by Ann Jennings
He drew Megan to him tightly. “Now that at last everything has been sorted out, I feel free to ask you the most important thing of all.”
“What is that?” whispered Megan against the warmth of his neck.
“Will you marry me? I think it should be as soon as possible, I need to be put out of my misery.”
“But are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Megan half teased. “Don’t you think we should give ourselves more time?”
“I certainly do not think time is indicated,” said Giles as his mouth came down on hers with unrelenting passion. “And remember, Doctor knows best!”
When at last she surfaced from his passionate onslaught Megan just had the strength to whisper contentedly, “Yes, Doctor.”
“You won’t change your mind and decide your career is more important, and that I would be standing in your way?” he demanded.
“You can stand in my way any time,” breathed Megan, drawing his face closer to hers.
“I warn you,” said Giles, the weight of his body pressing her back among the pillows, “I shall be there all the time.”
About the Author
Ann Jennings was born and still lives in Hampshire, and has been a published romance author since 1984. She’s had a varied career, a verbatim shorthand writer, a cabaret singer, a teacher, a hospital administrator and finally a full-time writer.
She has also written for and directed musicals and plays for the local theatre. She has always enjoyed travelling, and loved visiting New England, USA but now mostly travels to the family house in southern Tuscany in Italy, a country dear to her heart.
Look for these titles by Ann Jennings
Now Available:
Headlong Into Love
Intensive Affair
Writing as Angela Arney
Cast the First Stone
Coming Soon:
Nurse on Neuro
Runaway Sister
Doctor’s Orders
Sold to the Surgeon
Nurse on Loan
Surgeon Ashore
New Beginnings
Really, Doctor!
Santa Lucia
A doctor who gets what he wants and a stubborn nurse determined to resist him…
Intensive Affair
© 2014 Ann Jennings
Richard West is a demanding doctor who knows just how to get what he wants. In fact, the intensive care unit he runs is the best equipped in the county, due to his aggressive demands and fundraising. After all, who can resist such a smart, persuasive and handsome man?
Nurse Charmain Williams has seen that charm and drive up close and personal. And when Dr. West turns it on her, she tries to resist. Because Charmain knows that once Dr. West gets what he wants, he soon loses interest…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Intensive Affair:
The familiar antiseptic smell of the hospital which, mixed with the smell of cooking from the canteen, drifted in through an open window, did little to reassure Charmian. She walked slowly down the hospital corridor, delaying the moment when she knew she had to sit in the waiting room before the interview. She was feeling very nervous and wondered whether she had made herself look old enough for the sister’s job she was applying for. Although she was twenty-five she was always being accused of looking seventeen, so today she had pulled her silvery hair into a severe knot on the top of her head and secured it firmly with a wooden pin. Her hair was naturally very fair but she had dark, arched brows and a delicate olive-coloured skin which made the startling ultramarine of her eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes, the first thing most people noticed. This morning, like every other morning, she wore no makeup except for a translucent pale pink lipstick, which subtly accentuated the sensuous curve of her wide mouth.
In spite of her enforced leisurely pace she was unable to delay the moment of arrival any longer and at last she was there. Taking a deep breath, so as not to appear nervous, she knocked on the door of the appointed room and walked swiftly in. Her quick gaze took in the occupants and she saw that there were three other women waiting. She noticed with slight dismay that they all seemed to be at least ten years older than herself!
After giving her name to the secretary at the desk she joined the other three, who were all in uniform. She suddenly wondered if she should have worn her own uniform instead of the dress she had chosen, but her worry was short-lived, for she had only time to cross her slim legs when the door to the adjoining room opened.
“Miss Williams! Please come in now.”
Startled, Charmian stood up. She hadn’t realised that the interviews would start so soon. Hastily she smoothed her skirt and brushed an imaginary hair into place. She felt flustered and nervous but she gave no outward sign of it as she walked with lissome grace into the room.
Within, there were four people sitting behind two large desks, and placed strategically in front of them was a single chair. A pleasant nondescript-looking young man was sitting at one of the desks and he got up as Charmian entered the room.
“Miss Williams?” he said with a slight inflexion in his voice.
Charmian nodded and was about to reply when another voice cut sarcastically across, a deep voice with a faint Scots twang to it.
“I hope the whole interview won’t be conducted in mime.”
Charmian drew in her breath with a sharp anger. “I’ve hardly had time to open my mouth yet,” she retorted, “but I can assure you that I am quite capable of speech.” She turned her head as she spoke and looked into a pair of dark brown, unfathomable eyes.
Never taking his eyes off her he lazily unfurled his tall frame and stood up, extending his hand in greeting. “I’m Dr. West, Richard West, consultant in charge of Intensive Care,” he said evenly. “So you see, I am very interested in your reactions.”
He was tall, taller than most men, Charmian realised as he towered over her, and was dark with a lean, intelligent face. He surveyed her with just the faintest hint of mockery. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks and her heart thumped in her breast so loudly she thought the whole room must hear it. Trembling slightly as she politely put her slim hand in his, she was surprised that he clasped it so firmly and felt annoyed that her pulse was racing uncontrollably, much faster than she had ever known before. Coolly, she removed her hand and looked back defiantly into his dark veiled eyes.
“How do you do,” she said and, taking a step backwards, sat down carefully in the chair being proffered by the young man who had first spoken to her.
“May I take your coat?” he asked. “It is rather stuffy in here.”
As she handed him her short cream jacket she wished she hadn’t decided on the navy-blue jersey dress but had stuck instead to her uniform. At the time it had seemed businesslike but now, under the penetrating gaze of Richard West, she was only too well aware that it clung to the curves of her body and accentuated rather than disguised her shapely hips and long elegant thighs. Richard West’s eyes slid in an appreciative gaze slowly and sensually down her body. Charmian felt her cheeks beginning to burn beneath his all-seeing gaze, and began to feel embarrassed and angry. How dare this man unnerve her like this! She caught his glance as his eyes came back to her face and held there defiantly.
“You are aware that we are looking for a senior sister for the Intensive Care Unit?” he asked in a derisive tone of voice.
The stress on the word senior made Charmian realise that even with her hair scraped up in such a severe style she didn’t look very old. He was making it quite obvious that he didn’t think she was old enough, or that she could possibly be experienced enough for the post.
“I am well aware of that fact,” she replied, matching the tone of his voice with ice in her own and trying not to let the turbulent feelings within her show in her voice. “I would not have applied for the post had I not felt sure that I was capable o
f doing the job.” In fact she spoke with a confidence she didn’t possess, but by now her blood was up and any doubts she may have had were swept away by anger.
He made no answer but she was sure the defiant tone of her voice annoyed him from the way his eyes glinted and he leaned slowly forward to write something on the pad in front of him. She was very aware of his hand, huge, with long, strong, sensitive fingers. It was with difficulty that she concentrated on the questions now being asked of her by the Senior Nursing Officer and the other woman who was the District Nursing Officer.
The young man at the desk, whose name was Clarke Thomas, asked her a lot of routine questions. He was the hospital’s Personnel Officer and Charmian tried to concentrate on making all her answers businesslike and pleasant. At the end of the interview she stood up and shook hands with the two nursing officers first, then with Clarke Thomas, who clasped her land warmly and smiled encouragingly at her. She turned stiffly to Richard West and against her will found her eyes hypnotically drawn to his. She had regained her composure by now, but as her fingers were gripped by his she felt unable to draw her eyes away from his face, and her breath caught suffocatingly in her throat. The warmth from his hand seemed to flow straight into her veins like fire, liquid tendrils reaching into her heart to make it pound uncontrollably. His eyes were amused and knowing, and a slight smile curved the edge of his hard mouth.
“If you will wait outside, Miss Williams,” his voice seemed cold to her, “we will let you know at the end of the interview who will be offered the post.”
Withdrawing her hand from his, Charmian tipped her chin forward slightly, giving her a provocative air of confidence which in reality at that moment she didn’t possess.
“Thank you,” she replied coolly. “Good morning, everyone.”
Clarke Thomas came across and handed her the cream jacket, which she folded over her arm with a natural grace. Then she walked silently out of the room.
Once outside she drew her breath in angrily. She had wanted this job so much, and now that wretched, arrogant, overbearing man had made her lose her cool. What was the matter with her? She was well-qualified, she was intelligent! And she was used to men looking at her with appraising eyes. Because of her striking good looks, plenty of men made passes at her and she had always handled them without difficulty. She had never met a man who could make her feel so…so, what was it? So vulnerable, yes that was it, she thought restlessly. Vulnerable, unsure of herself, like a jittery schoolgirl. She wasn’t used to feeling uncomfortable, she wasn’t used to feeling out of control and she didn’t like it. No, she decided quite emphatically, I do not like it at all!
When a Pollyanna meets a pessimist who will prevail?
Trust Me
© 2013 Jane McBride Choate
Social worker Casey O’Shaunessey makes it her mission in life to protect the foster kids assigned to her as they shuffle through the system. She’s willing to take on anyone in her path—including hard-as-nails Assistant District Attorney, Mitch Armstrong. An ex-cop, Mitch believes the only way to deal with young delinquents is to throw the book at them. And he has no time for a bleeding heart like Casey.
Opposites attract and principles collide as Mitch and Casey fight their growing attraction to each other. And as Casey gives selflessly of herself to everyone around her, Mitch knows she could be the one to heal the darkness in his heart and soul. But will he be able to convince her he’s worth the effort?
Enjoy the following excerpt for Trust Me:
Two hours in court testifying on behalf of one of her kids left Casey drained and wishing for a tall glass of lemonade and a nap. The first she’d grab on her way back to the office; the second would remain exactly that. A wish.
She ignored the cramp in her neck and the stale feel of a suit too long worn. The gray gabardine, so fresh this morning, had wilted as the temperature rose. Her white silk blouse clung damply to her, making her wish she’d chosen something cooler.
Her meeting two days ago with Troy had gone badly. The boy had an attitude with a capital A. She wasn’t giving up, though. Troy was one of hers. That meant she’d continue to fight for him, even when he didn’t deserve it.
She had a scant half hour before her appointment with the ADA, giving her no time to go home and change. She shrugged. They’d have to take her as she was.
Her plan to storm the DA’s office wilted as effectively as her suit. A middle-aged secretary guarded the entrance with an expression boding ill to anyone who dared to breach it uninvited. Casey explained who she was, that she had an appointment, and was politely invited to wait.
The office was standard-issue, government drab. Potted plants added color; she found it hard to believe that they were the effort of the no-nonsense watchdog. A survey of magazines yielded last year’s issues of news journals. Without interest, she leafed through one.
“You may go in now,” the secretary said.
Casey murmured a thank-you and braced herself for bearding the lion in his den. She’d done her research. Mitchell Armstrong, ex-cop and the youngest ADA in the county, had a reputation for straight shooting. She only hoped he had a heart as well.
He didn’t need this, Mitch thought. He didn’t need some social worker on his case because one of her kids was in trouble. Still, he’d promised to hear her out, and he intended to keep his promise. There were few enough things in the world that a person could count on. He liked to think his word was one of them.
He took his time studying Ms. Casey O’Shaunessey as Doris ushered her into his office. Her gray suit, heavy on the shoulder pads, reminded him of a knight’s armor. Despite the heat, she hadn’t removed her jacket. He knew she must be sweltering, and winced in sympathy for her.
Her feet shod in sensible shoes, her skirt discreetly covering her knees, she looked every inch the dedicated social worker. Only the fire in her eyes belied the otherwise placid appearance. Intrigued, he wondered at the dichotomy.
“Ms. O’Shaunessey.”
“Mr. Armstrong.”
They squared off, two opponents sizing each other up.
He gestured to a chair.
She sat down and crossed one of the best-looking pair of legs he’d seen in years.
Mitch broke the deadlock. “You’re here about Hailey?” Good one, Armstrong. Of course that’s what she’s here for, he berated himself.
She nodded briefly. “Roy Paxton says you’re asking for the stiffest sentence the law allows.”
It was his turn to nod.
“Why?”
He gestured to the bank of windows. “The people down there deserve to be safe. Troy Hailey robs them of that each time he mugs another grandmother on her way back from cashing her Social Security check.”
Troy’s latest offense had her wincing. Even so, she felt compelled to defend him. “He’s had a lot of tough breaks.”
“Wake up, lady, and smell the coffee. The boy’s a hard case. He’s been in and out of trouble since he was eleven.”
“Maybe because he never had anyone take the time to listen to him.”
“So’ve a lot of kids.” His voice, sandpaper-rough, scraped along her nerves.
She forced down her anger and looked at her hands. Her fists were clenched; deliberately, she unclenched them.
“Troy needs our help. We can’t just turn our backs on him.”
“Holding him responsible for what he does isn’t turning our backs on him. We can’t afford to pamper him for the rest of his life.”
“I’m not talking pampering. I’m asking for a second chance for him.”
Mitch made a point of reviewing Hailey’s file. “The kid’s had more chances than a cat has lives. How many second chances do you want to give him?” More gently, he added, “It’s not doing him any favor…letting him get off with a slap on the wrist. He needs someone to hold him accountable.”
“And you’re going to be that someone.”
“Maybe.”
She held on to her temper with an effort. “Troy deserves a break.”
“Does he?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “How about the people who are scared to leave their homes because of punks like him? Don’t they deserve a break too? Or don’t they count because they aren’t considered underprivileged?”
“You must have been absent when the hearts were passed out, Mr. ADA.”
“You got yours. Only in your case it’s a bleeding heart.”
The label was enough to have her bristling, and her chin snapped up. Social workers were charged with it frequently enough without Mitchell Armstrong adding his own criticism.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, his expression softening. “That wasn’t called for.”
“No,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t. I care about Troy. And all the kids like him who need someone in their corner.”
“You have your job to do, Ms. O’Shaunessey. So do I.”
She must have imagined the hint of compassion she’d seen in his eyes. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Armstrong,” she said stiffly, and let herself out.
Outside, Casey pushed the air from her lungs and immediately regretted it. The exhaust-laced air that filled her lungs had her sputtering. She focused on that rather than on the infuriating man she’d just left.
Bleeding heart. The accusation wasn’t a new one, but that didn’t lessen its sting. Okay, so she’d struck out. That didn’t mean she was out of the game. She squared her shoulders. Mr. Mitchell Armstrong had another thing coming if he thought he could get rid of her so easily.