Meredith Webber - Desert King, Doctor Daddy

Yusef walked quietly along the dimly lit corridor, for he couldn’t rest without seeing his little daughter, no matter how late the hour. He had not been here when she was born, and for that he carried guilt with him every day.

Pushing open the door, he saw light fall on red hair, and Yusef could only stare in disbelief, for there, on a mat on the floor, lay Gemma, her fiery red hair splayed across the pillow, her clothes dishevelled and creased. But her arms were around his daughter, who was snuggled close into Gemma’s body.

His instinct was to wake the visitor, to tell her this wasn’t her place. Yet why seeing her there should anger him, when all he should be feeling was gratitude, he didn’t know.

Or did he? Wasn’t it the stirring of his body, the shamefulness of such a reaction, that had angered him?

But as he watched the sleeping woman, with his child in her arms, desire departed, to be replaced by a feeling he didn’t recognise, a kind of churning deep inside him, a longing—but for what he didn’t want to consider…

Meredith Webbersays of herself, ‘Some years ago, I read an article which suggested that Mills and Boon were looking for new Medical™ Romance authors. I had one of those “I can do that” moments, and gave it a try. What began as a challenge has become an obsession—though I do temper the “butt on seat” career of writing with dirty but healthy outdoor pursuits, fossicking through the Australian Outback in search of gold or opals. Having had some success in all of these endeavours, I now consider I’ve found the perfect lifestyle.’

Recent titles by the same author:

GREEK DOCTOR: ONE MAGICAL CHRISTMAS CHILDREN’S DOCTOR, MEANT-TO-BE WIFE *THE HEART SURGEON’S SECRET CHILD **THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE **A PREGNANT NURSE’S CHRISTMAS WISH

** Jimmie’s Children’s Unit

* Crocodile Creek

by

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover Page

Excerpt Yusef walked quietly along the dimly lit corridor, for he couldn’t rest without seeing his little daughter, no matter how late the hour. He had not been here when she was born, and for that he carried guilt with him every day. Pushing open the door, he saw light fall on red hair, and Yusef could only stare in disbelief, for there, on a mat on the floor, lay Gemma, her fiery red hair splayed across the pillow, her clothes dishevelled and creased. But her arms were around his daughter, who was snuggled close into Gemma’s body. His instinct was to wake the visitor, to tell her this wasn’t her place. Yet why seeing her there should anger him, when all he should be feeling was gratitude, he didn’t know. Or did he? Wasn’t it the stirring of his body, the shamefulness of such a reaction, that had angered him? But as he watched the sleeping woman, with his child in her arms, desire departed, to be replaced by a feeling he didn’t recognise, a kind of churning deep inside him, a longing—but for what he didn’t want to consider…

About The Author Meredith Webber says of herself, ‘Some years ago, I read an article which suggested that Mills and Boon were looking for new Medical™ Romance authors. I had one of those “I can do that” moments, and gave it a try. What began as a challenge has become an obsession—though I do temper the “butt on seat” career of writing with dirty but healthy outdoor pursuits, fossicking through the Australian Outback in search of gold or opals. Having had some success in all of these endeavours, I now consider I’ve found the perfect lifestyle.’

Other Books By Recent titles by the same author: GREEK DOCTOR: ONE MAGICAL CHRISTMAS CHILDREN’S DOCTOR, MEANT-TO-BE WIFE * THE HEART SURGEON’S SECRET CHILD ** THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE ** A PREGNANT NURSE’S CHRISTMAS WISH ** Jimmie’s Children’s Unit * Crocodile Creek

Title Page Desert King, Doctor Daddy by

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Copyright

SHE was almost done. The place shone—well, as much as an old terrace house in the inner city could shine. Magazines in the waiting room were neatly stacked, the toys tucked into toy boxes, the consulting rooms tidy, treatment rooms gleaming, crisp white paper on the examination tables. Flowers for the kitchen table, that’s all she needed then she could change and be ready for the arrival of the Mystery Benefactor.

His donations had become so important over the last two years that Gemma couldn’t help but think of him in capital letters. She grabbed a pair of scissors and headed out the door, knowing from the perfumed air that the valiant old mock orange tree on the eastern side of the house must be in flower again. A few sprays would lift the kitchen—the only room in the old house that hadn’t benefited from the centre’s extra income.

‘Lady, lady!’

She was on the top step when she heard the call and turned to see a young man all but carrying a heavily pregnant woman along the footpath.

‘Help me!’ the man cried out again, but Gemma was already on her way towards him, the black limousine pulling up outside ignored in her haste to get to the couple.

Reaching them, she hooked her arm around the woman’s waist to take her weight on one side, and recognised the beautiful features—Aisha, a young Somali woman who had stopped her antenatal visits two months ago, refusing to return to the Women’s Centre in spite of repeated requests that she come in.

And now she had so, whatever the circumstances, Gemma welcomed her warmly.

‘Aisha, it is good to see you. Are the pains bad? Have you been able to time them?’

Gemma kept talking, hoping her voice would reassure the labouring woman.

They’d reached the steps and as Gemma wondered how to make the journey up them easy for her patient, a tall, dark stranger appeared at her side.

‘Go ahead and hold the door open, I will lift her,’ he ordered, but he spoke with such authority that Gemma not only went ahead and opened the door but continued on into the house, opening a door to the treatment room as well.

The stranger set his burden down on the examination table but the woman screamed and lunged and would have fallen if the young man accompanying her hadn’t caught her.

‘Floor, she wants floor,’ he said.

That was okay with Gemma. She’d delivered babies on the floor before today, but the young man’s presence was nearly as puzzling as the stranger’s. Somali men, in her experience, were rarely present at their baby’s birth. It was an all-women affair. And surely the beautifully suited, slightly severelooking man who’d appeared couldn’t be her M.B.—she’d been picturing a doddering octogenarian, not a suave, handsome fashion plate who couldn’t be a day over forty.

Not that there was time to question either of the men. Squatting on the floor beside Aisha, one arm around her, supporting her, the other on her belly, Gemma felt the strong contractions and although the woman was doing no more than making tiny mewling noises, Gemma knew she must be in agony.

‘What’s been happening?’ she asked the young man.