Meredith Webber - The Spanish Doctor's Convenient Bride

He was standing above her, his body throbbing, taunted by the languorous look in her eyes.

“You’d hardly want to,” she said, and although she spoke lightly, he guessed she, too, was trapped by a sudden shift in the atmosphere in the room. “I mean, look at me—your archetypal plain Jane! I’m jeans and T-shirt, not high fashion—short and dumpy, not slim and willowy.”

“You’re a woman, and I’m a man,” he said, determined to prove his point, although somewhere deep inside he was distressed she should make light of her appearance. “Sometimes that is all it takes.”

He took her hand and drew her to her feet, not forcing her, but allowing no resistance, and then made the kiss a reality, his lips claiming hers with an arrogance that took her breath away.

Dear Reader,

While I was writing A Father by Christmas—I love writing Christmas books!—I found myself more and more interested in an unborn baby who was a very minor player in the book. Before I realized what had happened, I knew I had to write another book so I could find out more about the baby. Imagine my delight when I realized that the father was a very sexy Spaniard—perfect hero material. But would such a gorgeous hunk ever fall in love with Marty, who wasn’t very beautiful, or very tall, but who had taken the baby into her heart and would obviously make the perfect mother for the little girl? I had my doubts, but love is a wondrous thing and when these two were thrown together, and forced to fight for the baby’s welfare, even fight for her life, magic happened and they turned into perfect partners, in life, in work and in love.

Wasn’t that convenient?

Meredith Webber

The Spanish Doctor’s Convenient Bride

Meredith Webber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Let these exotic doctors sweep you off your feet….

Be tantalized by their smoldering good looks, romanced by their fiery passion and warmed by the emotional power of these strong and caring men….

MEDITERRANEAN DOCTORS

Passionate about life, love and medicine

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘MOZART would be good for all the babies in the NICU,’ Marty protested. ‘I’ve picked out melodies everyone knows so the parents would enjoy it too. Besides, Emmaline is used to it. It’s what I’ve played for her all along.’

Sophie Gibson touched her friend lightly on the shoulder.

‘She’s not your baby,’ she gently reminded Marty. ‘In fact, she’s not even called Emmaline.’

‘But you’ve got to admit she looks like an Emmaline, doesn’t she?’

Marty put her hand through the port of the humidicrib and touched the wild black hair poking up from beneath the stockingette cap on the head of the tiny baby. Emmaline’s cherub face was screwed up as if sleeping required the utmost concentration, her little fists tucked up against her chin, ready to take on anyone who bothered her.

Or who messed with her Mozart!

‘She looks like a baby,’ Sophie said, then turned, smiling, as she heard her husband’s voice.

‘Glad you’re both here,’ Alexander Gibson said quietly. ‘Sophie, Marty, I’d like you both to meet Dr Carlos Quintero. He’s the baby’s father.’

Gib’s eyes sought out Marty, and she hoped the sick despair that squeezed her stomach wasn’t written on her face.

Stupid to have grown attached to Emmaline—stupid, stupid, stupid!

‘Carlos, this is Sophie Gibson, second in charge of the neonatal intensive care unit, and Marty Cox, the obstetrician who took care of Natalie during the time she was in on life support in the intensive care unit.’

The dark-haired, deeply tanned stranger bowed his head towards the two women, but Marty sensed his eyes, hidden beneath hooded, jet-fringed lids, were on Emm—the baby.

Then he lifted his head and eyes as dark as his lashes—obsidian stones in his harsh-planed face—met Marty’s.

‘I will wish to speak further to you,’ he said, his deep, accented voice, though quiet, carrying easily around the room.

Presence, that’s what he has, Marty thought, although she doubted presence was the reason for a sudden fluttery feeling in her chest.

‘Of course,’ she agreed, as easily as possible given the fluttery stuff going on. ‘Any time. Well, not quite any time, but we can make a time.’

She was chattering, something she only did when she was nervous, and of course Emmaline’s father suddenly turning up would make her nervous.

Wouldn’t it?

‘Why not now?’ Sophie suggested. ‘You’ve just come off duty.’

Marty fired a ‘some friend you are’ glance towards the neonatologist, and wondered just how bad she, herself, looked. Flat hair from the cap she’d been wearing in the delivery room, a too-large scrub suit billowing around her slight frame.

And you’re worrying because? her inner voice demanded.

‘You’d probably prefer to spend time with the baby right now,’ she mumbled at the stranger, who cast a look towards the crib then turned back to Marty.

‘Not at all. Now would suit me if it is convenient for you.’

Marty looked helplessly towards Sophie, who had to hide the smile, while Gib made matters worse by suggesting they use his office, which had a super coffee-maker and comfortable armchairs in which they could sit.

‘You know how to work the coffee-machine,’ he reminded Marty as she dragged her reluctant body out of the NICU, far too aware of the tall dark stranger following behind her.

‘Talk about a cliché!’ she muttered to herself as this description of Carlos whoever flashed through her mind.

‘I am sorry?’

She turned and shrugged.

‘No, I’m sorry. Talking to myself. Bad habit.’

‘And one I also have,’ the polite doctor informed her. ‘Though, in my case, I am often the only person who understands me.’

‘You can say that again!’ Marty told him, turning to smile as she added, ‘Though there are times when even I don’t understand me.’

‘Ah!’ He returned her smile, brilliant white teeth flashing in his dark face, deep lines creasing the tanned cheeks and crinkling the skin at the corner of his eyes. ‘But that is more than a language problem, is it not?’

Still getting over the effect of the smile—which had stuck her feet to the floor and made her stomach swoop in a wild roller-coaster simulation—she had no idea what to say to this fairly acute observation.

She settled on a lame ‘Gib’s office is through here’ and led the way along the corridor and into the comfortable room. At least, while she busied herself at the coffee-machine she wouldn’t have to look at this Carlos—wouldn’t have to see the silver strands in his night-dark hair, or the smooth tanned skin stretched over hard muscle in his arms, or the way his fine-boned nose seemed to direct the eye towards sinfully shapely lips.