Trouble: An Alpha Billionaire Romance by Lane, Ellen (9)

Chapter 12 - Picking Up the Pieces

 

“Harper!”

She hadn’t even realized she collapsed until she was on the floor just inside the door to her apartment, her legs refusing to cooperate. In all honesty, Harper wasn’t even certain how she got home. She remembered watching Ethan leave a moment before running to the bathroom to be violently ill. She remembered closing up her office and taking the elevator to the main floor to catch a taxi home but none of it seemed real .

What was real, however, was the pain. Harper had never known pain like this - deep in her gut, spreading through her chest until she gasped for air; and every time she thought of Ethan’s pained expression, it only got worse.

“Harper, what happened? Are you hurt?” The moment she was inside, Athena was there, slender arms wrapped around her. Harper didn’t know what to say - there were no words she could possibly come up with that could convey the pain she felt.

Was this how Athena felt every time a man scorned her? Was this what she had to carry every time someone betrayed her? It was even worse than Harper had imagined.

“No,” she managed, barely above a whisper. “I’m not hurt.” It was the most blatant lie she’d ever told.

“You can’t even stand!” Athena protested vehemently. “Talk to me! Tell me what’s going on!”

She had barely even seen her sister since she’d gone to Long Island with Ethan - a few minutes that morning over breakfast during which the dark-haired girl commented that she looked particularly chipper. And why wouldn’t she? She’d spent the morning lounging around in bed with the man she loved.

Fuck . Dear sweet Jesus Christ , she loved Ethan... and now she’d lost him.

For the first time in her life, Harper couldn’t pretend not to feel. She couldn’t boil down her grief to equations and variables. She hurt ... and her grief poured out of her unfettered.

The first sob tore right up from the soul of her and Athena started, squeezing her even tighter - but she said nothing else. She simply let her sister cry - loud, long and ugly - right there in the foyer. It had been a good long while since the last time Harper cried so hard she exhausted herself, and now she did. She cried until she was literally half asleep. Until Athena had to help her from the floor and to her bedroom; and even then, Harper barely had the wherewithal to be embarrassed before she lost consciousness.

The blonde had no idea how long she slept, but her dreams were dark, and her slumber fitful. Harper remembered her parents’ arguments more vividly than she had in years - the way her mother always insisted that good things come to an end - that something precious can never last. Harper may not have really known what love was, but she knew that what she had with Ethan was precious.

And she’d squandered it.

When she woke, it was dark outside. The only light in her room was a single lamp, and Athena was curled in an armchair near her bed, her expression anxious. “Here.” Before Harper could say a single word in her own defense, Athena extended a tall, cool glass of water to her, along with two aspirin. “Take this.”

For once, Harper let her give the orders. She was too exhausted for anything else.

She took the pills and drank the entire glass of water before attempting to speak. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just fall apart like that.” Her voice was hoarse - scratchy from the near inhuman sounds she’d been making hours earlier.

Athena frowned deeply. “I don’t want your apologies, I want his .”

That drew a bleak smile from the elder woman. “Why do you automatically assume that he’s the one who did something wrong?”

Her sister’s brow furrowed. “How could you have done anything? You don’t know your way around a relationship well enough to ruin it, Harp. No offense.”

And yet, she had. She had destroyed whatever was between her and Ethan with her dishonesty and pride.

God , just remembering the way he looked at her was enough to tear her apart. Like she’d yanked the heart right out of his chest and spat on it right in front of him... Maybe she really was as cold as everyone believed.

“Talk to me, Harper,” Athena urged her softly - the very same words Harper had used on her days earlier. “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

This shouldn’t be her cross to bear. For her entire life, Harper had been the one taking care of Athena. She always handled whatever came her way - she was more than capable on that front. But this... this was something she knew nothing about.

So she talked.

She told Athena the details she’d hidden from her - how Ethan had used a pseudonym and she hadn’t even known it was him until the first time they met. She detailed how his father contacted her and how seriously she had considered the paycheck.

And she told her how things had changed. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t keep from being drawn to a man meant for someone else. Harper saw the job as a challenge at first, and then, bit by bit, it morphed into something else entirely. It wasn’t a task - it was an indulgence. She looked forward to every moment she spent with Ethan - to his teasing and his jibes. She secretly adored his cleverness and the casual way he approached life. He was everything she wished she could be, and she had no earthly clue why the hell he wanted her.

But then everything had fallen apart.

“Harper, that’s not your fault.” Athena was immediately up in arms. “You weren’t going to take the money! He got it all wrong!”

“But I lied to him,” Harper returned. “I might have taken it once... I planned to do the job-”

“Fuck once, Harper! Things have changed now. You can’t just let him walk away thinking you did something you didn’t! You love him, don’t you?”

And there it was - the pregnant question hanging, needy and cloying in the air. Love . It was an emotion Harper had always believed was so contrived and false. Something that belonged in a fantasy rather than in the real world. But the truth of the matter was that Harper had fallen in love. She hadn’t intended it -it just happened... and that was the danger in it.

“I do,” She managed, her throat thick with the threat of tears she didn’t know she still had in her. “So, I know I don’t deserve him.”

He had given her everything and she couldn’t even be honest with him. For Christ sake, she couldn’t even fight . She stood in her office, letting him assume the worst of her, and ultimately, she’d let him walk away because it was all true. For years upon years, she had been cold. She’d thrown people together for profit and refused to believe in the simple pleasure that was romance.

How could she ever be the one Ethan needed?

**

If Ethan were more melodramatic, he’d have taken off work. As things currently stood, Vlad was busy trying to keep their project in California on track and the office was only just functioning, which meant they needed all hands on deck.

Lucas had never been much of a businessman, but even he came in to help run information between departments, and he served to deliver the demands that Ethan missed when his father left his numerous voicemails.

For once, he was glad of the work.

If Ethan had nothing to do, he might very well have imploded at the emotions that threatened to consume him. He wanted to call Harper - to apologize for all the harsh things he’d said. He wanted her to tell him that it wasn’t true. That he had everything wrong and she wanted him and only him.

But Ethan wasn’t a naive child any longer. In the week since he and Harper had last seen one another, he hadn’t had a single call or message from her. He worked himself into exhaustion and all but fell into bed at night so he didn’t have to think of how much larger the bed seemed without her in it.

Everything was fucked. Six months ago, the loss of a friend with benefits would never have impacted him like this. Ethan would have found solace in the fact that there were always other women - willing bodies in which to bury the emotions that threatened to crush him.

But Harper had never been just a friend with benefits. Even when they were first together, she was something more. An obsession... something he put on a pedestal to adore and ponder... he had always wanted all of her.

And what had she wanted? To wear him down? To buy time while she milked him of all his secrets and planned on making a mint and her career with one final match? In his mind, she was colder than she’d ever been in person, and that made things all the worse.

“Maybe you should take a break.”

He jerked to attention to find Lucas standing in the doorway of his office, his gaze concerned.

Ethan exhaled a tired sigh. “Don’t do that. If you’re going to work here, get a real job. There’s no ‘office ninja’ position.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” Lucas chuckled, but the sound was forlorn and pained. He stepped into Ethan’s office to set a stack of papers on his desk and his brother scowled.

“What the hell are these?”

The corners of Lucas’ mouth turned up slightly. “An excuse to come see you. You haven’t been out of the office in a while, so I just wanted to know who you are and what you’ve done with Ethan.”

The elder man groaned. “Is it really so hard to believe I’m finally taking initiative?”

Lucas could have given him a simple answer, but instead, he did what he did best: made Ethan feel like an absolute ass. “You know, we might all be from different places, but I feel like the Kensley brothers all handle their problems the same way. You work. I guess Dad taught us that... bury our woes in work until they’re not woes anymore.”

Ethan grimaced. “Might take a while.”

“Join the club.” Lucas returned dryly. “Woman spurned club. Population: You, Vlad and Shiro.”

His brother frowned. “What the hell does spurned even mean, anyway?”

“It means that Vlad did something stupid - like refusing under peer pressure to admit he loves a woman he’s obviously crazy about. And Shiro let himself get wrapped in what’s probably the only mistake he’s ever made.”

Ethan’s eyes widened. “You talked to Shiro?”

Of course they’d all talked to the Shiro. While they were waiting to figure out their father’s prognosis, there was little more they could do, cooped up in the manor. But, as far as Ethan knew, Shiro hadn’t breathed a word of what happened between him and Athena to anyone.

To him, anyway.

“Yep. And I’ll talk to you... right after you go see Dad.”

Immediately, Ethan tensed. “What is it? Did he collapse again? Is something wrong?”

Lucas shook his head immediately, his expression reassuring. “Nothing like that. He just knows you’ve been working like a demon and wants to talk to you.”

Ethan was immediately suspicious. Their father only summoned them to the manor when he had some sort of secret agenda. Apparently, his cancer had just made him wilier. “About what?”

“He wouldn’t say.” Lucas shrugged. “I’m just the messenger.”

Ethan suppressed a groan. This was the last thing he needed right now. There were things to do downtown, he could hardly think straight, and he didn’t relish the idea of getting a lecture from his ailing father. But he felt guilty enough about staying away when he hadn’t known his Dad was sick. If he didn’t go now, he’d never be able to forgive himself.

“Fine,” he groused, picking up the papers Lucas had brought to thumb through. The folders were filled with blank sheaves of copy paper. “Wow. Amazing.”

“I’m a ninja like that,” Lucas smirked.

**

Five hours later, Ethan was on his way out of the city. The long drive was one of the first periods in a long while that Ethan had to think for himself. He didn’t like it. No matter how loudly he blasted the radio, he kept replaying his and Harper’s last conversation in his mind over and over again. It never got any less painful.

He had attacked her, that he knew... but hadn’t she deserved it? Hadn’t she lied to him about her intentions? Made him feel things he had no business feeling? If he was honest with himself, Ethan had never felt the same way about another woman. Harper was an anomaly... and now that he knew her true intentions, he didn’t know if he’d ever felt more betrayed.

His family was always telling him to open up, to trust. Talk about his feelings and resolve his issues. Well, that had worked out marvelously. He divulged to someone who couldn’t care less about him and his problems. What a wonderful judge of character he turned out to be.

Ethan had been better off when he used women instead of losing himself in them - even if the sentiment made him feel like the biggest ass in all of existence.

When Ethan pulled into the long drive of the manor, for a split second, he remembered the sirens and medics that had surrounded the house just a week or two earlier. It was enough to make him more than eager to listen to whatever his father had to say - admonishing or not.

Jackson Kensley had just finished his chemo treatment for the day and was sitting outside on the terrace with his wife. For a moment before he spoke, Ethan just watched the two of them together. They were so in love - even after being married for close to forty years. Though he had never been one to believe in happily-ever-afters, Ethan knew that if there were such things, his parents would certainly be it.

Even if he couldn’t be.

“Hey, Dad.” Forcing a smile onto his face, he advanced on them, noting the way his mother smiled at the sight of him. “Hey Mom.”

“Ethan.” Olivia Kensley released her husband’s hand for long enough to rise and squeeze her son tightly. “Always wonderful to see you.”

“Well, I was summoned.” Ethan chuckled. “Lucas is a good messenger.”

“He cooperates when he thinks the cause is a good one.” Despite the strain on his body, Jackson Kensley’s comebacks were just as snappy as ever. He turned to stare up at his son with narrow eyes before gesturing to the seat across from him with his cane. “Sit.”

Ethan sat. It was, after all, why he had come in the first place.

Olivia Kensley bent her head to kiss Ethan on the cheek, and then she was gone - presumably to give his father more space to verbally dismantle him.

“How are things in the office, my boy?”

Ethan chuckled at that. “Chaotic. Finding an architect willing to take on two major projects at this stage in the game is going to be murder, and we want to make sure we get a handle on our losses. Vlad’s not in the most communicative mood, Toshiro might as well be a zombie and you…”  He trailed off, not wanting to work himself into a frenzy when his father hadn’t actually said anything.

“I’m a sick old man?” Jackson filled in the gap, arching a brow in inquiry.

Ethan immediately winced. “Dad, you know that’s not it.”

Jackson sighed, leaning back in his chair to soak up some of the sun’s rays. “Say what’s on your mind, Ethan. God knows we’ve always wanted you to.”

Ethan didn’t think that would be the best idea. His mind was currently a jumble of business and forbidden pleasure that he had no business thinking about. If he attempted to talk about anything, it would probably come out in some obscene thought vomitus that no one would be able to make any sense of. Besides, hadn’t his father called him here so he could do the talking?

“This is... nothing we can’t get through,” he tried lamely.

“Mm.” Jackson merely hummed a neutral response. “And what of Harper Jones?”

Ethan’s head jerked up so quickly it might have been noosed. “What about her?”

Jackson’s expression remained carefully open. “I heard that you brought her with you when I was having my conniption. Why would you need her here on family business?”

Was that what this was about? His father was angry for bringing an outsider into family business? Seemed a rather petty matter for Jackson Kensley. “It doesn’t matter,” Ethan finally managed, his tone hollow. “We’ve gone our separate ways now.”

“Have you?” Jackson sipped at the tea on the table before him, an odd gleam in his eye. “One would at least think she’d do the job I hired her for - but she’s a stubborn one, Miss Jones. Almost as stubborn as you.”

Ethan just stared. What on earth was his father talking about? He was the one who had originally hired Harper… Slowly, he began to piece together the information his father was giving him. “You hired Harper to match someone?”

“To match you, specifically.” His father revealed the words casually - as if they had little to no import.

Ethan’s eyes widened. “You hired Harper for me ?”

“Tried to hire.” Jackson’s mouth turned up in a wry smile. “She never really took me up on the offer. I don’t think her heart was ever really in it... despite the monetary temptation.”

Ethan knew that his father was sick, and that they were supposed to be having a rational conversation, but he couldn’t help the anger that welled up within him. “It was you . You were going to pay her a million dollars to match me.”

“Well I did a little research and she seemed up to the task. Of course, I also considered that she herself was a force to be reckoned with.”

But Ethan was hardly listening. “Dad… you can’t just manipulate people. That’s unfair... it’s deceitful... just because your idea of love is wonderful doesn’t mean it actually is. Real love is complicated. It’s ugly, it’s imperfect its... it’s fucked .”

“And how would you know that?” Jackson inquired casually. 

Ethan opened his mouth and shut it several times as he attempted to find the right words. What did his father want him to say? That he loved Harper? That his feelings for her taught him just how much it hurt? That he’d learned his lesson?

“Ethan, that woman is hurting just as much as you are.” Jackson mused lowly. “I didn’t hire her because I wanted her to pawn you off on a stranger. I hired her because you needed each other. You may call it prying, son... but I just want to see you happy. Harper makes you happy . Am I wrong?”

Ethan didn’t like the strange amalgamation of emotions swelling inside him. The conflict - hurt and elation, confusion, and most of all... a longing to go to Harper and right what he had wronged. “She lied.” He finally managed in a low voice. “Why would she lie to me?”

Jackson chuckled lowly. “A matchmaker disproving her own system? I can’t imagine that was very easy for her. I haven’t had the pleasure of many meetings with Miss Jones, but I can say this: you two are so very alike that anyone with eyes could see it.”

Ethan’s chest was so tight that he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to cling to the sanctity that his own misperceptions gave him - that Harper was wrong and that she had only wanted to hurt him. But the fact of the matter was that he knew Harper... he was her, under different circumstances. They could have easily had one another’s lives; and yet, they had endured and found one another.

“Fuck …” he breathed, running a hand through his hair absently.

His father was smiling. “Welcome to the real world, Ethan.”

At that, his son gave a dry smile. “Been here for a while Dad. Seems the world is getting a kick out of the Kensleys right now.”

“Yes , about that...” Jackson shifted in his chair, accepting the fresh cup of tea that Isabella brought him with a grateful smile. “There’s some business we have to tend to there. Not that I don’t have the utmost respect for Vlad but, of all of us, he most needs a nudge in the right direction.”

Ethan arched a brow. “Meaning... what?”

“Well,” Jackson’s eyes twinkled in anticipation. “I’d like to speak to him. In person.”

Ethan was immediately up in arms. “Dad, he’s in California. There’s no way. You need to stay here.”

“Are you trying to tell me what I can and can’t do, Ethan?” Jackson’s tone was light, but there was a hard backbone of determination that had been present for as long as Ethan could remember. “If I want to go see my son, I will. But, ultimately, I’d like your help.”

**

 

Three weeks later

It was strange to be back after all these years.

When Athena had first suggested they return to California, Harper was stubborn. Just because she and Ethan didn’t work out didn’t mean she was giving up her dream. She had her own life, regardless of the gaping hole the man had left in her heart.

But the more she operated her business, the more Harper discovered that said heart simply wasn’t in it anymore. How could she match people based on variables and figures once she had tasted real emotion?

Despite her own heartache, Athena liked to tease that she was the one who had always been right, and Harper had to give her that. What a pair they made - two lovesick sisters leaning on one another for support.

But then, they had always been leaning on each other.

“We could start fresh there,” Athena insisted one night over sushi. “You still have your reputation. I could work downtown… and we could visit our parents.”

That got Harper’s attention. They hadn’t visited their parents for years, precisely because Harper hated to hear their mother and father debase each other. Though they hadn’t lived together for almost two decades, they were still bitter about how spectacularly their marriage had failed. Moreover, they were still consumed with how they had each been wronged that they refused to recognize how much their rows had impacted their children.

Harper had decided long ago that it was just best to stay away - and now Athena wanted to go back. “We could ask them what went wrong. We never really found out, did we?”

At first, Harper had laughed. Their parents never hesitated to list reason upon reason how they had been wronged by their spouse. They could each write a book on how the divorce was the other’s fault. But when she really thought about it, Harper realized that her sister was right. They didn’t really know why their parents’ marriage had failed. They could play the blame game for years and years, but unless a real discussion was had, none of it would mean anything.

But still... going back?

She still couldn’t believe she did it. Said goodbye to her New York office and moved back to LA, left everything she’d built… and now, the prospect of facing her parents seemed somewhat daunting. Athena, ever enthusiastic, had suggested that they just move back in with one of their parents - but Harper shot that down pretty quickly. If things got ugly, she wanted to be able to escape.

And besides that, living with either of her parents would just remind her of how spectacularly she’d failed with Ethan. In the end, it had just been arguments and accusations - very much like her parents. That was never what Harper wanted to become.

In truth, she had always been frightened that her life would come to that.

But now, she hardly had to worry. Ethan would, no doubt, find someone better for him. He didn’t need a matchmaker to tell him that he was charming, funny, and gorgeous, and that the depth of his humility was nothing less than breathtaking. Despite the pompous nature he showed everyone else, boiling Ethan Kensley down would reveal his resilience, kindness, and dedication.

At the very least, she would always have those memories.

“So, today’s the day?” They had barely been settled in LA for a week. Harper was looking for new office space while Athena contemplated translating jobs, but they had both taken today off. They were going to see their parents... to try and get some answers. Harper would head to their mother’s and Athena their father’s. Of course, the two refused to see one another, so asking anything more would be out of the question. They would just have to do their best.

“I guess so.” Harper smiled at her sister, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

It would be better this time, she promised herself. Things would be different. Now, thanks to Ethan, she had an entirely different perspective.

...So why did she still feel as if her life was falling apart?

***

In Ethan’s opinion, LA was exhausting. He could see why the city so overwhelmed Vlad, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to steer his brother in the right direction.

First and foremost, bringing their father from New York was no easy feat. Almost no doctor would sign off on it, and even then, their mother insisted on coming as her husband’s personal nurse. Ethan had to deal with his father’s whims for a six-hour flight, and then he had to deal with Vlad’s stubbornness. It was easier, he supposed, knowing what his brother was dealing with. Vlad didn’t like to be told that he was wrong, but sometimes he needed to hear it. And their father excelled at that. It only took one excruciating conversation to get Vlad to take his head out of his ass... and then the rest was all gravy... at least for his brother.

Of course, Ethan hadn’t thought Vlad would go so far as to actually propose to Charlotte Gardner, but he certainly wasn’t protesting. Maybe the forthright architect would lighten him up - their father certainly seemed partial to her. And Ethan couldn’t deny the simultaneous warm-fuzzies and urge to puke that he got when Vlad declared his love for Charlotte for every gossip-hungry media outlet to hear. For him, it was the ultimate sacrifice.

Ethan could certainly respect that.

All in all, the day was very, very long. From flying to the city, to forcing Vlad to man up, and then the inevitable celebrations that came afterwards... a very prominent part of Ethan wanted nothing more than to collapse in his hotel room.

But he had bigger fish to fry.

Harper was here.

Though he’d been busy the past few weeks, Ethan hadn’t forgotten about her for one moment. When he heard that she was closing her Manhattan office, a brief moment of panic enveloped him. She was leaving the city - running from him.

But there was nowhere she could go he wouldn’t follow.

And so, he watched, and waited. When she settled in LA, he couldn’t have been more relieved. Of course, Vlad wanted to know why he was here, and on that point, he couldn’t be completely honest with his brother, but all that mattered was the end game.

Now, Vlad had his blushing bride, their father was settled in his room with a very capable west coast doctor tending to him, as well as his wife... and Ethan was free to tackle his own mistakes.

To say he was eager would be a bit of an understatement. He might have hired a driver, but he still had his vices. Instead, he rented a luxury sports car before making his way towards south LA - where he knew Harper and Athena had settled.

Harper.

God, how he missed her. That blonde hair, the way she smelled, that sardonic little smirk. If he could just talk to her... tell her how much of an ass he had been... maybe she would forgive him and they could start over. Be lovers in the real sense of the word.

The notion was enough to make Ethan grin in elation as he lost himself in the prospect of his future…

And missed an oncoming car swerving out of its lane.

***

“So, how’s that good-for-nothing father of yours?”

Harper was getting nowhere fast. She brought her mother a gift, regaled her with stories of New York, and had planned on slowly, but steadily, heading toward the topic of her parents’ marriage... but her mother broached it first. And not in a favorable tone. In truth, just being in this house made her uneasy. Harper had too many bad memories of the place.

“Athena’s gone to visit him,” Harper tried with a thin smile. “You might ask her.”

Predictably, her mother frowned. “Of course, she goes to see him before me. Playing favorites.”

Harper groaned. “No one’s playing favorites, Mom. Thee will come see you tomorrow.”

“If your father hasn’t poisoned her against me, that is.”

Harper had barely been in the house for an hour, and already, she wanted to throw her hands up in frustration. How she had expected to get anything out of her mother was completely foreign to her now. All the woman wanted to do was talk about her own problems. Both she and their father were so wrapped up in their own issues that…

Oh God.

The answer crashed over her with the force of a tsunami and Harper understood . Two people wrapped up in their own problems... so caught up that they couldn’t see what brought them together in the first place.

Just like she and Ethan.

Ethan.

In that moment, she needed Ethan so badly she could barely stand it. She missed him - both his snark and his sincerity. The way he held her, the way they made love and all the good he brought out in her…

She had to see him. Had to.

“I’m going to call your sister.”

Harper was so consumed by her own thought process that she barely noticed when her mother left the room. She didn’t notice when the older woman got Athena on the phone and proceeded to be righteously displeased. In fact, she didn’t notice much of anything until the TV before her switched onto a special news bulletin.

And the world stopped.

“In a horrible accident on I-49 this afternoon, Ethan Kensley, son of billionaire mogul Jackson Kensley, was struck by an oncoming car in his rental on the way to south LA. The car was totaled, and Ethan Kensley was rushed to Bayside Hospital in critical condition. He is said to be stable but suffering from a number of injuries that-”

By this point, Harper had tuned out the overly concerned voice of the newscaster. All she could see was the image of the twisted sports car that he had been driving. It was utterly destroyed, the frame warped and the metal torn beyond compare.

Horrified, Harper could only stare. Ethan. Ethan was in LA. A car had hit him and dear God … the last thing she’d told him was to get out of her office.

Immediately, the blonde lurched from the sofa, grabbing her purse. “Harper ?” her mother called, her head poking out of the kitchen doorway. “Where are you going? I thought you wanted to talk!”

“I’ll be back later!” Harper hardly managed the words before she was out the door, sprinting down the drive to her car.

Ethan. Ethan .

She had no idea how she got to the hospital. The entire ride was a blur. Outside the building, every media outlet in existence was clamoring for news of the Kensley family. Harper shoved through them without hesitation before rushing to the reception desk, hardly daring to breathe.

“What room are they keeping Ethan Kensley in?”

She was well aware that she probably looked frightful, but Harper didn’t care. She had to see him. Had to tell him…

But the receptionist was eying her warily. “Are you a family member? I need to see some identification.”

The blonde could have screamed in frustration. It was her first impulse to lie, but she didn’t have the paperwork to back up her claim. “Look,” she began, tension evident in her voice. “I have to see him. Please . I just need to know that he’s alright.”

“Yeah ,” the stone-faced woman replied dryly. “You and every other reporter. Only family allowed to see him.”

Harper could have collapsed in dismay. What if something had happened? What if she never got to see him again? The thought of Ethan leaving her forever... it was more than she could possibly bear.

“Let her through.”

The blonde started at a deep, vaguely familiar voice to her right. She looked up, shocked to see none other than Vladimir Kensley standing over her with a wan smile. “Harper Jones, right?”

Harper nodded in disbelief as Vladimir raked a hand through dark hair. “He looks awful, but he’s still breathing... and I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. So, let her through.” He directed his last words at the flustered receptionist, who all but bent over backwards to obey him.

“Oh - of course, Mr. Kensley!”

“Thank you .” Harper could barely get the words out as her heart leapt into her throat.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Vlad jerked a thumb towards the hall behind him. “He’s in room four sixteen. First door beyond the elevator on your right.”

Harper was gone almost before he finished speaking. For her, an elevator ride had never been longer. She almost knocked over two nurses as she burst from its confines and jerked the door to room four sixteen open.

And there he was.

For close to a minute, Harper didn’t draw a single breath.

Oh God. Oh God .

More than half his body was wrapped in bandages, one leg suspended from the ceiling - clearly broken. There was more blood than she had seen in a long while, and the handsome face she so adored was swollen with trauma. Green eyes were mere slits directed at the ceiling, and Harper’s heart went out to him as tears streamed down her face. Ethan. Her Ethan.

He was alive.

Slowly, she advanced on the bed, step by step. She was halfway across the room before the man in the bed shifted slightly, his eyes meeting hers.

Time stopped.

Harper’s eyes swept over him again and again, concentrating not on his injuries but the fact that he was alive. He was still breathing, and she wasn’t too late.

It was Ethan who finally broke the silence. “Well, fuck.” His words were muffled through the bandages around his head. “Not the reunion I expected.”

Slowly, Harper sank down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to touch one of his hands gently. “Does it…” She swallowed thickly. “Does it hurt?”

Ethan chuckled darkly at her question. “I’m so drugged up I don’t know my asshole from my elbow. So, no... at least, not now.” A low breath whistled from him. “I’m pretty fucked up, Harper.”

Tentatively, the blonde reached down to touch his face as gently as she could. “Fractured spine. Broken leg... a shit ton of torn ligaments...they’re talking about therapy to learn how to hold a spoon again.” He choked another laugh. “What a fucking mess.”

“My mess.” Harper murmured, his face between her hands as her eyes met his. “Mine. I’ll take care of you Ethan. I’ll take a break from work, I’ll move in... I’ll do whatever I have to-”

“Harper, that’s ridiculous. I’m fucked,” Ethan spat, “I might never be the same again and I…” He trailed off, pain evident in his tone. “I said all those things... all that shit I didn’t mean. I should have listened to you. I should have believed in you.”

This was the second time she had come apart in front of him, but Harper hardly cared. He was here . And as long as they were together, everything would be fine. Everything could be worked out.

“I shouldn’t have lied. I should have been honest with you, Ethan... and I’m being honest now: I love you. I shouldn’t have let you go... I shouldn’t have left the city. Maybe if I hadn’t you wouldn’t be-”

“Don’t you dare, Harper.” He cut her off brusquely, his gaze hungry. “Don’t you fucking dare . This isn’t your fault. None of it is.” His tone softened. “Did you just say you loved me?”

“I love you.” Her makeup had to be a mess by this point. Ethan was the only person in the world that could reduce her to an amorphous puddle of emotion... and Harper supposed she had better get used to it. “I do. I love you. And I’m not going anywhere, no matter what you say.”

“Jesus …” Ethan groaned. “You are stubborn.” He smiled as well as his face would allow, and her heart leapt. “I fucking adore it. I adore you Harper... and if this accident gets me a few months of you waiting on my hand and foot... I suppose it will have been worth it.”

Harper laughed through her tears. “Don’t count your chickens. I’m going to be a hard taskmaster. You’ll hate me.”

“No.” Ethan met her gaze steadily, his eyes full of emotion. “I’ll love you. Never doubt that, Harper. I will love you... in all the ways that you deserve.”

Epilogue

 

2 Years Later

 

“Harper.”

Groaning, the blonde turned over, burying her face in the pillow. It was Saturday, and she had long declared that anyone who dared to wake her up on a Saturday before noon would see the full brunt of her wrath.

But that had never really deterred Ethan, in all honesty.

“Harper . You awake?”

“No.” She groused pointedly, her eyes stubbornly closed. “Not until twelve.”

His only response was a low chuckle that, even after almost three years together, still warmed her in ways she had never imagined. “Harper, my appointment is at ten thirty. Please - for me?”

At his plea, Harper’s eyes popped open in guilty remembrance. That was right. Today was Ethan’s last physical therapy session for the injuries he’d sustained almost two years ago in a car accident that had almost cost him his life.

The mere memory was enough to make Harper shudder. But, as she always did when her feelings threatened to overwhelm her, she forced herself to see the truth of the situation - Ethan was here, with her. He was alive .

And he didn’t want to miss his appointment.

Rolling over, she stretched as she straightened, a huge yawn threatening to dislocate her jaw. “Jesus , Ethan, I’m sorry. I didn’t get to bed until late last night and I-”

Before she could properly apologize, his mouth was on hers. Once upon a time, Harper had protested that she couldn’t possibly be sexy this early in the morning, or that it was better if Ethan avoided aggravating what were once numerous injuries.

But then she had learned better. “Morning, gorgeous.” Harper allowed herself a small smile against his mouth as he kissed her. She knew better than to argue.

It was a while before the man finally let her go, but when he did, she hardly wanted to leave the bed. That, however, was exactly what they had to do. “Ethan, mercy , please…” How was it that the man knew exactly how to light her fire?

“Mercy ?” He murmured indulgently against her neck, making her shiver. “Not in my vocabulary.”

Harper laughed - half tortured, half amused. “What about your appointment?”

The grin she earned in response was positively evil. “I woke you up early on purpose, didn’t I?”

Dear God , she hated him….and she loved him. Ridiculously.

An hour later, they finally made it to the kitchen for breakfast. As Harper searched for cheese and eggs, she eyed Ethan in awe. Despite the fact that he had mostly recovered from the accident, he’d had a few setbacks - one of which being a mishap that had almost re-broken one of his legs. He was still wearing a cast - a bulky, heavy thing that went all the way up to his knee and had to be uncomfortable as hell.

But that didn’t stop him getting into mischief. It seemed nothing stopped Ethan getting his way when he wanted it...but then, Harper had always known that, hadn’t she?

“You do all your exercises?” She tossed over her shoulder as she set her ingredients on the counter.

“What, this morning or in general?” Harper shot him a dirty look marred by her amused smile.

“In general , Ethan. The doctor will know if you haven’t.”

Her lover exhaled a pained sigh. “I’ve done them. And done them and done them and done them. You know me, Harp. I just want to get out of this thing.”

It had been the story of the man’s life for the past two years. While Harper and most members of his family could consider him reluctant when it came to work and getting up on time, when it came to physical therapy, Ethan was like a man obsessed. He had always depended on his body, and so the loss of it was one of the most difficult things he’d ever had to endure.

Of course, when Harper promised him she would take care of him, she had no way of knowing the difficulties that laid before them - days of punishing therapy that left Ethan sullen and despondent. Frustrating arguments that led to her giving him days to cool off - but she had never abandoned him. Harper had long learned that, even though the man could be infuriating, life without him just wasn’t the same. It could never be the same again.

That was what it meant to be in love.

“Today’s the day, hon.” She glanced at him as he settled at the kitchen table that she had picked out. “You’ll have your freedom.”

When she first moved in with him, and Ethan told her he’d give her free reign over the apartment, she was reluctant to believe him. After all, the only woman who had ever left her mark before was his housekeeper, and Harper didn’t know if she could encroach on that terrain.

But gradually, she found out just how serious the man was. It turned out that after years as a consummate bachelor, Ethan was all but dying to change things up - who’d have thought? That, and the fact that he could move little in the first few months meant that he enjoyed watching Harper do things for him.

And she liked to do them.

“Freedom sounds good...everything except the part where you don’t wait on me hand and foot anymore.”

Harper rolled her eyes, beginning to break eggs into a bowl. Heaven forbid he became independent again. In that respect, she couldn’t wait to see the man walking on his own...even if it meant admitting to herself that there was a small part of her that liked feeling needed.

But then, there were a lot of things that Ethan had helped her to discover about herself.

“I’m going to have to think of some other way to keep you around.” At that, Harper merely laughed, picking up her bowl of eggs to advance towards the table. Bed-tousled and unshaved, the man she loved looked utterly and completely scrumptious.

“Oh really? Like what, the dreaded holy matrimony?”

Ethan smirked. “If I asked, would you say yes?” This was a game they often played with one another. Harper knew full well that she would end up married to Ethan one day, and that he was all but dying to ask - but he didn’t want to do it until he was one hundred percent. Marriage, for them, was an eventuality.

But that didn’t mean there couldn’t be other surprises.

“Maybe. Lucky for you, I’ve got other reasons to stick around.” The moment she sat down, Ethan edged closer to her. The moment he could, he wrapped an arm around her waist to kiss her shoulder fondly.

“Do you now? Finally found that match?”

Harper snickered. “I wish.”

“After all my funds? I’ll demand a pre-nup.”

The blonde grinned, tossing her hair. “If I don’t first.”

“Well, babe, you’ll have to let me in on your secret. I’m dying to know.”

Harper had planned for a more opportune moment - sometime after he had his cast off. Maybe when they were out to lunch or at the park - maybe even when they were in bed with his arms around her. This moment, however, suddenly seemed more opportune than she could have imagined.

“Ethan...I’m pregnant.”

She expected the man to freeze. To stare at her as if she were out of her mind or, perhaps, to demand what had happened. They had never discussed children, and when Harper had last visited her doctor, she’d been surprised to discover that her IUD’s protection had expired a mere six months before.

Leading to the current situation.

But Ethan did none of those things. Instead, he merely pulled Harper into his lap, heedless of the bowl of eggs that dripped across the table. Before she could say a single word, he was kissing her - deep and desperate, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. “A baby ,” he breathed, as if it were the most astounding thing in the cosmos. “We’re going to have a baby. A little baby , Harp!”

It was almost as if he were the one telling her, and Harper couldn’t help the way her eyes filled. This man never ceased to surprise her.  “We are .”

Ethan chuckled against her mouth, ecstatic, before he pulled back to look up at her, his eyes alight with happiness. “Wait until we tell Dad.”

 

THE END

 

 

 

 

 

 

SAVING HEARTS

An Alpha Billionaire Romance

E LLEN L ANE

 

Chapter 1: The Arrangement

 

When Michael looked down at the phone buzzing incessantly in his pocket, he sighed, shaking his head. It had already been an extraordinarily long day and he could only think of one person who would be calling him at near on eleven PM to speak with him – and he was too tired to deal with her.

When the light before him turned green, he put his phone aside and continued on his way home. The streets were deserted at this hour on the edge of the city, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He’d seen more people in the emergency ward because they thought they were situationally aware while driving to know better. If he was going to call his mother back, and only if, he’d do it when he got back to his flat.

Truth be told, he didn’t really think that he was going to.

Unlike many physicians he knew, Michael liked working the late shift. The long drive home gave him time to mull over things his otherwise hectic life wouldn’t allow. The surgeries he had planned for the coming week, how many hours he was going to spend at the hospital. How on earth he was going to survive another summer at his parents’ estate when his mother was hell bent on bending him to her will.

If he’d thought his obligation to pleasing his parents had ended with his getting his medical degree and becoming a successful doctor in his own right, he’d been wrong. His mother was still intent on him being true to his “noble” English roots, when Michael had far more important things on the brain. Saving lives, for instance. Or making sure that his best friend and one of the UK’s greatest sources of interest, world-renowned architect Elias Johnson, wasn’t doing something that he’d regret.

Though, Michael had to admit that since Elias had married, he’d mellowed out somewhat. He didn’t jump into decisions so quickly, and on some occasions, he could even be enticed into pretending that he gave a damn about people – a detail he’d had trouble with before. Overall, in the past year, he’d become much more personable.

At least, in Michael’ opinion. He had known Elias before all the pomp and circumstance and the man had always been a bit narcissistic and slightly neurotic. But, then again, Mike was a surgeon, not a psychiatrist. That job now fell on Elias’ wife, Cat, and Mike could only pray for her.

That said, he liked Cat. She was an architect, like her husband, and a damn good one. In fact, with what he was teaching her, she might be on the way to surpassing her husband in the next five years or so – which would be an interesting thing to see.  Cat and Elias made quite the couple – and whenever Mike argued to his mother that he wasn’t particularly interested in marrying, Elias’ case was the first she brought up.

Elias didn’t think he would marry either, and look what happened to him! He found a nice girl, exactly his match, and you see how happy they are, Michael.

The memory alone was enough to make the Doctor groan as he pulled into the gated drive of his apartment complex. When he flashed his card, the guard let him in – and for the first time since he’d left the hospital, a small smile formed on his face.

At least he’d be free in his flat. He could set his phone to silent, have a glass of scotch, and shut out the world around him. It wouldn’t be difficult at this hour of the night. When he eased onto his leather sofa and turned the news on the telly, he wasn’t “Esteemed Earl and Doctor Michael W. Tate III.” He was just a man – an exhausted man who wanted a few hours to himself until he had to deal with life all over again the following morning.

Michael slipped from his Tesla – a car his father berated him for getting over a Rolls Royce – and locked it before heading into the posh building behind the parking lot. His flat was on the sixth floor, and he was relieved not to run into any of his neighbors on the way. Despite the fact that he had lived here for a good five years, he still found himself assaulted by his neighbors on a daily basis. They wanted to be friends. They wanted to hobnob with nobility when, in all honestly, Michael wanted little more than to escape his title.

It was why he’d chosen to become a doctor rather than to go into the military or politics or some other such ridiculousness. There were plenty of modern-day nobles in England to sling their titles around carelessly without his adding to the fray. If it were up to him, he’d live a quiet life out of the media spotlight, doing what he loved: Helping people. But so far, that had proved to be impossible. The paparazzi would hide in trash cans to get a glimpse of him – and that was outside of the functions that he had to attend every year because of his title. There was a photograph of him with William, Kate and their family that everyone flaunted, asking him if the royal family really were as royal as people thought.

They were fine people, in his opinion, but being asked about them daily wore on his nerves. Just as his mother’s constant harping on him about finding a wife.

Exhaling hotly, Mike entered his apartment, locking the door behind him and tossing his coat onto the nearest armchair. Though he liked to throw his money around about as much as his nobility, the fact was that he could match his best friend on almost any expenditure that he cared to make. The difference between them was that Elias liked to splurge while Michael chose what he spent on wisely.

His flat was a perfect example.

In a quiet, well-landscaped neighborhood in Northern London, the two-bedroom flat was in a new building, with mahogany floors throughout and a gorgeous view of the park across the street. Even Elias, who was reluctant to give compliments where architecture was involved, had to admit that the place was a damned good fit for him. Of course, the price had been something outlandish, but on this particular occasion, it was something that Michael was willing to pay. For his comfort, his solitude, and his peace of mind.

After all, one day, he would inherit the family manor and he would be forced to live in the monstrosity of a house by himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his family history, or that he took his noble name for granted – it was simply that Michael was a man of simple pleasures, and by definition, most nobles tended to go in the opposite direction.

He was happiest while he was in surgery, saving lives, not being seen at some singular function meant to raise money for people in places no one had ever really been. With a low groan, Mike undid the first few buttons of his shirt before making his way to the expansive open kitchen. He always kept two or three bottles of his favorite scotch so he could have his nightcaps – but to his surprise, when Mike flicked on the kitchen light, there was no scotch on the counter.

He immediately scowled.

He wanted to be alone tonight.

“Elias, where the hell is my scotch?”

Almost immediately, his friend Elias Johnson popped up from Mike’s leather couch and smiled. “That is bloody uncanny. How’d you know it was me?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Only a few people have keys to my flat and I assume my parents wouldn’t just pop in at midnight. That narrows the prospects quite a bit.” He ran a hand through his thick auburn hair before fixing Elias with an accusatory stare. “I know you didn’t drink all three bottles of Scotch, so what have you done with it?”

Elias stood with a sigh. At just over six feet with dark hair, vivid blue eyes and a devil-may-care attitude, he had been quite the lady’s man before he got married. Now, Cat kept him on a short leash – one he willingly adhered to. Elias’ womanizing days were far behind him, which meant that now, more than ever, he brought his woes to lay at Mike’s feet. “I put them in the bloody cabinet, where they belong. D’ you know how many people might be tempted to steal your cheap liquor?”

The doctor merely smirked. “People like you?”

Elias made a face. “I’ve only had a single nip and I’m convinced you’re off your rocker. That stuff is foul .”

Michael chuckled at his assessment. “All the better for you not to drink it, then.” With that, he crossed the room to the simple, elegantly carved liquor cabinet that his sister had bought him for his thirtieth birthday and retrieved a bottle of scotch. When he offered Elias a glass, the architect merely made a face and Michael proceeded to pour himself a generous tot on the rocks. That done, he settled down on the sofa that Elias had so recently vacated. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Elias?”

Elias leaned over the kitchen counter, exhaling hotly against the marble before he turned back to face his long-time friend.

“Cat is pregnant.”

Michael immediately bolted upright, choking on his scotch. “She’s what ?”

“Pregnant .” Elias repeated almost immediately. “As in we’re going to have a baby.”

“I’m a bloody doctor . I know what pregnant means.” Michael returned, before the burning in his throat soothed and he took another, more cautionary sip of scotch. As he did so, he tried to read Elias’ face. After years of friendship, he was well aware that Elias wore his emotions on his sleeve – but just now, he couldn’t quite discern what his friend was feeling. Elias wouldn’t have come to see him at midnight if he was elated as hell that Cat was pregnant, so there had to be something else behind his impromptu pop-up. “And you’re…upset?”

“Not upset.” Elias snapped back almost defensively. Mike let it slide – Elias wasn’t known to be the most courteous of men, especially when his wife wasn’t around. “I just…hell, Mike, I’m going to be a bloody father!”

“Right.” Mike replied succinctly. “Raising another architecture prodigy. What do you have to worry about?” He took another sip of his drink, trusting the liquor to help him deal with Elias at such a crucial juncture in his life.

“Catherine’s amazing. She’ll be a wonderful mother.”

“Not worried about Cat.” Elias grunted, shaking his head slowly. “She’s not the problem.”

And there it hung between them – unspoken out of fear: Elias was scared that he was going to be a shit father, and it was up to Michael to convince him otherwise. The doctor sighed, rising only reluctantly from his position on the couch to retrieve another glass from the kitchen. He poured a second glass of scotch and, this time, when he offered it to Elias, his friend didn’t refuse. Elias took the glass, downing half the scotch in one gulp before wincing.

“Yuck, did I say that was foul ?  Terrible!”

“And yet you still drink it.” Michael shook his head, leaning against the counter. “Ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as worrying about your kid.” Elias’ head jerked up as he eyed his friend skeptically.  Michael shrugged. “Way I see it, the little one will have your drive and stubbornness, Cat’s heart of gold and the innate talent of both its parents, which is to say, far too much. I can’t very well see you having too much difficulty with a wee thing that’s basically just a mash up of you and the woman you adore.”

Elias expression turned contemplative. He drank the rest of his scotch more slowly, and by the time his glass was empty, his body was markedly more relaxed. He pushed the glass away with a single finger before finally looking to Michael again. “You make it sound so bloody easy.”

“Easier than you think, or so I’m told.” The doctor poured himself another glass. “If ever I knew a man who followed his instincts, Elias, it’s you. And in my humble opinion, parenting is eighty percent instinct.”

“And the other twenty percent?”

Michael’s mouth kicked up at the corners in an amused smile. “Fucking luck, mate.”

That drew a smile from Elias. The architect chuckled before retrieving his glass and presenting it to Mike once more. “Maybe drinking more of this horse shite will give me your outlook on all of this.”

“Hey .” Michael growled in warning. “This horse shite is three hundred quid a bottle, so don’t you go sucking it down like the alcoholic we both know you are.”

“Takes one to know one, my friend.”

Once Mike presented Elias with his second drink, they both retired to the living room once more, drinking in companionable silence. Outside, the dreary weather that had threatened for most of the previous day finally broke as thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain fell first in singular drops against the immaculate windowpanes, and ultimately became a torrential downpour. Mike exhaled contentedly, glad to have made it home before the storm – and similarly glad, despite the intrusion, that Elias trusted him with matters of such import.

He was going to be a father – no small thing by any stretch of the imagination. It was somewhat outlandish, when Michael really thought about it; not so much the idea that Elias was going to have a baby so much as that he was willing. A few years ago, the architect had been one of the foremost proponents of a singleton’s life. He was rich, attractive and without ties, and he used his status to shag his way through the ranks of some of the world’s most influential women.

Until Catherine had tamed his wayward heart.

Elias and she were something together, Mike had to admit. They were a wonder that almost made him believe in the merits of true and abiding love. Certainly, he himself had been with his fair share of women. He wasn’t bad looking, and whether they knew of his title or not, when his body expressed a need, it wasn’t hard to get a woman to assuage it. Unlike Elias, however, he made sure that they knew on no uncertain terms that he wanted no attachments. He was polite, if curt, for Michael was a man that liked his solitude.

It was something he’d longed for after years of being brought up in the media spotlight – of being paraded around by his mother and father and forced to the forefront of Britain’s moneyed upper crust for as long as he can remember. While his sister seemed to thrive under the attention, Mike only wanted to escape.

With the advent of his medical degree, for a brief moment, he thought he had. Being known in the medical community for one’s skill was completely different than being known as an earl, and Mike wanted badly enough to make his mark there. Instead, he became the “Earl Doctor”. He couldn’t count how many times his skills had come under question because of his title – to the point where only in the later years of his seven-year residency did those who worked with him realize his true level of skill.

Michael hard worked hard to get where he was, and despite the fact that he was very masculine, he didn’t find himself terribly attracted to very many women. He was more comfortable in scrubs than in a pub, and dragging himself through the functions of high society was something akin to torture.

He’d rather stay away from it all – and he certainly was in no mood to marry, despite his harassing mother.

As if he’d read his thoughts, Elias spoke suddenly. “I suppose you haven’t stumbled across any interesting ladies lately?”

Michael grimaced. “If you’re asking if I’ve been laid, yes, Elias. I’ve been in bed with women.”

The architect snorted. “Discussing the weather, no doubt.”

“Hilarious .” Mike returned scathingly. “Forgive me if my interest in women doesn’t run as deeply as yours.”

Elias leaned back in his leather armchair with a chuckle. “My interests are now centered on only one woman, Mike. For both our sakes, you’ve got to cut a swathe of broken hearts through London.”

“I don’t want to break any hearts.” Mike shot back almost immediately. “I’d rather fix them. In a surgeon’s theater.”

Elias groaned. “How are we friends ? You are the antithesis of me.”

That was enough to bring Michael back into good humor. “I think that’s why we’re friends. That, and no one else can put up with your high maintenance bullshit.”

Elias merely sighed, swirling his scotch in his glass before nodding in agreement. “Point taken.”

At that particular moment, the doctor’s phone buzzed against the glass coffee table that separated the two men. Frowning, Mike eyed it skeptically. It was close to one am. If his parents were, indeed, calling, they were up terribly late. He reluctantly reached forward to cheek the number scrolling across the screen and cursed lowly. Elias arched a brow.

“The Countess, I presume?”

Michael groaned. “Don’t call her that. Call her Angela. She knows you.”

Elias merely grinned. He liked to tease Michael about escaping his titles at every opportunity – though, to his merit, he did grant his friend this particular jab. “And I know her, my Lord.”

“Fuck off.” At that point, Michael was willing to answer the phone just to shut him up, and hurried to do so. “Mum? What’s going on? It’s late.”

“Hello, my darling.” Michael sighed as she immediately gushed into his ear. He was in his mid-thirties and an accomplished doctor and his mother still tried to coddle him like he was a pre-pubescent teenager. “How’ve you been? I haven’t heard from you in weeks!”

“Busy, Mum.” He replied with succinct politeness. “Three surgeries every day and a residency. Why aren’t you in bed at this hour?”

“Well, darling, I have some exciting news and I just wanted to make sure I caught you. I know you’ll be home for the summer in a few weeks.”

Bloody hell . She’d done something. She wouldn’t be so happy unless she’d done something to his goddamned summer. Mike had been trying to escape returning to his family estate every summer since he’d moved out, and as of yet, he’d been unsuccessful. His dramatic mother always managed to guilt trip him into coming back, and if he was lucky, his time at home only consisted of her showing him off to all her upper echelon friends.

“What is it?”

She squealed. A sixty-seven year old woman squealed , and Michael knew he was in a world of trouble.

“Darling, we’re to have a guest this summer! And I just know you’re going to love her!”

**

“Smile!”

“Over here, Lady Lithgall!”

“Yes, let’s see his face as well! Give us a good one!”

Rose did her best to keep herself from internally combusting before the light of what seemed like a thousand flashing cameras. She was attending a charity benefit to raise money for children in Africa’s undersupplied Congo region, and for the event, they had even flown a Congolese child all the way from Africa to spend a week in London.

After which they would presumably send her back into poverty without a second thought.

When she’d learned of the stunt, the only thing that kept Rose from marching into the coordinator’s office and insulting him seven ways to Sunday was her mother’s gentle dissuasion.

“Darling, you know it won’t really do you any good. You’ll just make a scene, and that will be good for neither the child nor yourself, right?”

Though Rose knew perfectly well that her mother had begged her to refrain from losing her temper to save the family reputation more than of concern for a child she didn’t know, in this case, she had been the voice of reason. It wouldn’t do Rose any good to show her temper when money was being raised for this little girl and her village. The best she could do was make sure that she was taken advantage of as little as possible while she was in the UK.

And in order to do that, she made sure the child was in her care for the next week.

But that came with its own set of concerns.

Rose was dressed to the nines in a pale pink gown that clung to her tall, slender figure, her hair swept up into an intricate chignon. She’d spent half the day on her hair and makeup at her family’s insistence, knowing full well that she was meant to be seen as much as heard at the charity event.

Unfortunately, she was used to being in the spotlight. As the daughter of a Duke, even in modern day Britain, pomp and circumstance reigned supreme. She was forced to make appearances at tea functions and parties that bored her to tears when she would much rather be doing work that really mattered.

And then you had poor Elisée.

The dark-skinned little girl was seven – a beautiful seven with large brown eyes and a thatch of raven, curly hair. She’d never left the Congo in her life, and now, here she was, in Rose’s arms, dressed up in a frilly gold frock and clinging to her for dear life.

The poor thing was terrified – and no one here gave a flying frig because they were too concerned about their publicity opportunities.

And so, Rose fought to maintain her cool, rubbing over Elisée’s back soothingly and whispering to her in her native French in an attempt to calm her down. It seemed to take forever to make it down the carpet and into the actual venue, and then, a fresh burst of photographers met them at the entrance.

“Mon dieu,” Rose cursed lowly, completely out of patience. Dipping the tiniest of curtseys, she pushed through the crowd, heading with intention for the bathrooms and she didn’t stop until she and Elisée were safely inside.

Taking a deep breath, Rose did her best to compose herself as she gently pried the trembling girl’s fingertips from her and set her on the bathroom counter. Her pretty little face was tear-streaked and Rose’s heart went to her as she reached for a tissue to wipe the moisture away. “It’s alright mon petite,” she reassured the child in a low, soothing voice. “We’re fine. They won’t harm you, I promise. They just want to help you.”

And themselves – she couldn’t help the bitter thought that popped into her mind as soon as the statement left her lips.

“I miss momma and poppa .” Elisée replied plaintively, sniffling even as Rose wiped her tears away. “I want to go home .”

“And you will, my darling. With lots of nice things to eat for Mum and Dad, won’t that be nice?”

The child appeared skeptical, but her cheeks remained dry. Slowly, she nodded her head in assent. Rose cast her a winning smile. “That’s a good girl. You can be brave for your mummy, can’t you?”

This time, Elisée smiled, answering prettily. “Oui !”

Of course, Rose’s mother chose that instant to burst into the bathroom, startling the child against Rose’s breast once more so the young woman sighed in exasperation. “Hello, Mother.”

“Rose, darling, why aren’t you out there?” The Duchess of Heatherton wasted no time on pleasantries. “The patrons won’t donate unless they can see the child! And the child is in the washroom.”

Rose scowled. “The child has a name, mother. It’s Elisée, and she’s currently scared witless.” She scooped the girl from the sink to set her gently on the floor, where she clung to Rose’s skirts, staring up at the Duchess with wide eyes. “I’m trying to give her a moment without cameras in her face. She’s only seven, for heaven’s sake.”

Usually, this would be the point where her mother would try to argue with her. They’d butted heads frequently since Rose was a child, and the Duchess was always convinced that her way was the right way. Rose fully expected an argument – but, for whatever reason, her mother, instead of puffing herself up, backed down. With a sigh, she merely shook her head, still magnificent even in her mid-fifties.

“Very well, darling…but can we please try to keep this interlude under ten minutes?”

Rose knew she would have been suspicious. Very rarely did her mother give anything up without a fight – but she was too pre-occupied with Elisée to think of much else. She only flashed her mother a grateful smile. “We’ll be out in a few moments, mother. I promise. Thank you.”

The Duchess nodded with a tight smile before sweeping back out of the bathroom, leaving Rose alone with her charge once more. No sooner had the imposing woman left than Elisée pointed after her and murmured a single word. “Paon .”

Peacock.

Rose had to stifle her laughter. How amusing that children always had the courage to say what adults couldn’t – it was one rule that seemed to stand the test of time.

Though there were several more moments during the function where Rose found herself itching to throttle people, but on the whole, they made it through the function without incident. She hobnobbed with all the important people she was expected to – Elisée clinging to her skirt through the entire affair. Whenever someone sought to touch her, the little girl immediately hid her face bashfully and clung to Rose even harder. Ultimately, she was able to dissuade most of the guests from trying, citing that the little girl was tired and hungry.

Of course, by the time dinner actually rolled around, Elisée was fast asleep against Rose’s shoulder, completely exhausted from her evening. All the better, in Rose’s humble opinion. She probably would have wanted little to do with the rich foods on the evening’s menu. Rose herself had little taste for them. She would much have preferred a little fish and chip shop that she knew on the West End, close to a soup kitchen she volunteered.

One her mother implied that she would be better not to be seen at.

But Rose didn’t care.

She would endure the high-maintenance of tonight’s function because, ultimately, it would mean that Elisée’s village got food, fresh water, and a measure of monetary support. That was, if they could take advantage of it before the warlords in the region got hold of it.

The very thought made her wince.

As she made a go at her liver pate, the young woman gazed around at the people circling the table. Celebrities, lord and ladies all of them, but few of them knew anything of the actual plight children like Elisée faced every single day. They meant well, but when push came to shove, they liked to keep a fair distance between them and their “charitable” causes.

But to make a scene tonight – or any other night, frankly, would be ill-mannered. While she had contemplated action several times, this was something the young woman simply wasn’t willing to trade. Not if it meant people in the Democratic Republic of Congo, or anywhere else for that matter, could get help. No matter how small.

And so, the young woman endured. She endured the dinner, the speeches and the titles. She endured the small talk, smiling until her cheeks ached and dancing until her feet were sore – but she didn’t truly relax until she was in the car on the way home. Elisée curled in her lap, sound asleep, and she herself was nodding off until her mother spoke.

“You were a vision tonight, dearest.”

The blonde woman’s eyes popped open and she straightened slightly to meet the gaze of the woman sitting across from her. Duchess Emily Lithgall was still very much awake, re-applying her lipstick even though they had left the event for the evening.

“Thank you, mother.”

“And we raised over one hundred thousand pounds for your friends. Isn’t that lovely?”

Rose repressed a groan. She found it slightly infuriating that her mother constantly referred to the people she tried to help as “her friends”. It was ridiculously condescending. “Yes, mother, quite.”

“I’m sure that when the girl wakes up, she’ll be happy to hear it.” As the Duchess beamed at her, Rose exhaled slowly. For the rest of Elisée’s time here, she hardly wanted to concern the girl with matters of money and survival. She would do her best to keep the child out of the spotlight, with a full belly and lots of toys to play with.

“I’m sure she will, mother.”

After her reply, a companionable silence fell between them and Rose was silly enough to take it as a sign that she had been let off the hook. She began to drift off again, jerking to attention at her mother’s low tone.

“You don’t seem very happy, dear.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. “I’m fine, mother. Just a bit tired.”

“Lord Benjamin commented that you seemed a little irritated when his wife asked to hold the child.”

“Elisée ,” Rose replied through gritted teeth, her gray eyes flashing dangerously. “Her name is Elisée .”

“Whoever she is,” The Duchess made a superfluous motion with her hand. “You must understand how important these events are for her and her kind. Interacting with people in the civilized world can only reflect well for her, and-”

“Civilized ?” Rose burst, unable to remain quiet any longer. “You treat a lone child, thousands of miles away from her home like an attraction in a zoo and you have the nerve to label it civility ?”

“More civil than where she came from.” The Duchess’ expression immediately turned severe, her green eyes narrowing in warning. “Hopefully, she’ll take more than food and our hard-earned money back with her.”

“Oh yes”, Rose hissed, clutching the child in her arm closer to her reflexively. “Heaven forbid that our illustrious funds should go to people who actually need them instead of your brand name obsession. Mother, the people at these functions only attend to be seen and you know it.” All at once, her tone turned pleading. “If people could just understand what they go through…if they would make an effort to see what it’s really like-”

“Enough , Rose.” The Duchess’ clear, high tone rang through the back of the car and her daughter immediately bristled, turning red.  “Isn’t it enough that I put up with your flights of fancy? That I allow all of your shenanigans when there are other things you’re neglecting?”

Her daughter groaned, exasperated. “Like what, mother? What makeup to wear in the morning? What dress I should wear to tea? Who I should be seen with?”

“Rose,” Two high spots of pink appeared high on her mother’s cheeks. “I only mention it because I care about you. I can’t bear the thought of you growing old alone!”

Rose stared at her, completely flummoxed. She was a few weeks away from her twenty-seventh birthday. Where was all this “dying along” idiocy coming from? Slowly, she shook her head.

“Mother, what on earth are you on about?”

But it was too late. The Duchess had turned on the waterworks and began to sob, much to her daughter’s dismay. Rose swallowed a groan of consternation. If her mother couldn’t get her way by demanding that something is done, the next stage was dissolving into hysterics. 

“Darling, all you ever do is work for other people. People in places I’ve never gone, in cities I can’t even pronounce…and I just want to know you’re happy. For you to be able to settle down with someone who understands you like I do!”

It was on the tip of Rose’s tongue to tell her mother that she could pronounce Thailand and India perfectly well, and even closer to home, she could go visit the soup kitchen in the West end and make a difference there. But that clearly wasn’t the course of conversation that her mother wanted to pursue. She was talking about something completely different.

“Mum…I’m perfectly happy. Alone.”

The statement was mostly true. It wasn’t as if Rose didn’t want a family someday , but right now, settling down simply wasn’t at the top of her list. She wanted to go places, see things, and most of all, she wanted to help people. Very few men seemed to understand that passion. They looked at her and they saw the rich, privileged daughter of a Duke and wondered why she wasn’t out buying up the high street and throwing extravagant parties.

From the beginning, however, Rose had been different than most girls in her situation. She didn’t want extravagant birthday parties every year, and when her parents offered her trips abroad for good behavior, she used them to go to third world countries and explore. She’d always been obsessed with the idea of helping people – of making a difference in some small way. For Rose, material things had never mattered much. She gave most of her childhood toys away in donation for needy children at Christmastime. She sold the Audi her father bought her for her eighteenth birthday, bought a hybrid, and sent the rest of the money to war-torn regions in Africa. After she graduated from one of London’s premier finishing schools, she’d gone to University to major in International Studies – and the moment she graduated, much to her parents’ dismay, she signed on with the Peace Corps for two years

Thankfully, neither her mother nor her father had tried to keep her from going – not once they found the papers already signed. What they did do, however, was try to turn their daughter’s two-year tenure into a publicity stunt, splashing all the images they sent her all over the papers and the internet. She was the selfish one, the “angel” – and of course, by the time she returned, everyone wanted her for a charity or a benefit. Her face became synonymous with giving – even for those who could care less about the plights of others.

It suited her parents just fine, of course. Any action that ultimately painted the family name in a good light worked for them – as long as they got their daughter back in the end. In years of playing along with their machinations, Rose found that she truly didn’t have time to date, and when she did, men were shocked to find out that she was actually as earnest about her causes as people said.

Rose wasn’t playing a role. She never has – and the fact that her parents had built themselves from her goodwill continued to annoy her. It was something she told herself she could live with – as long as they never tried to restrict her. She was a grown woman after all – capable of making her own decisions.

And executing them.

And her current plans didn’t involve settling down .

“Mother, in a few years, perhaps.” She tried to be as gentle as she could. Rose was never comfortable with her mother’s emotional outbursts. “I don’t think that now is the time-”

“Oh, darling, just tell me you’ll go. I need to know you’re at least giving this a chance.”

Giving what a chance ? Maybe it was the day’s exhaustion, but Rose was entirely confused. “Giving what a chance , mother?”

The Duchess sighed, reaching into her handbag for a tissue to dry her tears. Rose watched her dab, forcing her face into a semblance of understanding. On her lap, Elisée shifted slightly in her sleep, clutching her more tightly.

“Rose, I’ve arranged for you to spend the summer at the manor of some of our oldest family friends.” The blonde woman immediately bristled. Her mother knew that she planned to leave for Thailand in a few weeks’ time. She intended to spend a year there, helping educate children in remote villages.

“Mother ,” She began, intent on reigning in her temper, “I’m not staying in England this summer. We’ve already had this discussion.”

“But sweetheart, just meet him.”

Bloody hell . The plot grew thicker with every word that came from her mother’s mouth.  “Meet who , Mum?”

“Why, Lord Tate, dear. Earl Johnathan Tate’s son. He’s a very successful surgeon, and quite an attractive man from what I’ve heard.”

For a long moment, Rose just stared at her mother in disbelief. She could barely process what she was hearing. Her mother had promised someone that she would spend the summer at a manor she’d never visited in her life in a shady attempt to hook her up with their son ? The sheer meddling alone was enough to make her want to mutter enough filthy epithets that one would wonder how she’d ever become a lady in the first place. But, somehow, she refrained.

For a long, silent moment, Rose weighed her options.

She could fight her mother on this – while they were both tired, knowing that the woman would probably wake Elisée in the process and pull out every stop that she possibly could in order to get her daughter to cooperate with her.

Or, she could give in.

There were actually a few merits when one looked at the latter choice. The first of which was that she’d be away from her mother’s direct influence for the entire summer. She’d be giving into her wishes certainly, but as far as Rose knew, the Tates’ estate was a fair way outside of London, which lessened any chance of her parents intruding.  Another good thing about the trip was that it would give her a break from the limelight. She assumed that when she was with the Tates, she would be expected to accompany their son on his social calls. If that were the case, she could easily beg off. She’d had plenty of practice with her own parents. And, thirdly, no one could make her like Lord Tate….whatever his name was. Rose doubted she’d be impressed with  any military time he’d served or hunting trips he’d been on. This was the modern age, and she would not be played like a bloody pawn.

She might be going, but she was going under her own set of rules.

“Fine, mother. I’ll go.”

The Duchess’ shock showed on her face, and Rose hid a crafty smile. “On one condition.”

“What’s that, dear?” The elder woman answered almost immediately and Rose knew she had her on the hook. She shifted the child in her arms into a more comfortable position before meeting her mother’s gaze directly.

“Should Lord Tate and I not get along as famously as you anticipate, at the end of the summer, you allow me to go to Thailand. For two years. No questions asked.”

The Duchess’ face paled. She swallowed visibly, her gaze still meeting her daughters, a moment before her smile turned saccharine sweet.

“Very well, my darling. If that’s really what you want.”

“It is.” Rose returned succinctly, her expression softening as she gazed down at the sleeping girl in her arms with a fond expression. “It is .”

 

**

He was not looking forward to this trip. Michael hadn’t been looking forward to it for the past two months, and now that the summer had finally arrived, he found himself despising the manipulative ways of his parents more and more.

He didn’t have to go, he reminded himself. He could turn his car around, return to his flat and tell Jaclyn, the head administrator of Worthington Medical, that he’d changed his mind. He wasn’t taking the summer off and he would be on hand for all of the surgeries he’d passed off.

But then he’d never hear the end of it from his parents.

She made this summer sound like it was going to be three months of unadulterated delight, but Michael knew better. Just because his mother had agreed to let him work at the local hospital didn’t mean that she was offering him any allowances. He’d been trapped into this, and nothing would make him believe any different.

As he drove out of London, the city suburbs gave way to green countryside. Villages and trees that took over the skyline and, inexplicably, the dreary weather of London seemed to fade further and further with each kilometer that passed. It was a good two hours or so to the family estate, and so, he had time to mull things over.

Like what the hell he was going to do to stave off this girl.

Michael wasn’t stupid. He knew that his mother full intended him to be engaged by the end of the summer, just as he intended to thwart her. Michael had no intention of letting a woman weigh him down at this point in his life – especially one as absorbed with marriage and titles as his parents were. In this day and age, there was nothing the Doctor considered more old-fashioned than the slinging of titles in London. It was garish and uncalled for – and the quickest path to earn his disdain.

And here he was, playing into his mother’s machinations.

When it came to why, Michael wasn’t sure himself. To appease his mother? To ensure that he didn’t spent the rest of the year with his parents harassing him? Because some part of him, deep down, longed to prove to them that he simply wasn’t as marriageable as they assumed? He wasn’t certain.

What was certain, however, was sheer ridiculousness of the idea that he’d like a young woman simply because she was attractive and had titles. If one was really going to nitpick about the type of women that Michael liked, he didn’t think he would ever label them “genteel”. He was a man for adventurous women who weren’t afraid to take chances and stand up for themselves, not delicate wilting wallflowers who flirted louder than they did anything else.

His mother hadn’t told him very much about Lady Rose Lithgall, and for that, Michael was grateful. He preferred to make his own interpretations when he met her –and on that note, he was almost certain that he would be disappointed. If his mother had chosen her, then it only further indicated to him that spending a summer with her would be something akin to a nightmare. He’d be expected to entertain her between his hospital shifts, to wine and dine her and at least pretend he was interested…

Mike made a face. It seemed the world was intent on torturing him when all he wanted to do was to practice in peace.

When his phone rang, Mike set it on the cradle he used to charge the device and used the car’s system to answer the call. “Hello?”

“I can’t believe you’re going through with this.” Mike sighed the moment his sister’s miffed, cultured tones drifted through the car’s speakers. “I would have told Mum to stuff it.”

Groaning, the doctor merely shook his head incrementally before taking his next exit. “Well, you’re certifiably off your rocker.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny, Michael.” Sarcasm dried her tone. “Just because I’m not an illustrious doctor at one of London’s best hospitals-”

“You know bloody well I’m not talking about your job, Alice.” Michael replied drily. His sister was a fashion designer – and a damn good one. She had kept more to the expectations befitting a Lady of her station and lived the high life that their parents so enjoyed. Mike didn’t resent her for it – unlike most of the British aristocracy, his sister worked hard for her money, earning almost as much as was in her trust fund. But this freedom made her a thorn in their parents’ side, and at the tender age of twenty-five, she was in the tabloids almost every other day with her grandiose parties and morning after debauchery.

Michael and his sister had always been close, and, in truth, he admired her refusal to be tamed. Out of the two of them, he supposed, one had to be the wild child – and that was most certainly Alice.

“Well, I’m talking about your freedom. Tell me you’re not taking this seriously.”

“Please, Alice.” Michael grunted in half amusement. “You know me better than that.”

“I’m glad to say I do. So I’m sure you’re going to explain to me why you’re entertaining this flight of fancy.”

Michael exhaled a long breath, his concentration fixed on the road before him. How was he supposed to explain to his sister that he didn’t intend to go through with their parents’ flights of fancy? That he was only going home for the summer to play the part of dutiful son with the hope that once they realized how unmarriageable he was, they would let him go? The entire plan sounded more and more far-fetched the more he mulled it over.

He was the oldest male in the Tate family. Lineage demanded that he provide a son or daughter to carry on the name –as archaic as the notion was. Of course, Alice would marry in her own right, but her children might not be Tates. Especially if she followed the current pattern she set for herself and married outside of the gentry entirely. Maybe she’d fall in love with a tattoo artist, or a chef. Alice tended to like artistic types.

“I don’t really know.” He finally admitted gruffly, taking the exit that would lead him along the cliffs and afford him a breathtaking view of the ocean beyond. “I’m hoping this will be the last time. That they’ll give up and let me live my own life.”

In response, Alice merely delivered a scathing laugh. “Come on , Michael. Dream on. You’re a Tate. The eldest Tate. They’ll be harping you until the day you die.”

“And I’ll die single and childless just to spite them,” he growled in annoyance. “I may play the dutiful child, Alice, but I like obeying no more than you.”

“Good to hear it!” His sister’s voice perked up at his profession which, strangely enough, made Michael feel better as well. “You’ll keep my updated, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he replied with a small smile. “It’ll be the closest thing to hell I’ve ever wrought, so I assume you’ll want to hear all about it.”

“Indeed I will! You’d better call me, Michael. I adore you.”

“Love you too. Now, hang up the phone before I crash.”

His sister took the opportunity he provided to blow him a very wet and unladylike raspberry. “Shut it, you cheeky bastard.”

In the silence that followed the click of the connection ending, Mike found his hopes bolstered. Alice was right. He would make sure that his mother knew that he was participating in her flights of fancy not out of genuine interest in marriage, but because he was merely trying to do his civic duty. Of course, he had other duties than to his parents. He was a doctor, a member of the medical community, a friend and an advisor – but of course, his esteemed parents didn’t think much of any of that.

He was a Tate, first and foremost – however he might feel about the subject.

So, he would be a Tate. He would be polite and gentlemanly – the picture of refinement. And then the first moment he found himself alone with Lady Lithgall, he would tell them exactly how he had ended up in this predicament, and that he had no intention whatsoever of being wedded to her.

Yes, that sounded like a lovely plan.

As he pulled up into the long, gated drive of the estate, Michael was even smiling – for the first time since his mother had laid out the plans for his dreaded summer. It was going to be more interesting than any he’d had in a long while.

He’d make sure of it.

 

The Tate Manor was one of the oldest and most prestigious in England. Constructed sometime in the late seventeen hundreds, it towered over the surrounding landscape, all turrets, bay windows and impressive, solid brick. When he was a boy, Mike had loved to play hide and seek with his nurses. There were so many nooks and crannies one could lose oneself in – so many that, ultimately, his parents had forbid him from further games of hide and seek after he became stuck in the kitchen chimney one afternoon. Alice had laughed herself sick at the soot that had covered him, and he’d earned a stern lecture from his father.

It had been absolutely worth it.

Now, when he approached the imposing house, Michael no longer eyed it with a sense of childlike wonder – now it seemed to him a show of excess. It wasn’t that he didn’t like beautiful buildings. His best mate was one of the foremost architects in the world for God’s sake. It was simply that his parents had no need to maintain such an enormous house – it cost them a fortune. The manor contained a ballroom, shuffleboard courts, and indoor steam room and God knew what other plethora of excess that needed an entire staff on twenty-four seven call.

As he exited the car, the first evidence of this staff made itself known. Edgar had been their family butler for years, and even now, at the tottering age of seventy, he had yet to retire.

“Lord Michael,” The aged man’s voice was as soft and dignified as ever. He hadn’t shown the slightest sign of senility and, as far as Michael knew, Edgar was sharper than he himself was. “Lovely to see you again. May I take your luggage?”

“Let me give you a hand with them, Edgar.” The tall man rounded his car to the trunk, taking several bags from the butler, even when the older man shot him a sharp look askance. “I’ve got them, Edgar.” He winked at the butler to soften the blow to his pride. “Can’t say I took all those years of martial arts for nothing.”

“As you say, sir.”

Mike didn’t look back. He could feel Edgar staring a reproachful wound into his back as he made his way towards the front foyer.

Despite any misgivings he may have about the manor, the smell that wafted from it was that of home. He had grown up here – hadn’t left until he was eighteen. He’d been coddled here by his mother, his nurses, and even his little sister, who loved to cook for him at any opportunity. Fond memories of his childhood were almost enough to blot out his premonition for the summer to come.

He could only hope that Lady Lithgall hadn’t arrived yet. He needed a moment to gather himself before he started battling his mother’s matchmaking instincts.

“There you are darling .” And there she was, beautifully coiffed and proper as ever – his mother. Countess Angela Tate was dressed in a beautifully tailored cream suit, though Mike would guess that she hadn’t left the manor all day. She had allowed her hair to go gray years ago, but not a single strand was out of place, and her makeup was impeccable. She was the picture of a modern-day English Aristocrat. She glided over to him on Ferragamo pumps, kissing the air on either side of his face warmly before hugging him to her. Though Michael had long outgrown his mother by more than a foot, she managed to make the gesture remain somehow sheltering, and Michael pat her a few times on the back before releasing her.

“Hello, mother.”

“I’m so happy to see you, darling. How was the drive up? Not too frightful, I hope?”

“Clear since I got out of London.” Mike let Edgar take his coat. It was the least he could do when the man was probably after his blood for taking half of the luggage.

“How lovely – though I do wish you’d listen to your father and hire a Rolls to drive you. People get into so many accidents these days, my dear.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Cell phones and messaging…it’s no wonder so many of our young people are killed.”

Michael merely sighed at his mother’s dramatics. His father had, over a decade and a half ago, brought shares in Apple before it reached its advent and the family made out like kings. Of course, his mother conveniently forgot that whenever she criticized modern technology. Strange that she never criticized apple when it allowed her to reach him in the middle of the night and make outlandish demands.

“I don’t want a Rolls, Mum. I’m a very safe driver. I enjoy driving.” Michael sidled up to one of the floor length mirrors in the foyer, assessing his reflection. For the hundredth time in the last decade, he realized just how little he favored either of his parents.

In her youth, his mother had been small and fair-haired. Her eyes were a bright blue and her slender figure had been the envy of many women of her time. While Michael’s father was indeed tall, he didn’t quite reach Michael’s lofty height of almost six and a half feet. Nor did his carefully groomed blonde beard match the ruddy auburn of his son’s. Michael’s eyes were a vivid color of hazel, and the first thing many noticed about him. He was prone to wearing sweaters and slacks, as he found them the most comfortable uniform both in and out of the hospital. But his sister would attest to the fact that his well-built physique could put many others to shame in a suit.

Even if he wasn’t always the most enthusiastic about wearing one.

He wasn’t bad looking, Michael knew – but looks mattered less to him in the grand scheme of things. His confidence came from his skill – everything else he considered secondary.

“I assume you’re changing for dinner, darling?” His mother’s words made him jerk to attention, and Mike swallowed a groan. He hadn’t bought enough of a wardrobe to change for every bloody meal. This wasn’t the eighteenth century, for God’s sake.

“I’ll change my shirt, mother.” It was all he could think of to appease her, though that, apparently, was enough for Angela. She clapped her hands together in delight, bright eyes gleaming. “Wonderful. Lady Lithgall should be here in time for supper. Hopefully, you two will be acquainted by then.”

The thought made his stomach churn.

“Hopefully,” he echoed with false enthusiasm, before following Edgar upstairs towards his suite of rooms. This summer, he decided, was going to be quite the disaster, and there was little he could do about it.

Intentions be damned.

**

The house was enormous.

But, of course, Rose had expected nothing less. For the past eight weeks, all her mother had been jabbering about was the Tates. The Tates and their wealth. The Tates and their station – how much she might benefit from marrying a Tate . It had been on the tip of Rose’s tongue to suggest marrying her to Lady Alice, Lord Michael’s younger and more controversial sister, but she hardly needed her mother to go into hysterics.

Not when Rose was so certain that she’d already won.

Certainly, she’d have to spend the summer among the opulent and affluent Tates, but she could give a flying frig about their son. There was nothing in the world he could do to charm her into liking him – except perhaps take a vow of poverty.

The thought made Rose smile. Her mother would have a conniption for the ages.

But there would be none of that.

As she slid from the back of the gleaming Mercedes to look up at the imposing manor before her, she straightened her spine. She would be polite, she reminded herself, but firm. She was a worldly woman and she wouldn’t be wooed by infantile gestures and the whims of those who saw her as a pawn. She’d rather shuffle off the mortal coil.

“Welcome to Tate Manor, My Lady.” The blonde woman jumped, whirling to see an elderly man standing ramrod straight just behind her. He had to be at least seventy, but somehow, he’d snuck up on her. “May I take your luggage?”

Trying to calm her racing heart, she took a calming breath. “Of-of course!” She managed, nodding in his direction in gratitude. “Thank you.”

“The Countess and Lord Tate will be waiting for you in the sitting room, just beyond the foyer. Anne is the housekeeper. She’ll show you the way.”

“Thank you very much...?” Rose left off inquisitively, arching a brow in question.

“Edgar.” The butler filled in the blank, bending into an Elizabethan bow that made Rose wince. It couldn’t be easy for a man of his age. “Pleasure to serve you, my lady.”

“Oh, do stand up.” Rose waved away his words quickly. “Don’t stand on such formalities. I really don’t abide by them.”

“Don’t you? Well, that will make this summer all the more pleasant, won’t it?”

A deep baritone thrummed through her, and Rose tore her attention from the perplexed butler, turning to find her feet rooted in place. She stare upward, her lips slightly parted in shock, at the statuesque man that stood before her. Though she knew him from pictures, Rose had to admit that photographs did little justice to a man like Michael Tate.

He was enormous by the standards of any man – at least six and a half feet tall – with well-groomed auburn hair combed back from his brow and a close-shaved beard that covered one of the handsomest jaws she’d ever seen. He was dressed in a pressed white dress shirt and tie, though Rose didn’t think the clothing quite did him justice. Perhaps it was the way it strained at the muscles of his arms or hugged the slim lines of his waist. It was altogether far too distracting for her taste.

In fact, Rose found, to her mortification, that Lord Michael presented quite the devastatingly attractive package. Attractive enough to render her momentarily speechless as she gaped at him in his shirt and trousers, her body heating in places she could have sworn long forgotten. This man was a Lord? He’d be more at home in a boxing ring or astride a sixth-century war horse. He was intimidating, broad…

And altogether mouthwatering .

“My Lord!” Dimly, Rose realized Edgar was speaking, and fought her way out of the haze that enveloped her. “You and the Countess aren’t taking brandy?”

Lord Michael’s full mouth quirked slightly in a gesture of amusement that made Rose oddly weak at the knees. “I thought I’d come and help you with the luggage, Edgar. And greet Lady Lithgall of course.” Stepping forward, the gargantuan man extended a hand to her as he inclined his head in respect. “My lady. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

To Rose’s mortification, she hesitated before allowing him to take her hand – and in that moment of hesitation, she divested the man of every stitch of clothing in her mind, the image making her toes curl and her heart race.

She was very much in trouble if this were the man she was supposed to be resisting. If he could awaken her dormant desires with a single look, what on earth would he do with three months of unfettered time?

She expected him to shake her hand. That would have been perfectly acceptable. Instead, the man bent to brush his lips against her knuckles, sending gooseflesh up the entirety of her arm so she inhaled sharply. His whiskers tickled, and, instantly, she imagined what they might feel like elsewhere.

Bloody hell.

This summer was going to be a disaster.

 

Chapter 2: Tate Manor

 

Rose Lithgall was a lady, born and bred. At least, that’s what everyone kept telling her. She’d been to all the best schools in London, attended some of the city’s premier events, and her parents were some of the most important faces in the entire UK.

But even considering all of that, the thoughts that currently ran through her head were decidedly unladylike.

She stood in the drive of the Tate Manor, trying to keep herself from gaping up at the gigantic man, as liquid heat coursed through her veins – the intensity of which she’d never before encountered. It honestly wasn’t, Rose tried to tell herself, as if she was some sort of untried girl. She knew about men and she knew about sex. She thought she knew that it was rather boring and a simple excuse for men to get their hands all over her; but then, she’d never encountered a man who so immediately titillated her. Who sent wild, and quite frankly, obscene thoughts rushing through her consciousness.

In the roughly five seconds that the man’s lips pressed against the back of her hand, Rose had time to picture him kissing her in other places – more secret places that had never seen a man’s mouth – and the prospect was enough to make her weak at the knees. Her reaction to the heat searing through her was instinctive.

She jerked away, taking a few steps back as she tried to calm her racing heart.

“And yours, my Lord!” Her tone was a little to breathless - a little too vulnerable – for her liking. “Pleased to meet you.”

This was not good. In fact, it was quite horrible.

She certainly wasn’t supposed to be attracted to the man. Rose had supposed she might float around him all summer on a tide of polite disdain, but this! This was something else entirely.

When Lord Michael straightened to eye her with a knowing, arched brow, Rose felt a very unfamiliar urge welling inside her: the desire to flee. To pop back in the car and demand to be taken home. Better that than to allow herself to fall prey to the interested hunger she found in Michael Tate’s gaze. Instead, however, she merely straightened her spine, took a deep breath and forced herself to be rational.

She had waded through flooded rivers in India, helped to rebuild burned villages and spent God knew how many hours out in the tropical wilderness in her twenty-seven years. Was she really going to let one man intimidate her?

Certainly not.

“Shall we head inside then, Lord Michael?” Thankfully, her voice was much steadier the second time she spoke. Rose even found the wherewithal to lift her chin and gaze down her nose at him – a trick she’d learned quite early from her mother.

At her display, however, his lips only quirked in what appeared to be wry amusement. “Sounds lovely.” With that, he turned to offer her his arm, and Rose firmly reprimanded her baser instincts for trumpeting that his backside was at least as glorious as his front. Swallowing thickly, she brushed briskly past him, wishing for all the world that she wasn’t wearing sky high pumps that were impossible to walk in.

She made her way unsteadily up the stone walk that led to the grand entrance of the Tate manor before raising her hand to knock briskly. Before she could do so, however, Edgar the butler stayed her hand. Somehow, the unbelievably spry elderly man had gotten in front of her and was holding the ornate handle for her before she could touch it. “Allow me, Lady Lithgall.”

Rose looked over to him, slightly shocked for the second time in at least by the man, before nodding.  “Thank you.”

By this time, Lord Tate himself had strode over to the door and leaned over her cheekily, waiting patiently to be let through. The moment Edgar made way, Rose hurried inside, her luggage all but forgotten – and stumbled into the arms of another Tate.

“Rose, dear! It’s so wonderful to see you again!” Countess Angela Tate lie in wait for her not more than ten steps over the threshold. The moment she caught sight of Rose, she enveloped her in her arms, squeezing her tight. Rose immediately stiffened before forcing a smile onto her face. According to her mother the last time she’d actually encountered the Tates was when she was close to eight years old, and she certainly didn’t remember. Regardless, her mother insisted that they were “close friends”, so of course, she had to act the part.

“Hello Lady Tate.” The young woman endured both of her cheeks being kissed before the Countess gently pressed her away to look at her at arm’s length. “It’s lovely to see you again too.”

“My, my. Look how you’ve grown. Such a gorgeous young woman – and selfless too, I’ve heard.”

The woman was impeccable. Of course, Rose had imagined that Lady Angela would be just as coiffed and unbearable as her mother, and she wasn’t far off the mark. She wore the same type of designer clothes, the same personalized Ferragamo pumps, and Rose was willing to bet that they probably got their hair done at the same ridiculously expensive hairdresser on the High Street. But she wouldn’t mention any of that. Instead, she would remain absolutely cordial.

“Not so much as people might assume, my Lady.”

“Oh titles ,” The lady Angela waved her hand about superfluously. “Please, call me Angela.”

Rose was entirely certain the woman was being so familiar because she fully expected that she would be her daughter-in-law by summer’s end – but this was one request that Rose would respectfully decline. “I’m very glad to have the opportunity to come and visit, Lady Angela.”

At that precise moment, the countess spied her son – so Rose got off the hook without having to explain her unwillingness to use familiar terms. “Michael, darling, there you are. I assume you’ve met Rose?”

Wrapping an arm around her son’s hulking form, Lady Angela drew him so close to Rose that the young woman was forced to take two steps back to keep from colliding with him.

“Briefly.” Lord Michael inclined his head respectfully to meet her gaze, and Rose found her cheeks flaming. His deep blue gaze seared right to the core of her, and she found her toes curling in her impossible pumps. “I was about to invite her to refreshments in the drawing room, but she was very eager to get inside.”

“Out of the scalding sun, of course.” Lady Angela beamed. One might think that, with one hand on her son’s arm and one on Rose’s, she was in matchmaking nirvana. “Won’t you join us in the drawing room for a brandy, Rose, darling?”

And just like that, she was trapped.

Rose looked from the man to his mother and then back again. There was utterly no way she was getting out of drinking with them – and being tipsy when she had already been thrown off balance was a terrifying thought, to say the least.

And so, in a move she thought entirely beneath her, Rose begged off.

“I apologize , Lady Angela, but I find myself exhausted from the drive up. Perhaps after a bit of a rest?”

Rose wasn’t one for putting on airs, but she pulled out all the stops here. Batted her eyelashes, clutched her manicured hands before her and affected her sweetest “damsel in distress” voice.

And it worked.

“Oh, you poor dear. Of course .” With that, Angela wrapped an arm around Rose and tugged her close as she looked her over once more. “You do look a bit peaky, don’t you?”

The young woman wasn’t exactly sure what that was supposed to mean, but if it got her out of brandy, she was all for it. “Annie!”

Though Rose didn’t really abide by houses large enough to have staff – she felt guilty about making her own parents’ staff do anything for her – she had to admit that the members of the Tate manor staff were top notch. Lady Angela barely raised her voice, and a graying, middle-aged woman in a starched black dress appeared at her elbow with a cheery smile.

“Yes M’lady?”

“Lady Lithgall’s room has already been seen to?”

“Of course, M’lady.” Annie dipped a completely earnest curtsey. “I’ll see her upstairs in a jiff.”

Rose breathed a sigh of relief. There was one disaster averted.

“I know where her room is, Annie.” The young woman froze at Lord Michael Tate’s low interruption.  “I can take her upstairs while you carry on with dinner.”

Before Rose could even begin to interject, she was overtaken by the Countess. “What a brilliant idea, Michael.” She turned to the younger woman to whisper with a loving smile. “Isn’t he the sweetest boy?”

Lord Michael Tate was hardly a boy. He was a man fully grown – and a hulking, intimidating man at that. But of course, mothers never noticed these things. And especially not mothers who were obviously intent on seeing their son engaged. “Thank you, Annie.” With a wave of her hand, the countess dismissed Annie, who made her way back to the kitchen. “Michael will see you upstairs, dear.” She led Rose to the ornate mahogany staircase that was the centerpiece of the foyer. “Dinner will be served at seven so you have plenty of time to rest.”

“Thank you, Lady Angela.” Rose dipped the smallest curtsey she thought she could get away with before attempting to bolt up the stairs. She was thwarted, however, when she almost ran into Michael Tate’s imposing form. The knowing, patronizing smile on his face had her hand itching to remove it.

“Shall we, my lady?”

This time, when he offered his arm to her, she couldn’t refuse. It would be entirely too rude to shun him in the presence of the countess and so, grudgingly, Rose curled her arm around his.

Immediately, she was enveloped by the scent and warmth of him. He was like a bloody furnace , and he smelled of mint, cashmere and an underlying spice that tickled her senses. She was forced to press against his side to clear the narrow width of the stairs, and Rose had to remind herself to breathe. She didn’t want to like this man, and if he thought she would fall into his arms simply because he was handsome, he had another thing coming.

“So stiff, my lady.” She inhaled sharply as Michael only pulled her flusher against him as they reached the top of the stairway. “I swear on my life that I won’t let you fall.”

Her face flaming, Rose glared up at him. “I will not fall. You hardly need to manhandle me.”

“Manhandle?” As they reached the second floor, Michael’s expression changed to one of mock affront. “I would never .”

Of course he wouldn’t. Rose wasn’t naïve. She knew plenty of young British nobles who used their titles to seduce and she wasn’t having it. “I’m tired . Can you please just take me to my room?”

“You know,” still holding her arm in a gentle grip, Michael swept her down an elegant hallway and into the east wing of the house. The direction took them, thankfully, out of Lady Angela’s sight, “you seem a bit jumpy.”

Rose yanked her arm from his grip, her mouth pursed into a thin line. “Tired , Lord Tate. I assure you,” she replied with clenched teeth. “All will be well after I’ve had a few hours rest.” Michael finally drew to a halt in front of a door halfway down the hall. Turning to Rose, he arched a ruddy brow before opening the door for her.

“If you don’t like me, my lady , you know all you have to do is say so.”

When he looked at her like that, Rose didn’t know if she wanted to strike him or kiss him. Instead of either, she merely hurried into her room, shutting the door in Lord Michael Tate’s face.

She fully expected him to knock – to demand to be let in, even. But neither of those things happened. Instead, Rose merely leaned her full weight against the door until she heard his footsteps receding. Only then did she allow herself a moment to breathe.

Didn’t like him? She despised him! One look was all Rose needed to know that he was completely wrong for her!

…Even if his recent nearness had her nipples perked against the lacy cups of her bra, her fingers trembling and her knickers completely ruined.

**

She was a funny little thing.

Standing on the balcony above the back veranda, Michael leaned against the stone partition as he watched Lady Rose Lithgall stroll around the gardens, her expression pensive.

For a brief moment, he focused only on that face.

The moment he saw it, Michael had thought it angelic. She wasn’t like most women he encountered – there weren’t piles of makeup on her face and her hair wasn’t in some ridiculously complicated updo. Rather, she arrived at the Tate manor in a simple pair of dark denims, a cashmere sweater, and a pair of pumps. There was no pomp and circumstance and she didn’t immediately demand to be accommodated.

In actuality, the first time he laid eyes on her she seemed just as surprised by him as he was by her. Her full, pink lips had parted in an ‘o’ of surprise, her gray eyes widening as she stared up at him.

Michael would admit, he hadn’t expected her to be so small. She couldn’t be much taller than five feet, even in her heels. She seemed dwarfed, even, by the cloud of blonde waves that swirled around her. Slender, delicate, lovely…Rose Lithgall certainly embodied all the things an English noblewoman should be…but her bearing was something that stumped him rather entirely.

As well as piqued his interest.

A man would have to be blind to avoid attraction to a woman like Rose Lithgall – and Michael had quite the accurate set of eyes. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t been with a woman in a while – perhaps he was overworked and short on rest – but the moment he had locked eyes with Rose, he had to struggle against the baser instincts that beckoned him.

A woman that pale-skinned, that gloriously beautiful…she deserved to be taken to bed and ravished to within an inch of her life. Michael found that he seldom allowed his libido to take him to such a level, but on this particular occasion, picturing Rose prone beneath him, sighing his name…it was unavoidable. And strangely enough, it was because she didn’t look at him with conspiracy in her eyes. She wasn’t a pretty young thing out at the pub, looking for her next conquest. No, in the week that Rose had been staying with them, the only thing Michael read when he looked into her eyes was trepidation and – dare he say it - a bit of disdain.

Before Lady Lithgall had arrived, he would have thought he would be the one with disdain. The last thing he had expected was to be drawn to a noblewoman his mother had chosen. In that respect, Michael supposed, he was at least a little justified. After all, he wasn’t drawn to her because his mother had invited her. Indeed, he seemed to be drawn to her because she wasn’t drawn to him in the slightest.

Elias would have called him a masochist – wanting the one woman who didn’t want him. As of yet, however, Mike hadn’t yet called his friend to update him on the status of Operation: Avoid Summer Engagement. He was certain that if he did, Elias would try to get him to do something rash.

Michael wasn’t quite there yet.

He was somewhere between perplexed and unbelievably aroused, twenty-four seven. Which, in turn, only made him more perplexed. He was the kind of man that firmly believed in exotic lingerie, when the time called for it, and mostly bare body parts. A bit of intimate skin against skin and he was very invested in the experience. When it came to Rose, however, it took none of that to get him aroused.

She flitted around the house quietly, from the library to the kitchens and beyond, and all it too was the barest hint of her presence, the whiff of hibiscus and cream, and he was embarrassingly erect. Of course, this most presented a problem when he was supposed to be having dinner with his mother and their guest. Mike had never tried so hard to be involved in his beef roast in his entire life – and it certainly wasn’t easy when the countess kept trying to encourage conversation.

Tell Rose about your latest patients, dear or Tell her how famous you are at Polo, darling – it was always some bid to force him to impress the lady, but Michael played into his mother’s schemes as little as humanly possible.  He would mumble an answer or give an obscure detail to which Rose would feign interest and they would go on with their dinner. Every time the Countess suggested some activity that would throw them together, the young woman begged exhaustion, so much so that his mother wondered if she wasn’t sickly.

But Michael knew better.

Now, watching her putter around the garden in her slacks and blouse, her hair pulled into a low tail at the base of her neck, she certainly didn’t look sickly. In fact, her pale cheeks were flushed with health and there was a smile on her face. One that, in turn, coaxed a smile from him as well.

If he thought she was beautiful under scrutiny, then Rose Lithgall was enrapturing when she thought no one was watching. What he wouldn’t give to descend the stairs and march into the garden, lift her into the arms, and taste her smile. Her happiness.

The thought made his heart stutter in his chest and he frowned. What on earth was the matter with him? He was supposed to be ignoring the girl completely and here he was, allowing himself to be led by his second head.

At this rate, his mother was going to win, and he bloody well couldn’t have that.

His scowl firmly in place, the Doctor turned, preparing to return to the library- only to run headlong into his mother. A low curse escaped him as he steadied her startled form, ensuring that she didn’t fall. “Sorry, Mum.”

“Oh, dear, you shouldn’t curse. It’s unseemly.” Mike rolled her eyes at the assessment behind her back. He’d certainly heard her utter her fair share of curses when she thought no one was listening.

“My apologies, mother.”

“Think nothing of it, dear.” The older woman merely beamed at him, cupping his cheek fondly. “Onto better things - how are you and Rose getting on?”

Mike repressed a groan. They weren’t getting on at all. It was obvious that, outside of meals, the young woman was avoiding him like the plague.

“She seems to exhaust herself easily,” He tried circumventing the question somewhat. “When she’s in better spirits, I’ll see to getting to know her better.”

“She does that.” Thankfully, his mother agreed with him, patting her coiffed hair as if there was some mystical curl out of place. “I think I have just the thing for it!”

Bloody hell . The woman never gave up. “And what’s that?”

The Countess clapped her hands together, clearly absorbed in her own little world. “You’ll take her to the hospital with you tomorrow!”

Michael’s head jerked around as if he’d been slapped. “I’ll what ?”

“Oh, don’t be so alarmed, dear. It’s not as if you’re asking her to observe a surgery. Just introducing her to something you love. She’ll meet the staff, your coworkers, and they’ll all praise you. It will earn you her admiration!”

The only thing Michael wanted was Rose Lithgall’s departure. If it wasn’t thoughts of how their untimely engagement would interrupt his lifestyle, it was the idea that she somehow had the power to scramble his brain with a single disdainful look from those gorgeous gray eyes. “Mother, I can’t take her to the hospital.” Michael tried a firm tone. “It’s unprofessional. Hardly a place for a lady.”

When the Countess looked back at him, her eyes wide and pleading, Michael’s scowl only deepened. On this he wouldn’t allow himself to be swayed. “No , mother.”

“All I want is for you to be happy , darling.” Now tears rose in her eyes and he felt like a complete and total fool. “Can’t you see that?”

He really couldn’t. Michael could only see that his mother wanted to annoy him into an early grave.

“I will…consider it,” he finally acquiesced delicately – but before he could continue, his mother merely enveloped him in her embrace, all but smothering him.

“It’s a marvelous idea, darling. You’ll realize that just as soon as you arrive! You’ll be thanking me this time tomorrow evening!” And just like that, she was off like a veritable whirlwind, leaving the tang of expensive perfume in her wake. Michael only stared after her, convinced that she was trying to drive him mad.

Women.

Michael was up the next morning at five thirty, as per usual. But that day, when he entered the kitchen for breakfast, he wasn’t the only one dining. Rose only glared at him in an unspoken warning to keep his mouth shut as she sipped at her tea and toast and he was all too happy to comply.

Annie brought him his coffee and porridge with a fond smile and he focused on his morning paper. Breakfast passed in awkward silence and within the hour, he was leading her out front. Edgar was driving his father’s Rolls Royce, and at the sight of the immense vehicle, Rose stopped cold, eying it as if it were a viper.

“This is what we’re taking to a hospital?”

Michael sighed. Was it too plain for her? Did she expect it to be emblazoned with Swarovski crystals?

“Not my choice, m’lady. The Countess disapproves of my driving. While I’m here, at least, I’d like to appease her.” He opened the door for her, dipping a mocking bow as he gestured inside. How could he simultaneously want to tear her clothes off and admonish her for being an insufferable diva?

When Rose simply stood before him, eying him skeptically, Michael found that his temper snapped. His mother gave him that look far too much as it was. He didn’t need it from a younger woman he was doing his best to entertain. “Get in the bloody car ,” He growled, blue eyes narrowing. “Now .”

Rose jumped as if she’d been burned, scurrying into the car immediately so Michael could shut the door succinctly behind her.

That done, he breathed a sigh of relief.

On the way to the hospital, he insisted on sitting up front with Edgar, who merely eyed him disapprovingly. But Edgar’s questioning stare was one that Michael could bear far longer than Rose’s guilt-inducing grey gaze. He managed to avoid the brunt of her reproach until Edgar dropped them off at the hospital.

The moment Edgar drove off, leaving them standing on the emergency room ramp, she turned to him, eyes narrow.  “You , my Lord, are a bully.”

Michael raised a hand to his temple to rub at the ache that was starting there. It was barely seven am and he was already tired. “And you, my lady , are a stubborn goose.”

He left her there, gaping in shock, as he entered the hospital, swiping his badge for entry. Unfortunately, Rose caught up with him before the department door could shut and rushed after him. “I am not .”

“I think you’ll find you are.” He replied succinctly, clocking in with the press of a button. There had to be a way to get rid of her. Now that he had her here, he realized exactly what he had doomed himself to and sought to circumvent it.

Before she could utter a reply, a tall, brunette doctor rounded the corner and, at the sight of Michael, she beamed with relief. “Oh, Tate. Thank God you’re here.” She made a beeline for him, breaking up a potential argument. “We’ve just gotten in an adolescent with severe burn wounds. He got caught in a fire. I was going to call you but you’ve made my morning.”

“Nice to see you too, Isabella.” He chuckled. “Don’t wait for me to put my things away or anything.”

“Who’s your friend?” Doctor Isabella Kline glanced over at Rose, a brow arched.

“Family acquaintance.” Michael assuaged her curiosity quickly before moving back to the matter at hand. “Fill me in on the details.”

Isabella proceeded to do so, describing a boy in critical condition, a few of his organs in dire need of repair or removal. It would be a tricky surgery that would last most of the morning, and it would most certainly be an ugly one.

And in that instant, he knew how to get rid of his unwanted charge. “Alright, prep the patient.” He informed Isabella brusquely. “I’ll be in to speak to the parents and we’ll get started immediately after.”

Isabella grinned. “Wonderful.” She turned on her heel to rush off, leaving Rose blinking in confusion as Michael turned to her. For the briefest instant, he was tempted by her wide eyes and parted lips to sample her – to pull her into his arms and suck on her plump lower lip until she squirmed in his arms. But he forced it to the back of his mind. “I’m needed in surgery. I wouldn’t want you to be unoccupied, so you’ll be accompanying me.” If anything, Rose’s eyes only grew wider.

“I’ll be what ?”

“Observing.” Michael replied, suppressing childish glee at her nervous expression. If this didn’t send her fleeing from him, he didn’t know what would. He dealt with this sort of thing daily, and if he needed to, he’d ask her to watch daily until she begged off and demanded to take her leave of the Tate Manor.

He couldn’t wait. “Come with me. We’ll get you suited up and prepared.” He gripped her wrist gently and began to lead her down the hall. Rose looked like a deer in headlights and he relished every moment of the trek.

Finally , things were beginning to go his way.

**

Rose had seen a great many things in her life. She’d seen women give birth, children starving and she’d seen elders in far-flung tribes breathe their last breaths. But one thing she had never seen, she realized, was a doctor saving someone’s life quite so intimately.

When Michael had first dragged her towards the surgery, she’d been too shocked to protest. The young woman had been completely geared up to accuse him of manhandling her back at the car – but she had been completely thwarted. In fact, the command Michael barked at her had rather a more profound effect than scaring her.

It had aroused the hell out of her.

She could only wonder if the man would be as commanding as a lover – and it was that particular line of thought that got her defenses up. She didn’t want to think of Michael Tate that way. She didn’t need to…But Rose quickly learned exactly how commanding the man could be.

In the surgery, Lord Michael Tate ruled supreme.

He informed his assistants methodically and quickly and interacted with his fellow surgeons seamlessly – all without a single hitch. As Rose watched the man prepare for his task, she had to clung the ideas she had about his personality – that he was boorish and uninteresting. That he had gained his position through his nobility and expected to be lauded even if he had no skills.

Over the course of the four-hour surgery he performed, however, she found her perception altered somewhat. The more she watched Michael Tate work, the more she was oddly fascinated by him.

Rose had never been one to be squeamish. While, granted, many women, and exponentially more “ladies” liked to faint dead away at the sight of blood, Rose had seen more than her fair share in her world travels – both her own and that of others.

The thing that most frightened her was the sheer state of the sedated boy they brought in. The young man had what appeared to be third degree burns all over what had to be forty percent of his body. While his face and upper chest were relatively untouched, his lower half was a network of injury. So much so that many of the techs and assistants were taken aback by the damage.

But Michael never missed a beat. He remained calm and in control of the situation, and throughout the surgery, the boy’s heart rate never faltered. Rose watched, in awe, as the man removed one of the boy’s kidneys and a portion of his liver before grafting skin from his upper extremities to some of his lower ones.

While the procedure lasted most of the morning, Rose found that, sequestered in her small corner of the operating theater, she couldn’t look away. The man stared at the boy on the table with such intensity- his hands never wavered in their ministrations and, ultimately, when the surgery was over, the clapping of his comrades only drew a small acknowledging smile from him.

Rose found herself forced to reconsider her judgment of the man.

After he’d left the operating theater, she caught up with the doctor who had first retrieved Michael when they entered the hospital. She had been an attending doctor, and washed her hands placidly at the available sink as Rose approached her, clad in her own blue scrubs.

“Is he…always like that?”

The brunette – Isabella, Rose thought she recalled her name being – merely lowered her mask to grin at her.

“Amazing, isn’t it? Some of the steadiest hands in Northern Europe.”

Rose couldn’t say she was surprised at the assessment. “How many surgeries has he done?”

Isabella’s expression turned pensive. “Well, that’s a difficult question…he was so good in school that they called him in to assist on a few before he actually got his MD. But since then…I’d say several hundred, if not a thousand.”

Rose merely stared at her, completely blown out of the water. To have completed that many surgeries, the man must work nonstop! How did he even have time to be a womanizing noble taking advantage of his name?

“Rose, is it?” She was jerked back to the present by Isabella, who was eying her as she dried her hands.

“Yes.” It was a relief to speak with someone who didn’t waste time with titles. “Rose Lithgall.”

“Well, Miss Lithgall, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Rose arched a blonde brow in inquiry. “What kind of personal question?”

Isabella laughed softly. “The type that determines whether or not I count you among the competition.”

Rose reddened slightly, completely flummoxed. “I beg your pardon?”

But it was completely obvious from Isabella’s demeanor that she meant no harm by her statement. “For Michael, of course. You can imagine how many women are after him. Talented, humble, filthy bloody rich…somehow, in all that he even manages to be a decent man.” Isabella sighed, clearly infatuated with the mere thought of the red-headed doctor. “I’d marry him on the spot if he asked.”

Rose almost choked.

Why was every woman so bloody obsessed with marriage?

Though, she had to admit…there were probably worse men to be involved with. Isabella admired Michael, and she was a doctor herself. Rose couldn’t imagine her admiration would be gained lightly.

And Michael was certainly attractive enough…

“I…well, he’s all yours.” Somehow, she managed to answer Isabella before she rushed out of the surgery and into the busy hallway beyond. Once outside, Rose took a moment to catch her breath.

She didn’t want to…heaven knew it would be terribly dangerous for her, at the very least….But if , for one moment, she entertained the idea that Michael Tate wasn’t a spoiled Lordling…what would that mean? That she would be cordial to him? That they could be friends, perhaps?

Rose had a large number of male friends, and she couldn’t recall ever wanting to mount any of them. The mere thought was enough to make her thighs clench in longing. 

“I suspect you’ll want out of those scrubs.” Isabella had followed her, but her smile was friendly. “I’ll find your clothes for you.”

The hospital was a busy place. While, of course, Rose had been in hospitals before, she had never been behind the scenes quite like this. The place where Michael had taken up his summer residence was a small county establishment – nothing like the private city hospitals she had ever stayed in. There seemed to be an emergency every other moment, and, as such, Rose found she was chasing after Michael all day, barely able to get a word in edgewise.

To his merit, he never rudely brushed her off or sent her away, but instead seemed to accept her as his wayward shadow, merely going about his duties. As she followed him, Rose found herself more and more in awe of the way he handled himself. In a place fraught with panic and anxiety, Michael never seemed to have one hair out of place, despite a lack of any breathing room whatsoever.

In fact, the man was on his feet until close to eight o’clock that evening, when he finally finished his shift. By this point, Rose trailed behind him silently, pensively, watching as he clocked out before a long, protracted sigh escaped him.

The man retrieved his jacket before turning to her and finally addressing her for the first time since that morning. “Shall we go to dinner?”

Taken completely aback, Rose found that her lips couldn’t form a refusal. “…Alright.”

If she expected Michael to take her to some grandiose, expensive ballroom, Rose found herself mistaken for the second time that day. While the man did indeed choose a locale that must have cost a pretty penny, it was tucked away in an inconspicuous corner of the village.

The interior was plush, decked with dark velvet and ornate chandeliers, and several reward plaques in the foyer pronounced the establishment one of the best in Northern England. Rose found that she was, for the first time, too impressed at the understated luxury of the place to condemn the excess.

If she didn’t know any better, she might think Michael was trying to take her on a date.

“Champagne?” But when the man inquired as to what she’d like to drink, Rose found that he looked somewhat distracted – only half present.

“A small glass, thank you.” Leaning forward onto the table, she eyed Michael speculatively, trying to read him. He wore a blue silk shirt that hugged the massive expanse of his chest, and those expressive cerulean eyes of his revealed the weariness of a hard day’s work. After a full minute, she couldn’t keep herself from inquiring anymore. “Are you quite alright, Lord Tate?”

At the title, he winced. “Please, call me Michael. There’s no need to stand on ceremony.”

Rose frowned. The doctor seemed less and less what she had thought with each passing moment. When she repeated her question, her voice was decidedly softer. “Are you alright…Michael?”

The doctor raised his gaze before gesturing to the impeccably dressed waiter. “It’s been a long day, that’s all.” After giving their order, he set the menu aside before running a hand through his hair. “It occurs to me, Lady Lithgall, that it might have been presumptive of me to invite you to the surgery.”

Was that what was bothering him? He thought the sight of blood had turned her stomach?

Rose couldn’t help a wry smile. “Rose,” she corrected him gently. “If you’re going to demand I call you by your Christian name, you can at least do the same in kind.”

“Rose.” After only slight hesitation, Michael did as she bid, a small smile quirking his lips before it disappeared just as quickly. “In any event, my apologies.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Rose rebutted swiftly, waving off his words with a small motion of her hand. “I’m no worse for wear. Truth be told…” She took a bracing sip of the champagne the waiter had brought her as she steeled herself to admit the truth to him. “It was quite invigorating, watching you work.”

“Invigorating.” Michael took a disbelieving sip of his red wine. “Really?”

“Well, yes,” Rose admitted, somewhat embarrassed. “I’ve worked with the sick many times in my travels…but I’ve never seen anything like what you did.”

Michael snorted lowly. “What? Wear a paper hat in an operating room?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed, but she was in too buoyant a mood to rise to the jab. “Save lives .”

“Ah.” At that, Michael’s expression turned sour. He drank the entirety of his glass of wine in another long swallow before gesturing for more. “Saving lives .” His scathing tone made the blonde woman across from him frown. “I’m not too terribly good at that.”

Rose’s eyes widened in shock.  “What on earth are you talking about?” She demanded, setting down her champagne glass. “You saved that boy this morning in the operating room! And the little girl who swallowed insecticides in the afternoon.”

Michael’s somber expression only deepened. “And I lost one.”

The words were enough to stop Rose in her tracks. Her mouth snapped shut as she looked at the man before her, utterly shocked. In that moment, he looked so utterly and completely forlorn that the very sight of him tugged at her heartstrings. She could hardly believe that she’d had such utter and complete disdain for him just that morning. “You…lost someone?”

Michael’s mouth tightened into a fine line. “A pregnant woman. She came in an hour or so before we left. She was going into early labor and the child had genetic disabilities.” He took another long gulp of wine. “I lost him.”

He spoke as if the entire weight of the world were on his shoulders – even as his expression never wavered.

Rose found herself searching his face – from his furrowed brow to the tightness of his mouth – and when she found nothing but earnest self-disgust there, she was driven to speak again.

“Michael, I’m sure you did your best.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “You mustn’t blame yourself. You saved the woman’s life, didn’t you? And you fought. That’s all anyone can ask.”

For a protracted moment, Michael said absolutely nothing. He finished his second glass of wine but instead of asking for another, he merely stared at the tabletop before him, running lithe fingers over its edge. Rose had watched those fingers dexterously manipulate surgical tools. Make pinpoint incisions and precise stitches.

She flushed slightly as the thought rose in her mind, unbidden, of how skilled he must be in certain other areas.

“I wish I had done better.” The doctor finally replied gruffly, raising a hand to rub over the stubble on his chin. “It’s a sentiment I can’t escape. Always wanting to do better…always needing to do more …” He trailed off, raising his gaze to hers.

In the instant his blue eyes locked on her face, he seemed to realize the macabre lane of conversation he’d gone down and his tone lightened somewhat. “My apologies. This was supposed to be dinner, not self-incrimination.”

Rose couldn’t help the small smile that rose to her lips. “Will you stop apologizing to me? It’s rather tiring.”

At that, Michael smirked. “You’d prefer I was an absolute brute, then?”

At the memory of the order he’d given her that morning, the blonde woman suppressed a shiver. Perhaps not an absolute brute…

“Of course not. But you might stop being so apologetic and actually tell me how you got involved in medicine.”

An auburn brow shot up towards Michael’s hairline. “How I got involved in medicine?” The waiter brought their first course, setting an exquisitely arranged plate of pate and caviar before them. “I can’t imagine that being very interesting for you.”

“I think,” Rose took a bite of her pate, savoring the rich flavor, “you’d be surprised by what interests me, Michael.”

The doctor chuckled at her suggestion. “I suppose if bloody surgeries so captivate you, it’s worth a go, isn’t it?”

Rose laughed, her mirth as light as the champagne she was drinking. “Maybe.”

She wasn’t supposed to like Michael Tate. She barely knew him. Rose had been staying in the man’s manor for a week and the only thing she knew was that he wasn’t the one for her. That, and the man looked absolutely nothing like his parents. It was odd – in every family portrait of them she saw, he stuck out like a sore thumb.  But aside from that, in seven days she’d more than convinced herself that the good Doctor was everything she despised in a man.

After two hours of conversation, good food, and a veritable plethora of questions on her part, Rose was beginning to think that perhaps she’d been a bit too hasty. That wasn’t to say that she was going to allow herself to pine over the man or any such ridiculous thing. It simply meant that maybe, maybe , she might be able to tolerate living under the same roof as him for a summer.

And that was a start.

Over the course of their meal, Rose found that Michael had been interested in helping people from an early age. While his parents had urged him to take polo and etiquette courses, he’d poured over medical guides and even wanted to join the armed forces to be a paramedic. His parents, unfortunately, had vetoed that idea, but fully supported him entering medical school a full two years early.

He trained at Oxford and graduated at the top of his class, making him one of the youngest residents at some of London’s more prestigious hospitals. Indeed, the man was barely into his early thirties, and he’d carried out, as Isabella purported, hundreds, if not thousands of surgeries – a fact that baffled Rose more and more every time she considered it.

Far from what she had expected, Michael Tate seemed quite the extraordinary man, Earl or no.  No wonder Isabella was so interested in him.

“So…” The young woman finally ventured. “You and Isabella? Did your mother know about that before she invited me for the summer?”

On his fourth glass of wine, Michael merely chuckled lowly at her suggestion. “Why? Are you jealous?”

Rose stiffened in her chair, a little tipsy herself from her three glasses of champagne. “Of course not!” She rebutted almost immediately, her cheeks flaming. “I merely mentioned it because she…she’s a wonderful person!”

What a horrid excuse. Rose hardly knew Isabella enough to profess that she was a wonderful person – even if, in all probability, she was. She was attractive enough, Rose supposed, and obviously intelligent, if she was a doctor. She and Michael would almost certainly be a good match if that was what he wanted …

So why did the idea make her stomach twist in discomfort?

“She is a wonderful person,” Michael replied, his eyes twinkling with something horribly like interest. “A very talented cardio-surgeon, and a trusted colleague. She and I have been working summers together for nigh on seven years now.”

“And…has she met your mother?” Rose was careful to keep her tone casual. “I’m sure the Countess would love her.”

Almost immediately, Michael made an outrageous face that she couldn’t help laughing at. It took Rose a good two or three minutes to control herself, and by the time she did, Michael was merely chortling himself. “Isabella and I are friends. Good friends, but nothing more.” He smiled as he took a bite of his chocolate soufflé. “Did she…say something to you?” He finally inquired, licking a bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Rose’s breath hitched and she tried to keep her thoughts from heading deplorably southward.

“No. Nothing at all.”

“Ah, well,” Michael shrugged, taking another bite. “I thought you two might have got up to some girl talk or the other. Isabella is always desperate for gossip.”

“I…can only imagine.” Rose swallowed thickly as Michael shifted slightly and his knee slid against hers beneath the table. She jerked almost as if she’d been burned, pressing her thighs together to assuage the ache that suddenly sprang to life between them. Clearing her throat, she pulled her napkin from her lap and tossed it onto the table. “I…I find myself quite tired, Lord Tate. Perhaps we should retire?”

For a long moment, the man merely stared up at her – and Rose could swear she saw a glint of desire in his eye as he assessed her diminutive form. Then, finally he stood, taking hold of her arm to draw her flush against his side. Leaning down, the immense man uttered a low, authoritative whisper into her ear. “Bloody hell, woman. Call me ‘Lord’ one more time and you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Even though the doctor released her, moving away and towards the maître’s to pay the bill, Rose might have melted into a messy puddle on the expensive velour carpet beneath her feet. Michael’s low, growling whisper so close to her ear…It brought all the things she wasn’t supposed to be imagining to the forefront. Things her liquor- addled brain wasn’t so adept at fending off.

This was precisely why she didn’t drink in mixed company. The results were far too disastrous.

“Coming, Rose?”

If she had thought she was embarrassed before, Rose’s ultimate humiliation didn’t take place until that moment. She turned on her heel to follow Michael towards the door – and stumbled . One foot got caught behind another and the young woman yelped as she tripped over her own ankles.

She had barely started to fall, however, before a brawny pair of arms caught her around the waist, hauling her upright. “Easy there,” Michael’s voice was a coaxing rumble that thrummed through her entire body, sending her heart into double-overtime. “Alright?”

“I’m fine,” Rose answered, in a tone that was a little too breathless for her own good. “Fine, fine.” She tried to escape his embrace, only to have him tug her even closer as he stared down at her, obviously concerned. The man looked her over from head to foot, and Rose waited with bated breath for almost a full minute before he finally spoke. “It’s these bloody shoes.”

With that, Michael bent to hoist her into the air just enough to slip her pumps from her feet. The young woman’s feet cried out in relief at the same time mortification flooded her. She was in a public place and the man was stealing her shoes!

“Michael, give those back!” She hissed immediately, grabbing for them.

The Doctor only smirked, waving them out of her reach. “Tell me that doesn’t feel better.”

“Give them back !” Rose meant her tone to come out intimidating, but she was a bit too tipsy and found that, instead, she simply giggled helplessly.

Michael only grinned. “That’s what I thought. Come along, now.” With that, he took her arm in his and led her, completely barefoot, from the restaurant.

If her mother ever found out, she’d be completely mortified. Somehow, however, Rose found that she didn’t care as much as she might have a few months prior. She even let Michael scoop her into the waiting Rolls when they reached the waiting car. It was, after all, the gentlemanly thing to do.

Lord Michael Tate, she decided hazily, wasn’t as bad as she had made him out to be. In fact, he was quite delicious and manly…even if she never admitted it to him out loud.

**

Michael couldn’t stop grinning. He’d had a few cups of wine but was nowhere near intoxicated. Instead, he found himself unbelievably relaxed after it seemed like the stress of his day had caught up with him.

He knew how empathetic he tended to be – losing patients never sat well with him. While Michael’s friends and family all struggled to impress upon him that it was never his fault, he often found himself brooding over patients for days – even weeks after they passed.

Somehow, Rose had lifted his spirits in the space of a few hours.

He’d seen the young woman to her room a good two hours ago, and as he lay contentedly on his bed, he allowed himself to remember how absolutely fetching she’d been at dinner.

He’d only asked her out, really, because he felt bad for being such a cad. Sure, he’d been desperate at the time, but what kind of man forced a woman into a surgery to chase her away? He’d been out of line, and whatever soreness lie between them, he’d been willing to endure an awkward dinner to sooth it to the best of his abilities.

Instead, Michael found himself pleasantly surprised by how much he enjoyed Rose’s company. Once he got past her frosty exterior, she could be quite the avid conversationalist. She asked him questions he couldn’t rightly remember any woman asking him recently – if ever at all. How he kept patients from bleeding when they were cut open on an operating table, what medicines were best for soothing pain and treating certain ailments – and most interestingly of all, she wanted to know what allowed him to keep his head in the chaos of the emergency room. Honestly, performing under pressure was something that came second nature to Michael. One could say he’d had practice from having to endure Elias’ temper tantrums over the years.

Rose paid him absolutely rapt attention as he tried to explain himself, and Michael found that he had trouble concentrating on his words in favor of the gleaming gray eyes that were fixed on him. He found his gaze drawn, time and time again, to the gentle swell of her cleavage above her top or the plumpness of her lower lip. By the time dessert arrived, Michael was imagining that every bite of chocolate soufflé he took was the creamy softness of her skin – that he had free reign to kiss and lick wherever he liked.

It was bloody torture.

While he was with Rose, he had to control himself, but now, alone in his room, he allowed the almost painful press of his erection against the slacks he still wore. Michael had shed his shirt the moment he was alone and now wore simply his undershirt and slacks, his feet bare. Despite the climate control in the manor, it was too damned hot for him to act the gentleman when no one was looking.

Michael contemplated whether or not he should take care of his current…problem. The last thing he needed was to fall victim to his baser urges the next time he saw Rose…His hand covered the bulge at the crux of his thighs and the breath hissed from between his teeth. Here, alone, what was keeping him from imagining it was Rose’s hand rather than his own? That she was atop him, smiling down at him as all that silky blonde hair slid over them both.

He wondered if anyone had ever made Lady Rose Lithgall climax so hard that she couldn’t breathe…given her so much pleasure that she begged for more…Michael didn’t usually consider himself a sexual aggressor…but there was something about Rose that threatened to bring it out in him. A longing to claim her, completely for his own…

The buzzing of his phone interrupted his fantasy and the gargantuan man growled a curse under his breath. Rolling over onto his stomach, he reached for the cursed device on his bedside table and opened the message, ready to shut the damn thing off.

What he saw gave him pause.

It’s going to be a boy.

A message from Elias.

Immediately, Michael sat up, pushing thoughts of Rose momentarily to the back of his head as he typed his reply.

That’s good. He can be a clone of his father - haughty, high-maintenance and brilliant.

His phone beeped almost immediately in reply.

Have I told you recently how funny you are?

Michael grinned at the blatant sarcasm that permeated the message.

Not lately, no. But I’ve long known of my ability to amuse you.

This time, the pause between messages was longer. A boy, Mike. I’m going to have a son .

The hulking man’s smile softened somewhat. Elias rarely ever exhibited his sentimental side – and when he did, it was something to behold. He typed his one-word answer without hesitation.

Congratulations.

There was nothing more, though Michael waited a good five minutes before rising from his bed to stalk to the door of his room. He had hoped there would be more – that perhaps Elias would call and distract him from the lovely Lady Lithgall sleeping just down the hall – but he was disappointed.

Instead of going back to his prior ministrations, Michael stalked from the room, barefoot and shirtless, making his way through the dark foyer to the first floor. It was close to midnight – no one would be about at this hour to be mortified at his appearance.

Or so he thought.

Despite being only the slightest bit hungry, the Doctor rummaged through the immense icebox until he came up with the ingredients for a sandwich and poured himself one of his favorite pale ales. As he leaned against the counter, chewing thoughtfully, a low, feminine tone startled him.

“Michael?”

He turned immediately, every muscle in his body tensing, to see none other than the subject of his frustrations standing in the kitchen entryway. The ruddy shade of inebriation from earlier was absent from her cheeks and her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders – nearly to her waist. She was wearing a white silk nightgown that complimented her bare skin – falling in a deep vee over her chest and almost to her toes. Though she wore a matching robe over it, the garment did little to detract from the alluring lines of the slim form beneath.

As if she sensed him staring at her, Rose pulled the fabric of her robe even closer to her body. “I…looked for you upstairs. I came to retrieve my shoes.” Her cheeks burned slightly at the memory of their antics in the restaurant and Michael tried not to remember how soft she’d been in his arms as he lifted her into the Rolls. “Are they in your room? I can wait upstairs-”

Michael interrupted her before she could retreat. “I have them here.”

That was a lie – a blasphemous lie, if he’d ever told one. But he was hypnotized. He needed to have her closer.

“Where?” Rose’s mouth drew into a skeptical frown. “I don’t see them.”

She was so very respectable sober. So much so that he wanted to tempt the wildness from her – needed to, truth be told.

“Right here.” He gestured to her with a muscular arm, beckoning her closer. “Come and get them.”

Rose’s expression remained dubious as she drew closer to him, all but gliding across the exquisite marble of the kitchen floor. She stopped a mere two feet from him, her gaze locking with his. In the moonlight, her gray eyes gleamed alluringly, and Michael realized far too late that he couldn’t avoid his body’s natural reaction. “Where,” When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, “where are they?”

Michael took a ridiculous chance. Leaning forward, he cupped her angelic face with a hand, drawing her across the remaining space that separated them. “You are so lovely, Rose.” He murmured lowly, drawing a thumb over the lower lip he had admired for what seemed like an eternity. “So very lovely.”

He kissed her. It would have been criminal not to, with her eyes and mouth tempting him the way they were. Michael could put any number of labels on his reasoning – he was still mourning for the day’s losses. The drink had toyed with his mind. He hadn’t been with a woman in ages… But ultimately, he admitted the truth to himself.

He wanted Rose Lithgall more badly than he had ever wanted any woman and here, now, in his arms…she was heaven.

She sighed the moment his mouth touched hers, parting those lovely lips for him and allowing his tongue to slip inside. Where he thought she might push him away, instead, she merely drew closer to him, her slender fingers curling into his undershirt as she stood on her toes.

She kissed him back.

She arched that decadent body of hers against his and her tongue tangled with his enthusiastically. A low moan escaped her when his hands slid lower – from the trim line of her waist to the gentle swell of her behind – and pressed her against his torturous erection. Her delicious warmth against him was enough to tear a groan of pure desire from his throat, and in an instant, Michael lifted her from the floor to set atop the counter before him. Her spread thighs were the perfect cradle for his hips, and the length of white silk she wore hiked up far enough to expose creamy thighs.

Michael slanted his mouth against hers, kissing her more deeply. When he bit at her lower lip before suckling the hurt away hungrily, Rose shuddered delicately against him. The hands fisted in the cotton of his undershirt tugged at the material sharply in a wordless plea for more. More that the doctor was all too willing to give.

Tearing his mouth from hers, Michael rained kisses down Rose’s vulnerable throat, leaving a line of marks that would no doubt cause a stir at breakfast the next morning – but in that moment, he hardly cared. He wanted her against the countertop, where anyone in Christendom could come upon them, and he regretted nothing. Her skin tasted of fresh cream and cleanliness, sweet and intoxicating all at once, and he couldn’t help but wonder if other parts of her would taste just as sweet…

As one of his hand trekked downward towards the crux of her legs, however, Rose drew back from him, her breath ragged, and uttered a single word.  “Stop.”

No matter his intention, the command halted Michael in his tracks. His libido all but howled in protest, but he forced himself through the haze of lust that enveloped his consciousness. “What’s wrong?” When he asked, his voice was hoarse with want, and he felt her tremble in his arms.

“This …” Rose replied plaintively. “I…I barely know you, Michael. This morning I thought you a horrible, spoiled little Lordling-”

Michael couldn’t help but snort in affront. “Little-”

“And now I’ve got my legs around your waist. I…I just…I need some time. We’re both…drunk.”

It took every fiber of willpower in Michael’s being, but he pulled away from her. Stepped back so that his erection was apparent in the three feet of space that suddenly separated them. At the sight of it, Rose inhaled sharply.

But she didn’t flee. That suited Michael just fine, as he only had one thing to say to her. “I’m not drunk , Rose. And I’d like to think I wouldn’t take advantage of an inebriated woman, either.” He looked over her disheveled form, from her mussed blonde hair to the clear protrusions of her nipples against the front of her nightgown. “You want me. And I want you. But if you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t. Not a single fingertip,” His lips curved into a wicked smile. “Though it wouldn’t take much more than that to see you writhe.”

The young woman’s face flamed cherry and she drew herself up, suddenly indignant. “Where are my shoes? ”

She was so righteously beautiful in her arousal that he had to tear his gaze from her. Turn from her to leave the kitchen. “In my room, Rose.” He walked away from her, the taste of her still seared onto his lips. “Come and get them, if you dare.”