A red-hot night...

A nine-month consequence!

After an unhappy marriage, ER doctor Danielle Stevens has no interest in men—let alone a playboy like sexy surgeon Dylan St. James! But after discovering that he works at her hospital, she finds he’s also her neighbor! And he becomes increasingly impossible to ignore...or resist. One passionate night later Dani and Dylan are facing some unexpected consequences. But is Dylan ready to go from fling to fatherhood?

With two beautiful daughters, LUCY RYDER has had to curb her adventurous spirit and settle down. But because she’s easily bored by routine she’s turned to writing as a creative outlet and to romances because—‘What else is there other than chocolate?’ Characterised by friends and family as a romantic cynic, Lucy can’t write serious stuff to save her life. She loves creating characters who are funny, romantic and just a little cynical.

Also by Lucy Ryder

Resisting Her Rebel Hero

Tamed by Her Army Doc’s Touch

Falling at the Surgeon’s Feet

Caught in a Storm of Passion

Rebels of Port St John’s miniseries

Rebel Doc on Her Doorstep

Resisting Her Commander Hero

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Pregnant by the Playboy Surgeon

Lucy Ryder

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08988-3

PREGNANT BY THE PLAYBOY SURGEON

© 2019 Bev Riley

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

To anyone who’s ever faced heartbreak and triumphed,

this one’s for you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

ER PHYSICIAN DR. DANIELLE STEVENS crossed the parking lot toward the employees’ entrance of St. Mary’s hospital in downtown Vancouver with the sneaky feeling that her life had been cursed. If she didn’t know better she would swear it was Friday the thirteenth and the universe was having fun at her expense.

She’d woken to rain—not exactly an unusual occurrence in Vancouver—and then discovered her shower was on the fritz and the water pipes were making alarming noises. Of course that meant she’d have to forgo her showers until she got someone to check it out. If that hadn’t been bad enough, she’d been out of coffee because she’d forgotten to stop at the supermarket and stock up on the basics. Basics like coffee, peanut butter, cheese curls and hair conditioner. Which meant not only was she caffeine-deprived, she was also starving and having a hair day from hell.

Then she’d found an unwelcome gift—a half-chewed bird missing its head—courtesy of her neighbor Hilda Frauenbach’s cat Axel.

Yuck.

And, because her car was still in the workshop, she’d had to hotfoot it ten blocks in the pouring rain.

Good times.

Good times that were bound to continue rolling because although today might not be the thirteenth, it was Friday. And Friday nights in the ER could only be described as the second level of hell, because by the end of the work week any good sense people might have decreased in direct proportion to the amount of alcohol they consumed.

Trying to ignore the sneaky feeling that her life was unraveling, Dani felt her hip vibrate and paused to dig her phone out of her shoulder bag.

Thinking it was her mechanic, with yet another lame excuse as to why her car hadn’t been fixed, she swiped irritably at the screen only to discover a Facebook notification inviting her to check on what Richard Ashford-Hall the Turd—oops, the Third—was doing in Cabo Mexico.

She took great pleasure in deleting the notification with a decisive jab. “No,” she told the screen firmly, ignoring the sick, shaky feeling she usually got when Richard’s name was mentioned. “I do not want to see what that sick, cheating rat-fink bastard is up to now, thank you very much.”

And frankly, she had even less interest in seeing with whom he was doing it. She just hoped the woman knew what she was getting herself into.

She hadn’t but that chapter in her life was closed.

Thank God.

She just wished people would stop reminding her of how stupid, naïve and trusting she’d been—or how fabulous her life could have been if she’d been prepared to stay married to a serial liar, a habitual cheater and an all-round spoilt man-brat.

She shivered as memories of her marriage assailed her. She’d rather be living on a houseboat that was falling to pieces with questionable plumbing, eating peanut butter and cheese curls for the rest of eternity than be back in the vipers’ pit that was the Ashford-Hall family.

Heck, she’d rather be dealing with Axel’s unsuspecting gifts than having to deal with spoilt, entitled rich boys and their creepy friends.

Noticing there was a voice message from the mechanic, Dani accessed it, grimacing when, “Hey, Sweetness!” emerged loudly. She quickly turned down the volume before someone overheard. “Listen, it’s about your car. Are you sure you don’t want me to contact a friend who can give you a good deal on a trade-in for this wreck? I’m sure we could work out some kind of payment arrangement,” he said.

His voice was heavy with insinuation that made her skin crawl—double yuck—and reminded her of the men belonging to the super-elite club her ex had belonged to.

“Besides, there’s a whole bunch of frayed wires that I’m having a hard time identifying and there’s more rust here than an old tug boat. Call me. Anytime.”

Annoyed, she called the mechanic back and got the workshop’s answering machine because the work week had already ended. Damn.

“This is Danielle Stevens,” she said firmly. “Negative on the trade-in and the intro to your friend.”

She was pretty sure the guy had illegal contacts, and she had no intention of acquiring stolen property. She might want to do things as cheaply as possible but buying a hot car wasn’t one of them.

“Just fix my car!” she yelled. About to disconnect, she added a better late than never “please,” because her mom had taught her that people tended not to respond positively to rudeness.

Drawing in a lungful of air, she held it for a couple of seconds before slowly expelling it along with her irritation.

There. Look at her being all Zen and going with the flow.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t going with the flow so much as dealing. Besides, it wasn’t like dealing was anything new. So she was going to be without her car again this weekend? No big deal. It just meant she’d be walking the gazillion blocks to the marina after her shift. She’d done that before and survived too. It had been in her student days but she was still young, right—if thirty could be called young—and she was pretty sure a six-hundred-mile walk was good for her.

Besides, hadn’t she noticed just yesterday that her jeans were getting a little tight? This way she could get that much-needed exercise she was always promising herself without having to give up peanut butter or cheese curls.

It would be good for her. Great, even. Unlike the two years she’d spent as Mrs. Ashford-Hall. Two years she could never get back. Two years—make that three—she would give anything to erase from her memory.

Muttering about the questionable heritage of the entire male race—car mechanics, landlords and ex-husbands especially—she stepped out from behind a line of parked cars just as an SUV roared past, hooting at her, the dumb woman not looking where she was going, and drenching her with a lovely mix of dirt, rainwater and God knew what else in the process.

She gave a gasping shriek and lurched backward, arms windmilling frantically as she stumbled over the uneven surface of the road. The next instant she collided with the bumper behind her and went down like a felled cypress.

Knocked from her hand, her phone went one way and her shoulder bag the other, spilling its contents across the asphalt.

Stunned, and spluttering with shock at finding herself sprawled in the road, Dani closed her eyes for a dozen rapid heartbeats, wondering what the hell she’d done to deserve this day. She felt movement in the air around her and opened her eyes to see a pair of concerned moss-green eyes looking down at her from about a foot away.

Whoa. Where did he come from?

Pretty sure she wasn’t dead, she blinked up into a face so ruggedly beautiful it might easily have graced the silver screen—or her most private fantasies if she hadn’t been taking a kind of permanent hiatus from the entire male race.

Even so... She couldn’t prevent her fascinated gaze from taking in a high, broad forehead surrounded by thick dark glossy hair, high cheekbones, strong nose, square jaw and a firm, masculine mouth perfectly framed by a couple-hours-past-five-o’clock shadow.

The stubble gave his square jaw a toughness that suggested he was Alpha to the bone and didn’t care who knew it. For a split second she had an overwhelming urge to reach out and trace his sculpted mouth, maybe feel that rough, obvious sign of masculinity...but that would just be the shock talking.

Her fingers tingled, as though she’d given in to the impulse to touch his jaw, and it took another couple of beats to realize he was talking.

“You okay?”

The rough tones slid across her senses like a mini-orgasm and she froze as unwelcome tingles spread to places deep inside her that had been dead for three long years. She looked down, expecting to see her clothes melted right off her body or maybe steam rising from the soaked fabric because he was hotness personified.

Panic immediately gripped her throat at the realization.

Oh, no, she instructed herself firmly. Absolutely no tingling for anything with a Y-chromosome. You’re done with the whole male race, remember?

Done. Finished. Finito.

“Ma’am, did you hit your head?”

Ma’am? Seriously? Since when was she a “ma’am” to a hot guy? She wasn’t that old and, looking at the fine laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, she was pretty sure she was a good bit younger than he was.

Realizing that she was staring up at him like an idiot, she opened her mouth to say I’m fine, because that was her mantra, and was mortified when a rasp emerged instead. It looked as if her breath had been knocked out along with her remaining brain cells.

Desperate to regain her dignity, she shoved dripping hair out of her eyes and sat up, biting her lip to prevent a moan from emerging when pain radiated out from her hip and elbow.

Before she could stand, he dropped a large warm hand on her shoulder—probably to stop her from throwing herself at him, because she could totally see that happening to him.

With other women, she amended hastily. Not her. Nope, she was made of much sterner stuff and she’d given up on his species.

“Stay there a moment,” he ordered but he needn’t have bothered.

She’d spent her entire marriage being ordered around and she was done taking orders from anyone not responsible for her salary. Besides, she was sitting in a cold puddle of rainwater that was soaking into her jeans and sweater, finding its way into some pretty uncomfortable places.

“Um...” Great—now she was speechless. “I don’t think so,” she muttered, scrambling to her feet and wincing as a host of places hurt. Chief among them her pride.

It was then she realized that he was holding her shoulder bag in one large tanned hand and gathering up its scattered contents. He should have looked ridiculous but the feminine accessory just made him appear more masculine, if that was possible.

Balanced effortlessly on the balls of his feet, he reached for an unopened box of tampons and had her groaning in embarrassment—although she had no idea why. She was a doctor, for heaven’s sake, and it wasn’t as if it had burst open, scattering tampons all over Vancouver.

Sunglasses followed, and when he picked up the latest Janet Evanovich novel that she’d bought a couple days ago instead of groceries, he paused, turning to the back so he could read the blurb.

She tried to grab it but he held it out of reach until he’d finished. “Two hot guys?” he queried curiously, as though she was the crazy fictional character hooked on a hot cop and an even hotter bounty hunter.

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the book, her bag and began stuffing everything inside. What she didn’t see was her phone or her wallet, which made her panic because it held her last twenty dollars in change. Dani glanced around to find her rescuer holding the battered leather wallet and checking out her hospital ID badge—the one with the picture where she looked like a complete psycho—tilting his head as he studied the photo.

He looked amused, damn him.

With a sound that resembled a panicked squawk, she snatched it from him and stuffed it into the depths of her bag, ignoring the grin and the one arched brow that filled her with irritated envy because she’d have killed to have had that talent during her marriage. A talent that conveyed a whole host of emotions from disbelief and skepticism to outright condescension.

His was filled with a masculine amusement that threatened to derail her thought processes.

Out of the corner of her eye she finally spied her phone, and had to get down on all fours and really stretch to retrieve it from under a nearby car. With it finally in her hand she turned—in time to catch him staring at her backside.

She must have made a sound of protest—okay, more of a protesting squawk—because his teeth flashed as his green gaze slowly rose up the front of her dirty, soaked sweater to linger on her mouth before lifting to her eyes.

And, wow. Look at that, she thought with horror as her nipples tightened into painful little points of arousal. Seemed her body wasn’t dead after all.

“I’m taking a break from anything with a Y-chromosome,” she blurted out, and wanted to crawl back under the car when his low chuckle slid across her senses like rough velvet, sending goose bumps skittering across her skin.

Heat rose up her neck into her cheeks and she gave in to the urge to cover her face in the guise of shoving her hair off her face. Oh God. What the heck was wrong with her mouth today?

“Good to know,” he drawled. “Though it does explain the expiration date.”

Huh? Peeking through her fingers, she found him holding up a square foil package that looked suspiciously like...a condom? Her eyes widened and she backed away from it as though it might bite.

“Um... I...uh,” she stuttered, looking around frantically for an escape route while fighting a hysterical laugh—because she hadn’t needed one of those in so long she probably wouldn’t know what to do with it. “That’s not...” She shook her head desperately and backed away. “Nope. Definitely not m-mine.”

She scrubbed both hands down her face and moaned in embarrassment when he bent his knees to peer straight into her eyes. God. He was even hotter up close.

“You sure you’re okay? You took a pretty hard fall.”

She was absolutely not going to discuss her graceless tumble, her sore bottom or anything else. “I’m fine, really,” she said quickly, desperately wishing it was true, desperately wishing she could just disappear. Because it was bad enough that anyone had witnessed the embarrassing incident. That it was the hottest guy in the Northern hemisphere just proved her theory that the universe was out to get her.

“What about this?” he asked, holding up the unopened condom.

She nearly choked. “I...um...you keep it,” she finished in a breathless rush.

“Thanks,” he said wryly. “But what if you need it?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head frantically. “I won’t,” she assured him hurriedly. “I’m taking a break, remember?”

His mouth curled in a half-grin that was filled with wicked trouble as he reached out to tuck a wet curl behind her ear. “So you said.”

The move was so unexpected that she stilled, feeling the rough pads of his fingers brush the sensitive skin of her ear. Unexpected because it sent a bunch of pleasurable sensations skittering across her skin. And unexpected because...because she couldn’t remember the last time a man had touched her; the last time she’d actually wanted a man to touch her.

And she suddenly did. With frightening need.

Ack!

That it was happening now with a complete stranger was more than a little unnerving.

She licked her lips and shifted nervously.

“Just out of curiosity...” Hot Guy murmured.

He was clearly oblivious to the melting going on inside her head...and, fine, in her thighs too. Melting that left her dizzy and a little too turned on for comfort.

“Does that mean you’re currently into women, then?” He looked intrigued, as if he was picturing her kissing another woman when she’d been picturing kissing him.

“What?” Her mouth dropped open and the dizziness vanished. “No!” she practically yelped, knocking his hand aside and backing up a couple of steps. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that but no, I am not into... Sheesh!” Rolling her eyes, she blew out an exasperated breath. “You are such a...a guy!”

“Guilty,” he murmured, eyes wicked. “But I’m glad.”

“Glad?”

“That Sweet ‘n Sassy isn’t batting for the other team.”

Slapping a hand over her eyes, she blurted out, “Oh, my God!” She wished the ground would open up and swallow her. “Please, please, stop talking.” She gave a laughing groan and pointed a finger in his direction. “And forget you heard that. In fact, forget the last ten minutes altogether because... Oh, great,” she muttered, catching sight of a couple of co-workers at the entrance, gesturing at her to hurry up and pointing at their watches. “Gotta go.”

She was about to step into the road when she was brought up short against a warm, hard—extremely hard—chest as a car whooshed past. “Careful,” he murmured in her ear and for the second time in ten minutes Dani experienced that full-body shiver.

Yeah, Dani, she lectured herself silently as her knees wobbled. Great advice. She’d be wise to heed it.

Fortunately it gave her the impetus she needed to mutter an apology and limp across the road toward the employee entrance. Safely on the other side, she felt inexplicably drawn to look over her shoulder—only to find him watching her retreat, a small baffled smile curving that incredibly sexy mouth. As though he couldn’t believe what he’d just experienced.

“Thank you,” she called out, ignoring the niggling feeling in her gut that she was walking away from something good. Something exciting and...terrifying.

His mouth curved. “Any time.”

She paused again, unsure why she couldn’t seem to walk away, because she was pretty sure she should be running.

For long seconds they eyed each other across the wet road, until he finally gave a low laugh and asked in a rough, deep voice that slid into places she hadn’t known were lonely, “Are you sure you won’t reconsider your embargo?”

Was she?

“Nope,” she said firmly, shaking her head with jerky exaggerated movements that should convince him—or was that her? So for good measure she added; “I most definitely will not.”

Liar. You so would.

He was silent for a long beat, his gaze searching, before finally nodding. “My loss,” he said and dug his keys out of his pocket. “See you around, sweet thing.”

The sentiment that just fifteen minutes ago had made her want to gag filled her with a warm pleasure that no doubt came from hitting her head. Then her brain finally caught up and she gave herself a mental head-slap.

He hadn’t meant anything by that parting shot, she told herself as she reluctantly turned away. Men flirted all the time. It was a kind of pastime...like drinking beer, burping and cheating. Besides, she had enough problems without adding a tall, sexy stranger with a kind streak to her things to obsess about.

The most pressing thing, she decided as she hobbled up the ramp, being that she was late for her shift and looked as if she’d been moonlighting as a mud wrestler.

* * *

Dylan St. James found himself smiling as he headed toward his Jeep. There hadn’t been a whole lot to smile about lately but the hot little mess he’d just walked away from had done what no one else had in far too long. She’d taken him out of his head and made him smile—laugh, even—which was a miracle considering everything that had happened in the last two years.

He’d lost his grandfather after a long, protracted battle with esophageal cancer and a friend to a climbing accident—all in the space of two months. Reeling from the double whammy, he’d accepted a temporary commission on a West African Mercy Ship, thinking the change would help him deal.

He’d immersed himself in doing what he loved: helping people—kids especially—get to live relatively normal lives with his skill as an orthopedic reconstruction surgeon. Helping those who usually didn’t have access to modern medical care.

He’d met some great people and had fallen into a casual relationship with an on-board coordinator—a relationship that had been more about propinquity and convenience than any deeper feelings, on his part at least. It didn’t say much for him but he’d thought they were friends with on-again, off-again benefits—right up until Simone had dropped her bombshell...she was pregnant.

Yeah. Big shock that, considering that they’d lately been more off than on and he’d never had unprotected sex. Ever. Still, that hadn’t been the worst of it, because although he’d been willing to face up to his responsibility—without getting married to someone he didn’t have deep feelings for—she’d had other ideas.

Ideas that had emerged one night when he’d finished surgery earlier than expected and headed over to the mess hall for dinner, inadvertently overhearing Simone and an Australian nurse discussing him—or rather his family’s money. Simone had been bragging that she’d managed to catch herself a rich Canadian doctor—her sole reason for working in such God-forsaken countries on a boat that didn’t even have a swimming pool.

As if that was important on a hospital ship.

He’d been about to reveal himself when he’d heard something even more enlightening—that the baby she was trying to pass off as his belonged to a Mercy Ship colleague. A married colleague.

To say she’d been shocked when she’d looked up and seen him standing there was an understatement. There’d been tears, pleas, threats and hysterics but in the end he had been done. He’d finished his contract and come home.

She wasn’t the first woman who’d thrown herself at him after learning that his family owned the largest shipbuilding company in the Pacific Rim and she probably wouldn’t be the last. He’d just have to be more careful, that was all. Besides, he wasn’t interested in marrying someone he couldn’t see himself growing old with.

Not that he was against marriage. He wasn’t. But he hadn’t found a woman who wanted him rather than what his family’s money could do for her. Hadn’t found a woman with whom he could build the kind of relationship his parents and grandparents had.

He sometimes wondered if he ever would.

Arriving at his Jeep, he keyed open the door and slid inside. About to shove his key into the ignition, he realized he was still holding the condom. Tossing it into his console, he chuckled at the horrified embarrassment on the woman’s face and her insistence that it wasn’t hers.

Now, there was a feisty little bundle of contradictions, he thought, picturing her huge gray eyes as she’d blurted out that she was taking a break from anything with a Y-chromosome, stirring up all kinds of mixed emotions he hadn’t been ready to feel.

Shaking his head at himself, Dylan cranked up the engine. Reversing out of the parking bay, he drove toward the exit, feeling much more cheerful than when he’d landed a few hours ago. He had a few days to catch up with his family and then he’d be back in the saddle at St. Mary’s as a consultant.

And if the thought of seeing a certain hot little doctor again made him smile with anticipation he chalked it up to the long flight, three days without much sleep and eight months of celibacy.

CHAPTER TWO

DYLAN FELL BACK into the hospital routine as if he’d only been gone for a week. His old partner, Steve Randall, had been so delighted to have him back that he’d cleared his calendar and headed for the South Pacific, leaving Dylan to handle any upcoming surgeries that couldn’t be postponed.

Although he’d have liked to say he was too busy to think about the sweet little brunette from the parking lot, it was kind of disconcerting to discover that he was as susceptible as the next guy to a pair of soft gray eyes and a sweet sassy smile.

He was thirty-five, for God’s sake. A surgeon. He’d been dating for twenty years; having sex for almost that long, and he’d never—not once—thought about a woman during surgery.

That was until he’d looked into the smoky eyes of an irresistible brunette as he’d reached for the scattered contents of her purse.

Not only had she invaded his dreams but the Zen-like calm he usually adopted in the OR as well. It had to stop. Distraction was costly—especially in his profession. With Steve off in Bora Bora he didn’t have time to take a lunch break, let alone think about a woman determined to stick to her man embargo.

He wondered what had happened to leave her so wary and mistrustful of men. And if he experienced an inexplicable urge to find the guy who’d done it and pound him into the ground it was only because he had two sisters and would do the same to any guy who messed with them.

Yeah, he assured himself, he was feeling protective in an entirely fraternal way. It certainly wasn’t because his ego had taken a little beating. Besides, he knew next to nothing about her other than the fact she worked at St. Mary’s. Even if he’d wanted to prove to himself that he’d imagined the entire incident, St. Mary’s was a large hospital. She could work anywhere, and he didn’t have the time—or the inclination, he assured himself—to hunt down a woman who wasn’t interested.

It was just as well that she’d turned him down because he wasn’t looking for anything more than the occasional good time with an attractive woman who knew the score. And since she hadn’t seemed like the “occasional” type, or even a “good-time” girl, he would forget all about her and focus on cementing his professional reputation.

With back-to-back appointments and two solid days of surgery, by the Thursday evening of the following week Dylan was ready to call it a day. He grabbed his leather jacket and turned off the lights as he walked through the darkened waiting room. It was after eight and he had plans to meet up with a couple of kayaking friends at a sports bar near the marina. He hadn’t seen them since his return and was eager to get back on the water.

He dug in his pocket for his Jeep keys and was about to lock the door behind him when his cell phone rang. A quick glance at the caller ID had him smiling. “Hi, Mom, what’s wrong?”

His mother’s light, familiar laugh floated through the phone. “Nothing’s wrong, darling. I’m just calling to find out how my favorite son is doing on his first week back and to invite him to dinner.”

“Mom, I’m your only son.”

“Still my favorite,” she teased. “But don’t tell your sisters.”

Dylan chuckled, because he’d heard his mother tell his sisters the same thing. “I’d love dinner, Mom but I’m on call. It’ll take too long to get back from West Vancouver if there’s an emergency.”

“That’s the beauty of my plan, darling,” said Vivian St. James smugly. “We’re having dinner at the Regis with the Hendersons. You remember Fred and Daphne, don’t you?”

For some reason his mother’s overly bright, chatty tone put Dylan’s senses on alert. He grimaced when her next words confirmed his suspicions.

“Well, their daughter Abigail is back from Europe, and we can all have a wonderful dinner tog—”

And there it was. “Mom,” he interrupted gently. “Don’t.”

There was a short pause, then a bewildered, “Don’t what, darling?”

Dylan sighed. “You’re trying to set me up again.”

“Don’t be silly!”

His mother gave a laughing snort but Dylan could tell that he’d hit the nail on the head. His mother was trying to get him a date in the hopes that it would lead to the altar. She wanted grandchildren before she died—which was ridiculous because she wasn’t yet sixty.

“Even if that’s true, young man,” she said in her “mom voice”—the one that said he was being deliberately uncooperative. “And I’m not saying it is, you need to get out and meet people. Women.”

“Mom, I meet women every day. Besides, I have met someone,” he heard himself say.

And then he wanted to slap himself upside the head for giving his mother false hope. Vivian would hound him until she met the mythical woman herself. He loved his mother fiercely but if she thought one of her brood needed a helping nudge in the right direction she wasn’t above using both hands.

“You have?”

Oh, hell. His mother sounded so delighted at the prospect that her son was dating again after his friend’s death. She thought all her children were amazing and wouldn’t be able to resist meddling.

“That’s wonderful, darling. Where did you meet and when can I meet her?”

No pressure there, St. James, he thought with amused exasperation. “Who says it’s a her?”

There was a moment’s stunned silence on the other end of the phone and Dylan could picture his mother’s expression.

Then Vivian snorted. “Dylan Thomas St. James!” She chuckled. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay but I know you’re only trying to wind me up. So, when can I meet her?”

Fortunately he was saved from replying when his phone beeped an incoming call. Talk about being saved by the beep.

“Just a sec, Mom. I’ve got a call coming in.” With a flick of his hand he accessed the call. “St. James.”

“This is Rona Sheppard from the ER,” a brisk voice said. “Are you still in the building?”

“I am,” he said, shrugging out of his leather jacket and reaching for his lab coat because any call that included the words Are you still in the building? meant he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. “What’s up?”

“A young child with a traumatic arm injury,” the supervisor said briskly. “ETA three minutes—vitals shaky.”

“I’ll be right down,” he said before disconnecting, his mind already flying ahead to the case.

He was about to shove his phone in his pocket when he remembered his mother.

“Mom,” he said, returning to his call. “I’m sorry but I won’t make dinner tonight.” He didn’t say he’d been headed to Harry’s on the marina anyway—mostly to prevent the lecture he knew would follow about the kind of women who hung out in sports bars.

“Oh, darn.” Vivian sighed. “I’ve been giddy with happiness since you got back.”

She very obviously didn’t say she was disappointed that he wouldn’t meet their friends’ daughter but Dylan could read between the lines.

“Is it something bad?”

“I don’t know yet but it’s a little kid.”

“Oh, darling, I know how much you hate these cases. Call me when you can.”

He said goodbye and disconnected, taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, because traumatic injuries were always bad. That it was a child made it that much more urgent.

Dylan had spent enough time in the ER to appreciate that when children were involved emotions ran high. It was one of the worst parts of working in trauma and he held a huge respect for the people who dealt with it on a daily basis.

Even as he hit the swing doors and headed down the hallway he could hear someone rapping out orders in a soft, feminine voice that sent skitters of recognition across his skin. From the rapid-fire instructions, he knew even before he approached the trauma bay that the patient had just arrived. Even more surprising was that right in the center of the chaos, directing proceedings, was the brunette from the parking lot.

The attending physician.

He didn’t know why the sight of her so competently handling the emergency threw him but it did—enough that he paused at the entrance, his gut clenching in a combination of dread and anticipation.

The kid, probably no more than six or seven, looked so tiny and fragile on the bed that he felt his heart squeeze before he had a chance to take an emotional step back. These were the cases that ripped at him. And he’d feel it all the more deeply if his team wasn’t successful in reattaching the severed limb.

The sight of the blood-soaked compression dressing instantly sucked him back to West Africa where he’d spent the past two years replanting limbs torn off in explosions and artillery fire or lopped off by panga-wielding soldiers. The young victims had been the hardest to deal with because often there had been no limbs to reattach, or necrosis and infection had already set in by the time they got to him.

It meant a lifetime of unnecessary pain, suffering and disability—if they survived—and it made him wonder what the hell it was all for.

Lost in horrific memories, he scarcely heard the attending ask, “Who’s the ortho on duty? Has someone called?”

It was only when he heard his name that he was jolted back to reality.

“Rona said Dr. St. James is on his way.”

Momentarily rattled by the abrupt shift from memories that were still far too fresh and vivid in his mind to the bright lights of the trauma bay, Dylan watched her frown and pull the stethoscope from around her neck.

“Isn’t that the new guy everyone’s swooning over?” she asked absently, fitting the scope in her ears and sliding the metal disc over the boy’s chest. Without waiting for an answer, she addressed the second nurse. “Paula, we’re going to need more blood before we can get him into surgery. Set up another bag and make sure we have enough on standby. Let’s hope Hot New Guy’s not just a pretty face. The last thing this little guy needs is to grow up without an arm.”

Taking a deep breath, Dylan shoved the memories aside and stepped into the room as she turned to the monitor.

Removing the stethoscope, she impatiently slung it around her neck. “Dammit, where is he? Amy, call him again. We—”

“No need,” he interrupted, his eyes already assessing the boy’s condition as he reached out and pressed his fingers against the brachial artery above the boy’s severed arm. It was slow and ragged, barely there.

Hyper-aware of her just two feet away, he knew the instant she recognized him by her audible inhalation. His peripheral vision caught the way her body stilled and he looked up into eyes wide with shocked recognition.

Holding her gaze, he kept his voice low and soothing. “What kind of injury do we have, Dr...? Uh... Stevens, is it?”

“I... I...” she stuttered.

Dylan didn’t know whether to feel pleased or insulted that she appeared so rattled. The blond nurse must have also noticed her reaction because her gaze narrowed, bouncing between them as though she sensed the abrupt tension in the room.

“Dani?” the nurse said, not pausing in bagging the intubated child. “You okay?”

The words clearly jolted her and she abruptly blinked, going from in control to flustered in the blink of an eye. “He’s...uh...he...um—” She frowned and firmed her soft mouth as she visibly pulled herself together. “He lost his arm an inch above the left epicondyle.”

The nurses looked at her in surprise before sharing a significant look.

“I can see that,” he said quietly, ignoring the silent exchange. “Did the EMTs say how it happened?”

A flush stained her cheeks and she grimaced before sucking in a steadying breath. In the blink of an eye she was once again the cool, collected physician. “Apparently a plate glass window fell on him,” she reported briskly, with only the barest hint of a tremor.

“Is it a crush injury?”

“No,” she clipped out. “Fairly clean. I...uh... I had to clamp the brachial artery to raise his pressure but I’m not sure how much longer he can wait for surgery.”

She’d made the right call. He nodded to the cooler on a nearby trolley. “What’s the condition of the arm?”

“I haven’t had a chance to look but the EMT said it’s intact.”

He lifted the blood-soaked compression bandage and noticed that a clamp had been applied to the end of the artery. After a quick assessment of the splintered edges of the bone, he gave a short nod as he turned to head for the door.

“Take X-rays of both sections and bring him up as soon as he’s ready. We’ll be waiting.”

On his way up to surgery, he punched in a number on his phone.

“Kate,” he said, when the doctor answered on the third ring. “It’s Dylan—how soon can you get to OR?”

“About twenty minutes to a half-hour, why?”

“I need your needlepoint skills for a replantation.”

The older doctor gave a low laugh. “I’m not on call, Dylan.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But when a kid loses his arm you’re my go-to vascular. I need you on my team.”

He heard her suck in a sharp breath. “A kid? Please don’t tell me it’s a crush injury.”

He pressed the button to call for the elevator. “It’s not a crush injury. A sheet of plate glass lopped off his arm an inch above the elbow. There’s some damage, obviously but it should be straightforward.”

He heard her sigh. “All right—start without me. I’m on my way.”

While he waited for the elevator, he paged the on-call vascular surgeon, as well as a plastic surgeon. Once the elevator arrived he stepped inside, his mind already on the procedure ahead rather than the woman he’d left in the ER.

There would be time enough later to think about his reaction to seeing her again—that one-two punch he’d taken to the chest when those startled gray eyes had locked with his. She’d looked stunned and flustered, as though she hadn’t expected to see him again. And a bit dismayed—which she hadn’t been quick enough to conceal.

He’d felt kind of stunned himself and it wasn’t because one glance into those smoky eyes had dropped the bottom out of his gut. What the hell had that been about?

No, he assured himself, he’d just been surprised. Surprised at finding her directing proceedings without any trace of the charming clumsiness she’d displayed at their first meeting. Yep—just surprise at finding her without even trying, he told himself.

It couldn’t possibly be that when he’d seen her something deep inside him had stilled and said, There you are.

Because that would be crazy when there wasn’t a hint of insanity in his family tree.

* * *

When the elevator doors opened, Dani and the RN pushed the gurney out and rushed it down the hallway to Surgery. She’d left Amy behind in the ER, taking care of their little patient’s distraught mother, who’d arrived just as they were getting into the elevator.

Seeing her baby lying almost lifeless on the large, adult-sized bed had been almost too much for pregnant Christine Nolan. Dani had told Amy to give her something to calm her down before they had two patients on their hands.

The instant they pushed the gurney through the swing doors an OR nurse grabbed the cooler. “Room Four,” she rapped out briskly. “They’re waiting.”

They quickly maneuvered down the passage to where a scrub nurse was holding the doors open, and even as she released the gurney Dani found her gaze drawn, despite herself, to the team gathered around the wall screen, studying the X-rays she’d taken ten minutes earlier.

Or rather her gaze was drawn inexorably toward one team member in particular.

As though sensing her presence, he turned, his gaze locking unerringly on to her. She ignored the way her pulse leapt at the sight of him, standing head and shoulders above everyone else in the room. Already dressed in his surgical scrubs, gowned and bandanna-ed, Dr. Hot-and-Hunky looked as if he owned his universe.

And was ready to rock hers.

Her face burned with mortification at the memory of their last two encounters and she hoped she could keep from humiliating herself a third time. What must he be thinking? she wondered. First, that she was clumsy and blurted out whatever came into her head; and second that she’d heard that deep bedroom voice of his and everything in her had come to a screeching halt.

She’d looked up into moss-green eyes surrounded by long, dark lashes and her mind had gone blank as a slate. And then he’d asked her about the wound and she’d replied with something so inane even a second-year med student would have blinked.

She just hoped no one had noticed and cringed because she knew everyone had. Especially him. Oh God, she thought as a fresh wave of embarrassment crawled up the back of her neck. She’d stood there frozen as if she was a teenager again and had found herself face to face with the hottest bad boy in school.

Realizing she was still standing there, Dani spun away to make a quick escape. She was almost through the doors when his voice—deep and dark and sinful—reached her.

“Dr. Stevens?”

Tempted to ignore him, she shoved aside the primitive urge to run and turned slowly, giving herself time to school her expression. She was a thirty-year-old professional, she reminded herself. She sucked in a steadying breath, hoping he couldn’t see her inner chaos and terrified because she’d never been any good at hiding her emotions.

She just hoped she could keep her mouth from blurting out embarrassing inanities. “Yes?”

His gaze swept over her face to linger on her mouth and for one horrifying instant she thought he would mention their first meeting or...or even worse...ask about her unprofessional behavior in the ER.

Actually, no. Worse would be that he somehow knew that her first impulse had been to check her hair and straighten her posture. Fortunately she’d done neither. Unfortunately she’d embarrassed herself and surprised her colleagues by staring at him as though he’d popped through a tear in the space time continuum dressed like a Roman centurion.

Heck, even that wouldn’t have shocked her as much.

He lifted a hand and, startled, she jerked back a couple of steps until her back hit the wall, her eyes wide. Embarrassment crawled up the back of her neck when she realized he was just scratching his jaw.

Way to totally overreact there, Dani.

She hastily glanced around to see if anyone had seen that clumsy panicked retreat and nearly sagged with relief when she saw that no one was paying them any attention.

Get a damn grip, Dani.

Concern darkened his gaze. “You okay?”

“Of course,” she managed coolly. “Just in a hurry to...uh...” She gestured behind her. “Get back to the ER.”

After a short pause he nodded, his eyes dropping briefly to the pulse tapping out frantic Morse code in her throat. She had to battle an overwhelming urge to cover that revealing little sign of agitation.

“Anything I should know about the boy?”

His deep voice, pouring over her like a benediction, should have relaxed her but instead it ratcheted her tension up a hundred notches.

“Allergies, medical conditions, any medication that he’s on?”

“Uh...no,” she said, clearing her throat. “His name is Timothy Nolan and he’s seven years old. His mother says he’s a normal, active little boy who loves ice hockey and dinosaurs. He’s a Canucks supporter.”

A smile lit his ruggedly handsome features, stealing her breath and sending her pulse lurching around like a drunken sailor on shore leave. When her knees gave an alarming wobble, she snapped her spine straight.

Stop looking at his smile, she snarled silently. Handsome guys who flash million-dollar smiles can’t be trusted. So walk away, nice and calm.

“Well, we’ll have to see that he gets to play hockey someday.”

Relief that he wasn’t going to mention her recent lapses almost had her knees buckling again.

That’s good, Dani. Focus on your patient and not on your queasy stomach and wobbly knees.

“You can replant?” It could simply be the adrenaline let-down that was making her shaky and hyper-aware.

“The X-rays look good,” he said and though she understood what he wasn’t saying, she pressed on, “So Timmy will be normal again?”

He sent her a pained look and sighed. “I’ll give it my best shot but I’m not a miracle-worker.”

“That’s not what I hear,” she clipped out, almost rudely and flushed when one eyebrow rose up his forehead at her snippy tone.

But she wasn’t about to be intimidated—not like that day almost sixteen years ago when another bad boy had caught her fascinated stare and with a slow smile had propped his shoulder against her locker. Leveling her with a sleepy, knowing look, he’d drawled, “Think you can handle what I’ve got, little girl?” and roared with laughter when she’d turned tail and bolted.

She felt exactly like that now but managed to lock her knees before they ignored the imperative from her brain to stand firm. She held his gaze a little defiantly.

His brow wrinkled, as though her behavior surprised him.

No more than it was surprising the hell out of her too.

After a short pause he repeated, “We’ll do our best.”

She gave a curt nod and had turned to go again when his voice called her softly.

“Dr. Stevens?” He waited until her gaze met his. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

Dani got the feeling he was talking about more than just the hospital gossip that had him sleeping with more women than there were days in the month. And that was only since his return. Not only was she sure the rumors were grossly exaggerated but she hadn’t received any creepy vibes from him.

Maybe not but you didn’t get any creepy vibes from Richard either, a little voice of reason reminded her. At least, not before the wedding. And look how that turned out.

When she didn’t respond, Dr. St. James sighed and looked as if he wanted to say something more. She braced herself, ignoring the way her pulse increased.

But then the anesthetist called his name and all he said was, “I have to go.”

And look at that. She could feel the rush of disappointment that he hadn’t...what? Pushed her up against the wall and put his hands and mouth all over her?

Sheesh, woman. Get a grip. This is a surgical suite. And maybe you could stop looking at his mouth and remember that you’re on sabbatical from men. Remember why you’ve given them up.

She turned away abruptly, determined to leave with her dignity intact but yet again his voice—a rough slide of velvet against her skin—stopped her in her tracks.

“Oh, and Dr. Stevens...?”

Awareness skated across her and she wanted more than anything to escape.

He waited until she looked back before drawling softly, “I’m not just a pretty face.”

She was embarrassed that he’d heard what she’d said in the ER but pride stiffened her spine and had her lying smoothly. “I wouldn’t know.”

She relaxed, inordinately pleased that she could be cool and professional—or at least pretend to be—beneath that intense green gaze. His hypnotic eyes held her hostage for a moment longer, then he nodded brusquely and turned away.

Before the door swung shut behind her she could hear the steady beeping of the monitors over her thundering pulse and she said a quick prayer for little Timmy—and one for the steady hands of those he’d been placed in.

Once in the elevator, away from prying eyes—especially intense green ones that seemed to see right through her—she sagged against the wall and locked her knees to keep from sliding to the floor. Pressing a shaky hand to her even shakier belly, she gave a ragged moan and banged her head against the side of the elevator a couple times, hoping to knock a little sense into her head.

Oh. My. God. She couldn’t believe it. The guy she’d brushed off, then spent way too much time thinking about, was a surgeon...at the very same hospital where she worked. Not only that, he was the very same Dr. Hot Stuff all the female personnel—married and unmarried—were drooling over. And if that didn’t have alarm bells shrieking away in the back of her mind, nothing would.

Not interested, she told herself firmly. She’d barely survived a relationship with one rich, handsome and hotly in demand man and she had no intention of melting for another.

Nope. No way. No how. Absolutely no melting.

But she’d dreamed about him, she was forced to admit. The type of dreams a girl never shared with anyone—not even her best friend. The types of dreams that made her blush just thinking about them, because she hadn’t had a sexy dream since she was a shy, awkward teenager mooning over hot bad boys.

She would rather step in front of a bus than have him suspect that she was like every other woman, swooning when he turned his green eyes her way, ramping up her hormones while every nerve-ending, every strand of DNA, perked up and did a Mexican wave.

Look at me! her nipples had yelled.

The elevator doors opened and she was hugely relieved that the hallway was empty and she could enjoy her little freak-out in private. Instead of heading for the ER, she ducked into the bathroom and barely resisted the urge to shove her entire head under the cold water tap and drown herself.

She splashed her hot face instead and when she caught sight of her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, paused to give herself a stern lecture. No brooding over hot, sexy surgeons with green eyes, she told her reflection firmly. At least until you can behave like a mature professional.

On second thought, she should just stay away from the entire species altogether. Besides, he had even more women throwing themselves at him than Richard Ashford-Hall III. She wasn’t ever going to be one of a crowd again. She would never put herself in a position where she had to fight for any man’s attention. It was too humiliating to discover that no matter what you did you’d just never measure up.

Besides, she was damaged goods, wasn’t she? And no man, Richard had told her cruelly, wanted damaged goods. If she couldn’t do what she’d been put on the earth for—provide him with an heir—she was no good to anyone.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.