Six Sexy Doctors Part 2 (Mills & Boon e-Book Collections): Posh Doc Claims His Bride / Surgeon Boss, Surprise Dad / Children's Doctor, Society Bride / ... His Bride / The Rebel Surgeon's Proposal

by Anne Fraser

  They met near the hospital’s main entrance, had a friendly word with security man Donald Orr, and then made their way back to her flat. The morning drizzle had ceased and it was now cool but bright. As they arrived and went indoors, the silence between them grew ever more tense. Perhaps Luke had changed his mind. After all, he’d not mentioned it again all week. Nervous and edgy, she turned to face him and saw the same feelings reflected in his sultry green eyes. Strangely, his own air of uncertainty made her feel better.

  ‘I need your answer. What are you going to do, Chessie?’ Luke’s husky voice finally broke the silence that had stretched between them, asking the question that had weighed on both their minds all week. ‘Are you going to stay here alone, or will you come back with me for the weekend?’

  When it came right down to it, after days of endless worry and indecision, her choice was an easy one, temptation being impossible to resist. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she agreed, barely above a whisper.

  But clearly Luke had heard, as relief and needy desire flared in his eyes. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll, um, just put some things in a bag.’ Now the decision had been made, her heart was thudding wildly against her ribs and she had no idea what to do. Hesitating, she turned to face him. ‘What do I bring?’

  ‘Yourself. A toothbrush.’ He smiled, more relaxed now.

  ‘I meant clothes and things.’

  His eyes glittered like green fire, scorching her. ‘Whatever makes you comfortable. I doubt we’ll we wearing much.’

  Heat flared through her from her breasts to her womb, pooling in a heavy throb between her thighs. She knew what she was agreeing to by going with him. There was excitement. But she was also scared. Scared it meant so much more to her than to him, scared that however hot, however blissfully decadent this weekend, it would never be enough. Scared that walking away on Monday was going to be the hardest thing she had ever done.

  Filled with doubts and myriad emotions, she returned to the living room with the few things she had packed, finding Luke standing where she had left him. Waiting. He held out his hand, asking a silent question, and she answered by placing her own hand in his, sealing her delicious—but dangerous—fate.

  Once in the car, the first part of the journey passed in a blur for Francesca, the silence growing again. She glanced at Luke’s profile and realised that he seemed tense, nervous, and she wondered why. And then she focused on where they were. Strathlochan had been growing in recent years but you only needed to go a short way outside the town to be in beautiful, secluded countryside. Francesca found her hands clenching on the sides of the passenger seat as Luke guided the car down a narrow, hedge-lined road between rolling fields and pockets of native woodland, the hills rising high in the near distance. A familiar road. A road she remembered from her teens but had not visited for years—except in her dreams.

  When Luke slowed and turned the car off the road onto a short gravel standing beside a pretty, slate-roofed, stone-built cottage and switched off the engine, Francesca thought she must be dreaming again. She could feel each beat of her pulse in her throat, every rapid breath that huffed in and out of her lungs, her disbelieving gaze taking in every long-remembered, lichen-spotted stone and slate of this building with the sprawling tangle of honeysuckle rambling up one side, the high mixed beech and hawthorn hedge that hid the garden. She had once climbed a tree on a school nature walk to peer into that garden.

  For this was her cottage. Her dream home. This was the place she had kept as an ideal image in her mind as she had worked hard to achieve her goals. A place she had regularly passed on boring training runs, a place that had lived in her fantasies, giving her something to aim for. A place that had been central in her imaginary world, the one that was so much better than her reality.

  Tears threatened as she turned to face Luke. He sat quietly, watching her, nervousness, hope, doubt, excitement and so much more all reflected in his eyes. Somehow she found her voice, hoarse and wobbly though it sounded.

  ‘You live here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The single word hovered between them and Francesca wrestled with her thoughts, trying to remember all he had told her. ‘You bought this place nearly five years ago?’

  This time he nodded in confirmation, remaining silent. He’d bought this cottage after his father had died, she recalled, when his mother had returned from London to live in Strathlochan. It had been an investment, he’d told her. Long after she had left town, longer still since they had seen each other. So was it just a coincidence? Could he have known? And if he had, why would he buy it when he never expected to live in it or see her again?

  ‘Why?’ So many questions pounded through her mind, but that was the only one she could voice.

  ‘When I was helping Ma find her town house, I saw the particulars for this place in the Solicitors’ Property Centre.’ He looked away, gazing at the house for several moments before turning back to her, green eyes serious, genuine emotion in his husky voice. ‘I’d searched for you but you’d gone. And I saw the cottage and remembered it had been your dream. It became my dream, too…something of you I could hold on to. So I bought it. And I never gave up hope that one day I could bring you here.’

  The tears that had shimmered on her lashes spilled onto her cheeks. ‘I can’t believe you did this,’ she whispered, unable to make sense of all the meanings and implications and ramifications of what he had done and why.

  But right at that moment, as his fingers gently brushed the moisture from her cheeks, the whys and wherefores and the seriousness of the future didn’t matter. Luke had done this—for her. Never knowing whether or not they might meet again, he’d had a dream too, and he’d done it.

  ‘Did I do wrong?’

  The anxiety behind his words permeated the fog in her brain and she shook her head, laughing and crying at the same time. Fumbling with the handle, she opened the door and slid out, waiting for Luke to join her. Taking his hand, she gave him a tremulous, teary smile.

  ‘I want to see everything,’ she told him. ‘I’ve never been inside before, but can we go in through the garden and see if it’s the same as I remember?’

  Linking his fingers with hers, Luke led her down the path beside the house to a high, narrow wooden gate. Her heart was in her mouth. No one had ever done anything like this for her before. No one had ever thought of her, wanted something special for her. It was almost too much to take in. And, if it were possible, it was even more glorious than her dreams because now—even if only for this weekend—she could pretend it was all real.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LUKE couldn’t help smiling at Francesca’s almost childlike enjoyment. They’d explored the garden, which she’d told him was much bigger than she remembered from her brief glimpse through the tree branches well over a decade ago. The small orchard was the still there but there was more space, hidden corners and a whole area around the other side of the building where the flower borders were less groomed and looked to be packed with rambling cottage garden plants and wildflowers which would provide a riot of colour in the weeks and months ahead.

  ‘It’s even better than I’d imagined it,’ she admitted once they moved indoors. ‘And so much bigger than you’d think from outside.’

  He hung back, allowing her to roam through the surprisingly large kitchen with its original stone-flagged floor, the range which radiated comforting warmth, the custom-built wooden units with granite work surfaces and the large butler’s sink by the window that overlooked the garden. He had kept the farmhouse table that bore the marks of several generations who had lived in this house…like so much else, it felt as if it belonged.

  As Francesca moved along the passageway to the cosy living room, Luke tried to see it through her eyes, wondering how she was feeling and if the place lived up to her expectations. He knew she was surprised to discover he owned the cottage and he’d both enjoyed her shock but been terrified by it, unsure if she would be pleased or if it would have
ruined everything.

  ‘It’s a bit untidy,’ he apologised, self-consciously clearing things up.

  ‘Don’t worry, I like it.’ Her reassurance sounded genuine, so he stopped bothering. About that, at least. ‘It’s lived in. Warm. Homely. The complete opposite of where I grew up.’

  As she paused, moving around, a faint smile on her face as she trailed her fingertips along the ancient beam that served as mantlepiece above the fireplace, Luke recalled the posh-looking house in the expensive part of town where she had lived with her mother. The antithesis of his family’s circumstances. Outwardly, it had seemed Francesca had had everything money could buy, but he’d known better…that she had always lacked the priceless thing she had needed most—love.

  ‘My mother was obsessed with appearances and with everything being in its place,’ she continued, almost as if talking to herself. ‘My own bedroom had to be just so, tidied to military precision. I was scared to sit down in case I displaced a cushion.’ She laughed but it held the pain of the past as she revealed more about how rigid and unloved her young life had been. ‘It was a house. This is a home.’

  But could it be the home Francesca would share with him for ever or would the gloss of this excitement wear off once the realities of everything hit her? Well aware of the dangers that still lay ahead, he left her alone to wander and returned to the kitchen to put together the supper he had prepared in the hope she would come back with him that evening. How could he convince Francesca that dreams could be real, that for them this could work? One step at a time, he told himself. Make the weekend special. And if she walked away on Monday, if she needed time, he had to give her some space, however painful and difficult it was going to be for him. He had to believe that nothing this right and good would ultimately fail, that eventually Francesca would see what they had and come to believe, too. Hope was all he had to hold on to.

  He called her when the meal was ready—fresh Scottish salmon, new potatoes and broccoli, things he knew Francesca loved—but, delicious as it was, neither of them seemed hungry. At least, not for food. Luke certainly wasn’t. But aware of the electric tension and build-up of sexual energy, he was trying to keep things as normal as possible for Francesca, whose nervousness was evident.

  The small-talk was uncharacteristically stilted. Wanting her to relax, he made them each some hot chocolate and carried the mugs through to the sitting room. While the April days were getting warmer, the nights were still chilly and Luke lit the fire he had set, waiting for the kindling to catch and settle before adding some seasoned, fragrant logs. He sat back on his heels and looked at Chessie, who was perched on the edge of the sofa, her mug cupped in her hands.

  She had the most incredible hair he had ever seen. The colour was extraordinary and difficult to describe—a vibrant mix of all the colours of autumn. In the gentle light of the room and with the glow of the fire flickering, it was silken, shining and framed her face like a halo of russet flame. Long and lustrous, it hung loose to the small of her back in bouncy corkscrew curls, with burnished copper tendrils feathering around her face and neck. Luke wanted to feel her hair against his skin, wanted to see it fanned out across his pillow, wanted to sink his hands into the thick vibrancy of it when she was beneath him, breathless with passion, and his body was sinking into hers again and again.

  But that was for later. First he needed to deal with her anxiety. Still on his knees, he edged closer to her and set his empty mug on the low table. When she put her own mug aside, he took her hand in his, feeling the customary jolt of current at the connection of her skin against his. He could also feel the faint tremble of her fingers. Drawing them to his lips, he brushed a feather-light caress across her palm, looking up to meet silver-grey eyes that reflected the flickering firelight but also a whole jumble of raw emotions.

  ‘You’re nervous about this.’

  Francesca nodded, feeling foolish, unable to look away from the slow-burn desire in Luke’s smoky green eyes. His touch both distracted and aroused her. As did his closeness. Not to mention the beguiling knowledge of where she was. The house was better than any dream she had ever had of it, so much more in reality than she had imagined. And so was Luke. She wanted him…but she was scared.

  ‘Has someone hurt you in the past, Chessie?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. It’s just…’ She clammed up, unable to go on.

  ‘What?’ he cajoled, his fingers playing with hers. ‘Tell me. It’s important.’

  Doubt and embarrassment overwhelmed her. ‘The couple of times I’ve done it before I’ve not enjoyed it,’ she finally admitted.

  As Luke shifted even closer, her thighs instinctively parted so he was kneeling between them, his hands sliding up her arms to her shoulders, drawing her into a hug.

  ‘Nothing is going to happen that you don’t want, Chessie,’ he reassured her, voice low and husky. ‘Tell me what happened before that’s making you so tense and jumpy, what they did that you didn’t like.’

  She felt shy talking like this with him, not wanting him to feel less of her for the mistakes she had made. But she also felt safe in Luke’s arms and the shadowed light in the room inspired the sharing of confidences.

  ‘You can always tell me anything.’ As ever, he seemed to know just what to say, and now, as if reading her hesitancy, his words and tone gave her comfort. ‘If I know what went wrong, I can make sure I don’t do something to upset you.’

  ‘It’s not you.’

  He waited patiently for her to speak, the soothing caress of his hands and the warmth of him being close helped set her at ease and she found herself telling him about Edinburgh.

  ‘I’ve never wanted a relationship, I’ve always believed I was better alone. Yet twice over those years while I was training I ended up having a one-night stand. Ever since I’ve felt ashamed I ever did it.’

  ‘Don’t do that to yourself, Chessie,’ he chided gently, one hand stroking her hair, his fingers sinking into her curls to gently massage the back of her neck. ‘I can assure you that you are not the only person who has been lonely and sought physical comfort. I’ve been there, too, and I did the same as you in the past.’

  ‘It doesn’t bring what you need,’ she whispered, her head resting on his shoulder, her eyes closing as she breathed in the familiar scent of him.

  ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  Soothed by his voice, his understanding, his caressing touch, she leaned more into him. ‘Aside from being inexperienced, I found it intimidating. It was all about what they wanted, and I couldn’t let go or participate because I didn’t feel anything.’

  ‘Chessie, I know better than anyone how you need to feel secure and in control.’ Luke drew back a little, cupping her face in his hands, his green eyes filled with sincerity and heart-stopping desire.

  ‘But how do you know it will be any different? How do you know I won’t disappoint you?’ she finally asked, voicing two of her greatest anxieties.

  Warm breath brushed her skin as he chuckled softly. ‘Chessie, I can assure you that you will not disappoint me and I know it will be different for both of us because of how we already feel.’ One hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head so he could look at her, forcing her to look at him. ‘I have never felt with anyone else the way I do when I look at you, touch you, kiss you. That’s how I know. It is you and me and it’s right.’

  His answer increased her wariness because she knew it was true. Which made it all the more serious and sounding less like the fun weekend she had pretended to herself that was all this was going to be. Before she could wrestle with her thoughts and her doubts, Luke continued, the fingers of his free hand whispering over her face, the pad of his thumb tracing the fullness of her lower lip.

  ‘It’s about give and take, Chessie. Mutual pleasure. And about trust. If I do anything you don’t like or want, then you say so and I stop. For me it’s as much if not more about your pleasure than my own. Because yours makes mine. It’s about trusting each other. And because
we do, we can let go and be safe. We can just take our time and see where it leads us. OK?’

  Francesca sucked in a shaky breath. His kindness and understanding made her want to cry, yet for all her belief that she didn’t enjoy sex, just being near Luke fired her blood and every touch, every look, every kiss made her want as she had never wanted before. Just as he had said. She had no idea what happened after this night, this weekend. She didn’t want to think that far ahead because, despite Luke’s reassurances to the contrary, she was still scared it might ruin the friendship between them. But she had come too far to turn back. The inescapable truth she could no longer deny to herself was that she wanted to know what it was like to make love with Luke.

  ‘OK,’ she whispered.

  She heard him release a shaky breath of relief, but the heat in his eyes as they looked deeply into hers seared through her body and left her in no doubt about his feelings, his desire, his need of her. As his lips brushed across hers, gentle, testing, teasing, but already causing a storm to rage inside her, her blood started careening through her veins.

  Her mouth opened of its own volition, inviting, demanding the full onslaught of the mutual explosion of passion between them. She clung to him, revelling in his taste, welcoming the deepening of the kiss, her own tongue instinctively duelling and mating with his invading one. A whimper of regret escaped when Luke pulled back, leaving her bereft and wanting more, but the protest she was about to voice died when he slowly drew his jumper, and the T-shirt beneath, over his head and tossed them aside.

  Francesca wasn’t sure she could breathe as she absorbed the first sight of Luke stripped to the waist, all that rippling muscle and golden skin reflected in the glow of the firelight. Her own temperature rose several degrees, just looking at all that masculine perfection. She wanted to touch, to taste, shocked at the strength of her hungry need. It was so unlike her. But everything about Luke was different, made her different, called to something unknown deep within her.