Dr. Mommy. Elizabeth Bevarly

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       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For David,

       Slayer of icky bugs,

       Finder of lost computer files,

       Stay-at-home dad,

       Perfect husband.

      Thanks, Sweetie.

      ELIZABETH BEVARLY

      is an honors graduate of the University of Louisville and achieved her dream of writing full-time before she even turned thirty! At heart, she is also an avid voyager who once helped navigate a friend’s thirty-five-foot sailboat across the Bermuda Triangle. Her dream is to one day have her own sailboat, a beautifully renovated older-model forty-two-footer, and to enjoy the freedom and tranquillity seafaring can bring. Elizabeth likes to think she has a lot in common with the characters she creates, people who know love and life go hand in hand. And she’s getting some firsthand experience with motherhood, as well—she and her husband have a five-year-old son, Eli.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Epilogue

      One

      Dick Clark had just announced that there was less than five minutes left to this New Year’s Rockin’ Eve when Dr. Claire Wainwright heard the chime of her front doorbell erupt downstairs. Ignoring the interruption—doubtless it was just some New Year’s reveler playing a joke, because heaven knew she wasn’t expecting anyone—she noted that Dick, as always, looked suave and cheerful and eternally young. And she tried not to dwell on the fact that she herself felt…well, not. Not suave. Not cheerful. Not eternally young.

      Au contraire, Claire.

      When the doorbell chimed again, she exhaled an errant sigh and waited to see if maybe, possibly, perchance, hopefully, she had only imagined the doleful, lonely sounds of that single, solitary dingdong. Because—speaking of doleful and lonely—she had just settled into bed with a flute of flat-going champagne, had just opened the latest issue of JAMA to an article about C-sections and had just gotten as comfortable as she was likely to be in this lifetime. And—speaking of single and solitary—she was home alone. On New Year’s Eve. Again.

      Of course—speaking of dingdong—she could have accepted that one offer of a New Year’s Eve date that she had received, but noooo…

      Claire still wasn’t sure what had possessed her to turn down Evan Duran’s invitation to spend the evening with him at his cottage in Cape May. It would have been a lovely, lovely event, she told herself now. Snowy moonlight on the ocean, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth, lobster and pâté and champagne every bit as good as what she’d bought for her own solitary celebration.

      Of course, the evening would have inevitably stretched into the night, she thought further. And, of course, Evan would have been there, too. Which, now that she thought about it, was doubtless why she had declined his offer.

      Nevertheless, he was a handsome, intelligent, decent guy, she reminded herself, a man who had a lot of ambition and drive. He was exactly the kind of man who should interest her, the kind of man with whom she should spend the rest of her life. She didn’t know why she found him so unappealing. There was just nothing there—no spark, no heat, no magic.

      The doorbell chimed a third time from way downstairs, and Claire told herself it would be pointless to try to ignore it any longer. Still, she was more than a little puzzled by who might be summoning her at such an hour on such a night. Shoving back the plush, pale blue comforter, she ran one hand through her straight, black, shoulder-length hair, smoothed the other over her amethyst-colored silk pajamas, then tucked her feet into the slippers by her bed. She wasn’t working, obviously, but that didn’t mean she was free to do as she pleased with her СКАЧАТЬ