200 Harley Street: The Shameless Maverick. Louisa George

he’d never found an equal to since, and a woman he’d caught tantalising glimpses of around the surgical unit, at Drake’s Bar, and once, possibly, he thought he might have caught a brief whiff of her perfume at the Hunter Clinic. The woman he’d never quite caught up with.

      Or even tried to.

      And definitely hadn’t wanted to.

      Because—well … because talking to her, laughing with her, kissing her, had made him want something more. And Declan Underwood never did more.

      ‘Good afternoon, Mr Underwood. Adding spying to your list of legendary talents?’

      ‘You are standing right outside my office. It’s hardly a covert operation.’ Had he ever even known her name? ‘Why are you frightening the life out of my esteemed visitors and masquerading as a member of my team? And where the hell is Karen?’

      Karen. The timid but efficient junior surgeon who didn’t have a bewitching mouth and a dangerous sparkle in her eye.

      The woman’s mouth twitched. ‘White lilies, indeed. If they’re all like him we’re going to have our work cut out. By all accounts Safia’s a little diva. Didn’t you hear? Karen’s been called away to a family emergency and I’ve been shifted over to assist until she gets back.’

      ‘Whoa! Slow down. To assist me?’

      She smiled, but it didn’t look as if she was very pleased about the scenario either. He wondered if she was thinking about that kiss too, and how she’d suddenly lost her cool, or her nerve or both, and left him standing on the dance floor trying to work out which tornado had just hit.

      Just the thought of it set off a burst of inconvenient heat swimming through his veins.

      ‘Yes, the luck fairies have sprinkled dust on us both today. I’m on your team until Karen gets things sorted.’

      Judging by his all too regular experiences of family emergencies she could be away for weeks. His stomach hit his boots. Regardless of what his body might want, mixing work with pleasure was something he avoided at all costs. So he’d be sticking to strictly business.

      ‘And which genius came up with this idea?’

      ‘Ethan Hunter. He called me this morning, said he’d had a call from Karen and was going to run the idea by you, but you were unavailable. He left you a message, apparently. So did she.’

      No doubt while Declan’s oldest sister had been bending his ear about his middle sister’s new boyfriend, the youngest’s less than satisfactory university grades and his mother’s upcoming birthday plans. He was definitely going to have to set more limits around his personal private time. Sure, hadn’t he been trying to do that for the past seventeen years?

      ‘So I miss a call and now I don’t get a say about who works with me on one of the most high-profile cases we’ve had in years?’

      ‘What would you prefer?’ Her hands hit her tantalising hips. ‘It’s me or no one. At least I have a good deal of burns experience. There isn’t any other option, with Leo and Lizzie on honeymoon and this place being almost in lockdown with the Sheikh’s arrival.’

      ‘No?’

      ‘You could do it all by yourself, but somehow I can’t think you’d want to do the junior tasks. Admissions paperwork? Organising bloods?’ Her voice rose at the end of every sentence, making it sound as if she was asking an endless list of questions.

      ‘Yes, thank you, I have a full understanding of what is needed. And, it’s not that I don’t want to do them. I just don’t have time.’ Stepping up to run the Hunter Clinic in Leo’s absence meant he needed more junior staff, not less.

      Unbelievable. Declan ran a hand across his neck as he realised he’d been backed into an Antipodean corner. Well, hell, she’d better be as good in surgery as she was at kissing, because he couldn’t take any chances—not with his reputation and a young girl’s future at stake.

      Great. His day had just got a whole lot longer.

      ‘So I hope we don’t have a problem here?’

      ‘Absolutely not.’

      Oh, but they did. At least Kara did. Declan’s Irish lilt curled around her clenched stomach and stroked. Softly. Smoothly. Sexi— No. She wasn’t allowed to think that. The man was her boss. And an amazing kisser. Boss. Kisser. Boss. He tipped his chin to one side and gave her the slightest hint of recognition. A nod, perhaps, to their last … connection…?

      She felt the blush start at her toes and spread, fast, to the top of her head. If only she’d explained her quick getaway—the reason dancing with him had been such a dumb move. Her surprisingly hot bodily response to the first man to hold her in so long. No—it had been a direct response to him and his strong arms and smooth, deep accent. And then, as reality hit, her suddenly very cold feet.

      He leaned against his office doorjamb, folded his arms and eyed her with ill-disguised caution.

      Shame, because she’d really, really enjoyed that kiss. However wrong. However badly timed. However just damned stupid. And he clearly hardly even remembered her. But then the man had a following of women who thought they could change his commitment-phobic ways. That kiss was probably not a stand-out for him. Luckily she’d put it far behind her.

      She summoned every bit of confidence—or at least the show of confidence she’d learned to wear whenever she was in a difficult situation. Eyes forward, shoulders back. Last time she’d felt the need to summon strength she’d been staring down into a casket. The memory rolled off her in waves.

      ‘It’s Kara.’

      Just in case he’d forgotten her name. Had she even told him it? She remembered looking up. The sight of him standing there in a tuxedo, his hair a messy nonchalant scruff, had stripped the breath from her lungs. She remembered too the way he’d smelled of something spicy and promising as he’d leaned in, the hot shock of an unexpected desire that had matched hers in his deep brown eyes. The earth tilting slightly as he’d spun her in his arms.

      ‘Kara Stephens?’

      ‘Are you asking me? Because if you don’t know then we really do have a problem.’

      Idiot. She decided to speak slowly just so he could understand. Poor puppy. ‘My. Name. Is. Kara. Stephens. Only you don’t look very happy about something. And I can only assume it’s me.’

      Seeing as he was staring right at her. All six-foot-too-much, with his arrogant stance and toned body. Even in scrubs she could see the outline of the sculpted abs she’d pressed against, the biceps she’d held as he’d slow-danced with her. The shoulders she’d wound her arms around as his mouth had covered hers.

      Heat skittered through her abdomen like a lit fuse wire.

      Boss.

      Oh. Yes. The first kiss she’d had in too long and it had been off-limits in so many ways. Alcohol, guilt and lust were a heady combination she’d done her best to avoid ever since. Along with him—Mr Break-Your-Heart Underwood.

      And now he would refuse to allow her to join the team. Not just for her handling of a tense situation but because of that damned kiss.

      ‘There’s a lot at stake here.’ He exhaled sharply. ‘What do we know about you? Where did you train? What burns experience do you have?’

      ‘Med School in Melbourne, then Perth, then a stint at the Croftwood Institute, Sydney.’

      ‘The Croftwood? Impressive.’

      ‘Yes. And I aced every exam.’ Even so, just thinking about her last few days there was like a swift punch to her heart.

      But she wouldn’t look back. London had been a fresh start, and getting onto this rotation had been an absolute dream job—and then the chance to work alongside a world-class reconstructive surgeon. Until one out-of-character