Waking Up

with His

Runaway Bride

Louisa George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader

Thank you for picking up my second Mills and Boon® Medical™ Romance!

This story is set mostly in Atanga Bay, a fictional place north-east of Auckland, in New Zealand’s north island. Along this coastline there are many small townships of thriving communities, each with its own identity and appeal. Since I emigrated to this wonderful country ten years ago I never tire of visiting them.

Atanga is the Maori word for beautiful, and the place I’ve created is indeed that. With gorgeous views, a flourishing community and a sense of peace, it is the place from which Mim draws strength to fulfil her dreams. It is also the place where she retreated to lick her wounds after a failed engagement.

For committed city-dweller Connor, Atanga Bay is a challenge—but meeting his ex-fiancée there provides even more problems.

This story is about letting go of the past and creating a future full of hope despite the odds. At times both Connor and Mim struggle against this, but their journey to love is also filled with fun and laughter.

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Drop me a line at louisageorgeauthor@gmail.com or visit me at www.louisageorge.com

Happy reading!

Louisa x

To Sue MacKay and Iona Jones, writing pals,

roomies and very dear friends.

Thank you for your support, advice and laughs.

To my amazing editor, Flo Nicoll. Thank you for your

patience, your wisdom and your belief in me!

This book is for my sister, Liz Skelton. I love you.

CHAPTER ONE

‘NO WAY! I am not trying to impress him. Absolutely not! That would be cheap and tacky, and I don’t do either. How could you think such a thing?’

Mim McCarthy peered down from the top of the wobbly stepladder perched precariously on the desk and laughed at her colleague’s suggestion. Even though she’d hit the nail squarely on the head.

Then she daubed a second coat of paint over the stubborn Tasmania-shaped stain on the ceiling. ‘I just thought it was time to say goodbye to Tassie.’

Skye, the practice nurse-manager, gripped the ladder in one hand and offered up the paint-pot in the other. ‘So it’s totally coincidental that you decided to tart up the admin office on the same day the Matrix Fund assessor arrives?’

‘Okay, you got me.’ Mim raised her brush in defeat as her grin widened. ‘Lord knows why I employed someone almost as devious as me. You’re right, I’ll do anything to get this funding. We need the money to pay for the planned renovations and develop the practice, or …’

‘It’s …?’ The practice nurse did a chopping motion across her throat. ‘Goodbye to Dana’s Drop-In? No, Mim. Never. Your patients wouldn’t let that happen. They need you.’

‘I wouldn’t let it come to that. I’ll sell my soul to the bank manager. Again.’ Mim sucked in a fortifying breath. ‘I’m afraid I’m running out of soul.’

No drop-in centre would mean hours of travel for her community to the closest medical centre and the end of a dream for her. The dream that locked in the promises she’d made to her mum. No way would she give that up.

Mim was anything but a quitter. Doing the hard yards as the quirky outsider at med school had taught her how to fight for everything she wanted. That, and the legacy of her unconventional childhood. She’d learnt pretty quickly to rely on no one but herself. Ever. ‘A quick slick of paint will brighten the place up. And conceal the fact we have a mysterious leak. Pray it doesn’t rain for the next week.’

‘Forecast is good. Nothing but blue skies and late summer sun.’ Skye wrinkled her pierced nose. ‘Good job you bought low-odour paint—wouldn’t want the assessor to be savvy to the ruse.’

‘Well, if you can’t win, cheat.’

Skye frowned. ‘Another famous Dana saying?’

‘Unfortunately. Not quite up there with inspirational go-get-’em quotes, but apt, and very Dana.’

There were plenty of them. In her infrequent sober moments Mim’s mother had been adorable and well intentioned, always spouting wisecracks. Not always about cheating. Some were about love too, about keeping family close. And your dealers closer.

Mim winked at her partner in crime. ‘I know the assessor from my intern days. Dr Singh is a sweetie. This assessment will be in the bag. We’ll wow him with our refreshing approach to community medicine.’

Touchingly loyal, Skye smiled and nodded briskly. ‘If anyone can wow him, Mim, you can. You’ve transformed this place already. You just need a lucky break.’

‘I know. We were bursting at the seams at yesterday’s baby clinic. I think we’re finally getting the message through. And the open-all-hours policy helps.’ Even if her extended days were half killing her. Pride in her achievement of getting the locals to trust the McCarthy name again fuelled her determination.

She brushed her fringe from her forehead with the back of her wrist and stepped gingerly down the ladder. Standing on the desk, she strained up at the white paint patch. ‘Shame everything in life isn’t so easy to gloss over. Now the rest of the ceiling needs repainting.’

‘And the rest of the clinic.’ Pointing to the chipped window-panes and scuffed walls, Skye shrugged. ‘We haven’t time, he’s due in thirty minutes. To be honest, paint is the least of our problems.’

Tell me about it. But she wasn’t about to burden her best mate with the harsh reality of the clinic’s financial problems. ‘We’ve just got to get Dr Singh on side.’

‘Ooh, I do love a challenge.’ Skye placed Mim’s proffered paintbrush on top of the paint-pot, then she rubbed her hands together. ‘Okay. How shall we handle it? You take the bribery? I’ll do the corruption?’

‘No! I’d get struck off! But … on the other hand …’ Mim giggled, then stuck one hand on her cocked hip. She raised the hem of her knee-length skirt to her thigh and wiggled her bum suggestively. A move she’d learnt from her salsa DVD—Spanish, sultry and super-sexy. ‘If we want to influence a man, how about good old-fashioned women’s wicked ways?’

‘Ahem.’

At the sound of the man’s purposeful cough Mim’s breath stalled somewhere in her chest.

Excellent. Just dandy. Sexy salsa? On her desk?

With burning cheeks she dropped the hem, slicked on her most accommodating smile and swivelled slowly to face Dr Singh. Trying desperately to cover her embarrassment. ‘And then, Skye, you shimmy to the left … Ohmygod.’

As she caught a clear view of their visitor her heart stalled along with her lungs. Jolts of awareness and pain and excitement slammed through her veins. Heat and ice clashed in her gut. So not Dr Singh.

She gasped for oxygen and whispered his name on a jittery breath. ‘Connor? Connor. What are you …?’

Framed in the doorway, filling the space, three years older, three years more distinguished in an expensive designer suit, and with three years’ worth of questions simmering behind cool liquorice eyes, stood Connor Wiseman.

Here?

Why? Why today when she was up to her eyeballs in assessors? Why this millennium?

The years had been kind to him, he’d grown into those sharp cheekbones. Casual bed hair. And, God, those darkest grey eyes searching her face. No trace of the flecks of honey that had heated her and held her captive. Cold onyx.

He stepped into the tiny room. His presence, a stark study of monochrome against what now felt like the garish colours of her office, was commanding and alluring. Every part of him screamed of success. Just like she remembered.

His mouth curled into a sardonic smile as he spoke, ‘Well, I guess the mystery of my runaway fiancée has finally been solved. I’ll call off the search party.’

‘Yeah, right. Wouldn’t have taken Sherlock two minutes to find me.’ If anyone had bothered to look.

Clearly she had hurt him.

That much had been obvious by his prolonged silence. But it was accentuated now by the anger glittering in those dark eyes, even after all these years. Uber-successful guys like Connor weren’t used to rejection, so it would have cut deep to be thrown aside by someone very definitely not of his pedigree.

And now, on top of everything else, God only knew what he thought about her early morning silly burlesque performance. Judging by the fixed set of his close-shaven jaw, very little.

She sucked in her stomach, thrust her shoulders back and stepped down from the desk, wishing she’d chosen something more impressive to wear than her favourite jumper and skirt ensemble. Hoping against fading hope that old and washed out was the new demure.

‘I was very clear, Connor. I called, but you refused to speak to me. And I said, in my goodbye note, that Atanga Bay is my home. This is where I will always choose to live.’

‘And now finally I get a chance to see what was so much better than Auckland.’ The top of his lip twitched then tightened back into a thin line. He glanced at the overstuffed cushions, the tumbling piles of paperwork, the brightly coloured, mismatched family-friendly atmosphere she’d tried to create in her beloved ramshackle clinic. ‘Is this a heritage property? Or just plain old?’

‘It might not be up to your swanky city standards, but it’s mine. I’m updating it. Slowly. It’s a work in progress.’

‘Oh, so post-modern?’ His lips tweaked to a one-cornered grin as he surveyed the white on a sea of fading yellow.

‘Under construction,’ she fired back as she straightened her spine even further. Damn him, Connor’s ability to rile her clearly hadn’t abated after all these years. She would not let him get the better of her. Where was her super-fast wit when she needed it? Playing hooky with her fabulous financial acumen and supermodel looks. ‘And I love it here.’

‘I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted. Lots to do …’ Skye scurried out of the room, taking the stepladder and paint-pot with her.

Mim watched her ally leave and ached to go with her. In the dark hours she’d imagined this reunion moment so many times. Planned what she’d say, how he’d react. But never had she imagined this intense pain in her chest. Or the mind-numbing paralysis of being in the same room as him again. She rubbed her hands down her skirt and looked up into his face. She knew it intimately, every curve, every plane. The face that stalked her dreams with alarming regularity even after three years.

And now he was here. What to say to the man you ran out on the night before your engagement party? Even if it was the most misguided, precipitous engagement in the universe.

‘S-so, are you j-just passing through?’ Hoping the blush on her cheeks and the irritatingly stammered words wouldn’t give her away, Mim grabbed for nonchalance. ‘A social call?’

‘I’m here on business.’

‘Oh, yes, business. Naturally.’ For some reason her stomach knotted. So he wasn’t here to see her. Of course not. Why would he? And why did it matter? Three years should have been been ample time to get over her all-consuming first, and last, love.

She breathed the knot away. ‘There’s a new development at Two Rivers, I guess? But there’s nothing medical going in there. Just houses, I think.’

‘I don’t know. I’ve only just seen the place, but it’s not a bad idea. Food for thought.’ He looked out the window with a quizzical expression. Eyebrows peaked, clearly impressed at what he saw. Out there at least. How could he not be? The wide sweeping ocean and pristine white sands of Atanga Bay were breathtaking. ‘Got potential.’

Understatement of the year. ‘Pure Wiseman. Take a beautiful vista and reduce it to money. Your father would be proud.’

‘Somehow I doubt that.’ His hands curled round the handle of his briefcase, the knuckles showing white. She’d forgotten his relationship with his father was based on business rather than familial ties.

She forced a smile. ‘I meant identifying potential. You always were good at that.’

‘But not you, it seems.’

‘I stand by my decisions.’ Three years and a lot of dried-up tears ago they’d believed they’d had potential. A dynamic force in the face of his father’s hostility. The regular rich guy and the kooky girl out to take on the world. If only for their very different dreams for the future, which she’d been unable to overcome.

But she’d never forgotten him. She wished her life had encompassed more of him, wished her mother—or rather, her mother’s illness—hadn’t bled away her ability to trust anyone. But there it was, a woman with a furious dependency had bred a child with fierce independence. Not to mention a deep suspicion of coercion, controlling men and hollow promises.

She pointed to the development over on the hill. ‘Fifty houses going up, should bring in more patients. I hope. I could do with them.’

‘Problems?’

‘Nothing I can’t deal with.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. You always were. With or without me. You were never afraid of tackling things head on. Apart from when it mattered.’

‘Like you’d have listened.’

‘Like I had a chance.’ He turned briefly to face her. Granite. Immovable. That steadfastness had been one of the things that had drawn her to him. And one of the reasons she’d left. Immovable might have bordered on criminally sexy, but not when it trampled over her dreams.

Brushing over the brutal loaded statement about their past, and the unanswered questions zipping in the air between them, Mim glanced at her watch. She didn’t have time to tackle this, or a painful trip down memory lane. Or anywhere that involved Connor, her bleak past history of failed relationships or a distraction from her current path.

Where was Dr Singh? It didn’t bode well that he was late. She stuck out her hand to wish Connor on his way. ‘I’m not sure why you’re here but, as you can see, I’m busy. I have a meeting right about now. So perhaps we could catch up another time?’ In another three decades? Millennia?

‘I have business here, at Dana’s Drop-In. I’m from the health board. Matrix Fund.’ He stuck a black and white business card into her outstretched hand. The interest in his eyes was replaced by something akin to amusement. No doubt at her flustering and her predicament. ‘Seems we’ve come full circle, Mim. Only this time I’m in your space, ruffling feathers.’

‘The health board? You followed your father and gave up medicine?’

‘I just moved sideways.’ He flicked his head as if a fly, or something extremely unimportant, was irritating him. ‘No matter, I’m here.’

Her spine prickled. No way. Not only did she know his face intimately, but she knew every inch of his body, every divine part of it. And had just about managed to expel it from her memory. And now it would be here, taunting her. ‘Seriously? You’re here to assess me?’

She glanced around hopefully for secret TV cameras. Then realised, with a sorry thud, that it wasn’t a set-up, someone’s idea of a bad joke. It was real. Painfully, gut-wrenchingly real. Heat rushed back into her cheeks.

What an unholy mess. A jilted lover was here to decide her future. A jilted lover with radically different views about the provision of community medicine. She believed in flexibility and choice. He believed in routine and regimented processes.

A jilted lover she’d run out on with no real explanation—no doubt deepening the rift between him and his domineering father. It had seemed logical back then when she’d thought she’d never encounter them again. Logical and rational and based on … fear.

All coming back to bite her. She threw his card onto the desk. ‘I know who you are already, I don’t need this.’

‘I thought you might need reminding.’ He glared at her.

As if I could ever forget. ‘What about Dr Singh? What happened to your practice?’

‘Dr Singh is sick. And I sold my share of the practice.’ He ticked his answers off on his damned distinguished fingers. The last time she’d focused on them they’d been tiptoeing down her abdomen, promising hours of pleasure. Now they were tiptoeing through her worst nightmare.

‘So now you work with Daddy? Thinking about taking over the board when he retires? Figures.’

‘My future is not your concern. My secretary sent an email through to you last night, explaining. And for the record, I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t ask to come. I was sent.’

‘Well, for the record, I expect you to give me a fair assessment, despite our past. I didn’t get the email, I’m afraid. I’ve been busy.’ Mim looked over to the dust-covered computer, a reject from the ark, and decided not to mention it took twenty minutes to warm up. Emails were patchy, internet more so out here in the sticks.

Connor glanced again at the shiny white blotch in the middle of the yellowing ceiling. ‘Busy? Yes. Plotting ways to influence me? Bribery? Corruption? Not to mention … what was it, women’s wicked ways? I seem to remember you were quite good at those.’ Heat flared in his eyes.

God. He had heard. And enjoyed seeing her squirm now too, no doubt. That knot in her stomach tightened like a noose. ‘It was a joke.’

‘You couldn’t afford me anyway.’

He quirked an eyebrow, the ghost of a daring smile on his lips. And he was right. She couldn’t afford him. He’d always been way out of her league.

Forget bribery. Whacking him seemed a much more attractive alternative. Either that or killing him and stashing his body.

‘Couldn’t I just wait until Dr Singh gets better?’

‘You might be waiting a long time. He’s having emergency cardiac surgery. Don’t worry, I excel at being impartial, Mim.’

‘Don’t I know it.’ Sex with Connor might have been legendary, but she’d never really believed he’d trusted her enough to let her in. He certainly hadn’t ever really listened to her.

‘If I don’t think you make the grade, I’ll tell you. And remember, I’m assessing accounts, equipment, procedures. Not you.’

‘So there’s no way out.’

‘You could withdraw your application.’ He glanced round her admin office with sheer disdain. ‘But I don’t think you’d want to do that.’

Though she had grasped control and ended their relationship all those years ago, he held the trump cards now whichever way she turned. She had to make the best job of it and pray he’d see past their break-up and the paintwork. His gaze travelled the length of her, sending unbidden shocks of heat through her body. Nerves? Or something more dangerous?

Ridiculous. She’d submerged any feelings for him over the years. Downgraded their passionate affair to a casual fling, a summer of wild, heavenly madness—once she’d nursed her bruised heart back to health again.

So far all her experiences of unswerving love had ended in heartbreak. Getting over losing Connor Wiseman had been hard. But possible. Just. Getting over the death of her mother had taken a little longer. And she had no intention of inviting that kind of intensity of feeling again.

She shrugged. ‘It looks like I’m stuck with you.’

‘Guess so. Lucky you.’ He rocked back on the heels of his leather brogues. Smug didn’t come close. ‘Lucky me.’

She swallowed the scream of frustration in her throat, and dropped her skirt hem, which she’d subconsciously wrung into a tight clutch of crumpled fabric. Possibly in lieu of his neck. ‘How long will all this take?’

‘Three months.’

‘That’s ridiculous. It doesn’t say that in the information pack.’ Three minutes had been long enough for all the mixed-up feelings to come lurching back.

But, on the other hand … A glimmer of hope in her soul blew into life. If she did pass the assessment … three months was shaping up to be a lifeline and a life sentence all rolled into one. Her stomach felt like it was in a food processor, choppy and whirring at full speed. ‘I assume we get time off at weekends for good behaviour?’

‘Truly, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my weekends. Out here, in Nowheresville, with an ex who thought so little of me she couldn’t run away fast enough. That takes masochism to a whole new level.’

He sat down at the desk, opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick questionnaire.

Thank God he didn’t look up to see the rage shivering through her. She would not explain. She was not embarrassed. She had done them both a favour.

So why had regret eaten away at her ever since?

He scanned the pages in front of him. ‘Hopefully, it’ll all be over quickly and painlessly. It’ll be part time. Odd days here and there. I assess specific areas of healthcare delivery, then give you time to review and make changes. I have other things to do as well as this.’

‘Like?’ She wondered briefly why she wanted to know.

‘Assessing other practices, advising the government.’

No mention of family. A wife. A life outside work. But, then, why would he tell her anything about his private life? She’d given up any claims to that when she’d vanished from his family home in the middle of the night.

He retrieved a smartphone from his jacket pocket. Mim noticed the lush cobalt blue silk lining of his suit. His clothing alone could probably fund another month of Skye’s wages. Then he looked gingerly up at the Tassie-free spot.

‘Let’s get down to business. The sooner we start, the sooner I can leave—and I get the feeling that’s what we both want. First question: Why Dana’s Drop-In? It’s an unconventional name for a medical centre.’

I’m so not ready for this. Hauling in a deep breath, Mim resigned herself to the first of what she knew would be thousands of questions about her work, her strategy, business plan and practice. But the first simple question burned into her heart. Hopefully the others wouldn’t be so difficult to answer. ‘It’s named after my mother, Dana.’

‘Yes.’

She tried to look over his elbow to see what he was scribbling. ‘Do you have to write all this down?’

‘No. But I assume you’d want to give an explanation? It might help your case. Just outline your decision.’

‘Come on, Connor, you knew about her past. She had an illness for a long time. One that prevented her accessing healthcare on any kind of regular basis. She was an addict.’

‘I’m sorry, I know this must be painful.’

‘It happened. And we all have to move on.’ She saw her pain briefly mirrored in his eyes. Then the shutters came down, eradicating any emotion in his gaze. Moving on from tragedy was clearly something they’d both had to do.

She knew Connor’s sister had died a long time ago as a child—she’d seen a picture of a pretty blonde kid. But when she’d asked about it she’d been met with a wall of silence. And she’d never found the courage to enquire again.

For Mim, talking about her mother brought out a fierce love and protective instinct in her. The same, she imagined, that Connor felt about his sister. The same instinct she felt for her burgeoning clinic.

‘The drugs didn’t just destroy her, they destroyed any kind of family life. She was scared to go to the doctor in case she was judged. And she would have been. Dana was judged her whole life for winning and losing and everything in between. For what she could have been. What she wasn’t. Sad when a town pins their hopes on you, and you fail.’

Mim shrugged, fired now to continue. ‘She hated the sterility of the doctor’s surgery, the smell. I thought if I made this place accessible and non-judgemental, open and caring, then more people like her would come.’

He put his pen down and finally looked up at her, rested his chin on his fist. Like he was really seeing her for the first time since he’d walked back into her life. ‘You never talked about it like this. I didn’t realise … I’m surprised you got out whole.’

You don’t know the half of it. ‘Who said I was?’

‘From what I remember, you’re more whole than most.’ He smiled. It seemed genuine enough. Warm honey flecks flashed in his eyes.

Ah, there they are. She relaxed a little. It had taken time, but they were back. At least for now. At least he remembered some of their time together with fondness, then. Maybe he’d be gentle after all.

‘Dana’s dramas were a long time ago, and I had a great role model in my nan. My focus now is on family medicine. Keeping families healthy and safe. Besides …’

She forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood she’d sunk into. No point in dwelling on what had happened. She had a future ahead of her and she was going to make it work. Three months … ‘It fits well. Dana’s Drop-In. Imagine if she’d been called something like Janice or Patty. Janice’s Joint. Very inappropriate. Or Patty’s Place. Sounds like a pole-dancing club.’

He laughed. A deep rumble that teased the dark corners of her soul. Another thing she remembered about Connor. His laughter was infectious and rich. And she’d missed it. The granite softened. ‘Calling it Atanga Bay Medical Centre would have been just fine.’

‘Sure, but where’s the fun in that? I want to remind people of how Dana was before she got sick. How proud they were of her when she left to represent their country. Darling Dana. Not druggie Dana who came home in disgrace, who stole and lied and became an embarrassment.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘You’ve got to admit it’s unique. It’s open house, there’s free tea and coffee. A place to sit and chat. A small free library. Community resources. It works. Until I opened there was nothing in the way of medical services at all. Just look at the increasing patient list.’

‘Yes, I can see. It’s a surprising place to have a practice. The middle of nowhere. Albeit pretty spectacular. And you have a very unusual approach. But, then, you always were … unpredictable.’

His mouth curled into a reluctant half-smile. As if remembering something sweet, a past innocence. He reached out to her arm—a gentle gesture that five minutes ago she wouldn’t have believed he was capable of making. Hidden in the folds of that expensive suit, behind the cool exterior, was the determined and passionate man she’d fallen hopelessly in love with. There’d been a glimmer of him just now. But he’d gone again as he’d withdrawn his hand. ‘Now, on to question two.’

‘So? How’s it going?’ Two hours into the assessment Mim leaned against the doorway of the smallest admin room Connor had ever seen and nibbled the corner of her lip. A nervous habit he remembered of old.

In fact, lots of things had him spinning back three years. The scent of her mango body butter smell lingering in every space. The hesitant smile that was slow to blossom but that lit up her face. That pale, creamy thigh he’d glimpsed earlier. The way she looked at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

The one who’d disappeared without trace and left him reeling.

Walking in and seeing her laughing and dancing on the desk—acting pure Mim—had been a body blow. Hard and low.

He’d thought he’d hammered his heart back together with armour plating. He had vowed never to let himself be so vulnerable again. Loving hurt. Losing hurt more.

His latest ex described him as closed. Cold. Clearly his approach had worked well with her. It had always worked for his father too. He was only doing what he’d learnt by parental example. Don’t let anyone in, and you won’t run a risk of being destroyed in the fallout.

But being here with Mim had the plating cracking already. Despite the million promises he’d made to himself. Take a leaf out of Father’s book. Focus on work. Work was easy. Structured, rigid, predictable. With outcomes he could control. Unlike relationships.

And still she hovered. Could she not see how distracting she was being? ‘Early days, Mim. I’m busy here.’

‘Sorry. If you need anything …’

‘I’ll call. This place is so small you’d hear me if I whispered.’ Uncertainty tainted her chocolate-fudge eyes but she didn’t move. He exhaled and tried to keep the exasperation hidden. ‘How desperate are you to pass this assessment, Mim?’

‘I’m not desperate. Not at all.’ Her shoulders went ramrod straight. He remembered her pride and ingrained independence. He’d been on the whipping end of that before. And it stung.

Her pupils dilated. ‘But getting the accreditation will help. I have plans to expand, and I need more rooms, a visiting physio, counsellor, nutritionists.’

‘Okay, we’ll start with the financial reports. I’ll read through them now. Then have a quick chat about budgets and audit.’

‘Ooh, I can’t wait. You really know how to impress a girl.’ She laughed, then edged back a little as if she’d overstepped the mark. Her voice quieted. ‘Sorry. Must be nerves.’

‘You cut your hair.’

Why the hell had he even noticed that? Let alone said it?

She ran a hand over her short bob absent-mindedly. ‘Not that it matters but, yes. A while ago now.’

‘It suits you.’ It was probably a good thing that the long dark curls he’d loved to rake his hands through were gone. No temptation there.

The style made her look older, more mature. And she was thinner. Her watch hung from her wrist. Her misshapen green jumper draped off her frame.

‘You’re looking good yourself. Very executive. A big change from … before.’ She looked away, heat burning her cheeks. Not for the first time today. She was either embarrassed as hell—as she should be—or just plain nervous. Desperate.

She ran a slow finger across her clavicle. Not a sexual gesture, again it was more absent-minded than anything else. He’d swear on it. But his gaze followed the line her finger traced and a video of kissing a path along that dip played in his head.

Damn. He clamped his teeth together to take his mind off her throat. He didn’t want memories burning a hole in his skull. Memories and emotions were pointless and skewered his thought processes. They couldn’t fix a problem or bring someone back. And they hurt too much.

He wasn’t going to hurt any more.

No, he just needed to get the job done, then out. Unscathed and unburdened. And having her right here in his space was not going to work.

He scraped his chair across the faded pink carpet. ‘Okay, scoot. Get out of my hair. I need to concentrate. There’s a lot of paperwork to get through. I’ll call you when I need you.’

She nodded, her finger darting from her neck to her mouth. ‘One quick question.’

‘You are insufferable.’ But, then, he’d always known that, and it hadn’t made a difference to loving her. He held up two fingers. ‘Two seconds then you have to leave. Okay?’

‘Okay, boss. I just wondered—first impressions?’ She looked at him through a thick fringe. Her eyes accentuated by the matching chocolate hair colour. Rich and thick. Frustration melted into something more dangerous.

Maybe running his fingers through couldn’t hurt …

First impressions? Sexy as hell.

‘That’s going to take a heck of a lot longer than two seconds. And you might not like it.’ He pulled his gaze away. Tried to find something positive to say before he hit her with the unassailable truth. Kiss-kick-kiss. Perhaps then she’d leave. When he’d broken her heart with his first impression. ‘I’ve scanned through the Imms register and I’m surprised.’

She looked expectantly at him. ‘Good surprised?’

‘Come on, Mim, I’m just starting. I’ve hardly had a chance to get my head around things. There’s a lot of work to be done yet, but your immunisation rates are outstanding. Big tick for that.’

Pride swelled her voice. ‘Every time I see a patient I remind them about imms. So important.’

‘Admirable.’

She was trying so hard to impress he almost felt sorry for her. But for their history. He ran a hand over the window-sill and showed her the peeling flecks of yellow paint. Now for the kick.

‘But the structure and organisational processes leave a lot to be desired. Your intentions are good, but from where I’m standing it’s a shabby practice in the middle of a rundown township. I’m hoping I’m going to find some better news in your business plans and policies.’

‘Of course, policies, your hobby horse. Don’t hold your breath. Not really my strong suit. But …’

‘I know, it’s a work in progress. That might not be good enough. Perhaps we should do this in a year or so, once you’ve had time to prepare in accordance with the guidelines.’

She visibly flinched and he briefly wished he could take it back.

But he wasn’t there to protect her. He was there to do an objective assessment as a representative of a local authority. ‘Routines and regulations make things run smoothly. Save lives in the long run. Without them people get lost. Accidents happen. People die.’

Janey. The armour round his heart quivered then clenched tight at the thought of his sister. No point trying to explain to Mim. What would she care? He wasn’t inclined to share his motives with an untrustworthy ex-girlfriend. However sinfully sexy. ‘I said I’d be honest.’

She turned back to him, eyes now firing with determination. The old Mim shone through. She may have been subdued, but she was there simmering in the background.

‘Okay, so, Dana’s Drop-In might not be conventional, it’s not standardised and faceless like your fancy chrome Auckland offices. I admit I need processes. But it will work, Connor. What did you say about potential?’

‘I was talking about Atanga Bay in general, not this place.’ Grateful for the clash of swords and not sentiment, he began to relax. ‘Bowling it and starting again would fix a lot. But you always were … how did my father put it? Odd.’

‘I might be odd by your father’s standards, but my style works out here. You love a challenge, Connor. Dig deeper, and see what I can see.’

‘Er …? Sorry to interrupt, Mim …’ The goth with the pierced nose arrived in the room. Perhaps she was all Mim had been able to get out here.

‘There’s been an accident up at Two Rivers. Details are sketchy, but it seems there’s been an explosion and a fire. Tony’s bringing the walking wounded here. Four or five so far, I think.’

Mim nodded. The fire in her eyes was replaced with a calm, steely precision. Professional and businesslike. ‘Thanks, Skye. I’ll be right there.’

Connor jumped up, adrenalin kicking deep. ‘I’ll help. Sounds like it could be busy.’

‘That’s kind of you.’ Mim smiled softly, gazed the length of his body. Heat swept through him on a tidal wave, prickling his veins and firing dormant cells to full alert, taking him by surprise. He’d expected a vague flicker of awareness, but not full fireworks sparking through his body.

‘But we’ll be fine here at the coalface. Why don’t you go back to your paperwork? We don’t want to get that lovely suit dirty, do we?’

CHAPTER TWO

TO MIM’S infinite irritation, Connor appeared unfazed by her barbed comment. He stared her down, then shook out of his jacket and rolled his Italian cotton shirtsleeves up. Sparks flew from his onyx eyes.

‘Mim, you never worried about getting down and dirty before. What’s changed? Frightened you might get burnt?’ He threw the jacket onto the desk. ‘I’m not going to sit back while there’s a major incident unfolding. I’ll go up there and see if I can help.’

‘What are you going to do? Waft the fire out with your questionnaire?’

He visibly bristled but the sensual flare in his eyes spelled trouble. Connor had always loved sparring with her. Said she was the most fiery woman he’d ever met. That it was the biggest turn-on ever. Some things hadn’t changed. He smiled confidently, inviting more. Seemed they couldn’t help firing incendiary shots back and forth even after three years. ‘It would work better than all that hot air you’re generating.’

‘You haven’t changed a jot, Connor Wiseman. Still as bloody-minded as ever. But right now I’m sure the firefighters don’t need a do-gooder city slicker hindering their work.’

She walked up the corridor, sucked in a breath and tried to concentrate on one disaster at a time. Priority: bush fire. Lives at risk. And he followed, clearly undeterred.

She stopped in Reception and explained to him, ‘There’s a campsite not far from Two Rivers. It’s been a long, dry summer and the bush is brittle. A fire could get out of hand pretty quickly. As I’m community warden, and the only med centre for miles, protocol states they bring the injured here. It’s safer and out of the line of fire.’

Protocol. He’d like that.

‘So we stay here for now. You’ll need all the help you can get.’

‘We need to be ready. Dressing packs and oxygen cylinders are in the treatment rooms, there’s labels on the drawers and shelves. It should be self-explanatory.’ She paused as sirens screeched past the surgery towards the new development.

Time hadn’t diminished his bombastic streak. Connor still went hell for leather along his own path without taking much notice of what anyone else had to say. But he was right, she didn’t have the luxury of turning away another pair of skilled hands in an emergency.

‘We also have a walk-in clinic running at the moment, which is always busy Monday mornings. Sure you can handle this, city boy? Things could get messy.’

To her surprise, his smile widened. Irritating and frustratingly appealing all at the same time. He stepped closer, his breath grazing her neck. Making the hairs on her neck prickle to attention.

‘Is that a threat, Mim? Or a promise?’

‘I don’t make promises I can’t keep.’ The words tumbled out before she could stop herself. He’d got her hackles up. Just having him there threw her way off balance.

He arched an eyebrow. All the raw, potent tension, zinging between them like electricity, coming to a head. ‘Oh, really? Tell that to my parents and the caterers and the party guests.’

‘I didn’t ask for an engagement party. Once your mum got a whiff of the idea she ran with it.’

‘Okay. Let’s clear the air, then we can focus on what’s important.’ He breathed out deeply, put his palms flat on the desk. ‘My mum was trying to help. Then you ditched. It was a long time ago and I’m over it. No second chances, like you always said. Never look back. Great philosophy. You missed the boat, princess. Don’t blame me if you didn’t know a good thing when you saw it.’

‘I knew it wasn’t for me.’

But it had been a very good thing. Until she’d had to make impossible choices. Atanga Bay or Auckland. Break the promises she’d made to her mother or to Connor? ‘And I made the right decision. You’re doing well. And I’m happy here.’

‘But obviously you’re still bothered about it. Embarrassed perhaps? Regretful? Don’t they say that the first form of defence is attack?’

The smell of his aftershave washed around her. The same as he’d worn back then. Leather and spice and earthy man. Throwing her back to their long, lazy afternoons in bed. When they’d believed their dreams were possible. Before she’d been bamboozled into a life she hadn’t wanted.

Her hackles stood to attention again. At the same time her stomach somersaulted at the memory of kissing his lips and the way he had tasted. Ozone and chardonnay, cinnamon whirls and coffee. Connor. And how once she’d started to kiss him she’d never wanted to stop. She shook her head in despair. Memories were not helpful.

‘Our relationship ran its course. I’m not sore or embarrassed, and I’m not trying to attack you. I’m sorry if it came over that way.’

‘Want a little advice? Seems you need me more than I need you right now. You have an assessment hanging over your head and an emergency. And I could walk out that door and never look back. But I don’t think you need that, right? So maybe if you want my help, you could try being civil.’

She turned away and swallowed hard. He was right. In a cruel twist of fate, he was her only hope. Civil it had to be.

Mercifully the door swung open before she could answer, and four men limped in. Their faces were streaked with black and their clothes singed. Hard hats and heavy work boots were left at the door.

‘Okay, gentlemen. Take a breath.’ Mim sat them down in Reception, gave them all a fleeting assessment. Triaging four injured construction workers was way more in her comfort zone than needling an old flame.

‘What’s the story, Tony?’ She nodded at the foreman, a local and friend, knowing he’d have the details covered.

‘A gas cylinder blew, hit a couple of the lads square in the face—they’ve been airlifted to Auckland General. There’s a fire burning out of control on the site.’ He coughed long and hard, then pointed to his pals. ‘This motley crew are mainly smoke inhalation, a few cuts and bruises, and I reckon Boy here’s got a broken finger from falling over. Daft coot. Never seen anyone away run so fast. Or fall so hard.’

Connor stepped into the fray. ‘Okay. Tony? You come with me, sounds like you could do with some oxygen to help clear those lungs. Boy, you go with Mim. Skye, take the other two through to Treatment Room Two.’

‘And you are?’ Tony stood and faced Connor, his face grim beneath the soot.

Just great. Mim’s heart plummeted. For the last few months Tony had been playing suitor, quietly. Little gestures, the odd interested phrase. Dinner for two at the pub. She’d let him down gently as soon as she’d realised his intentions were more than just friendly.

It wasn’t just that she didn’t fancy him, but she’d sworn off men. Men wanted her to need them. To rely on them. She couldn’t. She hated the thought of losing control over anything—particularly her emotions.

She stepped in, tried to infuse her voice with a quiet plea for calm. Tony was hot-headed at the best of times and obviously stressed. ‘Tony, this is Connor Wiseman. He’s that assessor I told you about. He’s going to be here for a while, on and off. He’s also a doctor and is keen to help out.’

‘Okay. Connor. A word of warning, mate.’ Tony stuck his hand out. ‘Our Mim doesn’t take too kindly to being told what to do.’

‘Believe me, I know. I’ve still got the scars.’ Our Mim. Connor squared his shoulders and gripped the man’s hand. Clearly Tony and Mim were more than well acquainted. The man had possession written all over his sooty face. And the way Mim looked at Tony, in such a conciliatory way, those full lips curling into a gentle smile for another man, sent jolts of jealousy and anger spasming through him. She’d thrown him over for this? This nowheresville town and this hulk of a man?

Well, good luck to them. Traces of fading arousal from their early spat cemented into a clarity of focus. He wasn’t here to woo her back. Not a chance. He’d lost her once. What kind of idiot would invite that kind of grief again?

Letting him go, Connor nodded. But for the record … ‘Mim and I go way back.’

‘Yeah, me too.’ Tony put a hand on Mim’s shoulder. His voice threw down a gauntlet. ‘Primary school? High school? Pretty much all her life.’

Mim tried to stand casually between them. ‘Right, then. Let’s not waste time trawling through my life, shall we?’

She almost laughed. The scenario made her seem like some kind of diva. Little Mim, who hadn’t had so much as a kiss for three years, trying to keep two men from taunting each other. Surreal. ‘Second thoughts, Tony, you come with me. Boy, go with Connor.’

She bundled Tony into Treatment Room One and applied an oxygen mask, measured his sats and vitals. She decided not to mention his possessiveness. That would only draw attention to something she wanted to ignore. ‘Take a few deep breaths. You hurt anywhere else?’

‘Nah. All good, Mim. Scary, though. Those guys were hurt badly. Nasty business.’

‘Anyone I know?’ A likely prospect, as she knew every single inhabitant of Atanga Bay.

‘Macca Wilson and Toby Josiah.’

‘Oh, no.’ Her stomach knotted. Two of their finest. ‘I’ll phone the hospital later and see how they’re doing. Shelly’s going to need a hand with those little kiddies while Macca’s in hospital. And Toby’s mum’ll be worried sick. Any others injured?’

‘No one else got the blast. Just us, and we were a little way back. But the wind whipped up a blaze in no time. Civil Defence is up there, assessing with the fire department. No real danger, but they’re evacuating the campsite as a precaution.’

‘I’ll grab the key to the community hall and go open up. That’s the designated assembly point. Besides, there’s nowhere else to put a campsite full of people.’ Measuring Tony’s sats again, Mim smiled. ‘No major problems here. But I’ll leave you with the oxygen on for a couple of minutes while I go start the phone tree. We’re going to need bedding, food and water for the evacuees.’

After opening up the hall next door, starting the cascade of calls firing the locals into action and discharging Tony, Mim found Connor suturing a deep gash on one of the construction worker’s legs. Connor looked up as she entered, those dark eyes boring into her. Energy emanated from him, as electric as ever. Plug him in and her power-bill woes would be over.

Seeing him there, in her space, so incongruously smart and chic in her tired treatment room, and so very Connor, threw her off centre again. She gripped the doorhandle as she inhaled, deeply, to steady herself. Leather and spice and earthly man again. Her body hummed in automatic response. Inhaling was a big mistake.

He smiled, adding an urgent charge to the humming. She squeezed the handle harder and calmed her body’s reaction to him.

For goodness’ sake, she’d purged her grief at their split years ago, when it had become so obvious she couldn’t give him what he wanted. What they both wanted. Clearly her brain had reconciled that, but her body was living in a time warp. If only she could fast-forward to the end of the review, hopefully some cash. Getting her practice to its full potential. Connor leaving.

He waved gloved hands towards her. ‘Mim? Pass that gauze, will you? Just closing up. Tommo here’s had a tetanus and we’re starting antibiotics as a precaution. I was just telling him, gravel wounds are a haven for bacteria.’ He nodded at his patient. ‘Finish the whole course of tablets, okay?’

‘Yes, Doc.’ Tommo grinned. ‘And keep off the grog too, eh?’

‘Just cut down, mate. A couple of stubbies a night, that’s all. That liver’s got to last you a lifetime.’ He smiled as Tommo headed out the door. ‘And don’t forget about that well-man appointment. You won’t regret it.’

‘Sure. Cheers, Doc.’

To her irritation, Mim couldn’t fault Connor’s bedside manner, suturing skills or efficiency. He was assertive, professional and fast. But as Tommo left she couldn’t help but satisfy her curiosity. ‘Well-man Clinic? Good luck with that. I’ve been trying to get one up and running for a while. No one came.’

‘Here? Wrong venue. Try the pub.’

‘I’ve put adverts up in there. But you can’t do a clinic in the pub.’

‘It worked fine in the some of the low-decile areas out West. We took mini-health checks out to some bars. But now we’ve educated the clients to go to the clinics, where there are better facilities. Still, a pub is a good starting place.’ Connor whipped off his gloves and threw them into the bin. Direct hit. Of course. He was precise and perfect and professional. And poles away from the reality of rural medicine.

‘You don’t know these people. There’s not a metrosexual among them. We’re lucky if we get a blast of deodorant, and no one uses hair gel.’ She tried to keep the knowing smile out of her voice as she surveyed Connor’s carefully dishevelled hair. It must have taken hours to perfect that morning. It looked good enough to run her fingers through.

Check that. No finger running. ‘Anything else is considered just plain girly. They’re stoic blokes and think being sick is a weakness.’

‘What about just before a game? Tried a clinic then?’

‘On a Saturday night?’ Okay, he had a point. The pub was always heaving at that time. But she wasn’t going to admit that. ‘Preventive medicine like that is a pipe dream. I tell you, the only way to get these men to see a doctor is if their head’s falling off or their heart’s given out.’ Remembering the four that had just pitched up to her surgery, she smiled, smugly. Case in point. ‘Or if there’s a drama. By the way, what happened to Boy? Have you finished with him already?’

‘Yep, but X-ray facilities would help.’

‘I agree. But two years ago there wasn’t even a clinic here, until I set this one up. Facilities take funding when you live in the real world.’ He never had—and that had been part of their problem. He still didn’t get it. She sighed. ‘Get your daddy to wave his magic wand. While he’s at it I’d like an MRI scanner, a decent coffee shop and lots and lots of shoes. In the meantime, we’ll make do with what we’ve got. Anything that needs more investigation goes into the city.’

‘An hour and a half’s drive away. No fun if you’re in pain.’ He shrugged, obviously choosing to ignore her barbed comment. Again. She bristled at his self-control. Maybe he wasn’t as riled by her as he used to be. That was good. Wasn’t it? She didn’t want to have any effect on him at all. Except a positive impression for the fund assessment. Really. Honestly. Then she could move on with her life, without giving a backward glance to Connor Wiseman.

‘Luckily for Boy, his finger wasn’t broken. I’m pretty sure it’s just a bad sprain so I’ve buddy-strapped it. Told him to come back in a couple of days so we can double-check.’ Having replenished the dressing trolley, Connor cracked his knuckles as he stretched his arms out in front of him. ‘Man, that felt good. It’s been a while since I did hands-on.’

‘I let you loose on my patients when you’re out of practice?’ She glowered at him. Had she allowed him to bulldoze her into something she had doubts about again? One word from him and she was almost rolling over, asking him to scruff her tummy. When would she learn? She would not let him badger her into anything any more. ‘Please tell me you have a valid practising certificate.’

‘Of course. Simmer down.’ He laughed. ‘And I thought we’d agreed to be civil. Don’t worry, I do a few hours consulting a month to keep my hand in.’

‘But why bother do all those years at med school just for a few hours a month? The internships? The GP training? What a waste.’

‘Why? I know my way around a clinic. I’ve lived and breathed medical practice.’ For the first time since his arrival he looked uncomfortable. His lips formed a tight line and a frown sat edgily over his eyes. ‘But systems management is important too. Someone needs to make sure everyone’s reached a certain standard.’

He closed his eyes briefly and Mim noticed his fist clenched against the desk. He looked like he was trying to gain control. And unbelievably sad.

‘Connor?’ Her heart stammered as she bit her lip. ‘Are you okay?’

When he opened his eyes again they resonated a steel calm. Devoid of any kind of emotion. ‘You have your demons, Mim, I have mine. And we’re both trying to work the system to fit them.’

Demons? His sister perhaps. Who knew? No point in asking. Clamming up was Connor’s forte. She’d never managed to break through that hard exterior before.

But they needed to get on to move on. She touched his fingers in a meek attempt at a handshake. ‘So how about we start over? Let’s go for civil. Who knows? We might even like it.’

Connor inhaled sharply. Mim had always been right about one thing: moving forward was the only way to go. He couldn’t change what had happened to Janey. Or that Mim had thrashed his heart. He just had to make sure that nothing like either tragedy ever happened again.

She looked up at him through thick lashes, held his gaze, her lips parted slightly. Her pale complexion was punctuated with two red circles of anger, the passion for her work flaring deeply in dark irises. Her belief and pride in her good intentions was clear in the way she held that pert body erect and taut.

As if answering her clarion call, his blood stirred in a sudden wild frenzy.

He let her hand drop and forced himself to remember all the reasons their affair had failed before. Passion and lust had never been a problem. But their clash of backgrounds and vision of their futures had pulled them in opposing directions. Walking away had been her chosen option. Three years had made no difference to her naive idealism. But this time he could do the walking.

Connor eased out the irritation rippling through his shoulders. He’d work this on his terms. Keep a professional distance.

‘Okay. Let’s start again. Hi. I’m Dr Connor Wiseman, here to assess your practice.’

‘How-de-do, Dr Wiseman. I’m Mim. Welcome to beautiful Atanga Bay, where we have sunshine and smiles in abundance. Oh, and the odd bush fire … but only once in a blue moon.’ The corner of her lips tweaked upwards as she folded her arms over her tiny frame. She was extremes and opposites. Combative and defensive. And yet he knew she enjoyed a good spat as much as he did. No one had ever riled him so much, hit the spot every time. And got a rise out of him. Figuratively and, very often, literally. Their fights had been legendary, but their make-up sex had been stellar.

He sneaked another glance down her body. She was thinner, sure, but there were still curves there, hidden under her shapeless jumper. She was every bit the woman he remembered. And then some.

And he had to endure being with her for the next three months. More if he kept being delayed by fires and regular cat fights. But he refused to be baited by her. Had to remain controlled and calm. And focused. ‘So, give me a clue. How to write notes in a computer that refuses to start?’

She picked up a pen from the desk and waved it at him, her intensity and passion transformed now to a flutter of lightness. ‘Can’t function without your gadgetry? Try using a pen.’

‘You are joking? This is twenty-first-century New Zealand, not the Pickwick Papers.’

‘If we’re busy, or the computer’s playing up, like today, I write them down on cards, and type them up later. They’re always up to date by the end of the day.’ She cringed, and had the decency to look apologetic. ‘But you’re right, the computers do need updating. I’m looking into buying wireless laptops. Chicken and egg thing—I need the money to buy computers, need the computers to get the money. But it’s high on my priority list. Is that something you can put a big tick next to?’

‘Sure. When you get them you’ll have a tick. Not before.’

Then he walked back to Reception, torn between helping her patients and completing his brief. In the end, professional compassion won out over fiscal duty. But as he directed his next patient into Treatment Room Two, he swallowed his frustration. The day he walked away from Mim and Atanga Bay couldn’t come soon enough.

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