn’t from Mila.

Losing the fun, sexy messages they’d used to exchange had been one of the hardest adjustments he’d had to make after calling off the wedding, and his no-texting rule was his way of trying to deal with that.

He shook himself from his stupor. Six years had changed nothing. No matter how right he’d been to break off their engagement, he couldn’t blot out the image of the horror in his ex-fiancée’s gorgeous hazel eyes when she’d realized it was over.

So were the intimate texts. All texts, in fact, since everyone around him was aware that he preferred actual phone calls to typed messages.

Besides, Mila had taken off to parts unknown soon after he’d skipped out on her, going back to Brazil, where she’d been doing relief work among indigenous people.

Until now.

He’d had a damned good reason for leaving her at the altar: a panicked phone call from a former girlfriend telling him she was pregnant. And an unexpected betrayal by his father.

It didn’t matter now that the whole thing had been a setup. That deception had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Mila had been saved from being dragged into the reality that was his family, with its arguments and its never-ending scandals. His famous parents had been the darlings of the paparazzi for that very reason—even after their divorce years ago.

Mila might not have seen it at the time, but surely in the years since then she’d come to realize the narrow escape she’d had.

He’d never tried to contact her, even after he’d discovered what Cindy had done.

The phone sent him a reminder buzz.

He forced himself to look down at the screen as he exited his car along with the damned photographer the clinic had made him bring along to this meeting. The text was from Freya. The no-text rule had become a running joke with her. She would text him just because she knew how much he hated it. To try to provoke him to answer. It never worked. He always responded with a phone call. Or not at all.

It would seem she was still at it. And under the circumstances it was in extremely poor taste.

We saw you pull up. Waiting just inside.

We. That could only mean one thing. Freya wasn’t alone inside that tiny building. Although he’d known she wouldn’t be.

Hell. He’d hoped to have a moment or two to get his thoughts together, although he’d had plenty of time to prepare for this photo shoot. Over two months to plan his words down to the final punctuation mark.

Had he done that? No. He had not. Even during the twenty-minute drive out of the more secluded Hollywood Hills and into the city of Los Angeles itself he’d done no advance planning.

Morgan, the photographer the PR department had contracted, had been more than happy to keep up a steady stream of conversation. She might have been fishing, but James didn’t care. He was no longer biting. He was fresh out of yet another superficial relationship, which the paparazzi had followed with glee. He was definitely not ready to test the waters again. Especially not with this meeting with Mila hanging over his head.

He’d avoided thinking about that particular woman. He’d decided that if he kept his head in the sand long enough, this whole damned situation could have just dissolved into nothing.

It hadn’t.

And he knew exactly who’d be on the other side of the door once he walked through it.

Mila Brightman.

The woman who’d almost become his wife.

The woman who’d barely escaped that particular fate.

Thank God she had.

He didn’t bother to respond to his sister’s text. They both knew he was here, so there was no point. How, exactly, his sister had talked him into this arrangement he had no idea. The Hollywood Hills Clinic had been gliding along just fine without another addition to their efficient little family.

Except this was Freya. And Mila. Two women he’d always had trouble saying no to.

Sucking down a resigned breath and dragging a hand through his hair, he waited for Morgan and then he headed up the walk, stopping short when he spied a ragged square of cardboard taped to the outside of one of the clinic’s windows. He was so used to the pristine opulence of his own medical center that the squat building huddled on the corner of a busy street seemed as foreign as the relief work Mila had once done. But the sign painted at the top of the clinic was bright and cheery, a bevy of colorful handprints forming an imaginary sidewalk that led to an artist’s rendition of the building—only whoever’d painted it had had quite an imagination because although the edifice was the same shape, the painted version was a welcoming place. And there were no cardboard patches in sight.

The photographer raised her camera, aiming it right at the broken window. James wrapped his fingers around the woman’s, stopping her short. “No. Not that.”

Morgan frowned at him but lowered the camera. “So you only want the positive stuff?”

His eyes were still on the brown square in the window as they reached the front entrance. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Bright Hope Clinic. The painted lettering on the glass door matched the colors of the handprints on the sign. And the glass doors were spotlessly clean. His glance went back to the cardboard patch.

A sliver of unease worked its way through his gut. Not about Mila’s safety. Of course not. About the soundness of his decision to allow a branch of this clinic to open inside his own. Freya’s doing. Not his. But his damned board of directors had put him in charge of overseeing the opening of the facility. Which was why he was here, pricey photographer in tow.

The woman took a few shots of the sign and the door, dutifully avoiding the window. “We can go inside anytime you want.”

Before he could even reach for the door, however, it was flung open and Freya stood there. “Come on, James, what’s taking you so long?”

“What happened to the window?” He nodded toward the offending cardboard, not sure he even wanted to know the answer.

Although he couldn’t see Mila, she was just inside the dark entrance of the clinic. The growing pressure in his chest told him that. Schooling the rest of his body to mimic the bland mask he wore on his face, he made no move to go inside.

“Oh...um...” Freya glanced behind her. “It’s nothing. Probably just a stray baseball.”

James turned his attention to the busy street behind him. Cars clogged the asphalt as they waited for the light to change and allow them to head on their way. Baseball? He didn’t think so. Not on this road. He lowered his voice, to avoid Morgan hearing him. “Tell me you weren’t here when it happened.” His sister was seven months pregnant and did not need any stress at this point.

“No, it was sometime last week.” She waved off his concern, a frown appearing between her brows.

Biting back his next words, knowing his sister wouldn’t welcome any brotherly advice, he sighed, hoping she’d catch his drift.

“It’s perfectly safe, James.”

Safe? With Mila somewhere inside? He didn’t think so.

But he was here. And the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could be on his way. The space they’d set aside in The Hollywood Hills Clinic was on the other side of the building from where his office was, so it wasn’t like he’d see her every day. And he was pretty sure she would split her time between this facility and the new one.

With that bracing thought, he motioned the photographer and Freya inside and then followed them.

The interior of the clinic was as cheerful as the sign. Bright colors were splashed on every available surface, as if a painter had opened his cans and tossed the contents onto the walls and countertops.

“Wow,” Morgan said, already snapping shots of the interior.

Wow was right. The place was so very...Mila that it made him smile.

His gaze came back, zeroing in on her at last with a swallow.

Her hair was much longer than it had been when they’d been together. Back then, it had been cropped into short waves above her ears, allowing the delicate bones of her face to shine forth. Not that they didn’t still. But unlike the easy-care locks of days past, the new Mila appeared cool and polished, the curls tamed into long sleek strands that ended just below her shoulder blades.

He swallowed again and extended his hand in a fake formality that would make the PR department proud. “Mila, nice to see you again. Thank you for letting the clinic do some publicity shots.”

Right on cue, the camera clicked multiple times, reminding him of how often he’d been caught unaware on the streets of LA. During his parents’ ugly divorce, he’d barely been able to go anywhere without some member of the paparazzi lying in wait, hoping to get him at the worst possible moment. He tensed, before forcing himself to relax his muscles.

He didn’t ask how Mila was doing, and for a split second he thought she’d refuse his greeting. Maybe it would have been better if he’d kept his hands in his pockets, but then she reached forward and curled her fingers around his.

Big mistake. The contact scattered images through his head that were every bit as vivid as the paint on the walls. Memories of Mila’s head nestled deep in his pillow as she’d slept, of making love into the early hours. Laughter. Late-night texts. And finally the tears.

Damn it.

As if plagued by the same thoughts, Mila snatched her hand free and turned away. “Nice to see you as well. And it’s fine about the publicity. You’re used to it by now. Besides, I’m sure your clinic wants to show off its newest investment. So how about a quick tour? I didn’t schedule any patients this morning, but you should be able to see—”

He touched her arm to slow the torrent of words. It worked. She swung around, but he noticed she took a step back, the distance just enough that he couldn’t touch her again.

“The window. What happened?”

Freya broke in. “James, it’s fine. Don’t go all protective big brother on us.”

Not very likely. The last thing he felt toward Mila was brotherly affection. But he did feel a niggle of worry.

He narrowed his eyes on his sister. “I think we have a right to know the risks involved in taking on this little venture.”

He glanced toward Morgan, but she was ignoring them, still exploring the waiting room, where brightly colored plastic chairs perched on top of acid-stained concrete that had been polished until it gleamed.

“Little venture?” If Mila’s voice had been cool before, it had now dropped to well below freezing. “Afraid you might lose some of your high-dollar clients if they spot a pair of humble flip-flops cruising down the fancy halls of your clinic?”

His jaw tightened. Not at her words but at the disdain in her tone. And the fact that she had hit a nerve. The board had discussed at length how to handle their newest addition.

The voting members had made a motion to add a separate entrance so that Bright Hope could be accessed directly from the parking lot, instead of its patients coming in through the huge double doors at the front of the clinic. The decision stuck in his craw because putting in another door made it seem a little too much like a service entrance for comfort.

He’d gone along with it only because if he hadn’t, the vote to allow the opening of the clinic might not have gone through—and Freya had her heart set on it. It had only passed by a slim margin as it was. And the financially challenged kids of LA did need access to what The Hollywood Hills Clinic could offer.

Telling Mila any of that, however, would not make her feel any better. If he knew her, she had only agreed to Freya’s idea because his sister had insisted.

Which meant Bright Hope was not doing as well financially as she had made it seem.

“Let’s just say we’d rather not have a gang war break out in one of our hallways.”

Mila’s eyes flitted sideways away from his.

Damn. He’d been joking about the gang war. Had that broken window been caused by a hail of bullets? “Do you have security?”

“Yes. There are cameras, and a security guard is here during business hours.”

But only during those hours. Did Mila come here when there was no one else around? The question tickled the back of his throat, but he ignored it. He didn’t want Morgan going back to the board with any tales that weren’t true. He took another tack instead.

“Did the police catch whoever broke your window?”

“Not yet, but I’ve turned the surveillance video over to them. Hopefully they’ll find the culprits.”

Culprits, plural. “Do you keep drugs on the premises?”

She threw him a stormy glare that he recognized all too well. “Of course not. Nothing stronger than over-the-counter pain medication. There’s a pharmacy around the corner, if we need something stronger.”

That was smart. “Was anything taken?”

“They didn’t try to gain entry.”

Strange. Maybe she was right. Maybe it had just been a stray ball from a kid.

And from her curt answer, that was all he was going to get out of her. “Well, then, let’s take that tour, so Morgan can shoot some pictures, and I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

“So she does have a name.” His ex-fiancée leaned closer with an amused smile, one brow raised.

What was that supposed to mean?

Oh, hell. He’d seen the women shake hands but he’d forgotten to introduce them. Bad manners on his part, but he didn’t exactly think straight when Mila was around.

Well, even if she thought there was something going on between him and the photographer, who cared? She’d been dating Tyler, that brawny firefighter, until recently, hadn’t she?

With the same fixed smile, Mila indicated for them to follow her down a small hallway to an exam room.

This space was decorated in tropical island hues. Ocean-blue walls and sand-colored linoleum were a smart choice. As was the artist’s rendition of a palm tree painted in the corner. The same beige from the flooring flowed up onto the bottom half of the wall, meandering across it, giving the lone tree a place to root and thrive. Individual grains glimmered under the overhead lights, much as they would beneath the sun. A few painted conches dotted the surface of this imaginary beach.

All in all, it was a tropical paradise any child would love and not a cold, sterile exam room. This was a place of adventure, not of fear and pain. And as skillful as Morgan might be, there was no way she was going to capture the feel of this room.

He wandered over and ran a finger across the textured paint that made up one of the palm fronds. “This is pretty amazing, Mila.”

Maybe they should incorporate some of these designs in the new clinic to tie the two centers together. It would be a little different from the posh chrome and Italian marble in the rest of The Hollywood Hills Clinic, but maybe that would be a good thing. It might even give the board a reason to rethink having a separate entrance for Bright Hope. And it would make Mila feel more comfortable with her surroundings.

He knew firsthand she didn’t like over-the-top extravagance. She’d practically cringed every time she’d had to get into his car six years ago.

It highlighted one of the biggest differences between them. Orphaned as a child, when her parents had been killed during a home invasion, Mila had been left a huge inheritance by her famous Hollywood parents. But she didn’t live like it. In fact, she gave her money away whenever she got the chance. James, on the other hand, enjoyed the security that money could buy. Security he hadn’t felt during his childhood years, even though his parents had been just as wealthy as Mila’s, if not more so.

He gritted his teeth until his thoughts were back under control.

Surely by now even Mila could see that he’d done her a favor by breaking off their engagement. They’d been doomed, even without Cindy’s deceit.

“Can we get some pictures of the three of you in front of that mural?” Morgan asked.

Freya gave a horrified snort. “Oh, no. Not me, thank you very much. I’m about to pop, and I’d rather not do it in front of a camera.” She threw her brother a look. “You and Mila should be in it, since you represent what this partnership is all about. It would be good to have some publicity shots of you two, anyway.”

Why the hell hadn’t he thought of the possibility of having to cozy up to his ex in some of the pictures? Because he’d figured Freya would be in them as well.

Nothing to do but get it over with. He gestured for Mila to go ahead of him. She hesitated for several long seconds, then her shoulders dropped in resignation and she trudged over to the mural. James moved in as well, standing a good five feet away from her.

“Can you move closer?” Morgan waved her hand. “You’re blocking part of the tree.”

Was it his imagination, or did the photographer have a slightly “gotcha” smirk to her expression? Maybe he should have been a little less standoffish when she’d been flirting with him in the car because right now it looked like she was enjoying having him at her mercy.

He took a couple of steps to the left, trying to talk his way through his discomfort. “Who did your paint job? It might not be a bad idea to match this look in the new clinic.”

She didn’t get a chance to answer, because Freya grinned. “Mila did it. She painted the clinic signs as well. Aren’t they great?”

His sister’s pride was evident. As was the warning gleam in her eyes that told him not to say anything that would hurt Mila’s feelings. As if he would.

The photographer snapped a couple of pictures right as that news was relayed. Even he could feel the shock on his face. He hated to think what it would come across as on film.

He glanced back to get a closer look at the tree. It was good. Very good. Right down to the smooth green of the coconuts hanging from it. He could have sworn she’d had it done by a professional. But then again she had lived in the tropics of Brazil so it made sense that she would have had learned to improvise and do more than practice medicine. And she had always loved children.

A trait that seemed to be missing from his family tree.

Another area of incompatibility. If only he’d been looking at their relationship with a clinical eye six years ago, he would have seen it. It had taken a shock from an ex-girlfriend and an offer of payment from his dad to make him see the reality of what Mila would be subjected to if he married her.

Another flash of Morgan’s camera, but he was too busy with his thoughts to take much notice.

Mila had survived. Improvised.

Had she improvised with some Brazilian man after he’d broken things off with her?

A thought he had no business dwelling on.

“Can you both turn toward the front? I’d like a couple more in this room before we move on.”

They both swiveled on their heels and faced the photographer.

“So do you think you can replicate this over at my clinic?” he asked.

She threw him a glance, the brow from earlier edging back up. “Beaches and palm trees won’t exactly match the theme you have going on over there, would it? What do you call it, by the way? Moneyed Green? Or are you just hoping artwork like this will highlight the differences between your clinic and mine—your patients and mine?”

The camera went off again.

Damn the woman. A muscle in his jaw clenched. “I was trying to pay Bright Hope a compliment. Forget I asked.”

Fingers landed on his forearm, and her eyes closed for a second before reopening. “I’m sorry, James, that was inexcusable of me. Can we start over?”

It was far too late for that. But if cold indifference was the way she wanted to play this game, then she would find he could match her, ice chip for ice chip. Except she’d never been an ice queen. Far from it. In fact, he’d always liked Mila’s hot temperament. It had matched the places she’d been. Stoked his own internal fires.

But he’d better figure out how to extinguish that particular flamethrower. And soon. First, though, he had to get rid of that damned camera, which seemed to be recording their every expression.

* * *

She’d almost blown things. As Mila gave James and his photographer the grand tour, and it wasn’t much, with the tiny size of her clinic and the money crunch they’d been under for the last few months, she tried her best not to let her animosity toward him show any more than it already had. Six years after the fact, she should be over their breakup. But his comment about her decorating choices had made it fizz up like the head on a beer. And he hadn’t even meant it as a cut.

She drew in a deep breath. It was up to her to calm the waters.

Only how was she supposed to do that when the waters churning inside her were gray and choppy? And with that photographer giving him the eye for most of the visit?

She pushed open the door at the far end of the hall. “And this is our business office.”

The head of her young assistant, Avery Phelps, popped up from behind her rickety desk, her brown eyes widening. She backed out of the narrow space on her hands and knees and climbed to her feet, tugging the hem of her blouse down over her tanned midriff. “Hey, Mi. Sorry. I was just trying to get this stupid cord to stay in place for once.”

“The computer again?”

“Yes. And I lost an hour’s worth of work this time.”

Mila groaned as she glanced at the empty screen of the computer monitor. “I’m so sorry. I keep meaning to have someone come out and take a look.” It was still weird to her to have to rely on technology to keep up with things when she was used to taking patient notes on actual paper, with an actual writing instrument. She preferred jotting things down, it seemed more personal.

But she couldn’t ask Avery to do that when things in the US were all done via computer. The young woman had been with Mila from the very beginning, when she’d rushed into Bright Hope as the frantic single mom of a very ill three-year-old girl. It had turned out Sarah had type one diabetes. Once they’d gotten her blood-sugar level under control, Avery had wanted to give something back and had insisted on donating several hours a week to the clinic—after working her own full-time job. She’d been at Bright Hope ever since, eventually becoming an employee rather than just a volunteer, and Mila had no idea what she’d do without the woman.

“Do you want me to take a look at it?” James’s voice rumbled over their heads.

Yeah, it would have been pretty tempting to ask him to crawl around underneath that desk, but she was afraid her body would go haywire and send out pheromonal signals that could be detected for miles. “It’s just a loose power cord but every time the desk jiggles, the power blinks in and out, and Avery loses data.”

He gave the old machine a dubious look. “Not good for your system. Do you have any tape?”

“Tried that a couple of times.” She was proud of herself for being one step ahead of him. Although it was really Avery who had thought of that. And how embarrassing was it to have this exchange in front of a camera?

“How about surgical tape? Or even phlebotomy tubing?”

How was that supposed to work any better than what they’d already tried?

Before she could ask, Avery said, “I’ll get you some. Anything to keep the darned thing going.”

Mila made a mental note to get someone techy out to look at the machine. The last thing she wanted was for James to have to come out to fix things.

Like her practice itself? If Freya hadn’t gotten him to agree to pump some funds into Bright Hope and allow her to open a branch inside The Hollywood Hills Clinic, people like Avery would have very few options. Mila had gone through most of her inheritance in the years since her aunt had passed away. Not that she missed the money. She didn’t. But she missed what it could do.

Within a minute her assistant had come back with a roll of latex tube tourniquet and wide surgical tape. “Pick your poison.” Avery said it with a smile, but a shiver went over Mila. Maybe because her poison had been James once upon a time. And like a slow-acting toxin, he’d killed the part of her heart that she’d handed over to his care.

“Let’s try the tubing first.”

Freya, who’d been silently watching the exchange, smiled. “My brother the handyman. Always trying to fix what’s broken.”

Was her friend talking about the eating disorder she’d overcome years ago? Mila remembered James’s sometimes heavy-handed tactics when it came to his sister, but Freya said that things had mellowed between them over the last year or so. Especially now that she and Zack had fallen in love and gotten married. Their twins were weeks away from being born, and the pair was ecstatic. Mila had done her best to be happy for her friend, but it struck too close to home. That could have been her and James had he not decided that a wife whose passion was working with various relief organizations would cramp his Hollywood style.

That might not be exactly true, but something had given him cold feet. He knew she wasn’t interested in being a big earner, so she’d always assumed that had had something to do with it. Only James had never seen fit to tell her why he hadn’t wanted to marry her. Just that she was better off without him.

And she was.

Definitely.

And he could keep his reasons for breaking their engagement to himself. After all, she was used to being kept in the dark. Her aunt had loved her, but in trying to protect her she’d left Mila unprepared for the shocking reality of her parents’ deaths. They hadn’t died in a car accident, like her aunt had told her. In fact, her mother had lingered for days in a hospital after being shot. Ten-year-old Mila had never even had the chance say goodbye. It had taken her a long time to forgive her aunt for that once she’d discovered the truth.

The Mila of today did not believe in holding back information no matter how unpalatable or difficult it might be. To do so was to destroy her trust. So James’s refusal to level with her had made it easy for her to walk away and never look back.

His voice came from nowhere, jerking her back to the present.

“I’ll need some scissors.” He tested the flexibility of the tubing he’d been handed.

What was he going to do with it?

Avery grabbed a pair of sharp scissors from the desk and handed them over.

Somehow wedging his large body between the leg of the desk and the wall, he grunted a quick oath at something and then remained silent for several minutes.

And the view from where she was standing was exquisite.

A length of tubing appeared on one side of the computer. “Can you grab that, Mila?”

Conscious of the pencil skirt she’d donned for the photo shoot, and praying the photographer didn’t catch a wardrobe malfunction, she knelt down and took hold of the tubing that he’d pushed beside the computer. Only it now had a dark stain on it. Red. Wet.

“Are you bleeding?”

She glanced up at Avery, who read her wordless request. Within a second or two she handed Mila a bottle of hand sanitizer and some gauze. She quickly wiped down the tubing and lobbed another question toward James. “What’s going on back there?”

“Tie it at the front of the computer.”

She frowned. How was this supposed to fix anything? “How tight do you want it?”

“Pull it taut and then start the computer up.”

Mila tied the two ends together and made a quick knot in the rubber. “Okay, let’s see if that did it.”

Pushing the start button, the screen leapt to life, along with a warning that the computer hadn’t shut down correctly.

“No kidding,” her assistant muttered, staring at the monitor.

“It’s going, James. Thank you.”

A few seconds later the man edged backward and climbed to his feet. The fingers of his right hand were pressed tightly against the sleeve of his dress shirt, where another stain had formed. “Oh, my God, what did you do?”

A series of clicks went off behind them. Mila ignored the sound.

“It’s nothing. Just found some old tack strip along the wall.”

Oh, no. The building had been carpeted when they’d first moved in. Mila had immediately gone to work removing it and then prying up the tack strip. By the end of the process she’d been dog tired, and since the office desk had always been there, she’d left the lone strip where it was. She’d forgotten all about it until now. It was a wonder Avery hadn’t cut herself on it. She threw the woman a look. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot about it.”

Her assistant gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s fine. I’ve never had any problems avoiding it.”

Avery was a lot smaller than James, so that was probably true. Still, it didn’t make her feel any better.

“Let me see.” She held her hand toward him. He eyed her for a second and then shook his head.

“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

“Then you won’t mind if I look at it.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue with her again. He let her take his hand. The second his skin touched hers, a frisson of awareness trickled up her arm and circled her chest. She did her best to beat it back, turning his hand over to get a better look at it.

The flash of a camera went off in the background, making her suddenly aware that Morgan had been snapping away as nobody had told her not to. The last thing Mila wanted was a shot with her and James holding hands. But if she said something, he would know, so instead she found the spot where he’d cut himself. Long jagged lines ran parallel to his little finger, going up the side of his hand. Nasty looking but not deep enough to need stitches. “Have you had a tetanus shot recently?”

James’s brows went up. “Yes.”

Of course he had. He was a doctor. Her face burned, but she forced her voice to remain steady. “Avery, would you mind getting me some more gauze, please? And some alcohol from the cabinet in the exam room?”

The photographer slid sideways, her camera still up to her eye as she snapped shot after shot.

Evidently James had had enough. “I think you’ve taken enough pictures, Morgan, don’t you?”

Whether he didn’t want their picture to pop up in the society pages with speculation about them rekindling their past romance or something else, his low words had their desired effect. The woman murmured something that might have been either thanks or an apology and put her camera back around her neck. She then glanced at her watch. “Oops. I’m late for my next appointment. I’ll just grab a taxi, if you don’t mind. Thank you, though, for letting me hitch a ride to the clinic.”

James nodded, but said nothing. Freya offered to see her out.

The pair left, leaving Mila alone with her ex.

“Nice touch,” he said, indicating the hand she still held.

“Excuse me?”

“The clinic has been trying to improve my image. Evidently my bedside manner isn’t always as soft and cuddly as the board would like it to be.”

A thought came to her. “Did you cut yourself on purpose?”

“No.” He nodded at their joined hands. “Did you do that on purpose?”

She released him. “Of course not. I was just trying to help.”

His gaze came up to spear hers. “And so was I.”

There was something about the way he said that that made her... No. It had nothing to do with their past.

She squared her shoulders. “And you are. Thank you.” She gestured toward the computer. “For that, and for convincing The Hollywood Hills Clinic to take on Bright Hope.”

“It’ll be good for our image.”

All of the warm feelings that had bubbled up a few moments earlier popped, leaving her feeling oddly flat. “I’m sure it will.”

“Hey.” He slid the fingers of his uninjured hand beneath her chin. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it would be good for my clinic’s image...and for yours. Your patients will know they’re going to get quality care.”

He cut off the words before she could say them. “Not that they wouldn’t be getting that at this location, but we will lend you instant credibility. You might not like what that brings with it, though. Prepare to be inundated.”

If he was trying to scare her, it wasn’t working. She’d been swamped with patients plenty of times. In fact, the more she worked, the less she thought of her sad lack of a personal life, and how poor Tyler had pressed and pressed for a decision about taking their relationship to the next level, to the point she’d finally had to break things off with him. She couldn’t do to him what had been done to her. And she’d at least had the guts to hand him the truth rather than dish up a halfhearted fabrication.

Like her aunt had about her parents’ deaths? Or was she thinking of James and the way he’d ended things?

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I can handle just about anything.”

Avery came back into the room with the items she’d asked for, and Mila hurriedly cleaned up James’s hand with the alcohol, although he waved aside the need for any kind of bandage. “It would just get in my way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He glanced at her face. “I’ll let you know when the photos come back so you can look through them.”

Good. That way she could weed out the ones that made her and James look a little too friendly toward each other.

Because things between them were anything but friendly.

And if she was smart, she would keep it that way. Despite the fact that they were going to be seeing a lot more of each other in the future, she would have to protect her heart. Because James had already hurt her once. She had to make sure he never got the chance to do so again.

CHAPTER TWO

DINNER PROBABLY WASN’T the best place to do this.

But it wasn’t like he wanted these photos flashed around the corridors of The Hollywood Hills Clinic. At least, not all of them. Which begged the question of why he hadn’t just tossed the more questionable pictures.

Why? Because he didn’t trust his own judgment, that’s why. He could be seeing things that weren’t there. Things that were remnants of days gone by. Maybe Mila would glance through them and not bat an eye. It wasn’t like there was anything suggestive about them.

They just looked...cozy. Not a word he would use to describe their current relationship.

Strained. Awkward. Difficult. Those were much more accurate terms. And if Mila didn’t desperately need the funding that his medical center could provide, he had no doubt she would have refused to work with him in the first place.

All of this was because of Freya.

He eyed the entry plaque of the Très Magnifique with its gold-plated edging for the fifth time. Still no sign of his dinner date. He had always been punctual to the point of an obsession, while Mila had taken on the characteristics of the Brazilian people she’d worked with over the years. With them it was about relationships and not about the hands on a clock.

And exactly which relationship was she cultivating this time? The one with that firefighter she used to date? Was she seeing him again? If so, what did the man think of his girlfriend going out to dinner with a former lover?

It wasn’t dinner. It was a business date.

And yet it made his skin chill to think of Mila as anyone’s girlfriend. But he’d given up the right to that title—or the title of fiancé—a long time ago. One stupid lie had changed everything. And it hadn’t even been his lie. But that, combined with his father’s dark suggestion, had made him rethink the direction his life had been taking.

Everything with Mila had happened so fast, a flare-up of emotions he’d never realized he’d had.

But Mila was all about family and helping those in need. Maybe because her parents had died, and she’d been left alone.

Family, unfortunately, was the exact thing James hoped to avoid. His own family had been a disaster. Between the tabloids, the violent arguments and his father’s very real infidelities James had always been leery of steady relationships. Then Mila had come along, and he hadn’t been able to resist anything about her. For the first time he’d started thinking about forever.

Until Cindy and his father had destroyed the fairy tale. And that’s all it had been. Mila had never tried to contact him once he’d ended things. Never really tried to ask why he’d backed out of their wedding at the last minute.

If she’d truly loved him, wouldn’t she have wanted to probe a little deeper? Instead, she’d accepted his “it just won’t work between us...we want different things out of life” explanation at face value.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” The breathless voice rushing toward him brought the gavel down on his thoughts.

Tightening his hold on the attaché case he carried, he turned to look at her. The fact that the first place his gaze parked was her lips, looking for any signs that she’d been kissed recently, irritated him. He focused on what time it was instead. “I see some things never change.”

That soft mouth he’d been staring at tightened in warning. “I had a patient.”

Damn. She was a doctor. Why had the possibility she’d gotten delayed due to a case never crossed his mind?

Maybe for the same reason that he saw coy glances passing between them in those pictures.

And she was only six minutes late. It only felt like he’d been waiting for her forever.

Hell, he remembered thinking almost those exact same words at their first meeting. The one where she’d called him a toad.

Unfortunately for Mila, he’d never really perfected the transformation into a prince. And she’d discovered far too late that she should have bypassed kissing him altogether.

Except he hadn’t given her much of a choice, insisting that she dance with him.

Forcing himself to come back to the present, he motioned toward the door. “They’re holding our table for us. Shall we?”

Mila glanced at the sign, and then the hand-carved door, her teeth catching her lower lip.

Had she been here before?

Not likely. This wasn’t the kind of place the Mila he’d known would have frequented. So why had he brought her here?

The hostess guided them through the front part of the fancy establishment, and James tensed as his glance trailed over Mila’s formfitting dress and the staccato twitch of her hips as she followed the woman. She didn’t generally like dressing up, and when she’d heard the name of the restaurant there’d been a long pause over the phone before she’d finally accepted the invitation.

Now that they were here, he realized he should have made sure the restaurant knew this was a business dinner and nothing more—because the employee was taking them back to the table he was normally seated at when he dined here: a secluded spot in the very corner, away from prying eyes...and cameras.

He probably should have chosen a different place to eat. But they knew him here and it was generally easier to get a last-minute reservation than at the places where celebrities normally hung out. There were some of those at Très Magnifique as well, but the dim lighting, specially coated glass and tight security made it hard for the paparazzi to gain access to its patrons. Another reason why this was one of his go-to restaurants.

The distaste of having his face splashed across the tabloids was a holdover from his childhood, when his parents’ every move had made the front pages. James had seen his own mistakes—including his broken engagement—paraded for all the world to see. Because of that, he’d become adept at avoiding the places those kinds of photographers frequented.

Mila slid into her seat, setting her small clutch purse on a corner of the table. “I assume you have them with you.”

He had to smile at the way she lowered her voice, since it mirrored some of his own thoughts. Leaning forward, he mimicked her hushed tones.

“Yes. I have them. They’re in my briefcase. But I think you went into the wrong line of work, Mi.”

“Come again?”

“You should have been a spy.”

Her lips went up as well. “Am I being too paranoid about this whole thing?”

A possible reason for her behavior slid up from somewhere inside him. He didn’t know if she’d started seeing someone else since breaking up with Tyler, but it was a possibility. Or maybe they’d even gotten back together. “Will this be a problem for your boyfriend? I’d be happy to call him and explain, if you’d like.” Although the last thing he wanted to do was call Mila’s boyfriend and tell him this meeting was purely platonic.

Not when the last thing he wanted it to be was platonic.

Not with her sitting across from him in a dark green dress that hugged her form and showed just a touch of creamy curves at the neckline. Curves he’d once explored at his leisure. He forced his eyes back to her face, noting she was biting her lip again.

What the hell? Had she gone and gotten engaged or something? His stomach sank like a rock.

“No. You don’t need to explain anything.”

Because this guy, unlike him, would need no explanation as to why Mila was dining with her ex-fiancé? If she were still his, he sure as hell would have wanted to know why she was having dinner with another man. Especially since she was a physician and not a CEO, which meant there was no need to dine with clients.

“He must trust you.” He forced the words to sound impartial.

“It’s not that.” She toyed with the clasp of her purse for a second or two. “I’m not seeing anyone. I told you I’d broken up with Tyler.”

She had told him. But people changed their minds.

James stared at her for some clue as to what might have gone wrong between them.

“It was me,” she continued. “This time.”

Said as if she needed him to know that James wasn’t the only one capable of backing out of an unwanted relationship.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry for the way he’d treated her? Or that his past actions might be affecting the way she navigated current-day relationships?

“Don’t be. I don’t believe in stringing someone along when I know how the story is going to end.”

The barb sank deep. Because that’s exactly what he had done to Mila. Strung her along, even when he’d known that he was eventually going to break things off. Both because of Cindy and the bombshell she’d dropped, and because of his own father’s response to it. He couldn’t follow in the award-winning actor and egotistical bastard’s footsteps. He would not father a child that he would be no good at nurturing. Or throw money at the mother of that child to make the whole thing go away. So James had done neither, deciding to break it off with Mila and do the right thing by Cindy. Only it had all been a lie.

Mila’s dreamy words the last time they’d slept together about starting a family had hit him at the worst possible moment. Their courtship had been such a whirlwind affair that children had never been discussed. And then Cindy had dropped her bombshell and almost immediately afterward Mila had wistfully expressed her own desire for children.

His reaction had confirmed what he’d believed about himself all along: that he truly was like his celebrity parents, who had left him and Freya to the mercy of a string of nannies. He was no nurturer.

Even his attempts at standing in for his parents when it came to his sister had ended in disaster. He’d been overbearing and overprotective. In some ways he blamed himself for the eating disorder Freya had developed, wondering if it was because he’d been too controlling about what she did...who she went out with. He sure hadn’t practiced what he’d preached back then, because he’d gone out with scads of women who’d meant nothing to him. Including Cindy.

Hell, he’d been the worst possible role model for her.

His regrets over his mistakes with Freya and the scare of that unplanned pregnancy with Cindy had given him a fear of having children of his own. It had gotten so bad that he had stopped treating children in his medical practice, referring them instead to colleagues. Which had left him treating insipid socialites and celebrities. People very much like his parents—a peck on each cheek, a little nip, a little tuck, and they were good to go.

Only he’d grown tired of it all. Weary in a way that he didn’t understand.

“Drinks, sir?”

He blinked back to the present as the server handed them each a menu.

Maybe Mila had been lost in her own thoughts as well because she wasn’t staring at him like he had two heads. He waited as she asked for a glass of wine, and then he did the same, adding an order of stuffed mushrooms—something he remembered her loving. Although why he felt the need to do anything other than toss the pictures across the table and eat a quick bite was beyond him. Except he probably wasn’t going to get to sit across a table from Mila Brightman ever again. And maybe a part of him wanted to relive the days he’d left behind. Now that he knew she didn’t have someone waiting at home for her, that urge had grown stronger.

The server left to get their drinks, and Mila propped her elbows on the table, staring at him. “So how does this work, exactly?”

He frowned. Had she read his thoughts? The idea of taking up where they’d left off flashed through his head. Somehow he doubted that’s what she meant.

“How does what work?”

“The pictures. Do you want me to look through them before we eat? Or after we’re done? Just how bad are they that we’re even sitting here?”

Ah...so she had realized something was up when he’d asked her out to dinner. “They’re not bad. I just...”

He hadn’t expected to have to explain his reasoning. He tried again. “I just thought we should go through them without an audience. That might be hard at the clinic or even at Bright Hope.”

Especially with a few of the more intimate shots. And Morgan had seemed to be quite adept at catching them at just the wrong moment. A woman scorned who was doing her best to embarrass him? Or was it inevitable that he would see the pictures through a different filter than other people?

Mila’s lips curved. “Did she catch you crawling under that desk or something? I can see how you might want to hide that particular shot.”

He laughed. “I take it the view wasn’t all that flattering from where you were standing.”

“Let’s just say it was interesting.”

Interesting.

He couldn’t be sure with the low lighting in the restaurant, but he thought maybe a bit of color had seeped into her cheeks, and he couldn’t help but follow this trail just a little further. Especially since he could picture several office desk scenarios he wouldn’t have minded exploring once upon a time. “Interesting good? Or interesting bad?”

“I think the photographer thought it was good, that’s for sure.”

Had Mila noticed the other woman’s interest? He thought he’d made it pretty clear that she was there on a professional basis only. He hadn’t been interested.

“And you. What did you think?” Okay, so this was pursuing it a little too far.

“I think maybe we should stick to the subject at hand.”

Not exactly a denial. More like an evasion. Which meant maybe he wasn’t the only one who was struggling to keep their old relationship where it belonged: firmly in the past. But he’d better make more of an effort, or he was going to find himself in a very uncomfortable place.

“Fair enough. Why don’t we sort through them now, then?”

* * *

Mila swallowed as she shuffled through the sheaf of glossy photos that James had brought out of his leather attaché case. Now she saw why he’d wanted to bring her to a place where the tables were private and the lights were low.

Even with the dim lighting in the restaurant these shots made something in her belly come to life. These were not the kind of publicity pictures one wanted for the grand opening of a charity clinic. At least, not some of them.

One of the photos in front of the mural did more than light a fire in her gut. It made her face heat. Because she and James were gazing at each other, and while she couldn’t exactly read his expression, hers was filled with dread—with a side order of longing. A longing that had made one of her hands stretch toward him a bit? Coaxing him to move closer to her like Morgan had asked? Lord, she hoped not.

Maybe she was simply gesturing toward something in the mural. But she didn’t think so.

She flipped through a couple more, and then paused once again. James was watching her as she said something to Avery, a slight smile on his face, hands stuffed in the pockets of his dress slacks. He looked so endearingly at ease that it made her chest ache. It was as if she’d been sucked through a time warp and was looking through a window to the past.

Their past.

She could remember glancing toward him and catching him with this exact same expression. As if he loved watching her go about life.

Swallowing, she looked up at him. “Is there anything in here that can be salvaged?”

She had no idea if there was a software program invented that could change these pictures into something they weren’t. And it made her feel a little queasy that the emotions she felt on the inside were so very visible on the outside. At least in these shots.

But then again, hadn’t Morgan caught James off guard in them as well?

“Some of them aren’t as bad. But I wanted us to decide that together.”

“I can see why.”

Their server returned with their appetizers and wine. Mila handed the photos back to James for safekeeping. Or was it simply so she didn’t have to look at them anymore this evening? She had a thought. “Maybe you can come to Bright Hope once we finish up here and we can spread them out on the reception desk.”

“That sounds like a plan. Speaking of Bright Hope, did you get the glass in that window replaced?”

“Yes, someone came the day after your visit. It’s as good as new.”

“No other attempted break-ins?”

She paused in cutting one of her mushrooms. “It was just an accident. The police seem to think so as well.”

Was it her imagination, or had James just relaxed in his seat? Maybe. She knew how relieved she’d been when the officers had said it looked like a rock kicked up by a car or something. There had been construction on that street not so very long ago.

Popping the morsel into her mouth and chewing, she studied the changes in James over the past six years. His hair seemed even more golden than it had before. From spending time in the California sun?

He’d once been an avid sailor, his sleek schooner making the trek back and forth to Catalina Island every chance he’d had. Hours on his boat would explain his deep tan. And she loved the way the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were lighter than the surrounding skin, as if he smiled more while out on the water than he did at other times. He had when they’d been together, anyway.

She swallowed, trying to nip her speculations in the bud. It was none of her business what he did or didn’t do. Not anymore.

“What are you thinking about?”

Time to scramble. She didn’t dare stray too far from the truth, because he’d read it in her face if she told him a complete lie. “Do you still go out on the water?”

One side of his mouth twisted into a half smile. “Every chance I get.”

“On the Mystic Waters?”

His smile slid away this time. “Yes, I still have her. I can’t imagine giving her up for anything.”

Unlike Mila, who he’d been able to give up with a snap of his fingers. It stung to know that his boat had been with him longer than she had. Since they’d actually spent quite a bit of time on the schooner during their romance, the images it brought up were unbearably intimate. For all her discomfort about displays of wealth, the boat was one place she’d felt at home. Maybe because James had gone to great lengths to put her at ease.

It normally took four hours to sail from Los Angeles to the port of Avalon on the island of Catalina, but it had often taken them even longer, because James would stop every time she’d squealed in delight over some new sight, whether it had been porpoises trying to catch a ride on the boat’s wake, or something else. And when he’d taken her below...

Her eyes shut for a second or two before reopening and finding him watching her.

He knew. Knew exactly what she was picturing. Damn him!

“The boats I spent my time on were a little different from your schooner.”

“Rubbing my nose in the fact that you’ve given back more to humanity than I have?”

No. She wasn’t. And she had no idea why she’d spouted off like some self-righteous prig. Maybe because it still hurt to know how easily he could toss her aside.

It seemed like every time she’d trusted someone, they’d broken her heart. Her aunt. The men she’d dated in the past. James.

His betrayal had been the worst of all of them.

But he’d gone to bat for her with the board of directors at The Hollywood Hills Clinic. That meant something. He might have founded the medical center, but that didn’t mean he made all its decisions. Still, his support was probably the main reason they’d deigned to back a joint venture with Bright Hope.

Freya, as part-owner of the clinic, had helped push it through, she had no doubt. But James was the driving force, the one who’d made sure it happened. Who’d helped make sure disadvantaged children and their parents got the help they needed.

And the fact that she’d just wiped any trace of a smile off his face made her feel sick. When had she turned into such a shrew?

Bracing herself for the impact, she set her fork down and reached across to touch his hand.

“You’ve given back plenty, James. I remember you working on that little boy whose face had been damaged in that car—”

“I don’t do that kind of work anymore.” If anything, his jaw tightened even more. “I’ve gone back to traditional practice, leaving post-traumatic facial reconstruction to...other doctors.”

She sat back in her seat, shock washing over her. He was a gifted plastic surgeon so traditional practice had to mean that he...

She truly was a fool. A fool who’d once hoped James would join her on her treks to other countries, helping those who’d been disfigured, either through birth or through some kind of violent act. So had he only pretended to be interested in those things?

Evidently. Until he’d lost interest in her. Those long intimate conversations about the future and the good they could do together had meant nothing.

Nothing.

So why had he even tried to help Bright Hope get a foothold in the Los Angeles community and beyond?

It had to be because of Freya.

Mila had allowed herself to hope that maybe...just maybe James remembered their time together fondly and had used the funding from his clinic to show her that.

The waiter had set their dinner plates in front of them at some point, without Mila really paying attention to anything except James. The thought of eating now made her gut churn.

Maybe he read something in her face. Maybe he’d just realized how his words had sounded, because he leaned forward a bit, snagging her gaze with his.

“I’m happy about what you do, Mila. Glad there are still people like you in the world.” A muscle in his throat worked. “I’m just not one of them. Those cases, they...”

He shook his head, not finishing his sentence.

“They bother you?”

Was that it? He couldn’t bear to look at what humans could do to each other?

“Yes. They bother me.” And this time Mila swore she saw a glimmer of something in his face. Compassion. Or maybe anger. She really couldn’t tell. But it beat that blank mask he tended to wear.

Except for in those pictures. Then it had slipped when she wasn’t looking. The camera had been watching, though, and it had caught him in the act.

Only Mila had no idea what any of it meant.

“They bother me too, James, but someone has to help them.”

“I know.” He lifted a shoulder. “It just can’t be me. Not anymore.”

“Why?”

The muscle in his jaw went back to its rhythmic pulse. “I’m just not cut out for it. I do better with the celebrities and socialites, like my parents. We come from the same world. We understand each other.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”

“Believe it. It’s true.” He picked up his fork and cut into his thick slab of steak. “Don’t let your food get cold. Très Magnifique does a wonderful job.”

Mila had ordered beef tips with mushrooms over pasta. Spearing a bite-sized piece of meat, she tried to figure out what was going on with him. Only she was no good at reading this man. Not anymore. Maybe not even when they’d been together, since she’d been so sure he’d been as happy as she had.

Except he hadn’t been. Not toward the end. He’d been pulling away, and she’d found herself becoming something she hadn’t liked. A grasping, frightened girl, trying to do her best to hold a fading romance together all by herself.

Never again.

She would never throw her heart back into the ring like she had during her time with James. Tyler had known the score and had been willing to wait for her to trust him fully. When she’d realized she’d never be able to give him what he needed, she’d broken it off.

And she missed his friendship. Especially now. Especially when confronted with a man who still had the power to wound her with the tiniest of barbs.

Like his unwillingness to work on those who so desperately needed his skills?

Yes.

But there’d been something behind his words. His relationship with his parents had always been rocky at best. And at the very end, when he’d broken off their engagement, he’d said something about his father. The loathing in his voice would have shocked her under normal circumstances but the agony she’d felt in realizing their relationship was over had drowned any other thoughts for a very long time.

Had the man threatened to cut James from his will for marrying a shy do-gooder who shunned the celebrity scene?

Somehow she couldn’t picture James caring one way or the other. He’d made his own way in the world, his wealthy clientele willing to pay exorbitant prices to be ensconced in the luxury and prestige of his clinic and be catered to by some of the best physicians in the world. From cardiac surgery to face-lifts, from cradle to geriatrics, the medical center gave the finest care available.

She’d never understood what had happened between them, other than she hadn’t been enough to make him happy. And she’d been too angry to ask if his surface explanation—that they weren’t right for each other—was the truth. After discovering what her aunt had done, she’d decided she was never going to try to pry the truth out of anyone ever again. They could either tell her or not, but if they chose the latter, she was done with them.

Forcing herself to swallow, she pasted a smile on her face. “Thank you. You were right, the meal was delicious.” Not that she’d actually tasted much of it beyond the first few bites. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Would you like coffee?”

She hesitated. James had always liked to finish his meal with a nice strong java, no matter what the time. Caffeine had never seemed to affect him. Neither had anything else. But she suddenly wanted out of the intimate confines of the restaurant and to finish this back on her own turf, where she knew what to do to protect her mind from stray thoughts...and her heart from stray emotions. She decided to go with escape.

“I have a small apartment above the clinic. I can make us a pot of coffee if you want, and we can go over those pictures.”

He frowned. “You live in the clinic?”

“Not in the clinic, no. Like I said, I have a small studio apartment above it. It saves on transportation costs since I don’t have to drive to work.”

And it also made it easy to take those middle-of-the-night emergency calls, since all she had to do was throw on some scrubs and walk down a flight of stairs to get to her clinic.

“Were you there when that window was broken?”

No, she’d been in the process of breaking things off with Tyler that night. It had taken her almost three weeks to get the window repaired. Something she wasn’t going to tell James, because she had the strange sensation he wouldn’t be happy about that. Why he would even care, though, was beyond her.

“I was out that night. But it turned out to be nothing. No big drama. No one was hiding inside the clinic.”

His frown deepened. “You went in by yourself?”

No. Tyler had gone in and checked the place out, even though she could tell he’d been crushed by their breakup. She’d tried to take a taxi home, but he’d insisted on driving her.

He was a good man, a simple man with simple tastes, and Mila wished with all her heart that she could have fallen in love with him. But you couldn’t control who you loved. She’d found that out the hard way—had mooned after James, even as she’d flown off to the jungles of Brazil to get away from her pain.

And it had worked. She’d come back a changed person. At least she’d thought she had. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“No, I had someone with me.”

James swallowed, if that jerky movement of his throat could be called a swallow.

“I’m glad.” He called for the check and slipped a credit card into the padded folder. “I’ll take you up on that coffee, if the offer is still open. It’ll give us a chance to pick a couple of pictures and get them to the marketing department in time for the opening in a few weeks.”

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