Waking Up With His Runaway Bride

Waking Up

with His

Runaway Bride

Louisa George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader

Thank you for picking up my second Mills and Boon® Medical™ Romance!

This story is set mostly in Atanga Bay, a fictional place north-east of Auckland, in New Zealand’s north island. Along this coastline there are many small townships of thriving communities, each with its own identity and appeal. Since I emigrated to this wonderful country ten years ago I never tire of visiting them.

Atanga is the Maori word for beautiful, and the place I’ve created is indeed that. With gorgeous views, a flourishing community and a sense of peace, it is the place from which Mim draws strength to fulfil her dreams. It is also the place where she retreated to lick her wounds after a failed engagement.

For committed city-dweller Connor, Atanga Bay is a challenge—but meeting his ex-fiancée there provides even more problems.

This story is about letting go of the past and creating a future full of hope despite the odds. At times both Connor and Mim struggle against this, but their journey to love is also filled with fun and laughter.

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Drop me a line at [e-mail] or visit me at www.louisageorge.com

Happy reading!

Louisa x

To Sue MacKay and Iona Jones, writing pals,

roomies and very dear friends.

Thank you for your support, advice and laughs.

To my amazing editor, Flo Nicoll. Thank you for your

patience, your wisdom and your belief in me!

This book is for my sister, Liz Skelton. I love you.

CHAPTER ONE

‘NO WAY! I am not trying to impress him. Absolutely not! That would be cheap and tacky, and I don’t do either. How could you think such a thing?’

Mim McCarthy peered down from the top of the wobbly stepladder perched precariously on the desk and laughed at her colleague’s suggestion. Even though she’d hit the nail squarely on the head.

Then she daubed a second coat of paint over the stubborn Tasmania-shaped stain on the ceiling. ‘I just thought it was time to say goodbye to Tassie.’

Skye, the practice nurse-manager, gripped the ladder in one hand and offered up the paint-pot in the other. ‘So it’s totally coincidental that you decided to tart up the admin office on the same day the Matrix Fund assessor arrives?’

‘Okay, you got me.’ Mim raised her brush in defeat as her grin widened. ‘Lord knows why I employed someone almost as devious as me. You’re right, I’ll do anything to get this funding. We need the money to pay for the planned renovations and develop the practice, or …’

‘It’s …?’ The practice nurse did a chopping motion across her throat. ‘Goodbye to Dana’s Drop-In? No, Mim. Never. Your patients wouldn’t let that happen. They need you.’

‘I wouldn’t let it come to that. I’ll sell my soul to the bank manager. Again.’ Mim sucked in a fortifying breath. ‘I’m afraid I’m running out of soul.’

No drop-in centre would mean hours of travel for her community to the closest medical centre and the end of a dream for her. The dream that locked in the promises she’d made to her mum. No way would she give that up.

Mim was anything but a quitter. Doing the hard yards as the quirky outsider at med school had taught her how to fight for everything she wanted. That, and the legacy of her unconventional childhood. She’d learnt pretty quickly to rely on no one but herself. Ever. ‘A quick slick of paint will brighten the place up. And conceal the fact we have a mysterious leak. Pray it doesn’t rain for the next week.’

‘Forecast is good. Nothing but blue skies and late summer sun.’ Skye wrinkled her pierced nose. ‘Good job you bought low-odour paint—wouldn’t want the assessor to be savvy to the ruse.’

‘Well, if you can’t win, cheat.’

Skye frowned. ‘Another famous Dana saying?’

‘Unfortunately. Not quite up there with inspirational go-get-’em quotes, but apt, and very Dana.’

There were plenty of them. In her infrequent sober moments Mim’s mother had been adorable and well intentioned, always spouting wisecracks. Not always about cheating. Some were about love too, about keeping family close. And your dealers closer.

Mim winked at her partner in crime. ‘I know the assessor from my intern days. Dr Singh is a sweetie. This assessment will be in the bag. We’ll wow him with our refreshing approach to community medicine.’

Touchingly loyal, Skye smiled and nodded briskly. ‘If anyone can wow him, Mim, you can. You’ve transformed this place already. You just need a lucky break.’

‘I know. We were bursting at the seams at yesterday’s baby clinic. I think we’re finally getting the message through. And the open-all-hours policy helps.’ Even if her extended days were half killing her. Pride in her achievement of getting the locals to trust the McCarthy name again fuelled her determination.

She brushed her fringe from her forehead with the back of her wrist and stepped gingerly down the ladder. Standing on the desk, she strained up at the white paint patch. ‘Shame everything in life isn’t so easy to gloss over. Now the rest of the ceiling needs repainting.’

‘And the rest of the clinic.’ Pointing to the chipped window-panes and scuffed walls, Skye shrugged. ‘We haven’t time, he’s due in thirty minutes. To be honest, paint is the least of our problems.’

Tell me about it. But she wasn’t about to burden her best mate with the harsh reality of the clinic’s financial problems. ‘We’ve just got to get Dr Singh on side.’

‘Ooh, I do love a challenge.’ Skye placed Mim’s proffered paintbrush on top of the paint-pot, then she rubbed her hands together. ‘Okay. How shall we handle it? You take the bribery? I’ll do the corruption?’

‘No! I’d get struck off! But … on the other hand …’ Mim giggled, then stuck one hand on her cocked hip. She raised the hem of her knee-length skirt to her thigh and wiggled her bum suggestively. A move she’d learnt from her salsa DVD—Spanish, sultry and super-sexy. ‘If we want to influence a man, how about good old-fashioned women’s wicked ways?’

‘Ahem.’

At the sound of the man’s purposeful cough Mim’s breath stalled somewhere in her chest.

Excellent. Just dandy. Sexy salsa? On her desk?

With burning cheeks she dropped the hem, slicked on her most accommodating smile and swivelled slowly to face Dr Singh. Trying desperately to cover her embarrassment. ‘And then, Skye, you shimmy to the left … Ohmygod.’

As she caught a clear view of their visitor her heart stalled along with her lungs. Jolts of awareness and pain and excitement slammed through her veins. Heat and ice clashed in her gut. So not Dr Singh.

She gasped for oxygen and whispered his name on a jittery breath. ‘Connor? Connor. What are you …?’

Framed in the doorway, filling the space, three years older, three years more distinguished in an expensive designer suit, and with three years’ worth of questions simmering behind cool liquorice eyes, stood Connor Wiseman.

Here?

Why? Why today when she was up to her eyeballs in assessors? Why this millennium?

The years had been kind to him, he’d grown into those sharp cheekbones. Casual bed hair. And, God, those darkest grey eyes searching her face. No trace of the flecks of honey that had heated her and held her captive. Cold onyx.

He stepped into the tiny room. His presence, a stark study of monochrome against what now felt like the garish colours of her office, was commanding and alluring. Every part of him screamed of success. Just like she remembered.

His mouth curled into a sardonic smile as he spoke, ‘Well, I guess the mystery of my runaway fiancée has finally been solved. I’ll call off the search party.’

‘Yeah, right. Wouldn’t have taken Sherlock two minutes to find me.’ If anyone had bothered to look.

Clearly she had hurt him.

That much had been obvious by his prolonged silence. But it was accentuated now by the anger glittering in those dark eyes, even after all these years. Uber-successful guys like Connor weren’t used to rejection, so it would have cut deep to be thrown aside by someone very definitely not of his pedigree.

And now, on top of everything else, God only knew what he thought about her early morning silly burlesque performance. Judging by the fixed set of his close-shaven jaw, very little.

She sucked in her stomach, thrust her shoulders back and stepped down from the desk, wishing she’d chosen something more impressive to wear than her favourite jumper and skirt ensemble. Hoping against fading hope that old and washed out was the new demure.

‘I was very clear, Connor. I called, but you refused to speak to me. And I said, in my goodbye note, that Atanga Bay is my home. This is where I will always choose to live.’

‘And now finally I get a chance to see what was so much better than Auckland.’ The top of his lip twitched then tightened back into a thin line. He glanced at the overstuffed cushions, the tumbling piles of paperwork, the brightly coloured, mismatched family-friendly atmosphere she’d tried to create in her beloved ramshackle clinic. ‘Is this a heritage property? Or just plain old?’

‘It might not be up to your swanky city standards, but it’s mine. I’m updating it. Slowly. It’s a work in progress.’

‘Oh, so post-modern?’ His lips tweaked to a one-cornered grin as he surveyed the white on a sea of fading yellow.

‘Under construction,’ she fired back as she straightened her spine even further. Damn him, Connor’s ability to rile her clearly hadn’t abated after all these years. She would not let him get the better of her. Where was her super-fast wit when she needed it? Playing hooky with her fabulous financial acumen and supermodel looks. ‘And I love it here.’

‘I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted. Lots to do …’ Skye scurried out of the room, taking the stepladder and paint-pot with her.

Mim watched her ally leave and ached to go with her. In the dark hours she’d imagined this reunion moment so many times. Planned what she’d say, how he’d react. But never had she imagined this intense pain in her chest. Or the mind-numbing paralysis of being in the same room as him again. She rubbed her hands down her skirt and looked up into his face. She knew it intimately, every curve, every plane. The face that stalked her dreams with alarming regularity even after three years.

And now he was here. What to say to the man you ran out on the night before your engagement party? Even if it was the most misguided, precipitous engagement in the universe.

‘S-so, are you j-just passing through?’ Hoping the blush on her cheeks and the irritatingly stammered words wouldn’t give her away, Mim grabbed for nonchalance. ‘A social call?’

‘I’m here on business.’

‘Oh, yes, business. Naturally.’ For some reason her stomach knotted. So he wasn’t here to see her. Of course not. Why would he? And why did it matter? Three years should have been been ample time to get over her all-consuming first, and last, love.

She breathed the knot away. ‘There’s a new development at Two Rivers, I guess? But there’s nothing medical going in there. Just houses, I think.’

‘I don’t know. I’ve only just seen the place, but it’s not a bad idea. Food for thought.’ He looked out the window with a quizzical expression. Eyebrows peaked, clearly impressed at what he saw. Out there at least. How could he not be? The wide sweeping ocean and pristine white sands of Atanga Bay were breathtaking. ‘Got potential.’

Understatement of the year. ‘Pure Wiseman. Take a beautiful vista and reduce it to money. Your father would be proud.’

‘Somehow I doubt that.’ His hands curled round the handle of his briefcase, the knuckles showing white. She’d forgotten his relationship with his father was based on business rather than familial ties.

She forced a smile. ‘I meant identifying potential. You always were good at that.’

‘But not you, it seems.’

‘I stand by my decisions.’ Three years and a lot of dried-up tears ago they’d believed they’d had potential. A dynamic force in the face of his father’s hostility. The regular rich guy and the kooky girl out to take on the world. If only for their very different dreams for the future, which she’d been unable to overcome.

But she’d never forgotten him. She wished her life had encompassed more of him, wished her mother—or rather, her mother’s illness—hadn’t bled away her ability to trust anyone. But there it was, a woman with a furious dependency had bred a child with fierce independence. Not to mention a deep suspicion of coercion, controlling men and hollow promises.

She pointed to the development over on the hill. ‘Fifty houses going up, should bring in more patients. I hope. I could do with them.’

‘Problems?’

‘Nothing I can’t deal with.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. You always were. With or without me. You were never afraid of tackling things head on. Apart from when it mattered.’

‘Like you’d have listened.’

‘Like I had a chance.’ He turned briefly to face her. Granite. Immovable. That steadfastness had been one of the things that had drawn her to him. And one of the reasons she’d left. Immovable might have bordered on criminally sexy, but not when it trampled over her dreams.

Brushing over the brutal loaded statement about their past, and the unanswered questions zipping in the air between them, Mim glanced at her watch. She didn’t have time to tackle this, or a painful trip down memory lane. Or anywhere that involved Connor, her bleak past history of failed relationships or a distraction from her current path.

Where was Dr Singh? It didn’t bode well that he was late. She stuck out her hand to wish Connor on his way. ‘I’m not sure why you’re here but, as you can see, I’m busy. I have a meeting right about now. So perhaps we could catch up another time?’ In another three decades? Millennia?

‘I have business here, at Dana’s Drop-In. I’m from the health board. Matrix Fund.’ He stuck a black and white business card into her outstretched hand. The interest in his eyes was replaced by something akin to amusement. No doubt at her flustering and her predicament. ‘Seems we’ve come full circle, Mim. Only this time I’m in your space, ruffling feathers.’

‘The health board? You followed your father and gave up medicine?’

‘I just moved sideways.’ He flicked his head as if a fly, or something extremely unimportant, was irritating him. ‘No matter, I’m here.’

Her spine prickled. No way. Not only did she know his face intimately, but she knew every inch of his body, every divine part of it. And had just about managed to expel it from her memory. And now it would be here, taunting her. ‘Seriously? You’re here to assess me?’

She glanced around hopefully for secret TV cameras. Then realised, with a sorry thud, that it wasn’t a set-up, someone’s idea of a bad joke. It was real. Painfully, gut-wrenchingly real. Heat rushed back into her cheeks.

What an unholy mess. A jilted lover was here to decide her future. A jilted lover with radically different views about the provision of community medicine. She believed in flexibility and choice. He believed in routine and regimented processes.

A jilted lover she’d run out on with no real explanation—no doubt deepening the rift between him and his domineering father. It had seemed logical back then when she’d thought she’d never encounter them again. Logical and rational and based on … fear.

All coming back to bite her. She threw his card onto the desk. ‘I know who you are already, I don’t need this.’

‘I thought you might need reminding.’ He glared at her.

As if I could ever forget. ‘What about Dr Singh? What happened to your practice?’

‘Dr Singh is sick. And I sold my share of the practice.’ He ticked his answers off on his damned distinguished fingers. The last time she’d focused on them they’d been tiptoeing down her abdomen, promising hours of pleasure. Now they were tiptoeing through her worst nightmare.

‘So now you work with Daddy? Thinking about taking over the board when he retires? Figures.’

‘My future is not your concern. My secretary sent an email through to you last night, explaining. And for the record, I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t ask to come. I was sent.’

‘Well, for the record, I expect you to give me a fair assessment, despite our past. I didn’t get the email, I’m afraid. I’ve been busy.’ Mim looked over to the dust-covered computer, a reject from the ark, and decided not to mention it took twenty minutes to warm up. Emails were patchy, internet more so out here in the sticks.

Connor glanced again at the shiny white blotch in the middle of the yellowing ceiling. ‘Busy? Yes. Plotting ways to influence me? Bribery? Corruption? Not to mention … what was it, women’s wicked ways? I seem to remember you were quite good at those.’ Heat flared in his eyes.

God. He had heard. And enjoyed seeing her squirm now too, no doubt. That knot in her stomach tightened like a noose. ‘It was a joke.’

‘You couldn’t afford me anyway.’

He quirked an eyebrow, the ghost of a daring smile on his lips. And he was right. She couldn’t afford him. He’d always been way out of her league.

Forget bribery. Whacking him seemed a much more attractive alternative. Either that or killing him and stashing his body.

‘Couldn’t I just wait until Dr Singh gets better?’

‘You might be waiting a long time. He’s having emergency cardiac surgery. Don’t worry, I excel at being impartial, Mim.’

‘Don’t I know it.’ Sex with Connor might have been legendary, but she’d never really believed he’d trusted her enough to let her in. He certainly hadn’t ever really listened to her.

‘If I don’t think you make the grade, I’ll tell you. And remember, I’m assessing accounts, equipment, procedures. Not you.’

‘So there’s no way out.’

‘You could withdraw your application.’ He glanced round her admin office with sheer disdain. ‘But I don’t think you’d want to do that.’

Though she had grasped control and ended their relationship all those years ago, he held the trump cards now whichever way she turned. She had to make the best job of it and pray he’d see past their break-up and the paintwork. His gaze travelled the length of her, sending unbidden shocks of heat through her body. Nerves? Or something more dangerous?

Ridiculous. She’d submerged any feelings for him over the years. Downgraded their passionate affair to a casual fling, a summer of wild, heavenly madness—once she’d nursed her bruised heart back to health again.

So far all her experiences of unswerving love had ended in heartbreak. Getting over losing Connor Wiseman had been hard. But possible. Just. Getting over the death of her mother had taken a little longer. And she had no intention of inviting that kind of intensity of feeling again.

She shrugged. ‘It looks like I’m stuck with you.’

‘Guess so. Lucky you.’ He rocked back on the heels of his leather brogues. Smug didn’t come close. ‘Lucky me.’

She swallowed the scream of frustration in her throat, and dropped her skirt hem, which she’d subconsciously wrung into a tight clutch of crumpled fabric. Possibly in lieu of his neck. ‘How long will all this take?’

‘Three months.’

‘That’s ridiculous. It doesn’t say that in the information pack.’ Three minutes had been long enough for all the mixed-up feelings to come lurching back.

But, on the other hand … A glimmer of hope in her soul blew into life. If she did pass the assessment … three months was shaping up to be a lifeline and a life sentence all rolled into one. Her stomach felt like it was in a food processor, choppy and whirring at full speed. ‘I assume we get time off at weekends for good behaviour?’

‘Truly, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my weekends. Out here, in Nowheresville, with an ex who thought so little of me she couldn’t run away fast enough. That takes masochism to a whole new level.’

He sat down at the desk, opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick questionnaire.

Thank God he didn’t look up to see the rage shivering through her. She would not explain. She was not embarrassed. She had done them both a favour.

So why had regret eaten away at her ever since?

He scanned the pages in front of him. ‘Hopefully, it’ll all be over quickly and painlessly. It’ll be part time. Odd days here and there. I assess specific areas of healthcare delivery, then give you time to review and make changes. I have other things to do as well as this.’

‘Like?’ She wondered briefly why she wanted to know.

‘Assessing other practices, advising the government.’

No mention of family. A wife. A life outside work. But, then, why would he tell her anything about his private life? She’d given up any claims to that when she’d vanished from his family home in the middle of the night.

He retrieved a smartphone from his jacket pocket. Mim noticed the lush cobalt blue silk lining of his suit. His clothing alone could probably fund another month of Skye’s wages. Then he looked gingerly up at the Tassie-free spot.

‘Let’s get down to business. The sooner we start, the sooner I can leave—and I get the feeling that’s what we both want. First question: Why Dana’s Drop-In? It’s an unconventional name for a medical centre.’

I’m so not ready for this. Hauling in a deep breath, Mim resigned herself to the first of what she knew would be thousands of questions about her work, her strategy, business plan and practice. But the first simple question burned into her heart. Hopefully the others wouldn’t be so difficult to answer. ‘It’s named after my mother, Dana.’

‘Yes.’

She tried to look over his elbow to see what he was scribbling. ‘Do you have to write all this down?’

‘No. But I assume you’d want to give an explanation? It might help your case. Just outline your decision.’

‘Come on, Connor, you knew about her past. She had an illness for a long time. One that prevented her accessing healthcare on any kind of regular basis. She was an addict.’

‘I’m sorry, I know this must be painful.’

‘It happened. And we all have to move on.’ She saw her pain briefly mirrored in his eyes. Then the shutters came down, eradicating any emotion in his gaze. Moving on from tragedy was clearly something they’d both had to do.

She knew Connor’s sister had died a long time ago as a child—she’d seen a picture of a pretty blonde kid. But when she’d asked about it she’d been met with a wall of silence. And she’d never found the courage to enquire again.

For Mim, talking about her mother brought out a fierce love and protective instinct in her. The same, she imagined, that Connor felt about his sister. The same instinct she felt for her burgeoning clinic.

‘The drugs didn’t just destroy her, they destroyed any kind of family life. She was scared to go to the doctor in case she was judged. And she would have been. Dana was judged her whole life for winning and losing and everything in between. For what she could have been. What she wasn’t. Sad when a town pins their hopes on you, and you fail.’

Mim shrugged, fired now to continue. ‘She hated the sterility of the doctor’s surgery, the smell. I thought if I made this place accessible and non-judgemental, open and caring, then more people like her would come.’