by Annie O'Neil
When Beatrice’s father dropped a kiss onto his daughter’s cheek and passed her hand over to Jamie’s he whispered something in Italian—clearly meant for his future son-in-law’s hearing. Jamie’s mind was too scrambled to translate it perfectly, but he got the gist. Take care of my little girl.
He gave him a nod. There was nothing that would stop him from loving and protecting the woman by his side ever again.
Time took on an otherworldly quality, and it seemed that just a few moments later Jamie was pulling his beautiful wife in to him with one hand, while the other tipped her chin up so he could seal their wedding vows with a kiss.
When at last they broke apart he swept the tears of joy from her cheeks as the tiniest wedding party in history applauded their brand-new union.
“Are you ready to start your life as Mrs. Coutts?” he asked before they stepped away from the “altar.”
“Only if you’re ready to go and get the car keys,” she replied, both her hands swooping over the rich arc of champagne fabric swaddling her belly as she sucked in a sharp intake of breath.
“Are you...?” Jamie looked at the other faces in the room, each as wide-eyed as he was. “Do you mean we...?”
Beatrice nodded, the smile on her face near enough reaching from ear to ear. “A husband and a father. All on the same day!”
Jamie ran a few steps toward the Victorian-tiled foyer for the keys, then doubled back to his brand-new wife and took her hand in his, forcing himself to take a steadier pace as they walked to the door.
He barked out orders to Fran to get Beatrice’s shawl, to Beatrice’s bemused father to find the prepacked suitcase and to Luca to grab the wedding cake.
“You planned this, didn’t you?” he whispered into his wife’s ear. “The best wedding present of all.”
She answered with a kiss, and by the time they had broken apart everyone had whirled into action and it were in place to head off to the hospital for an entirely new escapade as husband and wife.
“Mrs. Coutts?” Jamie swept open the door and scooped up his wife. “I know this isn’t the doorway you were expecting to go through after we were married, but are you ready for the next stage of our adventure?”
“With you by my side?” she asked, nestling into the crook between his chin and shoulder. “Every day for the rest of my life.”
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Annie O’Neil
HEALING THE SHEIKH’S HEART
HER HOT HIGHLAND DOC
SANTIAGO’S CONVENIENT FIANCÉE
THE NIGHTSHIFT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
All available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from A MIRACLE FOR THE BABY DOCTOR by Meredith Webber.
Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003
Did you know that Harlequin My Rewards members earn FREE books and more?
Join
www.HarlequinMyRewards.com
today to start earning your FREE books!
* * *
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
Join Harlequin My Rewards & Instantly earn a FREE ebook of your choice.
Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever & whenever you shop.
Turn your points into FREE BOOKS.
Don’t miss out. Reward the book lover in you!
Register Today & Earn a FREE BOOK*
*New members who join before December 31st, 2017 will receive 2000 points redeemable for eligible titles.
Click here to register
Or visit us online to register at
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010001
A Miracle for the Baby Doctor
by Meredith Webber
PROLOGUE
FRANCESCA LOUISE HAWTHORNE put down the phone with a sigh.
A deep sigh!
Why had she stayed in Sydney?
Why hadn’t she fled to the far ends of the earth after the divorce?
Sheer stubborn pride, probably!
She shrugged her shoulders and sighed again.
‘Trouble?’
She turned at the sound of her boss’s voice and smiled at the man who was part of the reason she hadn’t fled. Dr Andrew Flint was one of the foremost IVF specialists in Australia—the best in Sydney as far as Fran was concerned—and his, admittedly early, work into IVM could revolutionise the way couples who had difficulty conceiving could have babies.
Could bring hope...
And she knew a lot about hope...
Andy had been the first specialist in Australia to work on in vitro maturation, where immature eggs were taken from women and grown to maturity in an incubator, and this work had excited Fran so much she hadn’t considered leaving.
‘Andy?’ she said, when he’d been standing just inside the door of her office for a few moments.
This prompt was obviously not enough so she added, ‘You wanted something?’
He smiled and shook his head.
‘I did, but now I’m realising just how much I’ll miss you if you say yes to what I’ve come to ask.’
Fran shook her head. Used as she was to deciphering her rather absent-minded boss’s pronouncements, this one had her stumped.
‘Which was?’ she tried.
He was still smiling as he came closer to her.
‘I’ve been asked to lend you to someone. Have you ever run across Steve Ransome? He runs an IVF clinic in the Alexandria area. He offers couples on limited incomes from some of the inner-city areas a reduced rate but his clinic has a high success rate so he has plenty of regular fee-paying clients.’
Fran shook her head.
‘Doesn’t ring a bell,’ she said, refusing to think about high success rates and concentrating instead on where on earth this conversation might be going.
And why had he mentioned missing her?
At least trying to make sense out of Andy’s rambling was distracting her from the mother’s phone call—from the image of a smugly pregnant Clarissa that had lodged in her head...
‘Well, no matter, he’s a good bloke, and he’s asked me to lend you to him.’
‘Lend me to him?’
This was bizarre, even for Andy!
‘For his clinic in Vanuatu.’
Andy made this pronouncement as if it cleared up the whole conversation, and beamed at her as if he’d managed something wonderful.
Fran rose to her feet and walked around her desk, pulling up a chair and turning to her boss.
‘Please sit, Andy, then tell me this story from the beginning. I gather this doctor contacted you. Let’s start there.’
Looking mildly put out, Andy sat.
‘But I told you,’ he protested. ‘Vanuatu! Only for a few weeks—four, I think Steve said. I thought it would be great for you—tropical island, balmy breezes, getting out of Sydney when the weather’s so lousy. It’s work, of course, and he particularly asked if I had someone on staff who’d done some IVM work. I thought of you straight off. You’ve been looking a little peaky lately. The change will do you good. Hard to manage here without you, of course, but you’ve got all the staff trained so well, I’m sure they’ll cope.’
Sufficiently intrigued to swallow yet another sigh, Fran pieced the random bits of information tog
ether.
‘This man has a clinic in Vanuatu?’
Andy smiled again, practically applauding her grip on the situation.
‘It’s a giving-back thing, you see, or maybe paying forward—that’s what he might have said,’ he said, and although Fran didn’t see or follow the paying forward part, she pressed on.
‘And he needs an embryologist for four weeks?’
‘I think it was four, or maybe six,’ Andy said, his forehead crumpling as he tried to remember. Then he obviously gave up on that bit of irrelevant information and added, ‘I said I was pretty sure you’d go. Friend in need—doing good work—that kind of thing. Right up your alley, I thought, and a lovely holiday thrown in.’
Realising she wasn’t going to get much more from her boss, Fran changed tack.
‘Perhaps I should speak to him, find out exactly what the job entails.’
Andy shook his head.
‘Afraid not,’ he said. ‘He left yesterday. Asked me last week but I forgot and he phoned from the airport. Gave me the name of his practice manager and said she’d sort you out with flights and stuff. I’ve got the number here.’
Andy fished in his pocket, producing several screwed-up scraps of paper, uncrumpling them and glancing at each for a moment before stuffing them back into their hiding place.
‘Ah, here we go! Name’s Helen and the phone number’s there.’
He handed the scrap of paper to Fran, who surveyed it dubiously. It certainly said Helen and there was a phone number but...
‘I think he wants you soon—like yesterday,’ Andy added, standing up and heading for the door. ‘You’ll still get your pay from here, of course, and he said something about having accommodation for you. Do keep in touch.’
On which note he disappeared out the door.
Having worked with Andy since graduating ten years earlier, Fran knew that was all she’d get out of him. In fact, if she asked him anything about it later in the day, he would probably stare blankly at her, the entire conversation lost in whatever was currently holding his attention.
So Fran leaned back in her chair and wondered about serendipity.
Ten minutes earlier she’d been pondering her stupidity in letting pride keep her in Sydney after her divorce from Nigel and his subsequent marriage to Clarissa.
Well, pride, and her attachment to Andy and his work!
Now here was an invitation to escape—if only for four weeks—plumped right into her lap in the most unlikely manner.
Piecing together what little she’d gleaned from Andy, she assumed this man he’d spoken of—Steve Ransome—was running some kind of IVF programme on the island of Vanuatu and needed a embryologist—in particular one with experience in the very new field of IVM.
She knew of Vanuatu, of course. An island nation in the South Pacific, originally under French rule, if she remembered rightly.
Sun, sand, crystal-clear water, palm-tree fronds waving languidly over brilliantly coloured flowers...
She looked at the rain lashing against her window and shivered because September, which should be bringing a little warmth, and a promise of spring, had so far provided nothing but rain and more rain, with temperatures more like winter.
And Clarissa was pregnant...
Her ex-husband’s wife, Clarissa.
Her ex-husband, who’d hated every visit to the IVF clinic when Fran had been trying to get pregnant, who’d found the whole idea of IVF somehow humiliating—a slight on his manhood—and who now had a naturally pregnant wife...
And as Fran’s mother’s best friend, Joan, was Nigel’s mother, there’d no doubt be regular progress reports on the pregnancy of the wonderfully fertile Clarissa.
Doubt stabbed at her, making Fran wonder if the whole thing subtly underlined her mother’s disappointment in Fran’s failure to produce a child. Fran shook her head again.
No, her mother had been upset over the divorce, but more because of the two families’ friendship.
But the friendship had survived between her mother and Joan and although her mother was nearly always travelling these days, they were obviously still in close contact. Blame mobile phones and the internet!
Which meant Fran would doubtless get updates on the pregnancy at regular intervals, each one probing all the still sore spots in Fran’s heart and mind.
Getting away, if only for a month, was exactly what she needed.
Although...
She looked around the lab, seeing her workmates busy at their jobs.
After all the treatment she’d had, plus three unsuccessful IVF cycles, people had been surprised that she’d come back to work.
To work that was such an integral part of IVF programmes.
But here, in the big lab that dealt with so many specimens and eggs and tiny embryos to care for, she didn’t ever know which couple had success, and who had failed. She was shut off from their success or their pain.
And her own remembered pain...
Fran smoothed out the piece of paper, checked the number and phoned a stranger called Helen.
Copyright © 2017 by Meredith Webber
ISBN-13: 9781488020650
Claiming His Pregnant Princess
Copyright © 2017 by Annie O’Neil
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9 Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com