200 Harley Street: American Surgeon in London. Lynne Marshall

      There was simply not enough time to have a well-balanced life in her line of work.

      Grace reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you so much for this superspecial introduction to London. Every time I look at that overgrown Ferris wheel I’ll think of my adventurous pod man and smile.”

      He grinned, moved in closer and pecked her cheek. “Thank you for understanding.”

      She lowered her eyelids and nodded. “More than you know.”

      He connected with her eyes once more; there was that pang of remorse again as they shared a silent agreement—this had only been for tonight. The poignant moment stretched on until the cabbie cleared his throat.

      From the mood she’d slipped into, she’d probably only projected what she thought had been a look of regret in his eyes. She knew for a fact he could detect it in her gaze.

      Soon the door shut, he gave the cabbie some money and instructions. “Take the lovely lady home.”

      As the car pulled away from the curb, and Mitch’s scent lingered on, Grace looked out the back window at the most amazing man she’d ever met. He stood there, posed with one hand in his pocket and his head cocked slightly to the side, as if he was a suave street artist, watching her leave.

      Whatever or whoever he was, he would forever be etched in her mind as her pod man—quite possibly a figment of her imagination.

      But then she glanced down at her legs and saw the gaping rip in her stockings.

      No. Adventurous pod man was real. She sighed.

      Life sure had a sucky way of rubbing bad timing into her scarred skin, and reminding her she was completely alone and without prospects beyond her new job.