200 Harley Street: The Shameless Maverick

by Louisa George

  ‘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.’

  ‘I would suggest you soften a little for the Sheikha, though. Diva or not, she’s had a very rough time, she’s used to having things her way, and this
accident will have knocked her sideways.’ Something passed behind those chocolate-coloured eyes and his sharp edges melted away a little. ‘Her life has changed forever. She’s going to be frightened and in pain and will need a lot of help and reassurance. Not just today but ongoing. Gently.’ He eyed her suspiciously. ‘You can do gently?’

  ‘Of course. Of course.’ Hell, she could do roll over and beg if it meant she got to work with someone so talented. Relief flooded through her and she tried to show him her best gentle smile. ‘So I’m in, then?’

  ‘For now. It seems I have no choice—and we have to attend to Safia. I’ll review your place in my team later.’

  ‘I come highly recommended. Phone the Croftwood and check. I can assure you, you won’t be disappointed.’

  ‘No...I doubt that very much.’ Declan laughed. ‘But, heck, you’re a straight talker.’

  The same words he’d used at the ball too, when she’d outright demanded he kiss her, right there on the dance floor, when she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how those lips would feel against hers. When she’d wanted something...him...to exorcise the past.

  She snapped her eyes closed, hoping to goodness he didn’t remember that. When she opened them again he was looking at her strangely. Strangely interested. The ghost of that kiss hovered between them as his eyes fixed on hers. Yes, he remembered. And if the brief flash of heat was anything to go by he remembered how good it had felt too. That warm glow in her abdomen returned.

  She doused it with a quick shot of reality as she began to walk along the corridor towards the burns unit High Dependency ward. The last time she’d got carried away by hearts and flowers and physical desires she’d ended up married. Then endured a swift lesson in a run of all the emotions from A to Z.

  She’d packed a lifetime of hurt into those few years and she had no intention of making the same mistakes again. So much had sent her reeling, trying to work out how something that had started out so pure had ended so damned soiled. Focusing on her career was a lot less painful—but then, that was what had caused all the trouble in the first place.

  ‘It comes from my upbringing, I guess.’

  ‘Oh? What?’ He fell into step beside her.

  ‘Forthrightness. I’m an army brat. Always moving around. If you don’t say what you think straightaway you’ll be packed up and on the move before you get another chance.’ There’d been a lot of lost chances before she’d learnt that lesson. ‘Although it can get me into trouble.’

  ‘I imagine it can.’

  It already has, his look said. On that dance floor.

  His dark pupils flared. ‘Australian army?’

  ‘Yes. My parents met as new recruits and both followed military careers.’

  ‘Exciting? Interesting?’

  ‘Difficult...for them both, I think. One member of a family in the military is hard enough, but both parents trying to work up the career ladder meant a lot of discussing, juggling, arguing, vying for priority. What their child wanted came at the bottom of the pecking order.’

  She’d learnt to speak loudly and fight hard to get heard.

  ‘Constantly moving and growing up on bases makes you grow a thick skin and a quick mouth. But, hey, I can shoot in a straight line and hit a target at a hundred metres.’

  ‘Me too.’ At her frown he illuminated, ‘Farm boy.’

  Now, that was a surprise. He oozed class and rubbed easy broad shoulders with a rich and famous clientele. ‘Irish farm boy to Harley Street surgeon? That must be an interesting story.’

  ‘Not really.’ His smile disappeared and he looked at her as if she’d stepped over some imaginary line. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he quickened his step. She got the message—working together was okay, even kissing wasn’t a step too close, but sharing intimate details...? Never. And that suited her just fine. The less she shared about the life she’d left the better too.

  As they entered the unit Kara observed an atmosphere of calm chaos—a feeling that matched her stomach. Although being surrounded by busy people was much less intense than being alone with Declan. She knew how to act here. There were protocols and policies, standards and codes. Out there in the real world, the dating world, the rules were far too confusing.

  She breathed out and put her professional hat firmly on. ‘So, all the staff are up to speed with privacy requests, and everyone has been told not to comment at all to anyone phoning in, regardless of who they say they are.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He nodded, walking into the room he’d personally had allocated to Safia. ‘This looks perfect, but keep the bed away from the window.’ He peered through the blinds down to the road outside. ‘No one should be able to see her here on this floor. As soon as she arrives we’ll need to check her pain levels and medication. I don’t want her to be scared we’re going to hurt her when we remove the dressings. Then I’ll need an immediate blood screen to make sure she’s haemodynamically stable. Then...then we can take a good look and see what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘No worries.’ She picked up the clipboard on the end of the bed and checked all the correct paperwork was in place.

  ‘So.’ Declan glanced around. ‘What’s her ETA?’

  Kara glanced at her watch. ‘Ten minutes.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  Although this was a devastating case, he looked wired and ready. This was another side of him she’d heard about but hadn’t yet encountered: his infectious enthusiasm for his work. It seemed the man had many sides apart from his infamous charm, and yet—as she’d witnessed—a mysterious unwillingness to open up about anything personal.

  Which was fine. Because she would not let that kiss get in the way of her job. Or let that body of his distract her from her purpose. Or those eyes... Her stomach did a little cartwheel... Those eyes staring at her with playful teasing.

  ‘So, Kara Stephens, it looks like we have just enough time to check out the sheets.’

  ‘What?’ Her pulse rocketed.

  The smile he flashed her was nothing less than wicked. ‘Thread count?’

  ‘Oh. Yes. Of course.’ And she blushed again, because one mention of sheets and their thread count was the furthest thing from her mind.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘I SAID, DON’T touch me.’ A pair of dark, frightened eyes, trying desperately hard to be brave, peered out through a face covered in bandages. ‘Go away.’

  Kara leaned in to the bed and lowered her voice. This was getting precisely nowhere, but she could not and would not rush her patient. ‘I’m sorry, Safia, but we are going to have to remove the dressings sometime so we can see your burns and then treat them. We just want to help.’

  ‘What part of go away don’t you understand?’ Her muffled voice was thick with the tears the teenager steadfastly refused to allow. ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘Does it hurt? I can give you some more medicine to take the pain away. You must tell me if you need more.’

  The girl shook her head.

  ‘I’ll do it slowly and carefully. I promise.’

  But Safia raised a heavily bandaged arm and pulled the sheet over her head. The spaghetti of tubes reverberated at the swift move. An alarm rang out.

  Kara took a moment to compose herself, checked the drips were patent, reset the machines and tried again. And she would continue trying until the poor girl agreed. However long it took. The theatre was booked from eight tomorrow morning. That gave her about eighteen hours. She hoped it would be enough. ‘Your Highness...’

  ‘Let me try.’ Sheikh El-Zayad of Aljahar, the girl’s father, stepped forward. ‘For goodness’ sake, Safia, do as you’re told. We’ve been waiting for twenty-five minutes for your bandages to come off and it’s getting past a joke. The doctors can’t do their job and you won’t get better.’

  ‘I’m never going
to get better. This is it. Scarred for life. So get used to it.’

  The Sheikh frowned. ‘Do as the doctor says. Stop behaving like a child.’

  She is a child. Kara bit that thought back. He had just endured the worst thing any parent could live through—watching his child suffer—and no doubt wanted her full co-operation to get better. But seventeen was barely mature, and the ramifications of such injuries would surely make anyone scared and fractious.

  She shot a look over to Declan as he finished his conversation with the Sheikh’s wife, psychologically prepping her for the forthcoming procedures and long-term treatment plan. Throughout the long thirty minutes of cajoling and waiting she’d felt Declan’s eyes on her, assessing, weighing her up, his playful teasing forgotten, cemented now into something much more serious.

  ‘So to recap—’ He leaned forward to speak to Safia’s parents. ‘We’re planning to do a series of operations over the next few weeks. Because Safia’s wounds are of differing severity and depth each one will be in its own individual recovery phase. Some wounds, I understand from her notes, are ready for closure or grafting tomorrow. Some will have to wait for closure because they need debriding. I’ll keep you fully informed as we proceed.’

  Declan’s demeanour was one of total calm and efficiency, yet he commanded an authority that stood him apart as he spoke.

  ‘Now, it’s getting a bit hot in here. Perhaps Your Highnesses might like a tour of the facility? There’s a particularly nice view out over the river from the roof garden. It’s very private up there and shouldn’t be busy. In fact, I can make sure it isn’t. And I can organise some tea for you both.’

  Safia’s mother nodded and wafted in front of her face with her hand. ‘Oh, please. Yes. I need some fresh air.’ Leaning in to her daughter, she whispered, ‘That is, of course, if you don’t mind, darling Safia? We won’t stay away for long.’