Falling for Dr December

Praise for

Susanne Hampton:

‘From the first turbulent beginning until the final climactic ending, an entire range of emotions has been used to write a story of two people travelling the rocky road to love … an excellent story. I would recommend this story to all romance-readers.’

—Contemporary Romance Reviews on

UNLOCKING THE DOCTOR’S HEART

‘I recommend this read for all fans of medical romance. It’s the perfect balance: spunky, emotional, heartfelt, a very sweet and tender romance with a great message!’

—Contemporary Romance Reviews on

UNLOCKING THE DOCTOR’S HEART

‘Are you mad?’ he yelled as he pulled the hat free. ‘I’m already freezing and now you cover me in oil … what the hell is up with you?’

He stopped his rant the moment her warm fingers began working the oil all over his cold muscled chest. He looked down to see both of her hands moving slowly but purposefully across his bare skin. He raised his gaze to look at her beautiful face. Suddenly his emotions took over and he took her wrists with his hands. He said nothing, searching her eyes for a reaction, before he pulled her up against his body and kissed her.

She froze as he pressed his lips down on hers, then unwillingly she melted into his kiss. A moment before he had been so angry, but now his lips met hers there was no anger. His kiss was tender and passionate. For a brief moment she relished being that close to him. The desire he was stirring within her was undeniable and it felt so good. She didn’t want it to end.

But she had to pull away.

‘No … we can’t.’ She struggled to speak as she could still taste his mouth on hers. Her heart was racing as she pulled her emotions into line and her body away from his.

He released her immediately. ‘It was just a kiss, I wasn’t about to throw you onto the ground and ravage you in the crops … not yet, at least.’

In my third book, FALLING FOR DR DECEMBER, I am thrilled to introduce you to the New England town of Uralla, located three hundred miles north of Sydney. The name originates from a local Aboriginal word ‘oorala’, meaning ‘a camp’ or ‘a place where people come together’, and it is where my brother and his family live.

Late last year, the wedding of my very handsome nephew Myles to his gorgeous fiancée Anne gave me the opportunity to travel to Uralla and experience a true country wedding. Myles—along with my other equally handsome nephews, and his groomsmen Ben and Eric—would be more than suited to the role of my hero, the tall, dark and handsome Dr Pierce Beaumont!

The wedding reception was held in a farm building on the Samaurez Homestead property and it was one of the loveliest I have ever attended. Dancing on a cobblestone floor, open paddocks surrounding the celebrations, and gingham-trimmed jam keepsakes were just a part of an unforgettable evening.

The town inspired me to write FALLING FOR DR DECEMBER as I wanted to capture the wonderful feeling of a close-knit, caring community like Uralla. It is a town where you literally do not have to lock your front door because everyone in the street is either family or friend.

I hope you fall in love with the town and the people as you read the heart-warming story of Laine Phillips and Dr Pierce Beaumont.

Warmest wishes

Susanne

Married to the man she met at eighteen, SUSANNE HAMPTON is the mother of two adult daughters—one a musician and the other an artist.

The family also extends to a slightly irritable Maltese shih-tzu, a neurotic poodle, three elderly ducks and four hens that only very occasionally bother to lay eggs. Susanne loves everything romantic and pretty, so her home is brimming with romance novels, movies and shoes.

With an interest in all things medical, her career has been in the dental field and the medical world in different roles, and now Susanne has taken that love into writing Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™.

Falling for

Dr December

Susanne Hampton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dedication

To my wonderful family who call the town of Uralla home—Greg, Tracy, Myles, Anne, Ben, Eric, Emma, Poppy and Bob.

To their friends in Uralla and Armidale for being so warm and friendly, just as you imagine country people to be.

You live in a beautiful part of Australia and I hope I have done the town justice.

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Susanne Hampton

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘JUST ONE MORE step and I’ll shoot!’ Laine waited for some reaction, but there was nothing.

The man before her appeared unmoved by her words. He stood in silence, shaking his head, his dark, deeply set eyes staring back coldly. The clenched muscles of his jaw made his face appear even more angular and harsh. Laine was painfully aware that he had no intention of taking her seriously. But why would he? Her willowy stature would pose no threat to his potent six-foot frame now stripped bare to the waist. He wasn’t about to listen to her plea.

The afternoon sun slipped through the curtain breaks and she watched the curves of his broad chest and powerful arms etched by the light. Slowly he ran his fingers over his open belt buckle. She felt the need to swallow as his fingers moved to the top stud of his jeans. Her eyes closed for the briefest moment but opened just as quickly. She hoped it was not more than a blink. Showing any sign of intimidation she was feeling would give him the upper hand. She had learned that over the years.

‘I promise, take another step and it’ll be your last,’ Laine called aloud, while silently she chided herself for having been talked into coming back here in the first place. Why had she done it? She should have known no good would come from returning to this town. The lump in her throat that had formed when she’d driven her hire car down the New England Highway and into Uralla that morning showed no sign of being swallowed. It was lodged firmly and going nowhere. It was a sign she should not be here. She had left the town twelve years ago for good reason.

She waited for his response in action or words but there was nothing. He showed no emotion. She couldn’t read his face. Instead she felt the weight of his gaze as it roamed her body, slowly, painstakingly, making her feel uneasy with every lingering moment, until it came to rest on her mouth. Running his hand through his short black hair, he appeared distracted as he stared at her in silence. Then abruptly his husky voice made her stiffen as he asked brazenly, ‘You really know how to use that?’

Only able to catch his unshaven profile, she could see his mouth curve into a smirk. She fought his intimidation with all her strength. She refused to let him know he was close to succeeding in his desire to unnerve her. She had to maintain the upper hand and stay in control and that meant staying calm.

‘Take that step and you’ll soon find out how accurate I can be.’ Her tone was mild and steady, even though inside she wavered. Laine hoped her newfound composure, albeit at odds with her true feelings, might prove more successful. She knew this was the last time she could issue her ultimatum without it echoing as an empty threat. She would not get what she’d come for and all of this would have been for nothing. No one was going to get the better of her. Not here and not now.

She held her ground and prayed this time he’d take her seriously. And he did. Grudgingly, and with a level of hesitation Laine didn’t fully understand, he set his dusty boots up another rung of the ladder and eased his long leg over the top to sit astride it.

‘At last,’ she muttered to herself as she tucked some stray wisps of her long brown hair behind her ear and reached for another lens from the table behind her. With her camera focused, and maintaining eye contact with her handsome but obstinate subject, Laine moved behind the ladder prop and began a photographic shoot with the confidence and expertise that only someone with her ability and experience could execute.

A cold sweat rushed over Pierce but he swallowed hard and kept his eyes from looking down. His heart was pounding roughly in his chest as he struggled to push unwanted images from his mind. Memories were rising to the surface and no matter how logic reasoned with his fear, fear was close to taking hold. Despite the fact that he wasn’t that twelve-year-old boy balancing precariously on a balcony ledge, he suddenly found himself feeling equally vulnerable. His knuckles clenched whitely and he willed the shoot to be over. Nervously he rubbed his brow. He had to stay on task, remind himself it was just a ladder in an unused consulting room of his practice in order to maintain any remnant of composure. He knew it wouldn’t be easy when he took the first step, but he hadn’t expected it to be so overwhelming all these years later. Some memories were clearly hard, if not impossible, to forget.

‘You can come down now but seriously, Dr. Beaumont, was that so terribly difficult?’ she asked with exaggerated politeness, as she removed the lens and packed the camera body back into its case. ‘If you’d gone up another rung without the dramatics, we could have wrapped up twenty minutes ago,’ she complained as she began to dismantle the lighting umbrella. She was tempted to comment further on his bad attitude but didn’t want to cause any more animosity. Better to keep her opinion to herself, she mused as she began packing the tripod in the longest of her waterproof equipment bags.

Pierce Beaumont couldn’t answer her. He climbed down from the ladder in silence. With both feet on solid ground, anxiety morphed to anger. ‘What was so damned important about going up one more step?’

‘It’s about framing the picture. I won’t compromise when it comes to my work. And please don’t be late tomorrow. I’m hoping to get the sunrise over the McKenzies’ property,’ she replied flatly, as she glared back at the man who had made the last hour very difficult. ‘I’ve already photographed eleven other GPs across Australia and you have been without doubt the most uncooperative. Why on earth agree in the first place if you don’t want to see yourself in a calendar? I saw the contract, it was clearly your name and signature on it.’

‘That’s just it,’ he snapped back. ‘I didn’t agree to any of this. My former partner, Gregory Majors, forged the paperwork before he retired. He did it as a prank. Thought I’d see the humour in it. Clearly, I didn’t.’

Laine knew the name instantly. Dr Majors, the town’s general practitioner. It was a name that brought memories rushing back at lightning speed. It was something he would do. The man had an impish side to him. Laine had been his patient many times when she’d lived in Uralla. The first time when she’d come down with tonsillitis, then there had been her broken arm from a fall during a high-school netball game and a few other teenage scrapes. He had been the local doctor since he’d finished medical school when, like so many of the townspeople, he’d come back to nest.

But not Laine. She had left and vowed never to return. She took a deep breath. The time that she had called Uralla her home was over and she could never think of it that way again. She had planned it would be her forever home but that dream had ended and taken with it her belief in the words ‘for ever’.

‘When I tried to back out of it, the organisers told me that they’d booked your flights and the budget wouldn’t allow them to reschedule,’ Pierce continued, bringing Laine back from her reverie. ‘I offered to pay for new flights for you to wherever they could find another mug who’d agree to take my place but apparently they couldn’t find anyone. They explained that the entire timeline would have blown out and they wouldn’t have met the deadline. No calendar meant there’d be no fundraising for next year. They played the guilt card very well.’

There was more to it than that. Pierce hadn’t been able to walk away after he had read the charity prospectus and realised what a worthwhile cause he would be assisting. He had been torn. Posing for the calendar irked him beyond belief but he couldn’t them down. Building a facility in each capital city to assist those foster-children who had turned eighteen and were aging out of the system was so needed and such a huge task. Although it went against his better judgement to bring attention to himself, he’d decided that he needed to put the charity first. He would deal with repercussions, if any arose, later.

‘How noble of you to go ahead, then.’ Laine rolled her eyes, unaware of his knowledge and belief in the charity. She was not impressed. She took both her work and the cause seriously and she was annoyed with his apparent lack of respect towards her and the project. This charity meant the world to her. She would give, and do, whatever she could to help make a difference to the lives of foster-children. Someone had to.

It was tough being in foster-care sometimes but it was even tougher when the stay came to an end. Laine knew that firsthand. She wanted to provide assistance for the children before the system scarred them and also to assist those transitioning into adulthood. She had been involved with the charity for a number of years, and each year she took on a greater workload. Some days when the loneliness of the life she had chosen was almost untenable, she thought of all the foster-children enduring a swinging-door childhood and knew there had to be a way to improve their lives. Any assistance she could provide from her connections and her work she would give without reservation.

Carefully, and in silence, she continued to pack away her equipment, cleaning the front and rear elements of her lenses before storing them. She was fastidious about the tools of her trade and valued everything she owned. She used the best, she could afford it, but it hadn’t always been that way and having scrimped and saved when starting out for even the basic photographic equipment ensured she never took any of her belongings for granted now.

‘I might have to do this shoot but I sure as hell don’t have to climb up a ladder again. In fact, I’m calling the shots tomorrow. My way or no way,’ Pierce said, not masking his disdain for the entire situation.

Laine looked at the man who would be her subject for the next two days and knew it could easily become one of the most frustrating and difficult assignments of her almost ten year career. Frustrating because of the subject, difficult because of the location. Dr Pierce Beaumont was ridiculously uncooperative and Uralla held memories she wanted to forget.

When she’d left the small town, almost three hundred miles north of Sydney, all those years before, she had never expected to return. A part of her past, it bore no relevance to the life she had forged in New York. Laine knew she had never been happier than when she’d lived in Uralla but she also knew she wasn’t that girl any more and she could never fit into this town again.

She was a citizen of the world, a woman for whom her career was her entire life. There was no room and no need for anyone else in it—and particularly not the people of this town. They were warm and welcoming but she didn’t want that level of sentiment in her life. It didn’t fit with her any more. Those years living in a small town had allowed her to finally understand what it felt like to be a part of a family. Someone had actually cared how she’d felt and had wanted her to be safe and protected. For the very first time she had stopped feeling abandoned. She had stopped expecting that all promises would eventually be broken.

The perfect picture she’d painted of a life with one loving family—a life she had only dreamt of when she’d constantly moved homes, meeting new foster-families and being bullied by foster-siblings—had actually come true. It had been a home where she’d learned the true meaning of unconditional love, and one that had provided the answer to the question she had asked all her life: Where did she belong? It was right there.

But after four wonderful years it had all come to a terrible, tragic end. Her adoptive parents had died in a car accident. They were gone, and never coming back—and she had been alone once again.

So Laine had used the scars to give her strength. She’d turned her back on the security of the small town and chosen a new life, far away from Uralla. It had taken years to finally become successful but she’d known she could do it. Eventually, her determination to take control of her life, to make the most of every day and to rely on absolutely no one had driven her to the top.

Travelling the world, working with models and managing their demands, and those of the clients, at fashion shoots and waking up in a different hotel every day had finally become way of life for Laine. It was a mad schedule but being frantically busy allowed her to keep her thoughts of the past at bay. There were lonely times but it was the price she paid for the life she led and she never complained. Even the demands of models didn’t unnerve her. They all had a job to do and at the end of the assignment they all had great shots in their portfolios. If they played the thorny card, Laine was at a level in her career when she could refuse to work with them again, and generally bad attitudes meant their careers were short-lived.

Laine loved what she did. It was that simple. She was a well-respected photographer and she never needed to look for work. Her name was synonymous with work in high-end magazines representing the finest fashion houses and most expensive jewellery lines, and recently she had completed an assignment on the Italian Riviera for an iconic sports-car company. Her portfolio was eclectic, with the most beautiful, timeless and cutting-edge photographs of any living photographer.

She had worked hard for everything she had achieved and no doctor from New South Wales with little or no knowledge of her profession was going to try and tell her what to do.

She was not little Melanie Phillips of Uralla. That young girl no longer existed. She was Laine Phillips, international photographer. She wasn’t about to be pushed around by any man, however handsome or crucial to her shoot.

‘So you’re styling the shoot tomorrow? Interesting premise.’ Laine took a deep breath and sat down cross-legged near the last of the bags she was packing. There was absolutely no way he would be making any decisions about tomorrow, other than his choice of cologne. She would dictate everything else about the shoot. It was her name and reputation on these photographs and that meant she was the one in control. Just as she had been about everything in her life for the last twelve years. No one took control from her hands. Ever.

‘If you think you can waltz into our town and lay down the law, you can think again.’ Pierce was not impressed with her desire to order him about. He wouldn’t tolerate it and he could make her stay increasingly difficult if she kept it up. She could take her arrogant, big-city outlook and hop straight back on a plane. ‘Don’t bring your condescending attitude here. I’m doing you a favour.’

‘Me a favour? You’re helping a charity, not me personally. And not doing a lot except taking off your clothes. Hardly a huge ask. So contrary to your suggestion about running things tomorrow I have bad news for you. The shoot will be done Laine’s way.’

Pierce eyed the stunning brunette who had just given him a serving. She certainly wasn’t a shrinking violet. She was a tiny dictator of sorts. A very beautiful dictator. He wondered for a moment why she wasn’t on the other side of the camera. Her flawless figure was evident in a tight white singlet top and faded blue jeans. She was a natural beauty with little, if any, make-up, yet she didn’t seem to fuss about her appearance. But he needed to forget how attractive she was and remember that she was telling him what to do—and he didn’t take kindly to that.

‘I can sit on a tractor on the McKenzies’ farm. No great planning needed. Country doctor, on a farm, on a tractor. Shoot done. Photo taken. It’s a wrap—isn’t that what they say?’

Laine rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe how little he valued or understood her craft. In his eyes, her livelihood was quickly and simply reduced to plonking a doctor on a tractor and taking a snap.

‘Perhaps you could just take a selfie with your phone and send it to me?’ Laine was not about to try and explain the process she undertook in planning and delivering a quality shoot to a man who had no idea. She continued zipping up the last of her bags.

‘I still don’t agree with the calendar idea,’ he remarked, choosing to ignore her sarcasm.

‘It’s a proven formula,’ she replied matter-of-factly. ‘Eligible shirtless men, with a bit of tweaking, become every woman’s fantasy.’

‘Tweaking?’ he asked, with a frown knitting his dark brows. ‘You are on a roll, aren’t you? Do you insult all of your subjects so matter-of-factly?’

Laine stopped what she was doing for a moment and looking at Pierce with a stoic expression replied, ‘It wasn’t an insult. It’s a fact. I edit photos to bring out the best and hide the flaws. Photography is often pure fantasy. I make the subject irresistible. Whether it’s a string of pearls, a leather handbag or an automobile that only two per cent of the population could actually afford to buy. I make it the most desirable possession. Something the consumer cannot live without. I make it shinier than it really is, more beautiful than it might be and in doing so turn it into the stuff of dreams.’

‘So it’s all smoke and mirrors?’ Pierce remarked. ‘No real shots for you. Nothing of any depth. Doesn’t really surprise me. It’s just about selling a product, full stop.’

‘And what gives you the right to say that? You know nothing about me,’ she retorted, getting back to her feet and facing him. ‘I love my gritty real shots, like photographing older people. I don’t remove a single line or make any changes. The character in faces that have seen hardship and joy in equal amounts are priceless. But if I’m contracted to make a product sell, then I will tweak until I can’t tweak any more!’