by Amy Ruttan
Having told herself off, she scanned the vast room and forced herself to think of all of these people as potential friends. Or... Her eyes skipped from one male face to another. Potential boyfriends? It was an area of her life she was particularly gun-shy about. The last few had wanted to live the life they’d thought royals led, only to discover it wasn’t quite the way the society papers would have had them believe. Suffice it to say being dumped by text when you were a princess was a double blow.
There had been one name—well, a face, really—that had stood out from the crowd earlier. A paediatrician from the UK whose name she hadn’t been able to catch, because before he’d got to her in the greeting queue he’d spotted a little boy who’d been treated at the clinic. He’d left the queue and shared a jolly greeting with the lad and his parents before the pair of them had completed a very intricate handshake only the two of them seemed to know.
She’d liked that. Honouring a child she presumed had been his patient over kowtowing to ‘royalty’.
Well. Royalty. Without the quotes.
She was genuinely royal, whether she liked it or not.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a rather lovely male hand take hold of the back of the chair next to hers. It looked strong, capable, and oddly callused for someone she presumed was a doctor.
‘Is this seat taken?’
She was about to say yes, that they were all assigned seats, when she realised the very man she’d been thinking of was standing next to her. Tall. Athletically lean. Short caramel-blond hair. And piercing blue eyes that sparkled in the twilight hues of the ballroom lighting.
Unlike a lot of the guests who didn’t seem able to look her directly in the eye—because of the princess thing—this man didn’t seem the slightest bit intimidated. He had an aura of strength about him that spoke of a deep-seated kindness, an inner peace that didn’t necessitate any shows of bravura or machismo.
She glanced down at the name card.
Oliver Bainbridge.
She surprised herself by fixing him with a cheeky grin. Something about him made her feel comfortable. And, even more surprisingly, sexy. An internal glittery sensation she hadn’t felt in ages lit inside her, making her feel as effervescent as the champagne everyone was drinking.
‘It is taken, but I suppose we could switch the name cards to make it yours. So long as you promise to be more entertaining than the real Oliver Bainbridge. He sounds a bit of a bore, don’t you think?’
His eyebrows quirked at the challenge.
She pressed her lips forward in a Go on, I’m waiting moue. Was she flirting? Crumbs. She was flirting!
‘Oliver’s not exactly a name that soars up the sexy charts, is it? Would it help if I told you my middle name was Casanova?’
She hooted with laughter, and through a giggle managed to say, ‘I think that would be worse.’
‘Well, then...’ He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. ‘Would you be satisfied if I were to stay plain old Oliver?’
He pressed the softest of kisses to the back of her hand, sending a spray of heat through her body, highlighting the more...ahem...erogenous zones.
This Oliver Bainbridge could be rather dangerous. Dangerous and yummy. The problem being, Princess Amelia Margit Sigrid Embla Trelleburg of Karolinska didn’t find men ‘yummy’. She found them suitable. Or appropriate. Or, in the case of her last boyfriend, well-vetted.
But Lia, for the very first time in her life, fancied a bit of yummy.
Her eyebrows arrowed up into what Jonas called her ‘imperious Empress’ expression. ‘I suppose the name will have to do until we come up with a better one. Now, then, as we’re seated next to one another, do you think you’ll be able to keep me entertained all night? I have very high standards, you know.’
Who was she—and where had plain old Lia gone?
‘I shall endeavour to do my very best.’ His lips twitched as if they’d just shared a private joke of a much more carnal nature. ‘If you’ll allow a humble paediatrician the pleasure of trying?’
‘Oh, the pleasure is all mine,’ she said grandly, knowing as she did so that never before had truer words been spoken.
Copyright © 2021 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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ISBN-13: 9780369712066
Falling for the Billionaire Doc
Copyright © 2021 by Amy Ruttan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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