200 Harley Street: American Surgeon in London. Lynne Marshall

she’d officially turned into a fatalistic drama queen. Apparently the handsome stranger’s doom and gloom had rubbed off on her.

      This was the last place Mitch Cooper wanted to be tonight, but Leo had needed someone to cover for him while he and Lizzie were seeing a travel agent about their upcoming honeymoon in Paris. Between Leo and this highly sought-after travel agent’s schedules, the appointment landed at eight o’clock on a Sunday night.

      The black-tie affair had been on the calendar long before Leo had finally seen the light and popped the question to the head nurse at the Hunter Clinic. Though the newly marrieds had put off their honeymoon until the summer, he understood the guy needed an extra night off duty every now and again.

      Mitch would rather be home, reading a good-night book to Mia. Sure, Roberta was there, but no nanny could replace a father’s love—or a mother’s.

      He braced himself for more nights like these, since Leo had asked his surgeons to step in and help with the multiple and necessary social functions and fund-raisers related to the Hunter Clinic. Especially now that Leo had gotten married, he’d want a life away from the clinic and that meant the rest of them attending more events. And as a team player, Mitch would do his share.

      After all, the clinic with the wealthy donors who kept things running for the sake of those in need, not to mention the eternally nipping-and-tucking plastics patients, was everyone’s bread and butter. If he wanted to stake out a new life for himself in London, and provide the kind of life he dreamed of for his daughter, this small price to pay wasn’t so bad.

      Tonight he’d rubbed elbows with as many guests as humanly possible. He’d made the rounds, done his duty and had now decided to sneak off and take in the view one more time before heading home. He’d have to bring Mia here one day. She’d love it.

      He really did love London, especially after dark, and most especially after leaving Hollywood and all the bad memories behind.

      Someone spoke—a woman. He dragged himself out of his dark thoughts, which always managed at quiet times like these to circle back to his ex-wife and best friend.

      “Hi,” he said robotically, looking straight ahead. “Enjoying yourself?” Then, back on duty and clicking into host mode, he actually glanced at the person to his left.

      Time slowed as he took in the strikingly beautiful woman. Large and inquisitive pale eyes, enhanced by dark eyeliner and curtained by thick bangs, stared expectantly at him. Having never seen her before, because he’d definitely remember this face if he had, he assumed she was a wealthy donor.

      With no sign of plastic surgery or Botox injections, she smiled naturally, with fine crinkles beside her eyes and mouth. Her cheeks grew more prominent, and that sweet little mouth with meticulously applied pink lipstick stretched into a serene smile. The sight of such a lovely face buoyed his spirits nearly to the height of the pod.

      Could he be so superficial, letting natural beauty grab him like this? Yes, and his broken marriage proved it. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? “Have you been to the London Eye before?”

      She shook her head of dark hair—half of it piled high on her crown and with a shiny barrette meant for nothing more than show, something his daughter might wear—the rest of the hair dropping in waves around her neck. “I’m new in town.”

      Probably here for some plastic-surgery work since tonight’s guests were by invitation only. All the beautiful women he’d ever known thought of plastic surgery as their little beauty secret. Maybe he could talk her out of whatever procedure she’d come to have. Why mess with genuine perfection? God, he hoped she didn’t plan to change her lips. They were just fine as they were, with the classically shaped Cupid’s-bow upper lip and the plump lower mate. Bigger was not always better, and lip jobs never looked completely natural, in his opinion. Even under his skilled hands.

      “If you’re new in town, then I guess I need to be a gentleman and point out a few landmarks, don’t I?”

      She continued to smile and her expression changed to one of playfulness. “Definitely. By the way, I notice you’re American, too.”

      He nodded. “I’m from California originally. How about you?”

      “Arizona.”

      Didn’t they have highly acclaimed plastic surgery clinics in Scottsdale? Maybe, as Scottsdale could be a tight-knit small town, she didn’t want anyone to know she was undergoing a procedure. Maybe she’d told everyone she was going on vacation, and when she went home she’d look amazingly well rested. Who knew? Who cared? Maybe he should quit reading so many sleuth novels and stop assuming the worst about women.

      Right now, he’d grab a moment for himself and enjoy it with … what was her name?

      “I’m Mitchell, by the way, and you are?”

      “Grace. Nice to meet you.”

      Yes, of course her name would be Grace, she almost shimmered with it.

      “So, Grace, across the Thames there you’ll notice Big Ben, and the Gothic-style building with all of those lights right on the river are the Houses of Parliament.”

      She followed wherever he pointed, smiled and nodded. He liked it that she’d stepped a little closer and a refreshing, brisk, fruity scent floated up his nose. She wore a sexy black dress with a diving neckline, but instead of flaunting everything God had given her—there he went assuming again, but her breasts were probably real as they were shapely but not overly large—she’d covered up with amazingly alluring thin black lace. Sexy. And not fair. The subtle holding back made him all the more curious about what lay beneath. Some women knew how to make a man take notice and beg for more. Hats off to the beautiful Grace from Arizona.

      He cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts back on task. “Oh, and over there is Westminster Abbey. Look down just a bit more. There.”

      She inched forward and grimaced when she glanced downward.

      “Fear of heights?”

      “Fear of falling.”

      “Ah. I promise I won’t push you or swing the pod.” She smiled and another moment stopped in time. He grasped for something to say. “Remember trying to make the Ferris-wheel gondolas swing when you were a kid?”

      She gave him an incredulous and funny look.

      He grinned. “Maybe that was just a guy thing. Anyway, I’ll point out a few more places….”

      She oohed and ahhed over everything, giving him the impression he was doing a fantastic job as a tour guide. Maybe he could start a second career? But then again, maybe she was easily pleased.

      “The lights make everything so much more beautiful, don’t they?” she said, her sweet, husky voice soothing every wrinkle in his mind.

      The sparkling city lights reflected off the pod window and dappled her face in shimmering whites and muted colors. He dipped his head in agreement with her statement—the lights did make everything look more beautiful, especially her.

      They continued the rest of the ride in casual conversation, just two Americans in London sharing a fun moment together. It was a hell of a lot better than what he’d been doing before she’d spoken to him.

      She laughed easily when he tried to be charming and he liked that—made him want to keep talking. He also liked it that her fashionable shoes made her only a couple of inches shy of his six feet—all the better to stare into those amazingly vibrant blue eyes.

      Suddenly energized, as the pod ended its full circle journey, and not wanting to say goodbye to the lovely lady, he got a crazy idea. Ask her out. Why not?

      But he was so out of practice at spending time with women. Didn’t have a clue what she might like to do. Where did the only female that mattered in his life like to go best? “Do you enjoy swinging?”

      A shocked and offended expression replaced Grace’s prior childlike enjoyment. She really had a way with