Kate Cross - Touch of Steel

They raced through the streets of Manhattan toward the Central Park dirigible yard—a small section of turf on the lower eastern half of the huge park. With a few minutes to spare, they boarded the ship and took their belongings to their stateroom. They were on the deck watching the city disappear when Alastair offered her an emerald-cut sapphire set in a simple golden band. “It was my mother’s.”

Claire stared at it, then at him. “You were serious.”

He chuckled. “Well, yes. Weren’t you?”

She opened her mouth, about to question him—them. Was this the right thing? The right time? Was it too soon? What if he regretted it later? Then she closed her jaw. There was nothing to question, at least not in her heart. She had decided months ago, on the deck of a steamship, that he was the most important thing in all her world. That hadn’t changed. She thought about what they knew about his parents, how his father had done everything to protect the woman he loved. She and Alastair had already proved their love for each other, even if they hadn’t been aware of it at the time.

“You’re the only woman for me, Claire. The only risk I ever took that was worth it, no matter the consequences.”

Of all the things she’d done in her life, nothing felt as right as this.

“Yes,” she said. She raised her gaze to his. “I will marry you, Alastair Payne. I will marry you and take whatever risks life has to offer.”

He grinned and took her hand, holding the ring over her finger. “Ready?”

She took a deep breath. “Ready.”

He slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, of course. She wouldn’t have expected anything less. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. And as they left one adventure behind, Claire knew their biggest adventure was yet to come.

Books are a joint project, no matter what any author might say. Of course, we would all like to write a perfect first draft, but it doesn’t usually happen that way. I need to thank my agent, Mirthiinwhat anyiam, for her support, enthusiasm, ability to deal with my craziness, and all-around fabulosity; my editor, Danielle, for her patience and being just so wonderfully easy to work with (also, thanks for all the chats about Sons of Anarchy , Supernatural and other TV); my friends for being understanding when I can’t come out and play; and my husband, Steve, for listening to me talk about characters and plot, and for wearing a top hat when the occasion calls for it. Finally, thank you to the readers who have taken the time to e-mail me or tweet about how much you enjoyed the first book in this series. Knowing that my books have given a few hours of entertainment makes things like revisions and copy edits all worthwhile. J

Evelyn Stone literally held a man’s heart in her hands before tossing it into a bucket at her feet. She would examine it and its defects later. Right now she had a patient to fix.

The young surgeon assisting her watched in fascination as she took the mechanical heart he offered and introduced it into the gaping chest cavity. She had very little time to put the device in place and connect it to the circulatory system before the man would die.

It would not look good for her, or for the Wardens of the Realm, if the director of Germany’s Schatten Ritters, or “Shadow Knights,” died under her care. She was supposed to be the best in her field.

She was also pretty much the only one in her field, except for some bloke in America. No one else in Europe that she knew of had made quite the same strides as she where organ replacement was concerned.

Quickly, Evelyn attached the man’s remaining tissue to the mechanical pump and checked the seal. She set aside the part that would fit over the front of his chest like a shield, not only protecting the artificial organ, but providing a convenient port for maintenance.

Once the heart was in place she could relax a little. That was the hardest part. Still, she worked as fast and efficiently as she could, and when the man’s new heart began to beat in a steady rhythm, she breathed a sigh of relief. A person’s heart could only be stopped for so long before lack of circulation did irreparable damage to the brain and tissue.

Above her head she could hear the polite but enthusiastic applauding of her audience. This was the first time she’d performed this sort of operation with spectators watching her every move, evaluating and assessing.

She set her patient’s chest back to rights and fitted the panel for his new heart in place. Later she showed the young surgeon—Dr. Franz Adler—how to properly care for the device, ensuring that it—aan s,to rind the man in possession of it—continued to function at optimum capacity for many years to come.

After the demonstration, Dr. Adler asked her to dinner, just as she’d expected he might.

He began talking about the surgery, the work they did within their respective agencies, and about himself—also as she thought he might—but after a couple of bottles of good German wine, he began to rhapsodize about her “exotic looks,” “considerable intellect” and finally, the beauty of her eyes. That was when she knew it was time to take him home.

“I have never seen anything like that,” Adler told her much later as they lay in bed. “You are a genius. An artist. Your gift is squandered with the Wardens.”

Evelyn smiled. He was handsome and fit and had a delicious German accent that she loved to listen to as he complimented her. Of course, he seemed rather enamored with the sound of his voice as well, but she was sated and such languidness of muscle and spirit gave her patience. Normally she avoided such encounters with peers, especially those also in service to their country, but she’d accomplished something extraordinary that day and she needed to celebrate.

If she weren’t enjoying Franz’s company she would be alone, probably reliving every last detail of the first organ replacement she had performed. She’d no doubt be very deep in her cups as well, vomiting red wine into the toilet’s porcelain bowl. Sex was so much more relaxing and usually required less clean up—and didn’t leave behind a taste that made her wonder whether something had died in her mouth.

“I cannot believe you are going to leave in a few days,” Franz lamented with a charming pout that emphasized his full lower lip. He was gorgeous, blond and blue-eyed, with a body that ought to be immortalized in marble. He was seven years her junior and thought she was a goddess. She could have done much worse.

She had done worse.

“I have to return to London,” she explained. “Besides, you are going to be very busy now that you are taking over the SR’s medical department.”

Long, nimble fingers trailed over her bare arm. “You could always stay and we could run it together.”

Of course, with the understanding that he would be the one in charge. No, thank you. “The Wardens would be lost without me. I cannot turn my back on them.” That was only half bravado. The Wardens would miss her, but that wasn’t what made her go back. What made her go back was that she was good at her job—very good at it—and she wanted to do it where she could do the most good. And, if she admitted it to no one but herself, she wanted to be where she could occasionally hear the latest account of Captain Mac’s daring adventures.

She had no business wanting to hear about him. She had given up that right. She didn’t remain in London just for him; that would be pathetic. She had friends there, a home and a cat. She was important to the Wardens. She would not be so important to handsome Franz, and she refused to be mistress to a man’s career. She had tried that once and it had ended badly.