Laurie Paige - Heartbreaker

CLUB TIMES

For Members’ Eyes Only

Onstage Collapse Leads to Heart-stopping Romance

After her devastating onstage collapse last month, sources tell us that world-renowned ballerina—and heiress to the Wainwright fortune—Susan Wainwright has been getting special treatment from top-notch surgeon Michael O’Day as she waits for a new heart. Ever since Susan was admitted to Houston General, Michael’s notoriously ailing bedside manner has made a miraculous recovery. It seems the normally cocky, self-assured doctor is smitten with Susan and refuses to leave her side should she need any extra TLC. Even Susan’s famous LSCC founding family cannot argue with the care she’s been receiving and claim Michael’s been an angel in disguise. I don’t know about an angel, but he sure looks like heaven!

And, get this, members. Thanks to DNA and modern science, Tyler Murdoch, that mighty handsome military man, has been ruled out as daddy of the abandoned baby. Now that begs the question of just who is the father of this little girl and why has no one come forth to claim her? The Lone Star Country Club is no stranger to scandal, but this is certainly something to keep an eye on….

As always, members, make your best stop of the day right here at the Lone Star Country Club!

LAURIE PAIGE

never knew what “wide-open spaces” meant until she moved to Texas. On a scenic drive from Austin to the Rio Grande with her husband, she realized theirs was the only car in sight on the road, which stretched from horizon to horizon in undulating hills. Wide-open, indeed! She loved living in the Hill Country and always took visitors to the Pedernales Falls for picnics in the summer, challenging them to a stone-jumping expedition across the river. Of course she knew the easiest route and reports she only fell in once. Okay, maybe twice. Returning to Texas for the LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB series was a joy!

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Where Texas society reigns supreme—and appearances are everything.

Time is running out for a beloved Wainwright heiress….

Michael O’Day: This arrogant top-notch heart surgeon is impossible to ignore—especially with his piercing blue eyes. But he’s about to learn a lesson in humility when he falls under the spell of his courageous patient and is faced with the moral dilemma of a lifetime….

Susan Wainwright: She refuses to let her medical crisis stop her from continuing to dazzle crowds as a star-studded ballerina. But when her pompous—potently sexy—doctor becomes personally invested in her case, she knows there is something more than ire smoldering between them. Will she place her fragile heart in his capable hands?

The Desperate Crime Lord: Dying Mob boss Carmine Mercado is hell-bent on getting his hands on a donor heart and enlisting the skills of Michael O’Day to perform the risky procedure. And he won’t think twice about resorting to menace, coercion and blackmail to further his agenda….

This book is dedicated to Steve and Jolene Thurman: thanks for sharing information, experience and expertise!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

The twin engines of Michael O’Day’s new plane purred steadily as he buzzed the field in preparation for landing at Mission Ridge, a “fly in, fly out” community on the outskirts of Mission Creek, Texas. A private shuttle was off to one side, passengers filing down the plane’s steps. No aircraft were on the runway, and none was heading in for a landing, other than his.

From the air, he could pick out the home he’d purchased last year. It was a big house for a bachelor, not yet completely furnished, but he was pleased with it.

With the private airstrip practically at his door and the Lone Star Country Club golf links nearby, he could indulge his two favorite pastimes: golfing and flying. He planned to retire here.

But not anytime soon. At thirty-four, he had a ways to go before riding off into the sunset. However, with the new, faster plane, it would be a piece of cake to fly the two hundred fifty miles back and forth to Houston where he had a penthouse and an office. As a heart surgeon, he kept a busy schedule.

He set the nimble four-passenger plane down on the tarmac and taxied off the runway, heading for his hangar at the back of his two-acre lot. Instead of pushing the plane inside when he arrived, he left it on the apron. He was running late for lunch with his friend and golfing buddy, Flynt Carson. He’d take care of the aircraft later.

He dashed across the back lawn, activating the remote to open the door of the garage attached to the house. Inside, he swung his legs over the car door and into the seat of the low-slung convertible he kept at Mission Ridge.

Another indulgence, he admitted, but he didn’t regret the cost. The time here in the heart of Texas ranching country gave him the necessary rest and relaxation to perform his surgeries with confidence. During his internship, a wise use of one’s time had been stressed, over and over by his mentor, one of the foremost cardiac surgeons in the country.

Usually Michael flew in on Friday afternoon, but he’d been delayed by emergency surgery yesterday, then had overslept this morning, making him late taking off.

Checking his watch, he grimaced and turned the ignition key. He drove out of the garage, hit the button to lower the door behind him, glanced to his left and, seeing no traffic, gunned the engine.

And immediately threw on the brakes.

The car came to a screeching halt about six inches from a tall, lithe beauty who was standing in the middle of the street. She turned flashing green eyes on him.

“You baboon!” she said in an angry, albeit melodious voice. “You shouldn’t be allowed behind the wheel, driving like a maniac down a residential street.”

“Well, honey,” he drawled, amused and irritated by her lofty manner, “I didn’t expect some female”—translation: some ditz—“to be sashaying down the middle of the street.”

“I am not ‘sashaying’ down the middle of the street. I happen to be crossing it.”

He studied her, then glanced across the street and back to her. “You might not know it,” he mentioned in a helpful, philosophical tone, “but the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Going straight across the street gets you to the other side faster than ambling across at an oblique angle. It could also save you from getting run over.”