200 Harley Street: The Shameless Maverick

He’d had the job of being the man of the house thrust upon him way too young and had had to make sure they somehow had the basics, like enough food to eat, even when they hadn’t had the money to buy it. Then as they grew up he’d watched his sisters have their hearts broken and wanted to kill the culprits, but decided not to. He had negotiated conversations about teenage pregnancy and underage sex, about dating rules and bedtimes, had nursed sisters with period pains and migraines and tummy aches of dubious origin. And finally he’d escaped only when he’d known they were all grown up and relatively safe. Escaped being a geographical rather than a psychological term.

And yet with all his experience he still couldn’t fathom the workings of a woman’s brain. Except that he definitely knew when it was time to leave—which was around about the time she started talking about a future.

Kara laughed. ‘But I can see the pride in your eyes and hear it in your voice. You love them all, clearly.’

‘Yes, I probably do—but don’t ever let them know that or they’ll take even more advantage. And I chose a job hundreds of miles away from them just to put a good stretch of Irish Sea between us.’ He laughed along with her. ‘Thankfully none of them are any good at swimming, most of them get seasick, and they can’t afford the airfare—otherwise I’m damned sure they’d be here. Making my life hell in England too.’

But in reality he might as well be living back home, seeing as they couldn’t or wouldn’t make a single damned decision without him. Which was why he kept his tiny slice of private time simple. No getting involved on any kind of scale. His life was already too full of responsibilities and women without taking on another one.

Kara smirked as they entered the out-patients’ reception. ‘I guess you have to go where the work is.’

‘Is that what you did? It’s a long way from Sydney to London, and you didn’t have four sisters dragging at your heels.’

‘I needed a change. Coming here was a good move for lots of reasons.’

The way she said that didn’t convince him that her move to London had been a positive choice. She rubbed her thumb around the base of her left-hand ring finger as her eyes darted upwards. She seemed to be searching for an answer. Not the truth, just an answer.

Seemed everyone had their demons. And he was inexplicably intrigued, even though he’d made it his life’s purpose never to be drawn into a woman’s dramas unless he had a failsafe get-out plan.

She peered up at him and his world tilted a little. He wasn’t used to scrutiny, or to someone pushing him for more—or wanting to give it. So why would she have this effect on him?

‘And you, Declan? Why choose burns reconstruction when you could have the glory and financial reward of cosmetic surgery? Breast augmentation? Tattoo removal? Enhancement of the rich and famous? Why specialise in burns?’

The way she adeptly deflected the conversation told him she didn’t want to delve deeper into her reasons for coming here and he could respect that.

But, hell … His chest tightened by degrees. The questions she was asking. Questions people asked him periodically, but not usually straight after a conversation about his family. Or after a consultation with a badly scarred woman. Questions that he didn’t want to answer. Wouldn’t answer. Wouldn’t no matter how much her sharp green eyes reached down into his soul and tugged.

‘Ah, you know … it’s just how it worked out.’

And with that he turned and walked away.

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