Alison Roberts - The Surgeon's Engagement Wish

Would he have wanted to kiss her if he’d known what it would be like? If he’d known that the lock would disintegrate on that part of his heart that had been so well protected for so long? That all the old feelings would still be there so completely?

Except they hadn’t been complete, had they? Because now he could add the painfully gained wisdom of so many years. And the forgiveness, and understanding of why it had happened.

His hands held her close; his lips moved over hers gently. This wasn’t about passion—though that was only a heartbeat away. It was about finding a connection again, and asking whether that connection could ever mean enough to make it worth exploring further.

Stories can begin to grow from an amazing variety of starting points. A character or a place or a conflict can all provide a flash point. Sometimes, as happened with The Surgeon’s Engagement Wish, something comes from way out in left field. I was leafing through a motoring magazine, of all things, when I saw a picture of a whale rescue.

We get a few mass strandings of whales in New Zealand so it’s not that unusual, but it got me thinking about how emotional such an experience would be, and how much depth it could add for a pair of central characters that were already having problems.

Not that I’ve ever helped with a whale rescue, but I have a friend who works in the Department of Conservation and she was able to help with the research. Thank you, Sandra!

My stranded whales and their rescue became very real for me and the story of Luke and Beth grew in both directions from that point.

I wonder what my next starting point will be?

Happy reading!

Love,

Alison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Excerpt Would Beth have turned her face up toward his like that if she hadn’t wanted him to kiss her? Would he have wanted to kiss her if he’d known what it would be like? If he’d known that the lock would disintegrate on that part of his heart that had been so well protected for so long? That all the old feelings would still be there so completely? Except they hadn’t been complete, had they? Because now he could add the painfully gained wisdom of so many years. And the forgiveness, and understanding of why it had happened. His hands held her close; his lips moved over hers gently. This wasn’t about passion—though that was only a heartbeat away. It was about finding a connection again, and asking whether that connection could ever mean enough to make it worth exploring further.

Dear Reader Dear Reader Dear Reader Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN Extract Copyright , Stories can begin to grow from an amazing variety of starting points. A character or a place or a conflict can all provide a flash point. Sometimes, as happened with The Surgeon’s Engagement Wish, something comes from way out in left field. I was leafing through a motoring magazine, of all things, when I saw a picture of a whale rescue. We get a few mass strandings of whales in New Zealand so it’s not that unusual, but it got me thinking about how emotional such an experience would be, and how much depth it could add for a pair of central characters that were already having problems. Not that I’ve ever helped with a whale rescue, but I have a friend who works in the Department of Conservation and she was able to help with the research. Thank you, Sandra! My stranded whales and their rescue became very real for me and the story of Luke and Beth grew in both directions from that point. I wonder what my next starting point will be? Happy reading! Love, Alison

Title Page The Surgeon’s Engagement Wish Alison Roberts www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

THE car should not have been there.

In the small car park adjacent to the emergency department of Ocean View hospital, yes. In the space reserved for the ambulance, even, if the emergency was dire enough.

But three quarters of the way through the wide electronic doors that led into the reception and triage area?

No way!

Nurse Elizabeth Dawson’s astonishment rapidly gave way to alarm. The car would have been suspicious enough tucked neatly into an acceptable car-parking slot. An ancient, rusting hulk of a V8. A status symbol amongst the elements of society who preferred to simply ignore any restrictions the law might impose on their lifestyle.

The man climbing out of the driver’s seat was even more intimidating. Clad in battered leathers with the ‘patch’ of his gang emblazoned on the back of the jacket, the heavily tattooed and menacing figure would have alarmed even the most confident of any emergency department staff.

And Beth Dawson was far from the most confident right now. She had started a new job in a new town only a couple of hours ago, for heaven’s sake, and everything was still completely unfamiliar.

No. Not quite everything. The aggression emanating from the gang member she was watching was all too familiar.

An unexpected flash of anger cut through her fear. This type of scenario was precisely why she’d left her job in a huge south Auckland hospital so recently. She’d had a gutsful of dealing with violent and uncooperative patients who took any pleasure or even satisfaction out of demonstrating the level of skill she had attained in her chosen profession.

The anger couldn’t last long enough to fuel courage, however, given the fact that she was alone in this part of the department. At 1 a.m. in a semi-rural area you wouldn’t expect a full waiting room, and the only patient who had come in since midnight was now having his chest pain investigated in one of the two resuscitation rooms.

Beth’s finger was pressed firmly against the button summoning assistance and any trace of saliva vanished from her mouth as she watched another two figures emerge from the vehicle. The bizarre sight of the car under the bright lights and filthy tyres on the spotless linoleum had already become just a background to an unpleasant drama unfolding. So had the rhythmic and futile attempts the electronic doors were making to close the small gap left around the obstacle. They touched the rear of the car and then bounced open again. And again.

The movement of the doors did not impede two of the men dragging the final occupant from the rear seat of the car. Little care was afforded the potential injuries of an apparently unconscious victim and a large smear of blood appeared on the pale floor as his feet dragged.