The Surgeon’s Secrets: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Michelle Love

  He's settled into the drive and is starting to answer when a white van roars up beside us and starts edging aggressively into our lane. Damon curses and pumps the brakes, letting the van in front of him before it can knock us into the guardrail. It ends up scraping along against the furrowed metal itself, striking sparks along one side.

  "Oh my God!" I gasp and turn to look at Damon. That didn’t look like an accident. He scowls and grips the wheel, his whole expression and demeanor changing in an instant.

  I stare at him in horror as the pleasant, friendly, foul-mouthed, and flirty doctor I know disappears in an instant beneath a cold, hard glare. Even when he speaks, his accent has thickened. "Hold on."

  He takes advantage of an opening and swerves to the side, neatly maneuvering the car around the van and getting in front of it. The van speeds up, trying to attack again, but Damon floors it—and the Prowler leaps to life.

  The roar of the engine sends my heart racing in a way I have never associated with pleasure before, as an enormous thrill runs through my whole body. We leave the van behind within seconds, as the bulky, weaker-engined vehicle reaches its limit. My terror dissolves in the thrill of escaping.

  He doesn't slow down or say anything at all until he's left the van far enough behind that we can no longer see it. "That was not some random drunk," Damon finally growls, sounding furious about it. "That was a targeted attack."

  "I don't understand," I mumble, shivering in fear. "Why would anyone be after me?"

  "They're not after you, sweetheart, except by association." He sounds resigned, his rough manner and accent only gentling now that he’s speaking to me. "They're after me."

  It's a tense drive back to his penthouse, and I'm too dizzy, baffled, and scared to ask too many questions until we're safely indoors. On the way up the elevator, he looks at me and a touch of the old tenderness returns to his eyes. "You all right?"

  "I guess I would be a lot worse if you weren't such a good driver," I breathe, not sure what else to say. "But you owe me one hell of an explanation."

  He nods, his jaw working as he leans his head back against the wall of the elevator. "Yeah. Suppose I've put this off for too long."

  We pick the chairs closest to the fireplace, and I stretch my hands toward it, feeling the chill and the shivers of fear fading at once.

  He brings us both tea with lemon, honey, and brandy and waits until I've swallowed down my first cupful before he goes into his story. The whole time, it's like he's become some gentler version of Mr. Hyde—rough, working-class, hard-eyed—but only when he isn't looking at me.

  When he does look at me, his brown eyes go soft again and their gaze fills me with warmth. And that's the only thing keeping me going as I struggle to listen to his story.

  Chapter 9

  Samantha

  "I told you the truth about being born to a nasty public-housing apartment. And all the rest of it, I gave you a patchwork of truth—with a lot of holes, I admit it—but there wasn't a lie among them." Damon sounds a little guilty, like he's almost desperate to reassure me.

  "But what I left out is …I didn't start out some fancy, white-hat doctor who goes around saving lives. That's my penance for what I did before. It's how I can live with myself now."

  He takes a long swallow of his drink and then refreshes it with straight brandy before setting the mug down. "My dad's been doing a stint in Wandsworth—prison—for as long as I've been alive. I've never even met him. But he was still the head of the family business, because without his name I would never have had any dealings with that world."

  "What's the family business?" I can guess, but I want to hear it from him.

  "Well, my dad managed to get himself forty years for a diamond heist. His younger brother, my uncle, was still knocking over banks and high-end shops, which meant he was in and out of jail as well. The difference was, he had a better lawyer and was usually out within a few months each time.

  "So my mum and my aunt moved in together, and that made it me and my aunt's son, Copper, growing up like brothers. My uncle would come by for a few months, dig up cash for us from God knows where, and then get picked up for something and have another round behind bars.

  "In between, he started teaching Copper and me things. How to lift a wallet, how to copy a key, how to crack a safe, and how to control a room during a robbery." Damon sits back and swallows down the contents of his mug, then lays it aside with a sigh.

  "There were no jobs for young lads when I started out and no money for college. When Copper came to me and said he had a driving job for me, I didn't know I would be driving a getaway car for him and his lads. But, then, there I was, right in the midst of it." He speaks frankly, making no apologies and no excuses.

  "I got in too deep before I even realized just how badly off we all were. They were knocking over shops during football riots and breaking into cars during the holidays. I drove them and got them away, and got a cut of the money for it. Copper kept telling me we were like Robin Hood, except this time, the poor we were giving to was us."

  I watch his face. The hard expression has gone bleak, replaced by a tortured look filled with regret. Some of the fear trickles out of my heart, but burning curiosity and a little wariness replace it.

  "My mother hated it. She cried about it and begged me to stop. And I kept trying. Copper would beat my ass for making him look bad to the others, and I learned to fight properly, so he'd have a harder time doing it."

  He eyes the brandy bottle, then shrugs and takes a long pull from it, not giving a damn any more. I'm still on painkillers or I would reach for it myself. As it is, I'm nursing the rest of my mug.

  "Then Copper gets mixed up with these guys my uncle's been doing jobs with and not a single one of them is any good. In fact, every last one is rotten. I beg him to leave with me—to just go—but he's in too deep."

  He licks his lips and turns toward the window wall, that sad, empty look on his face making my heart ache. "So they decide to graduate to bank jobs. And my uncle decides that this time, I'm going in. They need someone smart and steady-handed to crack the safe.

  "I end up in even deeper. Somewhere around my third year of that, we're hitting a bank in Leeds. We end up faced with a safety door that slams down in front of the vault while I'm inside it gathering things up. And the idiot entry man Copper picked up on short notice sets the charges off too close to a gas pipe."

  I sit back, astonished, as he winces and nods. "Wow. Did the whole building go up?"

  "Yeah, and then it went down. I rode out the explosion and collapse in the vault, grabbed the two million in diamonds we had come for, and disappeared. I hated doing it, but I knew I'd be presumed dead, and that was my only chance to escape."

  I just stare at him, my mouth open in astonishment as I process this latest bit of information. "You ...you fled to America then? Got a new identity?"

  "Yeah. I did. I left everyone behind. Copper, my mum, my girl—let them all think I'd died. I came here, bought myself a new life, and laid down capital for this building, which paid for itself while I put myself through medical school."

  He spreads his hands, sighing. "I've kept my hands off of you because you're a sweet girl, really lovely, and you've had enough people messing up your life. I'm a miscreant, damn it. I've got phone calls from unknown London cell phones and I've got unmarked vans trying to run me off the road. Someone's found me." He reaches out and cups the side of my face in his big hand so tenderly that it brings tears to my eyes.

  "I don't deserve you, and sticking around is going to put you in danger. It's not that I don't care for you, Samantha. It's that I do, and I'm poison for you. Especially right now."

  It hurts. A shudder goes through me, almost a convulsion, while a stabbing pain runs through my chest. A sob escapes me, and the pain that flashes across his face at the sight of it only makes it worse.

  He saved my life twice. He's the only person I have ever had who has really given a damn about me, and I can't los
e him—even if staying with him puts me in danger. I can't.

  "Shit." He gathers me against his chest, his body tense and his heart beating fast. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I know you've been through a lot, even without me."

  "Without you, I'd be dead." My voice comes out surprisingly calm, and he freezes, then slowly looks down to meet my gaze. "Twice," I remind him, before looking away shyly. "Anyway, it's too late. Whoever tailed us onto the highway to attack us already knows I'm mixed up with you."

  He sighs and swallows, blinking rapidly. "Damn." After a long, thoughtful silence, he mutters, "I can try and keep you safe. But I don't know how I'm going to make up for dragging you into my problems."

  I take a deep breath, steadying myself against him, and then slide my hands up his chest as he looks into my eyes. "You can start by making love to me."

  Chapter 10

  Samantha

  My heart beats fast and hard and without any pain at all as Damon pushes me firmly against his bedroom wall and buries his face in my neck. His nimble fingers are busy with the row of buttons running down the front of my dress, pushing the fabric down off my shoulders as he goes. My head lolls back against the wall and I whimper as sensations I’ve never experienced before start rushing through me.

  His mouth starts traveling into my cleavage as he frees me from the dress one arm at a time, then pushes the navy-blue fabric down to my waist. He lifts me effortlessly, nibbling at my exposed chest before reaching back one-handed to unfasten the catch of my bra. He’s gentle, but fast, leaving me once again with that wild thrill of feeling like I’ve been pushed past my own control.

  I want him to do this, but I don’t have the words for it. I don’t even know why I want it so badly until his agile tongue darts under the edge of my loosened bra cup and grazes my nipple. I gasp, my eyes gone enormous, and suddenly I’m eagerly pulling off my bra the rest of the way myself.

  He runs his knee up between my thighs to support me as he takes my nipple roughly in his mouth. His first long pull makes me whimper loudly and stretch against the wall, my nails clawing his shoulders through his shirt. His grip tightens and he starts sucking again, long, rough pulls that mix pain and pleasure in just the right way.

  I try to muffle my cries at first, but after a while, I just can’t. He moves from breast to breast, holding me firmly while I arch back against the hard wood, squirm, and clench my legs around his knee. My hips are rolling unconsciously, grinding my pussy against the muscle of his thigh, and finally I get too turned on to care how much noise I make.

  My cries rise slowly, long moans growing sharper and louder as he intensifies what he’s doing to me. His free hand wanders down to unfasten more buttons, unwrapping me like a present. Under my dress, I’m in a matching set of thigh-high stockings and panties.

  He leaves the stockings on. As for the panties, he grips my whole pussy through them and starts kneading me in time to the movements of his mouth. Powerful jolts of pleasure start running up from my groin to mix with the ones his mouth teases from me, and I feel one of my shoes drop to the floor as I lift my feet from the ground.

  The other drops as I wrap my legs around his hips, shimmying reflexively as his hand moves between us. I can’t seem to keep my breath in my lungs any more. My throat burns, my lungs strain, and yet everything I do and feel is edged with pleasure so intense that it almost scares me.

  He groans harshly and grips the panties—then tears the little triangle of damp cloth off me entirely to get it out of his way. I feel his fingers stroking and exploring me, and then his head lifts slowly from my breast as he raises his eyes to mine. He lets out a shuddering breath, then shifts his grip on me and carries me toward the bed.

  I sob in frustration as he stops pleasuring me, my body on fire with the need for him to go on. Instead, he throws me onto the bed and leaves me to writhe as he tears off his own clothes. I see a few buttons pop off his dress shirt. When he shoves his pants and boxers down, he gasps with relief.

  I see the tool he’ll soon be using on me and almost—almost—freeze up. It’s big enough that a guy of his strength could tear me up easily. Smooth, sleek, a little curved ...I crave it and feel pretty damn intimidated at the same time.

  He grabs me by the hips and drags me toward the edge of the bed, crouching there, and starts stroking my cunt again while he positions himself with his other hand. I close my eyes, forcing myself to focus on the two fingers stroking me just above where he’s slowly starting to push inside.

  The pressure intensifies the mounting pleasure inside of me instead of drawing away from it, and I gasp in amazement and squirm as he slides deeper and deeper into me. I hear him groan, then feel the muscles in his belly working against me as he sinks in deeper. I look up and see him propped over me on one hand, his eyes closed and his lips parted in bliss.

  He leans down over me, covering my body completely, and I grab hold of him with arms and legs and hang on for dear life as his hips thrust deep and push me into the mattress. The bed bounces under me as he drives himself into me again and again; his fingers caress me in time to his thrusts until I’m lifting my hips to meet him. In seconds we’ve found a rhythm and I find myself riding toward a peak I’ve never known.

  His breath growls harshly in my ear as our bellies slap together. His hand between us trembles but he keeps stroking me. Inside me I feel a fuse being lit—my back arches slowly upward, whole body taut as he pounds into me, and time suddenly slows.

  A wave of sensation expands outward from my pussy, so intense that I thrash and wail like he’s stabbing me, but I’m crying for more. Torrents of pleasure roar through me over and over, leaving me crying and clawing at his back as he moves almost violently against me.

  I croon, shiver, and shimmy against him, rolling my hips to feel him inside me better while he grits his teeth and starts to shout between gasps for air. He speeds up his thrusts, the shouts growing louder and hoarser as I feel the tremble starting in his hips. His hoarse cries and tremors excite me. I feel his surging cock set off aftershocks inside of me that make me whimper again.

  He suddenly arches his back hard, pushing me so deeply into the mattress that the bedsprings creak hard. A long, almost agonized groan echoes off the walls as his cock twitches and jerks inside of me. He grinds his hips slowly, his gasping dying down, and then settles over me with a sigh.

  We drowse together and make love again as soon as we have the strength—gently this time, slow, and curled on our sides. This time, when I climax, I almost weep with the tenderness of it and realize how much I’m looking forward to more nights like this. We sleep a while, and then I wake up and realize I’m sticky, sore, and desperately want some of our leftover pizza.

  When I come out of the shower, I’m reluctant to dress, but without anything else to wear unless I raid his closet, I shove myself back into my bra and dress and step into my shoes. Letting out a sigh, I look down at Damon sleeping quietly ...and then move past him toward the living room and the kitchen beyond.

  It’s just barely before dawn and I’m still almost too sleepy to walk properly, let alone think. I notice a washing rig on the other side of the window, with a big man in a jumpsuit and hard hat standing on it, doing something to the glass. Whatever it is makes a little screeching sound as he finishes up. Then I hear a sharp snap.

  I don’t realize that he’s using a glass cutter until a big circle of glass falls into the room and shatters, letting in a blast of freezing wind. I let out a scream of shock and horror—and then the big man bulls through the gap and grabs me, clapping one giant, gloved mitt over my mouth.

  Part Four

  Chapter 11

  Damon

  Samantha’s cut-off cry of panic and horror sends me shooting up from a sound sleep and adrenaline burns through my veins like cold acid. I leap up and run naked into the living room—just in time to see the huge hole in my window and the window-washing rig dropping out of sight. The last thing I see is a huge figure wrapping her
in his gigantic coat as she struggles in his grip.

  Wrapping her in his coat?

  Panic and confusion warring in me, I barely notice the cold biting at my naked skin. I yank on my clothes, throw on my shoulder holster with my .357 in it, and yank my leather jacket on over that. I grab my keys and am stuffing my phone in my pocket when it rings suddenly.

  It’s a London phone number.

  I pick it up at once, and I know who it’s going to be. “Copper, you fuck! What the hell are you up to? If you hurt that girl—”

  “Nobody’s getting fucking hurt,” comes the rumble, with an even deeper and thicker accent than I remember. “That’s why I’m handling it and not Dad’s fucking goons.” He suddenly loses a lot of his bravado. “She’s fine, Denny. I just can’t guarantee she’ll stay that way long.”

  There’s a thread of tension in his voice that I notice even through my rage. “You’ve got one fucking chance to explain yourself, Copper.” I grab my rappelling gear from my gym, run out to the stairway, and clip my harness around my hips and thighs. The end of the rope clips to the heavy pipework safety rail.