Louisa George - How to Resist a Heartbreaker

Praise for

Louisa George:

‘Author Louisa George fulfilled the promise she made with her emotionally satisfying debut offering, ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM, and took us to unexpected depths of human relationship with WAKING UP WITH HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE.

This story is a captivating blend of drama, passion, emotional tension and romance.’

—Contemporary Romance Reviews

‘A most excellent debut from Louisa George.’

—www.GoodReads.com on

ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM

A lifelong reader of most genres, LOUISA GEORGEdiscovered romance novels later than most, but immediately fell in love with the intensity of emotion, the high drama and the family focus of Mills & Boon ®Medical Romance TM.

With a Bachelors Degree in Communication and a nursing qualification under her belt, writing medical romance seemed a natural progression, and the perfect combination of her two interests. And making things up is a great way to spend the day!

An English ex-pat, Louisa now lives north of Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, two teenage sons and two male cats. Writing romance is her opportunity to covertly inject a hefty dose of pink into her heavily testosterone-dominated household. When she’s not writing or researching Louisa loves to spend time with her family and friends, enjoys travelling, and adores great food. She’s also hopelessly addicted to Zumba ®.

Recent titles by Louisa George:

THE LAST DOCTOR SHE SHOULD EVER DATE

THE WAR HERO’S LOCKED-AWAY HEART

WAKING UP WITH HIS RUNAWAY BRIDE

ONE MONTH TO BECOME A MUM

Also available in eBook format

from www.millsandboon.co.uk

www.millsandboon.co.uk

‘WE HAVE A DONOR.’ Max Maitland put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. A first step to making things right between them all. God knew, they needed it. That, plus a hefty dose of courage and his surgical skills.

Little Jamie’s life depended on this being a success. Failure wasn’t an option. Not now. Not when so much was at stake.

‘Yes, we do have a donor.’ Mitchell’s eyes lit up with hope as they walked towards the nurses’ station. ‘Me.’

‘What? No. There was an accident—the kidney’s being flown in. We have to run some tests, but first thoughts are that everything’s compatible.’ Max couldn’t risk his brother on the operating table too. ‘I’ll be the principal transplant surgeon, obviously. We’re just waiting for the rest of the team.’

‘No. I want to do this. I want to donate my kidney to my son. I have to do this, goddamit.’ Mitch’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. He gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles blanching.

Max knew how hard coming to terms with being a father had been for his brother. Harder still to learn the child he’d only just met would die without urgent help.

Dragging him away from the screaming telephones, the bleeping monitor and babies’ wails, Max looked Mitch squarely in the eye. The steel gaze he knew was mirrored in his own eyes bored into him. Eyes so eerily identical to his. Maitland eyes. The same ones Jamie had. His nephew. His brother’s son .

Max’s chest tightened. How long had he wished for this kind of connection with his own flesh and blood? How many nights had passed in a fit of fantasy—about a family with people who cared, who believed in him?

Now Max could do something to make a difference, bridge that gap between himself and his estranged twin—make a real family. ‘Are you sure? You know the risks? It’s major surgery.’

‘I know that I’m a positive match. I know that adult-to-child transplants work best. That living donors work better. I know I’d do anything. Anything. For my child.’

Max nodded. In the Maitland gene pool determination beat anything else hands down. Stubbornness came a close second, which meant he hadn’t a hope of changing his brother’s mind. But he had to try. ‘Let’s see what the tests show on this donor kidney. Then we’ll take it from there.’

‘No. Give it to someone else.’

‘This is a good chance for Jamie. Donors are few and far between. At least wait and see … ’

Mitch shook his head, sucked in air. ‘Would you do that for your child? Would you wait to see if things panned out okay? To see if the higher chances of tissue rejection from an unrelated donor made him sick again? Watch him suffer when you could easily make things better for him? Or would you give him the best chance? Would you do it?’ For your nephew? For me?

Mitch didn’t have to say the words. Years of frustration and jealousy, anger and grief hovered round them tainted with the thick disinfectant smell that coated everything in the hospital ward. Would you put yourself on the line for your family? Even if that family was something you hadn’t spent a whole lot of time with.

Without hesitation Max answered. ‘Of course I would. I’ll make it work.’

THE SHED PUMPED with the throb of techno beat. A deep bass rhythm resonated off Max’s ribcage, as if the music came from within him. Hard. Loud. Raw. Through a glass door leading out back he saw silhouetted people dancing, arms punching the air, the way he wanted to right now. The way he felt whenever surgery had been a success. But today—hell, nothing came close to that kind of buzz.

Mission accomplished.

Bill, the barman, nodded towards the bottles in the fridge. ‘Hey, Max. Usual?’

‘Sure. Line them up.’

‘Celebrating?’

‘I think so.’ It paid to be cautious. The first twenty-four hours were often the decider, although with transplants the decider could be years down the track. He’d laid it all out to Mitch and Jodi, plain and simple; Jamie’s operation had resulted in a functioning kidney, but a lot could still go wrong. Too much.

He didn’t want to go there. Emotions had no place in a surgeon’s work and in his career he’d always managed that—but saving his nephew’s life? That was all kinds of different.

Bill slid the beer bottle across the bar, his eyebrows raised in understanding. The great boutique beer, plus the fact the staff never asked questions or gave advice, was the reason The Shed was Max’s home away from home. After a heavy day of intense surgery he relished the chance to de-stress the best way he could in familiar surroundings, followed by some kind of hot physical workout—a bed was optional.

Here in the public bar there was no one save a couple from the phlebotomy unit and a single woman a few seats down with her back to him. A mass of thick dark curls covered her shoulders.

His gaze drifted down her straight back, stopping short at the taut line of the black long-sleeved blouse stretched across her spine. Her dress was more funereal than fun, so much so he wondered why she’d be in party central. Most girls here showed far more skin. Intrigued, his gaze travelled over the narrow dip of her waist. The flair of her skirt over a decent amount of hip. The right amount.

He imagined running his palm over those curves.

Running a cool hand over the back of his neck instead, he eased the tension in his shoulders. Man. After eight hours of surgery his hyped muscles needed a release. And he knew the perfect way.

A quick drink first. Then hit the back bar. Then … maybe … who knew? The night was still young.