The Legendary Playboy Surgeon

Praise forAlison Roberts:

‘Readers will be moved by this incredibly sweet story

about a family that is created in the most unexpected way.’ —RT Book Reviews on THE HONOURABLE MAVERICK

‘I had never read anything by Alison Roberts

prior to reading TWINS FOR CHRISTMAS, but after reading this enchanting novella I shall certainly add her name to my auto-buy list!’ —Cataromance.com on TWINS FOR CHRISTMAS

‘Ms Roberts produces her usual entertaining blend

of medicine and romance in just the right proportion, with a brooding but compelling hero and both leads with secrets to hide.’ —Mills and Boon^>® website reader review on NURSE, NANNY … BRIDE!

Heartbreakers of St Patrick’s Hospital

The delicious doctors

you know you shouldn’t fall for!

St Patrick’s Hospital: renowned for

cutting-edge lifesaving procedures … and Auckland’s most sinfully sexy surgeons— there’s never a shortage of female patients in this waiting room!

The hospital grapevine buzzes with

rumours about motorbike-riding rebel doc Connor Matthews and aristocratic neurosurgeon Oliver Dawson— but one thing’s for sure … They’re the heartbreakers of St Patrick’s and should be firmly off limits….

So why does that make themeven more devastatingly attractive?!

ALISON ROBERTS lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, and has written over sixty Mills & Boon^>® Medical^>™ Romances. As a qualified paramedic, she has personal experience of the drama and emotion to be found in the world of medical professionals, and loves to weave stories with this rich background—especially when they can have a happy ending.

When Alison is not writing, you’ll find her indulging her passion for dancing or spending time with her friends (including Molly the dog) and her daughter Becky, who has grown up to become a brilliant artist. She also loves to travel, hates housework, and considers it a triumph when the flowers outnumber the weeds in her garden.

The Legendary

Playboy Surgeon

Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

WHAT on earth was going on here?

As she stepped out of the lift, Dr Kate Graham found herself staring at the expanse of linoleum lining the floor of this hospital corridor. The flecked beige was clearly marked by … tyre tracks?

Very odd.

Not that a lot of hospital equipment didn’t have wheels and it was conceivable that a particularly heavy item—a portable X-ray machine, for example—might have pneumatic tyres on its wheels, but these marks suggested the kind of wheels that belonged to something that needed a roadway to get from A to B.

The track marks were leading towards the children’s ward, which was also Kate’s intended destination, but she would probably have followed them anyway. Any distraction from what was waiting for her down in the bowels of St Patrick’s hospital was welcome. Something that seemed highly inappropriate and might need sorting out was even better. Kate could potentially defuse the horrible tension that had been building in her for some time now by directing it elsewhere.

Whatever idiot had thought it might be OK to bring a motorbike, for heaven’s sake, right into a ward full of seriously sick children? Kate could see the machine now, as she rounded a corner. A gleaming, bright red monstrosity at the end of the corridor, just outside the double doors that she knew led to the wide playroom, which was a space enjoyed by any child deemed well enough.

The playroom was well past the nurses’ station where Kate had been headed to collect some urgent samples for the pathology department but she didn’t even slow down as she passed the doorway. Not that the area was attended at the moment, anyway, because staff members and patients alike were crowded behind the astonishing spectacle of the motorbike and the leather-clad figure beside it, who was at that moment lifting a helmet from his head.

Connor Matthews.

Well, no surprises there. The orthopaedic surgeon who specialised in child cancer cases might be something of a legend here at St Pat’s but he failed to impress Kate. He was … disreputable, that’s what he was. He might fit in just fine when he was in an operating theatre but when that hat and mask came off he looked, quite frankly, unprofessional. He was weeks behind a much-needed haircut for those shaggy, black curls and at least several days behind basic personal grooming such as shaving. If he wasn’t in scrubs, his appearance was even worse. Jeans with badly frayed hems. Black T-shirts under a leather jacket. Cowboy boots!

Worse than his physical appearance, though, Connor Matthews broke rules. All sorts of rules, and many of them were far less superficial than a dress code. He was renowned for not following established protocols and he seemed to enjoy being in places he wasn’t supposed to be. Good grief, last week he’d not only delivered a pathology sample to her department in person, in order to queue-jump, he’d hung around and peered through microscopes himself until a diagnosis had been made. If she’d been in the laboratory when he’d turned up he wouldn’t have got away with it just by flashing that admittedly charming smile.