Born A Hero

PROFILE

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another month of hot—in every sense of the word—reading, books just made to match the weather. I hardly even have to mention Suzanne Brockmann and her TALL, DARK & DANGEROUS miniseries, because you all know that this author and these books are utterly irresistible. Taylor’s Temptation features the latest of her to-die-for Navy SEALs, so rush right down to your bookstore and pick up your own copy, because this book is going to be flying off shelves everywhere.

To add to the excitement this month, we’re introducing a new six-book continuity called FIRSTBORN SONS. Award-winning writer Paula Detmer Riggs kicks things off with Born a Hero. Learn how these six heroes share a legacy of protecting the weak and standing up for what’s right—and watch as all six find women who belong in their arms and their lives.

Don’t miss the rest of our wonderful books, either: The Seduction of Goody Two-Shoes, by award-winning Kathleen Creighton; Out of Nowhere, by one of our launch authors, Beverly Bird; Protector with a Past, by Harper Allen; and Twice Upon a Time, by Jennifer Wagner.

Finally, check out the back pages for information on our “Silhouette Makes You A Star” contest. Someone’s going to win—why not you?

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Born A Hero

Paula Detmer Riggs

MILLS & BOON

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To Matthew Detmer Riggs, our firstborn—and a loving, decent man with a soft heart and the soul of a poet. We love you dearly.

Bound by the legacy of their fathers, six Firstborn Sons are about to discover the stuff true heroes—and true love—are made of….

Dr. Elliot Hunter: This life-hardened Firstborn Son is called to duty after a terrorist bombing. Now he is passionately joining forces with the woman he once loved.

Dr. Katherine Remson: When this top-notch pediatric surgeon takes on this crucial assignment, she finds herself spending her days—and her nights—with the commanding man from her past….

Baby Alexa: This eight-month-old baby girl was pulled from the rubble, but what is the fate of her parents?

Dr. Gordon Hunter: On the verge of retiring, he’s called on Elliot to take on this important mission. But he hasn’t told his firstborn son everything….

King Marcus Sebastiani of Montebello: The bitter feud between King Marcus Sebastiani of Montebello and Sheik Ahmed Kamal of Tamir is escalating. Especially now that the heirs to both thrones are missing—and a forbidden love affair has been unveiled…

A note from author Paula Detmer Riggs, author of over twenty-five Silhouette books:

Dear Reader,

Six firstborn sons, six irresistible men who were once adorable little boys with scraped knees, grimy faces and boundless energy—what a terrific premise for a series! At least I thought so, which is why I jumped at the opportunity to introduce you to one of these larger-than-life heroes.

Elliot Hunter is a man hardened into bitter cynicism by the tragic loss of his wife and son. Once a charming rogue with an irresistible grin, he is now a surly loner, cut off by his own choice from his family and friends. A skilled surgeon with Medics Without Limits, he has saved countless lives and healed countless others, but seems powerless to heal himself.

As I wrote his story, I found myself thinking of my own firstborn son who had once suffered a similar tragedy—the loss of his son. Like Elliot, he’d once been a happy-go-lucky rogue with a heart-melting smile, a mischievous charmer laughing his way through life—and if truth were told, often a bit too insensitive to the feelings of friends and family. Dealing with such all-encompassing pain changed him, as suffering invariably does.

Readers familiar with my work know that this is a recurring theme running through nearly all of my books. Why? Because I firmly believe life constantly tests all of us in both large and small ways. The way we deal with those trials is, to me, a telling measure of a person’s character. In this story, Elliot comes very close to losing his way—and then Katherine Remson returns to his life. As she holds up a mirror and makes him see the man he’s become, he is forced to make the most important decision of his life.

Will he choose to step from the frozen darkness of grief into the sunshine represented by her love or remain trapped in a prison of his own making? As his story unfolded, I laughed and cried and truly wanted to brain that stubborn hunk with his own stethoscope. In the end, though, I fell in love with him right along with Katherine. I hope you will, as well.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

Climbing out of the limousine, Dr. Katherine Remson decided she had stepped through the looking glass and followed Alice into Wonderland.

A mere sixteen hours ago she’d received an urgent phone call from Dr. Gordon Hunter to report to Montebello to assist the medical staff in a crucial rescue mission. Now here she was, before the Royal Montebellan Hotel, delivered by one of King Marcus Sebastiani’s chauffeurs.

Located on a spectacular beach on the leeward side of the city, the hotel was an impressive granite edifice of a dozen stories, the facade reminiscent of the turn of the century hotels in the world’s great cities during the Gilded Age. Prominently displayed over the entrance on a gleaming brass pole, the white-black-and-gold flag of Montebello hung limp in the humid night air.

In the spacious foyer between two sets of large plateglass doors, airport-type security had been set up, and a short line had formed. Although the sharp-eyed men in the uniform of the Royal Montebellan Palace Guard were polite, even bantering with those waiting, the large pistols secured to trim waists were a grim reminder that evil in the form of senseless violence had come to the halcyon island kingdom.

A bomb had gone off in a civilian square, destroying one building completely and trapping an unknown number of people inside. The whole city was in an uproar as rescue workers rushed to save them.

Kate’s chauffeur, Arturo, a craggy, quietly imposing man in his forties, was clearly known to the guards, who, after a quiet word from him, allowed her to pass without having to wait in line.

“My family is most grateful for your kindness, Doctor,” one of the guards told her quietly as the chauffeur escorted her past the X-ray equipment.

“Paolo’s cousin Maximo is the chef at Leonardo’s, a restaurant in the building that was destroyed by the bomb,” Arturo murmured as they passed the concierge’s desk. “He has not yet been rescued.”

“I am so sorry,” she said, her chest thick with emotion. During the flight, the young steward had told her of the shock and anger that had raced through Montebello at the news of the bombing. It wasn’t just an appalling tragedy to the majority of the city’s citizens, it was also an intensely personal one, since Montebello was a land of large and interconnecting families.

As Arturo led her past a series of large marble pillars, she felt a sense of unease hanging over the opulent lobby like a pall, dulling the glittering marble-and-gilt surroundings like a thin layer of tarnish.

The curved, marble reception desk was busy. Four dark-haired, dark-eyed female clerks in trim maroon blazers and gray skirts projected an air of efficiency and calm, but most of the people lined up at the desk were clearly anxious to check out.

The chauffeur surveyed the situation with a slight frown before leading Kate to a spot next to one of the soaring marble pillars flanking the desk. “If you would be so kind as to wait here, Dr. Remson, I will facilitate your check-in.” Though he spoke perfect English, it was flavored with a charming Italian lilt that had been shared by everyone she’d met so far.

“I don’t mind waiting in line,” she assured him, even as her tired body yearned for a soft bed and cool sheets.

“Nevertheless, I will have a word with the hotel manager.” He set her bags at her feet before disappearing through a door behind the desk.

Five minutes later she found herself in an elevator with both the chauffeur and the manager himself, a Signor Francetti, who reminded her of an older, stockier Robert De Niro.

“This floor is reserved exclusively for foreign dignitaries and guests of the royal family,” he said as the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor.

Kate caught her breath as she stepped into the spacious elevator atrium to find herself in what her tired brain wanted to call museum chic. Paintings in ornate gilt frames lined walls covered with what appeared to be authentic watered silk of palest ivory. Her brand-new sandals—little more than a couple of wispy ostrich-skin straps and a thin leather sole—sank a good inch into the pile of the rich maroon carpeting. With each step she took, she expected a security guard to rush out from the shadows to warn her not to touch the priceless old masters. The very air seemed rarified, scented, she guessed by a combination of citrus and rose petals.

After they’d walked what seemed like a good quarter mile, the manager stopped in front of the second door from the end on the left. “We’ve put Dr. Hunter next door,” he said as he inserted the key card.

“Dr. Hunter is here?” she questioned as he opened the door, then stepped back to allow her to precede him.

Signor Francetti nodded. “He arrived late this afternoon and went directly to the hospital after checking in.”

“I’m surprised he got here so quickly,” she said as she walked into the room. Four steps later, she stopped dead. Instead of a room, she’d been given a suite the likes of which she’d never seen outside of Architectural Digest, which her mother subscribed to.

“This can’t all be for me,” she murmured, glancing around at the cozy living room-like setting. Through an open door to her left she saw a bedroom with a bed as large as her office in her clinic in San Francisco.

“His Majesty is most grateful for your assistance,” Signor Francetti hastened to assure her. “He insists that you want for nothing while you are our guest. We have arranged to house Arturo in the hotel as well, so that he will be at your disposal. When you require his services, you have only to call down to the front desk.”

“Oh, but I can take a cab—”

“No, Doctor,” Arturo spoke up with surprising firmness. “You are too valuable to the people of Montebello to take that kind of risk.”

Kate blinked. “Are you saying this bombing might not be an isolated incident?”

The chauffeur shrugged. “If His Majesty’s sworn enemy, Sheik Ahmed Kamal of Tamir, is behind this, he will not stop until he has embroiled us all in war. Word has it that he intends to take Montebello by force.”

Kate was dumbfounded. “War? You mean with tanks and smart bombs and scud missiles?”

The men exchanged grim looks. “It’s possible,” the manager replied, “although, of course, we have faith that His Majesty will find a way to avoid further bloodshed—at least that of our people.”

“You need not worry for your own safety, Doctor,” Arturo hastened to add. “Every measure possible has been taken to make sure you and your fellow volunteers are not injured.”

“In the meantime, whatever you require, you need only ask,” Francetti assured her.

Kate took a deep breath. She might have stepped through the looking glass, but she was here to work around the clock to save lives, not indulge herself in luxury. “At the moment all I require is a cool shower and an hour’s nap to shake some of this jet lag,” she said as she dropped her leather backpack onto the nearest chair. “After that, I, too, would like to see the hospital.”

An hour later the elaborate clock radio on the bedside table woke her from a deep sleep. Her senses still fuzzy, she slipped from the warm, lavender scented sheets and padded barefoot into the sinfully opulent bathroom, where an outrageously sexy tub fashioned of a solid block of black marble beckoned.

Feeling a lot like Cleopatra before she did the snake thing, Kate adjusted the gold taps to one notch below scalding, added a scoop of deliciously scented bath beads, then stripped out of her new underwear. Her drowsiness slowly turned to a decadent lethargy, tempting her to linger, but the images she’d seen on TV were a vivid reminder that she was here to work, not shamelessly indulge herself.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in one of her new wraparound skirts, silk camp shirt and strappy sandals, she was slipping her favorite surgical clogs into her tote bag when she heard water running next door.

A smile curved her lips at the thought of seeing Dr. Hunter again. Next to her father, her good friend Sarah’s dad was her favorite male. Kate hadn’t seen him since he and his wife Helena threw Sarah a surprise birthday party last February.

When the sound of the shower ceased, she glanced at the phone, then decided to say a quick hello in person before calling for Arturo. After running through a mental checklist of all the articles she might need at the hospital, and finding she’d forgotten nothing, she slung her tote over one shoulder and pocketed the key card Signor Francetti had left on the breakfast bar.

Quiet elegance welcomed her again as she left her suite to rap on the door next door. Her lips already curving, she waited a few beats, then knocked again, louder this time.

“Hang on, I’m coming,” a muffled—and decidedly irritated—male voice called from within. An instant later the door opened, and she found herself looking directly at a man’s muscular, broad-shouldered, bare chest.

Water droplets glistened in a ragged triangle of golden chest hair spread over superbly developed pectoral muscles. Below a corded midriff, a dark blue towel was slung low on narrow hips, held in place by one large hand wearing a wide golden wedding band.

Acutely embarrassed, she reluctantly lifted her gaze to the man’s face. Stretched taut over sharp bones and hollowed planes, his skin had a patina of bronze from a burned-in tan. Heavy blond stubble added harsh texture to a jaw that was decidedly square. Deep lines framed a mouth that was well-shaped, but set in bitter lines.

“Well?” he demanded impatiently, and from beneath sun-bleached brows, green eyes fringed with brush-thick golden lashes bored into hers.

Her first reaction was hurt that Sarah’s dad would deliberately omit to mention that Elliot was one of the doctors he’d been contacting. Her second was a wild—and wholly unexpected—joy at seeing her first love again.

“I…when Signor Francetti said Dr. Hunter was next door, I naturally assumed it was your father.”

Suspicion tightened the muscles around eyes that she saw now were badly bloodshot. “You know my father?”

“Well, of course I—” She broke off when she realized he was still glaring at her as though she were some kind of rudely aggressive stranger. “Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it,” she said with a choked laugh. “That makeover must have really done a job.”

His gaze narrowed to a near squint, then turned dangerously impatient. “Look, lady, I have a raging headache and a real short tolerance for riddles. In two seconds I’m closing this door, so if you have something to say to me, get to it, or go the hell away.”

Heat suffused her face and her breath hitched. “You rude, self-involved…jerk! I can’t believe I once thought you were the kindest person I’d ever met.”

His mouth twisted into a sardonic sneer. “Maybe that ‘didn’t we meet someplace before’ baloney works on some guys, honey, but I’m damned sure I would remember a hot little number like you.”

A hot little number? Of all the unmitigated gall! And yet the purely female part of her psyche felt a little thrill. Her last semiboyfriend had dropped her after three dates because he considered her a cold fish.

“A thousand dollars donated to charity says we have indeed met—and more than once,” she retorted with a new recklessness that both frightened and exhilarated her.

Disgust deepened the bitter lines bracketing his mouth and made his deep voice raspy. “You’ve got a talent for bluffing, I’ll give you that.”

It cost her, but she lifted her chin and offered him a taunting smile. “Oh, I get it, you’re as chintzy as you are rude.”

A dark and savage emotion flared in his eyes. She refused to step back, though the protective instincts in her reptilian brain had already tensed her muscles and shot a hot bolus of adrenaline into her system.

At twenty-one Elliot’s body had been a magnificent example of well-conditioned, superbly developed male anatomy. A twelve on the hunkability scale she and Sarah had worked up during a sleepover in their sophomore year—not that Sarah had agreed, of course, but a sister couldn’t be expected to be objective.

Now, at thirty-one, he seemed taller and far more muscular and a thousand times more formidable. She locked her knees and forbade herself to show fear. Or anything else, for that matter.

“Five thousand to the San Sebastian Victims Relief Fund says we’ve never laid eyes on one another,” he challenged in a voice that had gone even harsher, though she would have thought that impossible.

Oh, she was going to enjoy this, she thought in a burst of anticipatory pleasure.

“Done,” she declared before she lost her nerve. In fact, some imp inside her prompted her to extend her hand. “Shall we shake on it, Doctor?”

He hesitated, then removed his right hand from the doorjamb where it had served to prop him up. He had beautiful hands, his long fingers supple and sensitive, his wrists thick with muscle, his grip strong enough to hold a scalpel steady for long, painstaking hours. As his fingers curled around hers, she noticed that his wide palm was rimmed with calluses that hadn’t been there ten years ago.

The inner shiver caused by the friction of his skin against hers was expected. After all, the last time he’d touched her had been in the heat of passion, and the body remembered, even when the mind forgot.

“Ball’s in your court, lady,” he challenged as the handshake ended. “Where exactly was it we met, you and I?”

He was crowding her now, looming over her in a blatant display of masculine arrogance. Strong scents of soap, mint toothpaste and wet, angry male teased her nostrils. Her senses wobbled a little before she regained control.

“Actually, I’m not really sure, but…” She paused, deliberately prolonging her private exhilaration.

“I thought so, you little—”

“…but my mother told me once that your mom brought you next door to see me a few days after I was born. Of course, I doubt you would remember that, since you were practically a baby yourself. I certainly don’t. What I do remember, however, is crashing my new red trike into the plum tree in your backyard one Christmas morning, then screaming bloody murder when you offered to sew up the cut on my chin with your mom’s petit point needle. I think I was four at the time, which would have made you five.”

Shock splintered his eyes. His gaze narrowed, skimmed like lightning to her toes, then moved slowly upward until it zeroed in on her face. Holding her breath, she watched recognition settle into those familiar eyes, followed by something very like guilt.

“My God! Katie? Is it really you?” Now his voice was rough, as though forced through a constricted throat.

Ah, revenge truly was sweet, she thought, her lips forming her coolest smile, the one she’d practiced in front of the mirror for weeks before trying it out on smugly superior male colleagues during her residency.

“That’s Dr. Remson to you, Doctor.” She felt a rush of pure vindication. “You can leave the receipt for the donation with the desk clerk.”

Feeling empowered and deliciously militant for the first time in her life, she turned and stalked off, her sandals slapping the carpet with each proudly furious step.

Behind her she heard an angry curse, followed by the unmistakable sounds of pounding footsteps. She quickened her pace, but refused to sprint.

“Stop running away, damn it,” he all but growled in her ear a split second before he grabbed her arm and, with an ease that infuriated her, jerked her to a halt.

Her leather soles slipped on the carpet’s thick pile and she skidded sideways. Her hip collided with his hard thigh before she found her footing. He jerked back as though scalded. The towel flipped open, exposing one muscular thigh and, for a brief instant, more intimate parts of his anatomy.

A sizzling heat started in the vicinity of her throat and melted downward to pool in the intimate parts of her anatomy. God, was she actually panting?

Scrambling to regain her dignity, she straightened her spine and glared at him. “Let me go, or I’ll scream so loud the king himself will hear me,” she ordered through a stiff jaw.

“Not unless you promise to listen!” His grip eased, but his hand remained coiled around her arm. For all his good-natured affability, Elliot had a stubborn streak as unyielding as tempered steel.