200 Harley Street: The Shameless Maverick. Louisa George

      The girl opened her eyes and gave him a sad smile. ‘Yes … you mustn’t tell my father.’

      ‘Cross my heart.’

      ‘But I never will again. Who’s going to love me with a face like this? Skin like this?’ She lifted the arms she’d tried to shield her face with and showed him the skin that had been so damaged. Finally tears began to fall. ‘Don’t tell me that beauty’s skin-deep. Or that scars are sexy. Because they’re not. And please don’t tell me that looks don’t matter—because in my world they do.’

      And that was the heart of the matter. A young girl’s life was broken and no one could truly fix it.

      Kara’s throat closed tight.

      Declan ran his hand over the girl’s hair. ‘Ah, now, sweetheart. That’s it. That’s it. I know. Believe me, I know. Let it out. Just let it go.’

      ‘I’m … so … tired … of being brave,’ Safia sobbed. ‘Of trying to pretend it’s okay when it’s not. And all they do is make promises that I’ll be back to normal soon. How can I?’ She looked up at him, eyes pleading but with a glimpse of trust. ‘Can you make me better, Dr Underwood?’

      ‘Call me Declan, please. Actually, call me Dec if you like—my sisters call me that.’

      ‘Okay.’ Safia nodded and smiled again. ‘Dec.’

      ‘Listen, Safia, I will be honest with you because you deserve that at the very least. I can’t ever make it go away completely.’ His voice caught a little as he thumbed away the girl’s tears.

      A few months ago Kara had watched him smooth his way across a dance floor, his charm and flirtatious manner catching her in a moment of weakness. But there was a genuine depth to him that she hadn’t imagined.

      He cleared his throat. ‘But I promise I can make it a whole lot better. Will you let me try?’

      ‘At first glance, Safia’s burns are a mix of partial and full thickness—some will need further debridement and then grafting,’ Declan said to Kara as they grabbed a coffee en route to the media room.

      His head was a whirl of the emotions that always shook through him at this stage of assessment—emotions he had a tight hold of and would never allow to interfere with any professional judgement. Flashbacks from seventeen years ago haunted him each time he removed a dressing, but they made him more determined to improve his skills and techniques.

      Another woman damaged. It made him sick to his stomach.

      His new junior surgeon took a sip of coffee, oblivious to what was going on in his head. Which was a damned fine thing—no one needed to know his motivations, just his achievements. She smiled and his gut tightened. He put it down to stress.

      ‘So, Declan, do you prefer autograft or zenograft?’

      ‘It depends entirely on the situation. We can get a better look at the viability of the skin and the underlying bed tomorrow in Theatre and take it from there.’

      Eyebrows peaked. ‘We?’

      ‘Yes. Okay, you can scrub in tomorrow. You did well in there. Teenagers are often the most difficult cases to deal with. They don’t know how to act—they’re kids at heart but trying desperately to be adult. We have to get the next few days right. How we deal with these burns will have a huge effect on the rest of that girl’s life. Both physically and psychologically.’ From his experience the mental scarring was often the worst and could change the very core of an injured person for life.

      Kara nodded, eyes alight, blonde curls shivering. Something unbidden shivered through him too. She’d been damned good at handling Safia, so he was pleased to have her on his team. But … really it was more than that. She was a weird kind of unsettling—and yet settling at the same time.

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘I can’t believe the admitting hospital staff didn’t think of offering her some anxiolytics to help raise her mood. Maybe we could have a chat with her about that too?’

      ‘I guess they were dealing with her immediate issues, like keeping her alive.’ He held the door open to let her through. Which was an action he immediately regretted. The barrage of flashing bulbs that had greeted him that morning met them as they stepped into the room, catching her unawares—but he was interested to see just how well she could handle this part of the job.

       ‘Is Princess Safia here now?’

       ‘What can you tell us about her condition?’

      Next to him Kara stood tall, her shoulders snapped back, confident. Declan held back a smile as he watched her survey the room with a tilt of her chin. She wore her army upbringing in her stance, and he had no doubt she would answer the press’s queries with aplomb and professionalism, but he wasn’t game enough to test her with that just yet. In fact he wasn’t game enough to do anything that involved any more contact with her than he had to. The woman was mysteriously alluring. So that meant avoiding her at all costs.

      No doubt a better man would probably not even allow her to assist him when his hormones were acting as if he was eighteen years old again. But he had stopped being a better man a long time ago—the day he’d lost all faith in love.

      Kara’s scent wove around him … something exotic that reminded him of brilliant blue skies and endless heat and the tang of flowers on the breeze. His abdomen tightened as seemingly endless heat rippled through him too.

      He took a step away and glanced at the floor, trying to take a moment to focus. But all he could see were those ridiculous but sexy shoes, slender tanned ankles leading up to the hem of her skirt, and farther on up to a place where his imagination ran wild.

      He ran a hand through his hair and shook that image from his head. Damn fool. Since when had he allowed a woman to distract him at work? Since the second he’d seen her firing back at the Sheikh’s aide? Or was it that kiss?

      He quieted the audience with a raise of his hands and a smile. Keep them on side and they might actually let him have time free to do his job. ‘Thanks for coming to this meeting. We didn’t want you getting chilly out there. We’re already busy enough without dealing with hypothermic journalists as well. Hope you enjoyed the tea and biscuits.’

      Laughter rippled round the room. He waited for it to stop.

      ‘Thank you for your patience, everyone. I have permission from Safia’s family to confirm that she is indeed now here at Princess Catherine’s Hospital and that I am treating her as an in-patient. I’m sure you are all aware of the car accident she had a few days ago. I can confirm also that, thanks to the great care she received at Aljahar Hospital, she is now in a stable condition, but her injuries mean that she will be under my care for some time. The family again asks for privacy. Thank you.’

       ‘What does the Sheikh think about this?’

      ‘Naturally His Highness is devastated about his daughter’s injuries, but he is working with us to get the best possible outcome. Of course we are deeply honoured to have him here.’

       ‘How long will Safia be with you?’

      ‘That depends entirely on her progress and response to treatment. It could be a few weeks.’ He paused for effect. ‘Okay, I don’t think there is anything more we can tell you. Either myself or a member of my team …’ He indicated to Kara and she stepped forward and smiled, self-confidence rippling off her. ‘This is Ms Stephens, who will be working with me. Either one of us will be updating you on Safia’s progress as and when appropriate.’

      ‘They don’t teach you that at medical school.’ Kara joked as they walked towards the afternoon out-patient clinic. ‘They should have “Dealing with the Press” lessons. Confidentiality is such a thorny issue—especially when you’re treating someone famous.’

      ‘No one wants to know about you if you’re not. But this is a high-profile