200 Harley Street: The Shameless Maverick

Praise for Louisa George:

‘A moving, uplifting and feel-good romance packed with witty dialogue, intense emotion and sizzling love scenes.’

—goodreads.com on HOW TO RESIST A HEARTBREAKER

‘Louisa George is a bright star at Mills & Boon® and I can highly recommend this book to those that believe romance rocks the world.’

—goodreads.com on HOW TO RESIST A HEARTBREAKER

‘A refreshing, captivating and breathtaking medical romance.’

—Romance Book Paradise on THE LAST DOCTOR SHE SHOULD EVER DATE ‘ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM is one story you don’t want to miss!’ —Harlequinjunkie.com

A lifelong reader of most genres, LOUISA GEORGE discovered romance novels later than most, but immediately fell in love with the intensity of emotion, the high drama and the family focus of Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™.

With a Bachelor’s Degree in Communication and a nursing qualification under her belt, writing medical romance seemed a natural progression, and the perfect combination of her two interests. And making things up is a great way to spend the day!

An English ex-pat, Louisa now lives north of Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, two teenage sons and two male cats. Writing romance is her opportunity to covertly inject a hefty dose of pink into her heavily testosterone-dominated household. When she’s not writing or researching Louisa loves to spend time with her family and friends, enjoys travelling, and adores great food. She’s also hopelessly addicted to Zumba®.

200 Harley Street:

The Shameless

Maverick

Louisa George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader

When I was invited to take part in the 200 Harley Street continuity I was absolutely thrilled—not only because this is my first ever Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™ continuity contribution, but because it also meant I got the chance to work closely with some amazing authors and some very interesting plotlines. So a big thank you to everyone for taking a newbie under your collective wings!

Declan Underwood and Kara Stephens come from two very different worlds, but both have fled to London to start new lives in their chosen field of Burns and Plastic Medicine. Falling in love is definitely not on the cards for either of them, so it’s very inconvenient when a mutual attraction starts to sizzle!

Australian Kara was a joy to write: she’s funny and confident and shares my love of shoes. Like many of us, she’ll live with pain in exchange for a decent heel and the softest of soft suede! But she also has a history of choosing the wrong men, so staying away from Declan is her preferred course of action.

But who can resist a bad-boy Irishman? Farmboy Declan, with his smoulderingly good looks and an accent that purrs as sexily as his motorbike, has no intention of getting involved with Kara; his life is already too full of commitments to his career and providing for his mother and four sisters. But that’s where I come in: plotting ways of getting them together even when they don’t want to be anywhere near each other …

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

Dedication

To Kamy Chetty, thanks for all your support, positive words and help with the icky medical details (any errors are totally mine). xx

And to Jane Beckenham, without you I just wouldn’t be here writing this—thank you so much for all your support, enthusiasm and words of wisdom and for introducing me to the world of romance books … this one’s for you! xx

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Louisa George

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘MAKE SURE TO get my best side, won’t you now?’ Declan Underwood joked to the army of paparazzi camped on the front steps of Princess Catherine’s Hospital as he parked his motorbike and removed his helmet.

He smiled towards his clicking, whirring audience, who clearly had nothing better to do than chase ambulances on a sunny summer morning, and tried to hide his growing irritation. The last thing he needed was more unwarranted delays, today of all days. He was not in the mood to be polite.

Making his way up the pale stone steps, he batted away questions like a tennis ace.

‘Is Princess Safia here?’ someone shouted from behind a long lens. ‘Is she going to make a full recovery? Will she be scarred for life?’

‘Now, come on, give a guy a break. I can’t hear one for the other.’ Toeing both the clinic’s and his own staunch professional line, Declan exhaled slowly and waited for them to settle. ‘As you know, ladies and gents, my hands are tied. There’s a young girl’s privacy to think of. I just can’t make any comment.’

Note: make sure the blinds are closed at all times. Move her to a higher floor. Increase security.

Sure, both the Hunter Clinic and the hospital affectionately known as Kate’s relied on positive press to further their reach and their work, but this was way too much interest in a young girl fighting for her life, regardless of her background.

Small wonder the Sheikh’s staff had been definitive in their demands to uphold their privacy. If any of Declan’s family had been involved in a tragedy such as this he’d want to protect them too.

He shuddered and damped down the tight squeeze in his chest. Had protected them, for all the good that had done.

‘Come on, Declan, it’s no coincidence that you—the country’s foremost burns reconstruction surgeon—are here and there’s a private flight scheduled to arrive from Aljahar any minute.’

Was that Fi … something—the journalist he’d spent a few dates with not so long ago? Trying to use her inside contacts to get more information? Tut-tut. Declan flashed her a particular smile. Similar to the one he’d given her as he’d left for the last time, whenever it was, that said, Hey, don’t push it.

With all the smiling his jaw muscles had begun to ache, but he knew that the Hunter Clinic boss, Leo, wouldn’t want his second-in-command to jeopardise the clinic’s new positive relationship with the media. ‘I’m so sorry, but you all know that I’m in no position to confirm or deny any rumours. You all know too that even if I did have any idea as to the whereabouts or condition of Princess Safia I couldn’t tell you a thing. The Sheikh, quite rightly, is very keen on confidentiality. But I’m sure he and his family appreciate all the concern and will issue a statement as and when appropriate. Now we need to leave the family alone to recover. And I need to go to work. Thank you so much.’

Closing the door behind him to a barrage of more camera flashes, he exhaled deeply and headed towards the burns unit. Two extensive surgeries, an afternoon clinic and an evening meeting amidst a swirl of media frenzy about a royal with devastating facial burns loomed ahead of him.

It was going to be a very long day.

‘You. Yes, you. Stop. Wait.’

A heavily accented raised male voice out in the hospital corridor drew Declan’s attention from the notes he was reviewing at his desk over his hastily snatched lunch break.

‘What’s all that noise on the street? The photographers? Newspapers? His Highness specifically said he wanted Sheikha Safia’s arrival to be discreet. His daughter is suffering and she needs peace and quiet. She is devastated about her injuries …’

‘Yes, I understand entirely,’ an unfamiliar voice with an Antipodean twang replied. ‘I have already spoken to Security and they are planning to transfer the Princess through the back door.’ Despite the clipped tones the voice was remarkably calm, smoky. Distinctly feminine. Declan put down the papers and listened.

The male voice cut in. ‘We understood Mr Underwood himself was going to oversee every detail.’

‘Of the surgery and treatment phases, yes, absolutely, but not everything on this list …’

She paused. Declan heard a rustling of paper.

‘He’s not responsible for the sheet thread count, or the menus or the quality of the glassware … I’ll get the services manager to check through all of that …’

‘And lilies—we asked for white lilies to decorate her room.’

‘Of course. The lilies. Item twenty-two.’

Not an ounce of agitation.

‘Unfortunately we don’t allow fresh flowers onto the burns unit. It’s an infection control issue.’

‘No?’

Agitation rippled off the man’s voice in streams enough for both of them.

‘But for the Sheikha you can do such a thing. She never stays anywhere without lilies. Be warned: His Highness expects high standards and he will get them. His daughter is the very most precious thing to him and he hates her to be upset. I insist you bend the rules.’

‘And I insist you leave the medical professionals to implement the rules, sir. We have them for a reason. No fresh flowers. The pollen can infect the wounds and make our patients very sick. It’s something we’re very strict about. No exceptions.’

Declan’s interest was piqued. Management had certainly stepped up their game by employing her. He smiled, imagining a stare-off between the mystery woman and the Sheikh’s aide.

‘Is there anything else? Sir?’

‘Do not take that tone. The Sheikh is very powerful and can have you removed from your position with just one word.’

The smile was wiped from Declan’s face. No one spoke to a member of staff in that way—whoever she was, and however spirited.

He scraped back his chair and walked into the corridor, watching the exchange from a distance, ready to pounce and squash the man if anything got out of hand. He got the feeling the woman wouldn’t thank him for interfering and for what that might imply: that she couldn’t handle it. When she clearly could. Bringing up his younger sisters had taught him to leave them alone with their arguments and only get involved if things got physical.

‘Well, I have a few words I could use too … but I won’t.’ With a voice so prickly, he hadn’t expected the woman to be so young and soft. She had her back to him, but something about her rang bells in Declan’s brain. Familiar bells. Warning bells.

The ponytail of light blonde curls, the neat curves in an ice-pink silk blouse and a straight black skirt that skimmed her knees—just. Sky-high black shoes with a razor-sharp heel that surely no one could feasibly walk in but which made her legs look impossibly long and … deeply sexy. A back as straight as a blade, and that voice … smoky … yes … Australian …?

‘Let me assure you, sir,’ she continued, ‘that Safia will receive the finest care in the world here. And if, instead of dealing with your … housekeeping requests, I could finish my preparations for her admission and initial medical assessment, and then actually deal with the injuries she has sustained, we could all make Safia’s stay a lot more comfortable.’

The aide stared at her as she rallied.

‘I’m sure His Highness would not like to hear that the medical team were held up due to lilies? Glassware? I thought not. We are done here?’

Oh, God. The headache that had bloomed after Declan’s sister’s early morning phone call threatened to return. This woman was on his medical team? Since when? And why had no one consulted him about it? Declan didn’t like surprises. He always liked to know exactly what he was dealing with, and he’d made that damned clear to the powers-that-be.

The Sheikh’s aide blanched and bowed slightly. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. Of course, Doctor … You know what’s best.’

‘Yes. Thank you. We do.’

As she turned to watch the aide scuttle away her eyes locked on to Declan’s. Her smile slipped completely, and a tinge of pink hit her cheeks. ‘Oh.’

The first time she’d shown any hint of bother. But then, within a nanosecond, she’d regained her composure.

‘Kiss me.’

A rush of heat and a swirl of memory shook through him. A gold-coloured ballgown that had complemented the colour of the soft curls falling down her back, those startling green eyes commanding his attention, that infuriatingly cocky mouth drawing him in to the most sensual kiss of his life. Only she’d had a sheen of sadness about her too when he’d met her at the bar, knocking back shots. He’d turned it into a game, just to make her smile, which had then turned into something infinitely more interesting.

When was that? Six months ago? The hospital ball? A kiss 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 misdemeanour came back to bite her.

Well, kissing the boss certainly wouldn’t be happening again. Kissing anyone wouldn’t be happening. Ever.

‘So, what is this? A corridor interview? I’ve helped out at the Hunter Clinic before now. If you want a copy of my CV or references just ask.’ Irritation tripped up her spine. ‘And, besides, Ethan’s already arranged everything.’

Declan’s eyebrows rose. ‘Without consulting me first. Has he ever actually spoken to you? Seen you in full throttle? Because I listened to a lot of that conversation just now, and the way you—’

She jumped in to defend herself. ‘Look, I don’t believe in taking risks with clients just because someone who has a lot of money or power asks me to. There’s not just Safia to think about, but the other patients on the unit too. Money can buy a lot of things, but it won’t buy my professional standards.’ She studied his face for a reaction but he wore a mask of impartiality. ‘Of course I hope I employed more diplomacy than that.’

He nodded and looked at her. Really looked at her, as if trying to work out a puzzle. ‘To be honest, I thought you handled him very well—and you stuck to your guns. It’s easy to be swayed by people like that and it’s rarely for the good.’

Wow, praise from him now? That was surprising. He had a reputation for being a smooth lover and a competent and exacting doctor, leaving his patients satisfied and women always wanting more. Which he steadfastly refused to give.

‘If you can handle a skin graft as confidently as you did that aide, then you’ll go far.’

The laugh slipped easily from her throat. ‘You know, really I just wanted to tell him where to get off.’

‘Yes. Me too.’ He winked, visibly relaxing. ‘But A—you didn’t. And B—you reassured him of your competence and professionalism by not caving in to his demands.’

‘I tried my best.’

‘Good. I imagine you’ve more than earned his respect. You need to gain that too when dealing with the Sheikh and the press, which is a necessary role with such a high-profile case. We’re a small team with a big responsibility. Are you up to it?’

‘Yes. Absolutely.’