The Rebel Surgeon's Proposal. Margaret McDonagh

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      ‘And what is the name of this paragon?’ he asked, knowing his mother would persist until he gave in and deciding to get it over with.

      ‘Francesca Scott.’

      Luke forgot how to breathe. A knot tightened in his chest and it felt as if his heart had stopped beating altogether before it resumed pumping at a rapid rate. Somehow he sucked a ragged breath into parched lungs. Gripping the phone so hard his knuckles were stark white, he sat up straight in the chair, every part of him at full attention.

      ‘What did you say?’ He demanded clarification, knowing he must have been wrong, must have been hearing things.

      ‘It’s true, Luke.’ His mother’s voice softened with the confirmation, filling with awareness of the importance of her words. ‘Apparently Francesca has been working at the hospital for nearly three years. I had no idea. After seeing her, I made a few discreet enquiries. I didn’t learn much but there are one or two things you might be interested to hear.’

      He was interested, all right, although it took a few moments for the rest of the information to register over the roaring in his ears and the rushing of blood through his veins. One vital fact took precedence. Francesca was back. Scattered images and memories of long ago fired through his brain almost too fast for him to catch hold of them. Francesca as a coltish young girl, courageous and loyal. Friendless, just like him. Alone, just like him. Hurting and trying so desperately not to show it…just like him. So much in common, so much silent, mutual understanding, yet a chasm as wide as an ocean had yawned between their lives and their backgrounds.

      His father had not wanted him to continue his education but even then Luke had stood up to him, knowing what he wanted and that his brain was his ticket out, the key to his future. It had paid off. The last violent row had happened the day he had finished his final Advanced Higher exam. He’d been eighteen, forced to leave home, to escape his father—needing, too, to follow his dream to be a doctor and prove himself.

      Leaving his mother had been an impossible wrench, with the added worry of what might happen to her when he was not there to protect her, but she had been adamant he go, as selfless as ever. Battered and bruised, he’d slipped away like a thief in the night to lick his wounds. Then he had worked hard to establish a place at medical school in London, doing extra jobs to pay his way and finding somewhere to live so that his mother could come to him—as she had, living in London until his father had died and it had been safe for her to return home.

      And then there had been Francesca. He’d felt bad leaving her behind but she had been just sixteen, tied to her home and shackled by her own problems. There had been nothing he could do. Not then. But he had never forgotten. Three years later, unable to get her out of his head, needing to know what had become of her, he had gone back for her, but she and her mother had vanished. After several unsuccessful attempts to find her, he had begun to give up hope of seeing her again.

      Until now.

      Because Francesca was back. And, as the information his mother imparted sank in, seeds were sown…seeds that immediately took root, germinated and began to grow with a life of their own. He had no idea what Francesca’s life was like now, what she would say when she saw him again—hell, he didn’t even know if she remembered him, if he had been any more than a blip on her consciousness a decade ago. But an inner demon possessed him and he couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t let her go. Not without knowing, once and for all.

      It was crazy to act so spontaneously, to jeopardise all he had built here, but he knew what he had to do and nothing or no one was going to stop him. His boss, Professor James Fielding-Smythe, renowned orthopaedic surgeon, brilliant, impatient and demanding, would have a fit when he found out, but Luke didn’t care. Whatever scathing criticism and shameless cajoling came from the crusty old professor, Luke was not going to be diverted.

      Not now Fate had tipped his hand.

      Not now he knew that Francesca was in Strathlochan.

      Not now he had a plan.

      CHAPTER TWO

       8 weeks later—April

      IT HAD to be her. He had never seen anyone else with such incredible hair.

      Luke stared at the four figures walking ahead of him down the hospital corridor, two male and two female. But only one held his attention. His gut tightened as his gaze zeroed in on the back of the woman with the riot of red tresses restrained in a thick plait that fell like a stream of fire to her waist. Old memories, old hurts, old desires stirred within him. He took a moment to breathe deeply and acknowledge the fact that Francesca was really here, that he was close to her after so long.

      It had taken eight weeks and had necessitated turning his life upside down to get here, incurring the ire of Professor James Fielding-Smythe when no threats or inducements could persuade him to change his mind about leaving. To be fair, once he had known he was defeated, the prof had given in— if not entirely gracefully. His reference had been glowing, however, and his backing invaluable in rapidly securing Luke’s new job.

      But even with his goal firmly in mind, Luke had experienced some uncertainty about coming back to Strathlochan. This was the town where he had known so much strife and unhappiness as a child, where he had been judged and labelled, ostracised as a teenager, written off because of the reputation of his father and his older brothers. Damned from birth because he carried the Devlin name. Yet he had felt stifled in London, had missed his home environment, the freedom of the forests and the hills. And, he acknowledged, a part of him still felt the need to prove himself, to show the bastards they couldn’t beat him, that they had been wrong about him. To prove that he was worth something, that he was different from the rest of the men in the Devlin family.

      A combination of fate and planning had brought him back to Strathlochan. And to Francesca Scott. Whilst he would never wish any harm to befall the mother he loved and respected beyond measure, the accident that had led to her broken arm had turned out to be fortuitous. Lady Luck was shining on him for once in his life. A slow smile curved his mouth as he watched Francesca’s rear view, the natural sway of her hips, unintentionally provocative and classically feminine. His mother had not exaggerated when she had said that the coltish girl had grown into a beautiful woman, fulfilling the promise that had always been there through her youth.

      Francesca…

      Whilst he remained unobserved, Luke allowed himself the luxury of savouring the sight of her. Even dressed in her unflattering uniform of white tunic and trousers, she stood out, her five-foot-nine-inch height, shapely figure and eye-catching hair making her impressive and impossible to ignore. He enjoyed another leisurely perusal, from the sweep of her slender back, over the appealing curve of her bottom and down long, athletically graceful legs. A runner’s legs. Legs he had always dreamed would wrap around him as he sank deep inside her silken heat. He never had. Not yet. But he would. Even when times had been at their most desperate and finding her again had seemed impossible, he had always known he was destined to claim her, that he and Francesca were meant to be together.

      The group stopped at a junction in the corridor and, as Francesca half turned to talk to her colleagues, Luke could see the swell of lush, ripe breasts under her fitted tunic. A fresh lick of desire ran through him, tightening his gut. She was even more gorgeous than his imagination had suggested she would be. But ten years was a long time. The timid sixteen-year-old girl had matured into a stunning woman.

      As he slowly closed the distance between them, he absorbed her perfect bone structure, the curve of her jaw, the sensuous mouth, the creamy skin СКАЧАТЬ