The Honourable Maverick

The Honourable Maverick

Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover

Title Page

Dear Reader

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Copyright

Dear Reader

OK. Personal confession time, here :-)

I’m one of those women who find certain tough, leather-clad men who ride powerful motorbikes irresistibly sexy.

Can this image be improved on?

I thought so. What if these men are also fabulously good-looking, highly intelligent, and capable of putting their lives on the line for the people they love?

For each other.

For children.

For their women.

These are my ‘bad boys’. Max, Rick and Jet. Bonded by a shared tragedy in the past, but not barred from a future filled with love.

Enjoy.

I certainly did :-)

With love

Alison

CHAPTER ONE

THE three men stood in close proximity.

Tall. Dark. Silent.

Clad in uniform black leather, motorbike helmets dangled from one hand. They each held an icy, uncapped bottle of lager in the other hand.

Moving as one, they raised the bottles and touched them together, the dull clink of glass a sombre note.

Speaking as one, their voices were equally sombre.

‘To Matt,’ was all they said.

They drank. A long swallow of amber liquid. Long and slow enough for each of them to reflect on the member of their group no longer with them. Cherished memories strengthened by this annual ritual but there was an added poignancy this year.

A whole decade had passed.

Two decades since the small band of gifted but under-challenged boys boarding at Greystones Grammar school had been labelled as ‘bad’.

The label had stuck even as the four of them had blitzed their way to achieving the top four places in the graduation year of their medical schooling.

But now there were only three ‘bad boys’ and the link between them had been tempered by the fires of hell.

Minimally depleted bottles were lowered but the silence continued. A tribute as reverent as could be offered to anything that earned the respect of these men.

The sharp knock at the door was inexcusably intrusive and more than one of the men muttered a low oath. They ignored the interruption but it came again, more urgently this time, and it was accompanied by a voice.

A female voice. A frightened one.

‘Sarah? Are you home? Oh, God…you have to be home. Open the door…Please…’

The men looked at each other. One shook his head in disbelief. One gave a resigned nod. The third— Max—moved to open the door.

Please, please…please…

Ellie squeezed her eyes tightly closed to hold back tears as she prayed silently, raising her hand to knock for the third time. What in God’s name was she going to do if Sarah wasn’t home?

It was enough to make her want to hammer on the door with both fists. Her arm moved with the weight of desperation only to find an empty space. Too late, Ellie realised the door was moving. Swinging open. It was all too easy to lose her balance these days and she found herself stumbling forward.

Staring at a black T-shirt under an unzipped, black leather biker’s jacket. An image flashed into her head. She’d passed a row of huge, powerful motorbikes parked outside this apartment block and she hadn’t thought anything of it.

Oh…God! She’d come to the wrong door and here she was, falling into a bikers’ den. A gang headquarters, maybe. A methamphetamine lab, even. Huge, powerful male hands were gripping her upper arms right now. Pulling her upright. Pulling her deeper into this dangerous den. Her heart skipped a beat and then gave a painful thump.

‘Let me go,’ she growled. ‘Get your hands off me.’

‘No worries.’ The sexy rumble from somewhere well above her head sounded…what…tired? Amused? ‘I’d just prefer you didn’t land flat on your face on my floor.’

It was a surprisingly polite thing for a gang member to say. Ellie could do polite, too.

‘I’ve made a mistake.’ She had to step forward again to get her balance. It helped to drop the small bag she’d been carrying to plant both her hands on the chest in front of her and push. Good grief, it felt like a brick wall. Ellie risked an upward glance, to find the owner of the chest looking down at her. Dark hair. Dark eyes that held a somewhat surprised expression. No tattoos, though. No obvious piercings. And didn’t he look a bit too clean to be part of a bikie gang?

She swung her head sideways and emitted a small squeak of dismay. There were two more of them. Staring at her. No, one was glaring. They were clad from head to toe in black leather. Jackets that were padded at the shoulders and elbows and tight pants that also had protective padding. Heavy boots. The gleam of zips and buckles might as well have been chains and knuckle-dusters. They were holding beer bottles. She had interrupted something and they weren’t happy. There didn’t seem to be quite enough air in this small room because there were three very large and potentially very dangerous men using it all up.

Ellie straightened to her full height, which was unfortunately only five feet three inches.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, as briskly as she could manage. ‘I’ve come to the wrong door. I’m looking for Sarah Prescott. I’ll…I’ll be going now.’

She turned back to the door only to find the first man blocking her escape route simply by standing there and filling the space. Ellie swallowed. Hard.

‘Look, I’m really sorry to have disturbed you.’ She inched sideways. Maybe she could squeeze past and get to the door. She might have to leave her bag behind but that didn’t matter.

The man didn’t appear to move but somehow the door was swinging shut behind him.

‘I…have to go,’ Ellie informed him. Dammit, she could hear the fear in the way her voice wobbled.

‘To find Sarah?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it urgent?’

‘Oh…yes.’ Ellie had no trouble making this assertion. She even nodded her head vigorously for emphasis.

‘Why?’

Ellie’s jaw dropped. As if she’d start telling a complete stranger about any of this. If she had the time, which she didn’t, why did he want to know anyway?

Lost for words, she stared up at this man.

‘It’s OK,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re safe here.’

How did he know that those were the words she needed to hear more than anything? How did she know with such conviction that she could believe him?

For another heartbeat Ellie simply kept staring.

And then she burst into tears.

The heavy, straight fringe of deep chestnut hair made her face seem fragile as Max stared down at it. He saw this woman’s fear and he saw the effect his words of reassurance had.

She let go.

She didn’t even know him but she trusted that she was safe. Now he could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. What had he been thinking?

And then those huge, hazel eyes filled with tears and he groaned inwardly. This was the last straw.

No. As he put his arms around this small, unwanted visitor and felt the firm bulge of her abdomen, which had been disguised by her baggy sweater, his heart sank even further.

Somehow, in the space of just a heartbeat or two, he’d offered protection to a woman who looked as though she was running from something. Or someone.

A very pregnant woman.

‘Max…’ The word was a warning. ‘What are you doing, man? She’s come to the wrong apartment, that’s all.’

‘No.’ Max held onto the body shaking with silent sobs and did his best to guide her towards the sofa. ‘Sarah Prescott was the previous tenant here. She took off to the States last week.’

‘What?’ Max felt a determined push against his chest that felt familiar. ‘No.’

Tears were scrubbed from her face and she gave a rather unladylike sniff. ‘She’s going on Friday. Tomorrow. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to go with her.’

‘She did go on Friday. Last Friday.’ Max sighed and let his gaze drop to the oversized sweater. ‘You really think they would have let you on an international flight? When are you due?’

Her mouth dropped open and he could see the wheels turning in her head. She realised he’d felt the shape of her body when he’d taken hold of her. A flush of colour stained pale cheeks but she said nothing.

Resentment at the intrusion into a private moment was long gone. Max could sense the spark of curiosity from the others now, albeit reluctantly, particularly on Jet’s part. But this was a damsel in distress. She needed help.

‘Come and sit down,’ Max suggested. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Ellie,’ she said, but didn’t move any closer to the sofa. ‘Ellie Peters.’

‘I’m Max. That’s Rick, who’s putting his helmet on the table over there, and this is Jet.’

That surprised her.

‘His real name is James,’ Max added. ‘But he’s always had a thing for flying and his hair’s really black, see?’

Ellie gave a slow nod as she flicked a cautious gaze towards the other men.

Rick was near the window now. ‘His hair’s only that colour ‘cause he dyes it,’ he said casually.

Jet’s snort told Rick he would pay for that comment later but Ellie’s lips twitched. Good. She was starting to relax. Maybe they could find out why it was she needed to find her absent friend so urgently, offer some advice to solve the problem and send her on her way. The others had to head away themselves very soon and they didn’t get together often enough to make sharing the last of this time a welcome prospect. No wonder Jet was looking so impatient.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Max offered Ellie. His gaze dropped automatically to the bulge of her sweater. So obvious now he’d felt it. Curiously, he could still feel it. As part of that body shaking with sobs she’d tried so hard to stifle. A shape that seemed to be imprinted on his own body. She was eyeing the beer bottles on the table. ‘I mean…water or something?’

‘Hate to break up the party,’ Rick drawled, ‘but there’s a guy on the street out here who seems rather interested in this apartment.’

Ellie’s indrawn breath was a gasp. She slid sideways, making sure she wasn’t in view. Closer to the wall now, she kept moving and peeped around the edge of the window frame.

‘Oh…no…’ The word was a groan. ‘It’s Marcus. I thought I’d lost him at the airport.’

‘And who is Marcus?’ Max stepped swiftly to look out of the window but the street below was deserted apart from a taxi and its driver.

‘He’s…um…He was my…’ Ellie seemed to be finding it difficult to find the description she wanted. ‘I was in a relationship with him. Briefly. It’s been…hard to get away.’

The underlying message was unmistakable. Max tried to curb the slash of anger. ‘He’s stalking you?’

‘Ah…kind of, I guess.’

‘Where have you come from?’

‘Today? Wellington. I think he must have hired a private investigator who picked up on my air-ticket purchase. He must have flown down from Auckland to be at the airport by the time I arrived.’

‘Auckland…of course…’ Rick snapped his fingers. ‘Thought the little weasel looked vaguely familiar.’

Everybody’s head swung in Rick’s direction. Max and Ellie spoke together.

‘You know him?’

‘Marcus Jones. Orthopaedic surgeon, yes?’

‘Y-yes,’ Ellie stammered, looking bewildered.

Rick addressed the others. ‘Had a little run-in with him when I was working in Auckland Central a few years back.’ The huff of expelled breath was not complimentary. ‘Guy with a nasty spinal tumour. I was keen to try a new approach. Risky but perfectly doable. Would have left him neurologically intact.’

The nod from Max and Jet accepted that Rick’s judgement would have been correct.

‘The weasel is persuasive. He talked the patient and his family into going with the standard protocol. Poor guy ended up quadriplegic and on a home ventilator. Probably dead by now.’

Max caught Jet’s raised eyebrow and nodded. ‘He follows the rules.’

‘Hell, he thinks he can make the rules,’ Rick said.

‘Does he, now?’ Max injected enough of an ominous tone into his query to earn approving glances from the other men. A glance at Ellie’s wide eyes revealed that she had no clue what the unspoken conversation going on here was about but it certainly wasn’t making her feel any more secure.

Should he take the time to tell her that one of the things that welded the three of them together was the shared conviction that sometimes some of the rules had to be broken? That they were all people who had no hesitation in doing exactly that if they considered it to be necessary?

He didn’t have the time. The rap on his door was far more demanding than Ellie’s knock had been.

‘Open the door.’ The owner of the voice was used to being in control. ‘I know you’re in there, Eleanor.’

Jet went to open the door.

‘No,’ Ellie breathed. ‘Please…’

Max and Rick moved to stand on either side of Ellie.

Max tilted his head. ‘He doesn’t sound like he’s going to go away without a little encouragement. You’re safe here, remember?’

‘Mmm.’ The sound was hesitant but hopeful. It tugged at something deep inside Max.

‘You’d like him to go away, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘For good?’

‘Oh…yes.’

Jet flung the door open.

‘About time.’ The small man in a pinstriped suit stepped into the apartment. ‘Come on, Eleanor. I’ve got a taxi waiting for us.’

Ellie said nothing. Max could see the way her lips trembled even though she had them pressed tightly together.

The newcomer took another step further inside and it was then that he seemed to notice Ellie’s companions. He looked over his shoulder at Jet, who had closed the door and was leaning against it, his arms folded and a menacing look on his face. Max almost grinned. No one could do menacing quite as well as Jet.

Rick earned a look then. And finally Max. Good thing they were all still in their leathers, having only just finished their annual road trip, which was part of their tribute to Matt. Even better that they were all at least six inches taller, considerably heavier and quite a lot younger than the dapper surgeon.

Marcus Jones cleared his throat. ‘Who are these people, Eleanor?’

Ellie remained silent. She looked remarkably like a small, wild animal caught in the glare of oncoming headlights, Max decided before flicking his gaze back to the most recent arrival.

He watched the way Marcus swallowed, revealing his discomfort. This man was a bully, he realised. The thought that he’d had the opportunity to bully the woman standing beside him was more than enough to fuel his simmering anger.

The surgeon spread his hands in a contrived gesture of appeal and directed his words to the men in the room. ‘Look, I don’t know what she’s told you but this is nothing more than a minor misunderstanding. Eleanor’s my fiancée. She’s pregnant with my child and I’ve come to take her home.’

Max felt Ellie sway slightly beside him. He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him. He glanced down and met her eyes. He saw a silent plea for protection that no red-blooded man could have resisted. Especially an angry one.

‘Funny,’ he heard himself say mildly, ‘Ellie told me the baby is mine, and you know what?’ He speared the stranger with his gaze. ‘I believe her.’

The silence was stunned and no wonder. Max was more than a little stunned himself by what he’d just said.

The baby is mine?

They were words he’d never expected to utter in his life and they were having a rather odd effect. Creating a weird tingle of something that felt curiously…pleasant. Good, even. They made him feel taller. More powerful.

Rick made a sound that could have been strangled laughter but was effectively disguised as a cough. Unseen by Marcus, Jet shook his head in disbelief and didn’t bother to hide his smirk.

Max drew himself up to his full six feet three inches and didn’t break his stare by so much as a blink.

‘Eleanor…’ Marcus narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you going to say something or just stand there like some kind of stuffed toy?’

Jet opened the door. ‘The lady doesn’t want to talk to you,’ he said politely. ‘Why don’t you play nice and get lost?’

‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ Marcus snapped. ‘I happen to be the top surgeon in the orthopaedic department of Auckland Central Hospital. I don’t care what kind of gang you belong to. Get in my way and you’ll regret it.’

‘What are you going to do to us?’ Rick said softly. ‘Botch some surgery perhaps and leave us to suffer on a ventilator for the rest of our lives?’

‘What did you say?’ The stare Rick received now was intense enough to send a prickle down Max’s spine. This man was dangerous. He tightened his hold on Ellie. ‘Good God…I don’t believe it. You’re that upstart neurology registrar who thought he knew more than I did.’

‘It was a few years ago,’ Rick reminded him. ‘I’m actually a neurosurgical consultant these days.’

‘And I’m an emergency medicine consultant,’ Max informed him. ‘Your status isn’t helping you much here, mate.’

‘I’m on an ED locum run while I’m in town,’ Jet murmured. ‘But I’m usually a medic with the SAS. Your threats don’t hold much water, either.’

Max heard Ellie’s sharp intake of breath. Had she really thought they were gang members, too? She’d still trusted him, though, hadn’t she?

He liked that.

Whatever was going through her head, she seemed to be feeling braver.

‘Go away, Marcus,’ she said. ‘I told you a very long time ago that I never wanted to see you again.’

Marcus Jones was looking less and less sure of himself. He shifted his feet and glanced over his shoulder at the open door behind him.

‘She’s with me now,’ Max added for good measure. ‘My woman. My baby.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Now get the hell out of here and don’t come back. Ever.’

They all watched from the window as Marcus Jones scrambled into the waiting taxi and left.

Rick chuckled. ‘Nice one, Max.’

Jet shook his head yet again. ‘Yeah…you certainly pulled a good rabbit out of the hat. Gotta love you and leave you, though, man. It’s getting late.’

‘Sure is.’ Rick was reaching for his helmet. ‘Gotta go, too, mate. We’ll catch up soon.’

‘But…’ The ground was shifting under Max’s feet. His mates were about to desert him and Ellie was still here. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

His friends knew perfectly well they were dropping him in it. They were enjoying it, for God’s sake. Grinning broadly, even.

Max walked to the door with them, doing his best to think of some way he could beg them to stay without becoming the brunt of their mirth for years to come. They were having none of it. Rick thumped him on the arm.

‘You’ll think of something,’ he said. ‘Hey…your woman, remember? Your baby.’

He could hear the echo of their laughter even well after the door closed behind them.

CHAPTER TWO

THE throaty roar of powerful bikes faded but Ellie could still feel the reverberations.

Or was she still shaking from the face-to-face encounter with Marcus Jones?

Unbidden, her legs took her to one of the chairs around a table and she sank down onto it. Her worst fear had been realised. Marcus had found her. He knew she was pregnant and sounded absolutely confident that the baby was his.

But she had won. Not completely, of course. Her legs were probably still shaky because she knew he wouldn’t give up this easily but she had won this round thanks to a most unlikely team of dark, leather-clad angels. They were, without doubt, the most impressive array of masculinity she’d ever been this close to and they had stood up for her.

Protected her.

Sent Marcus Jones scurrying away with his tail between his legs.

He wouldn’t like that.

The tiny smile Ellie had been quite unaware of, as she had thought of her guardian angels in action, faded abruptly.

‘You OK?’ A chair scraped on the tiled area of the floor as Max took a seat at the other end of the table. He pushed a black, full-faced helmet to one side, where it clunked against the trio of beer bottles.

‘I’m fine.’ The sound had caught Ellie’s attention. ‘I’m sorry I interrupted your party.’

The corner of Max’s mouth lifted. ‘Hey, if it had been a party there’d be a damn sight more than three lager bottles left over and they’d be empty, what’s more.’ He rubbed at his face. ‘No…this was…a toast, that’s all. A token one at that thanks to the guys having to work tonight. It’s a bit of an annual ritual, I guess.’ His voice softened into a sadness that tugged at Ellie’s heart. ‘An anniversary.’

She had been watching his face as he spoke. Such serious lines…His eyes were dark brown—a match for wavy hair that looked like it had been squashed under that helmet for some time. The odd, wayward end of a curl was valiantly poking out here and there, giving him a rather charmingly dishevelled look that was enhanced by the faint shadowing of his jaw.

She watched his fingers as he rubbed the uncompromising line of that jaw. Funny, but she could almost feel the catch of stubble on her own fingers. Just a little rough. As though he usually shaved at least once a day but hadn’t bothered on this particular occasion.

He had shadows under his eyes too and lines that looked emotional rather than age related. He couldn’t be much older than her. No more than his mid-thirties. The echo of his tone lingered.

‘Not a happy anniversary?’ The query was tentative. It was none of her business, after all, but she owed this man something. Rather a lot, actually, and if he wanted to talk about whatever was on his mind, the least she could do was take the time to listen.

He was watching her now. Warily. Then his gaze slid sideways and he sighed.

‘There used to be four of us,’ he said simply. ‘See?’

He was indicating a silver framed photograph that had pride of place on the bookshelf beneath the window. Four young men, probably in their early twenties, were lined up in front of four gleaming motorbikes. They all wore leathers and held a helmet under one arm and they were all grinning. The picture was resonant with the thrill of being alive and young and with the promise the future held. Ellie recognised Max and Rick and the one with the odd name—Jet. The fourth man was shorter than the others and had wildly curly hair. He looked younger. As though he was out with his big brothers.

‘Matthew died ten years ago today.’

‘Oh…’ Ellie stole this opportunity to let her gaze rest on his face again. The bond between the three men when they’d decided to protect her had been unmistakable. He was capable of caring very deeply for others, this man. He still cared about a member of their group who had been dead for ten years. He was also capable of very deep loyalty.

Heavens, he’d been prepared to protect her—a complete stranger. No wonder her instincts had told her so convincingly that he could be trusted.