Forbidden Night with the Duke

by Annie Claydon

‘Happiness, Jaye. You’re going to have to get used to it.’

  ‘I suppose I will. Because it’s my job to make you happy now, and I intend to do it well.’

  Megan laughed against his chest. ‘Consider yourself employed. No trial period.’

  He kissed her, and a loud whoop sounded from inside the airport building. When Megan looked round, she saw the two customs officers behind the glass, both waving and smiling.

  ‘They knew?’ She grinned up at Jaye.

  ‘I didn’t know myself until I was on my knees. I was going to wait until tonight to wine and dine you...’

  ‘This was so much better. No champagne or beautiful rooms. Just you.’

  ‘Really?’

  Megan grinned. ‘I’ll take the champagne and the beautiful room later.’

  He took her hand. ‘Coming right up, Milady.’

  ‘Oh, no. None of this “Milady” business. It doesn’t suit me.’

  He chuckled, brushing another kiss onto her lips. ‘Too bad. You’re going to have to get used to it.’

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Annie Claydon

  SAVING BABY AMY

  ENGLISH ROSE FOR THE SICILIAN DOC

  THE DOCTOR’S DIAMOND PROPOSAL

  RESCUED BY DR. RAFE

  All available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from TEMPTED BY DR. OFF-LIMITS by Charlotte Hawkes.

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  Tempted by Dr. Off-Limits

  by Charlotte Hawkes

  Chapter One

  ‘HEY, GORGEOUS, THOSE lips of yours look so lonely, do they wanna meet mine?’

  It took Elle a moment to realise the cheesy pick-up line had been aimed—or, more accurately, slurred—at her. She cringed and hoped that if she ignored him he might get the message, even as a part of her wondered why she didn’t make one of the witty, no-nonsense comebacks for which she was renowned among her army colleagues.

  Two weeks ago she would have.

  In fact, two weeks ago she wouldn’t have been sitting on this barstool, having nursed the same warm drink for the last couple of hours. She’d have been tearing up that dance-floor, alone or not.

  Then again, two weeks ago she hadn’t walked in on her fiancé, Stevie, in bed with not one—as she’d told her best friend, Fliss, in some last desperate grasp at dignity—but two bimbos. Two. As if cheating on her wasn’t enough, he had to utterly humiliate her. They were football groupies, who’d then sold their sordid selfies to the tabloids. And in that moment it had been as though Stevie had stripped away all of Elle’s self-assurance, the very foundation of her confidence, which had been so carefully cultivated over the last decade or so, leaving her feeling more like the nerdy, geeky outsider of her youth.

  The fifteen-year-old girl who had let her new stepmother bully her when her bereaved father hadn’t been around, and her schoolmate peers had pushed her around when her adored teachers hadn’t been looking, until the cool, sixteen-year-old rising football star Stevie had taken a shine to her and everyone had reluctantly backed off. They hadn’t disappeared altogether but had hovered, waiting for their chance to pounce as soon as Stevie dumped her.

  But he hadn’t, they’d been together for fifteen years in total. Two kids from a no-shoes-poor background who had dreamed of breaking free. He was the only boy she’d ever kissed, the only man she’d ever slept with. Without his support—both emotional and financial—her deep-seated desire of going to university to study medicine would have remained a pipe dream.

  She was only grateful that her photo hadn’t appeared within Stevie’s double-page spread, including the moment he’d scored the winning goal for his club in the most recent Premier League match. And surely that in itself was fairly damning? Her photo hadn’t been there because—fifteen years or not—the press had, mercifully, never really known about her. For the first few years of their relationship they’d been practically inseparable, looking for each other in school or at lunch-breaks, and then she’d gone to university and everything had changed. For almost the last decade of her relationship with Stevie she’d tried to keep her life and career as a respected army trauma doctor as far away from his professional footballer lifestyle as she possibly could.

  ‘Man, what’s a bloke gotta do t’get some attention around here?’

  Elle startled as the drunk man next to her lolled over the bar, trying in vain to get the bartender to notice him. She refrained from telling him that she’d seen sober people wait up to about ten minutes to get served; she doubted he’d get anything more to drink from anyone. He seemed to have forgotten about her and she didn’t particularly want to engage the bloke when she didn’t have to.

  She glanced around the bar-cum-club with its Latin dance vibe and sexily dressed patrons and reminded herself why she’d come tonight. In a matter of days she’d be thousands of miles away back on the second half of her latest tour of duty, and after the last fortnight holed up in her hotel room down the road she’d had something of a light-bulb moment. Why was she letting someone else—why she was letting Stevie—control her happiness, when it finally occurred to her that aside from the shock and humiliation of walking in on...that, she wasn’t remotely as devastated as she perhaps should feel. If anything, a tiny part of her actually thought it felt...relief? So she’d ended up here, trying to be cool and independent and remind herself of the strong, capable woman she’d finally become, instead of the insecure, frightened girl she’d felt on discovering her fiancé’s betrayal.

  Instead, she just felt like a fish so far out of water she might as well have been back in the scorching desert she knew so well. It was time for her to cut her losses and go back to her hotel room, indulge in a long soak and snuggle down into that huge, fluffy, pure white bed. In a couple of days she’d be back out on her tour of duty and back into an environment she understood. Some people hated their jobs, but she loved hers. Always had. A small smile of relief tugged at her mouth.

  ‘You took your time, huh, darlin’, but I guess your lips liked the idea of meeting mine after all?’

  Elle barely had time to snap back to reality to realise that the drunk man was still there, and was now lurching towards her with an excited gleam in his eye, clearly taking it as an invitation to plant a sloppy wet one on her. Apparently ignoring him hadn’t worked after all, and now a second guy hovered in the background, grinning inanely at his buddy’s apparent good fortune.

  ‘Like I said...’ she pulled away hastily, but caught off guard she was barely able to keep herself from toppling backwards off her barstool ‘..
.I’m not interested.’

  ‘Sure you are, hot stuff. You just don’t know it yet.’

  A grabby hand snagged hers and she had to yank sharply to free it, her attitude changing immediately as she pulled herself back together.

  ‘You’re not listening,’ Elle ground out coldly. ‘I’m really not interested.’

  ‘Tell you what...’ he leered like he was making some huge concession ‘...I’ll even buy you a drink to help loosen you up.’

  ‘You’re not the first man—and I use that term loosely where you’re concerned—to offer to buy me a drink this evening and I declined.’ A few of them had been pretty good looking, too, and she still hadn’t been tempted. ‘They were polite about it and took no for an answer. I suggest you do the same.’

  If she had to physically defend herself, she knew she could. The army had trained her well enough, even though she’d been fortunate enough never to have to use it in practice. But it didn’t mean her stomach wasn’t churning in a way that it hadn’t been a moment ago, or that she preferred not to make her debut in a bar back in the UK with some inebriated idiot.

  ‘Aw, c’mon, don’t be a tease...’

  Elle reacted, some of her old self racing back to her in that instant as her hand closed swiftly, efficiently and discreetly over his, exerting just enough pressure on the first joint of his thumb. The words suddenly died on the man’s lips, replaced with an audible intake of breath while his eyes bulged slightly. She felt a sliver of pride slip back into place.

  Abruptly she became aware of someone stepping up behind her. Her grip still firm, Elle was about to turn around when the look on the drunk man’s face changed as his bloodshot eyes attempted to focus just to the right of Elle’s shoulder and upwards. And then up again. He clearly didn’t like what he saw and she could only assume it was someone coming to her rescue.

  Not that she needed rescuing. Stevie might have knocked her confidence as a woman, but he certainly hadn’t knocked her confidence in her ability to take care of herself, thank you very much. She opened her mouth to tell the unseen stranger that she had it under control when the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and a voice spoke, deeper, smoother and richer than the luxurious one hundred per cent cacao hot chocolate she’d indulged in that afternoon. It positively oozed dominance.

  ‘Is everything okay here?’

  The drunk man struggled to catch his breath, grunting as he winced.

  ‘Get lost, jerk, I saw her first.’

  She could practically feel the disdain radiating from the newcomer and unexpectedly something kicked low in her gut.

  ‘Everything is just fine,’ Elle countered lightly, determined not to reveal quite how her heart was hammering in her chest, though whether it was adrenalin from the confrontation or the unexpected impact of her would-be rescuer, she couldn’t be sure.

  ‘I have the situation under control,’ she added quietly.

  The dark shadow appeared in her peripheral vision and a decidedly muscular figure moved to insert himself between her and her misguided suitor, but Elle twisted her wrist and pushed her other hand over another barely imperceptible notch so that he went from red to puce. His friend was opening and closing his mouth but not moving to help.

  ‘Like I said,’ she repeated firmly, ‘it’s under control. The gentlemen were just leaving for some much-needed fresh air. Isn’t that right, boys?’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ he gasped. ‘We’re leaving.’

  Similarly, her would-be hero took a half-step backwards in tacit acknowledgment that she did indeed have matters in hand, though he did remain close as if for back-up should she need it. Elle appreciated both actions, even as the drunk man stumbled backwards, nursing his hand and shooting her a baleful look before appearing to realise he was free again. His eyes gleamed and he stood his ground, jutting his chin out pugnaciously. She opened her mouth to issue another warning, but this time the stranger beat her to it.

  ‘There isn’t a problem here, is there, lads?’

  It ought to have been a question but it wasn’t. The stranger’s physical presence only emphasised his strength, and yet somehow he managed to make it do it without actually crowding the men or looking as though he was threatening them.

  Her eyes were still firmly locked on the drunken man—something warned her that to look at the stranger directly would be as dangerous as staring straight into the sun. Elle tried to sound disapproving out of the corner of her mouth.

  ‘I really can handle him. But thanks.’

  ‘He’s drunk and humiliated. You have no idea which way he’ll jump,’ the liquid gold voice murmured.

  ‘Besides, that was one impressive thumb-lock you executed back there. I’d fancied myself to have been swooping in here like some modern-day superhero when I saw you almost fall off your stool before. At least throw me this bone now so I don’t feel completely impotent.’

  There was something utterly secure in the stranger’s tone that made Elle smile. She doubted this man had ever felt anything close to impotent in his whole life. In any sense of the word. And his compliment had warmed her far more than it perhaps ought to have.

  ‘Then far be it from me to emasculate you.’ She covered her mouth with her hand to hide her sudden, irrepressibly inane grin.

  Then, crossing her leather-trouser-clad legs on the bar stool—the brand-new purchase intended to lift her spirits—she gestured discreetly.

  ‘Be my guest.’

  Without another word the stranger stepped forward. Goose-bumps coursed along Elle’s arms and over her skin and for one long second her gaze lingered on a tight backside and muscular thighs, all wrapped up in black jeans, then slowly travelled upwards. He was tall, very tall, and solidly built, with a black T-shirt seemingly following every contour of his exquisitely hewn torso.

  She blinked—since when did she ogle?—before forcing herself to focus on what he was saying.

  ‘Well, lads? Didn’t you say you were leaving?’ he said, offering the men a way of backing down while still allowing them the appearance of keeping their dignity.

  It was a pretty impressive skill, which was sadly lost on the drunken duo. One of them craned his head up to glower, swaying precariously.

  ‘D’you wanna fight, or shhomething?’

  ‘I don’t, particularly.’ The response was even, conversational, but there was no mistaking the ominous tone. ‘But if that’s really how you’d like to end your evening...?’

  For a moment everything seemed to hang. And then, to Elle’s relief, the one turned to his mate, muttering something about her not being worth the effort, and slunk away into the crowd. Still, the stranger watched with his arms folded across his chest making his biceps bunch appealingly from behind, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Poised, controlled, but ready if they suddenly returned.

  ‘Better?’ she asked him, once she was sure the men had left.

  Affecting nonchalance, she deliberately plucked a non-existent stray thread from her thigh, wondering who had removed all her internal organs and replaced them with a veritable butterfly pavilion.

  ‘Much, thanks,’ he agreed with no trace of embarrassment, pulling a comical pose as he flexed his muscles. ‘I feel like a man again.’

  She finally made herself look at him properly, and the instant she did she found she couldn’t drag her gaze away.

  And what a man.

  He was strong, fit—Stevie had been fit, his football giving him an enviable physique—but this was something...more. A whole different level. The stranger had a dangerous power about him that seemed to emanate from the inside just as much as the view on the outside. He was commanding, impressive, thrilling. She’d worked with plenty of majors and colonels and brigadiers in her career, but this guy eclipsed them all.

  Was this what she’d been missing all these years?

  S
he barely resisted cocking her head to assess him more thoroughly. Lookswise, his face was inarguably masculine with a defined jawline and a blade of a nose. Not pretty-boy handsome, but far more arresting. The kind of face that would be imprinted in her mind for ever. Greedily she drank in the view. From the honed, squared jaw to the tiny crinkle lines around his eyes, which seemed to add character, it was a face that could have stopped a whole bar full of women and, if the daggers she could feel in her back even now were anything to go in, already had.

  Unreadable and intense, his eyes were a smoky blue-grey and were were focussed entirely on her. They drew her in and refused to release her, and so help her she didn’t want to go anywhere. Forget the butterflies; now a hundred tiny fireflies had sprung up in her belly like a magical light show on a warm summer evening.

  She couldn’t decide whether it was thrilling or nerve-racking. She flicked her tongue out to moisten nervous lips.

  Something momentarily flared in his eyes, something that sent the fireflies racing for cover as fire spread through her entire torso and her heart pounded so hard it would surely leave black and-blue marks on the inside of her chest.

  ‘Where did you learn to do that thumb-lock, incidentally? Very Jane Bond... You’re not army, by any chance?’

  Something about his tone made Elle hesitate, as if it was more important to him than he would have preferred to let on. Maybe he was one of those blokes who hated the military, or one who got a kick out of a woman in uniform? Either way, tonight she didn’t want to be Major Caplin, Dr Caplin, or even Gabriella Caplin. She just wanted to be Elle.

  ‘Self-defence class when I was a uni student,’ she answered, not untruthfully.

  ‘Ah.’

  She might have been imagining it, but she could have sworn he relaxed. So, not a military fan, then.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ she croaked out. ‘Thanks.’

  She was jerking her head like she’d just electrocuted herself.

  ‘Are you always so effective at shooting a guy down?’

  ‘I don’t know where that came from.’ She shrugged. ‘He put his hand on me and I just reacted, but I had tried ignoring him first. I thought he might have gone away.’