Hot Docs On Call Collection

Even though the phone call had felt like a job interview at the time, she really hadn’t expected anything to come from it. And she still didn’t know how to respond.

She wanted to say yes, and she wanted to scream at them to lose her number.

It was just a reminder of that door she’d left open for him. A door that any sane person would’ve closed by now.

She took another drink of her favorite sweet red wine and set the glass down, then pressed the button.

Delete.

The doorbell rang, and she continued to sit. Dealing with people didn’t sound like something she could do right now.

She got up and turned to her bedroom to get as far as she could from the door. After she got another glass of wine.

“Grace?” Her name shouted through the door reached her just as she was about to shut herself in her bedroom.

Her hand started to shake.

That was Liam’s voice. Liam was at her door.

The bottle felt heavy and awkward as she headed for the door, gripping the bottle with both hands lest she drop it.

Opening locks and latches with her hands full of wine bottle didn’t work. She bent and set the bottle on the floor. When she finally got the door open, the first thing she saw was his eyes.

Still dark blue. But hopeful. He’d shaved and the man’s trademark stubble was gone, leaving that broad, manly jaw completely bare.

She looked down at his feet next. Wrapped, but not in the splint.

And wearing nice dark gray slacks and a button-down shirt. No tie, and also no sexy lean or smoldering looks. This wasn’t Hollywood’s Beautiful Bad Boy. This was...not a booty call.

This was him trying to make a good impression.

Without saying a word, she focused on the various things in his hands.

A bouquet of daisies and roses in the crook of one arm.

A heart-shaped box of candy in the crook of the other.

And in each hand a ceramic figurine. A kitten in one hand and a puppy in the other.

Her words came back to her.

Her old rewind fantasies.

Quintessential boyfriend gifts because...he had relationship feelings.

One hand flew to cover the base of her throat and she held back a cry that wanted to collapse her chest.

Worry in his eyes, Liam stayed standing there in front of her, waiting in silence.

It took her a minute, but when she managed a full breath without whimpering Grace lowered her hand again and folded her arms across her ribs. She wouldn’t touch him. She wouldn’t throw herself at him. He’d shown up, and that was a lot, but he had to say some stuff too.

Her stomach had just tied itself in a knot, and she probably couldn’t even have moved from in front of the door if the apartment had been on fire.

Don’t say the wrong thing.

She nodded to his hands. “What’s all this?”

“It’s candy, flowers, a kitten and a puppy,” Liam said, not a hint of their usual flirtation in his tone. He looked nervous. And he sounded insane.

“The kitten and puppy were supposed to be real. And alive. Not ceramic.”

“I’m new to commitment, Gracie. I didn’t think I could handle taking on two animals if you told me to get lost so I went with figurines.” He nodded to the apartment, and then to his arms. “Can I come in? Or can you take the breakables?”

“Are you here to ask me to go steady?” Even as she said the joking words, her heart leaped at the idea. It was a beginning. And they’d come this far. If he took this first step, he wouldn’t turn back. Liam didn’t know how to quit.

“Yes. And anything else you’re willing to risk on me.”

She unfolded her arms and opened the door wide enough to reach for the flowers and candy, relieving him of the items perched most precariously on his arms.

“Did I have four arms in your rewind fantasies? Or a pet carrier with the animals in it?”

“It’s a lot to carry. I did say those fantasies were insane at the time.” She stepped back from the door and nodded to him and the floor. “Don’t kick the wine.”

Turning to the hall table, she set down what she’d taken from him and then looked back, waiting. Afraid to let her hopes get too high. Terrified because they were already soaring.

“I had a long talk with your brother,” Liam started. He stepped in and set the knickknacks down then closed the door.

“About me?”

Vulnerability, she saw it in his eyes. It was there in hers if he was looking closely enough, and he always looked closely. “And me.”

His hands rubbed together roughly. He seemed to realize what he was doing and stuffed them into his pockets instead. “And also why he didn’t tell me about your accident.”

It was something she’d wondered too, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask Nick yet. And right now it seemed very important for her to hear anything Liam wanted to bring up. Let him talk. At least as long as he had something to say he wouldn’t go. She could hear his voice. Watch his mouth forming words—any words. She could see that he’d nicked himself shaving before coming over.

“Why didn’t he tell you? Was it because he knew about...my trench-coat antics?”

He shook his head.

“He didn’t tell me when I called him, because it was the day my dad died.” The words came softly, but he made no move to hide the rawness in his voice. “And he knew I’d still drop everything and run to your family at Cedars. He said it was the last thing I needed to deal with.”

Grace nodded as she absorbed this. Nick had done what he’d thought was the kindest thing to do for Liam, and she might’ve made that same decision. He’d had no way of knowing what had been going on with them—she’d certainly never told anyone about the night she’d gone to his apartment. He’d probably only known they’d stopped talking about one another, if he was even perceptive enough to pick up on that at twenty. “That was probably the right thing to do.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Liam said, taking a step closer to her, close enough to touch her if he wanted to. Or for her to touch him if she was brave enough. “It was an attempt at kindness, he did it because he cared. But the truth is... Cedars would’ve been the best place for me. I tried to make a family with my father when I got old enough, but we were both too damaged to know how. And when that ended, the best thing I could’ve done would’ve been to go to my real family. The best thing for me, I mean. You all had a lot to deal with at the time. So I could’ve understood if he’d not told me because you all couldn’t deal with one more broken thing that day.”

She still didn’t know if she should touch him, but she needed to, and he needed it too. He’d come as close as he could and had left that final step to her, so close her head craned back and she could feel his breath fanning her skin. Accelerated, scared. She lifted a hand and rested her palm against the solid heat of his chest, and then used the other to brush away a trace of blood beside that razor nick. “That would never have happened.”

“I know,” he whispered, catching the hand at his jaw and holding it there while he looked down at her, his worry fading as fast as hers started to fall away.

“But I realized something after my talk with Nick. Something I’d been missing. Family takes care of each other, I got that part right. But the part I messed up is...real family never give up on one another. They never...” His eyes closed and he bowed his head forward until his forehead lightly touched hers. Slowly, his arms crept around her waist, the slightest tremble evident in his broad frame.

This was real. He was really doing this. It may not have come easily, but it did come. And she was going to say yes to whatever he offered because she’d learned those lessons early about how to treat the people you love, and he was still getting there.

“They never give up on someone they love,” he said, as if touching strengthened him enough to go on. “My parents gave up. On life. On me. On everything. They worried about their desires first. When you were hurt, Nick didn’t keep the information from me to keep me away from you or your family, he did it because he was trying to protect me. And maybe he was trying to protect you too, because you have terrible taste in men, Gracie.”

She laughed, her hands moving up to cup his cheeks. “No, I don’t. I had good taste when I picked you. But when it didn’t work, all my efforts to find a stand-in Liam failed. Turned out bad boys are easy to find but it was impossible to find one with your heart. With your charm. Your kindness and honor.”

Tears rolled fat and wet from her eyes.

He tilted his head, kissed her eyes and nosed away the tears on her cheeks. “Don’t cry. I don’t ever want to make you cry again. If you’ll still have me.”

“What am I having you for?” She leaned back to look up at him once again, and slid her arms around his neck.

“Whatever you want. I’ll take whatever I can get.”

He held her gaze, those deep blue eyes open and full of love. He hadn’t said it directly, but she’d known beyond doubt that he loved her since their only night together. She just hadn’t believed she could wait for him to come around to the same knowledge.

“Do you want marriage?”

“I want you.”

“Do you want children?”

He said again, “I want you.”

“But you were worried about those things before, them being...contraindicated in a relationship with you.”

“Contraindicated?”

“It’s medical talk. It means don’t mix this and that. Like ibuprofen and wine, and I suppose that in this case I’d be the ibuprofen...”

“You would certainly be the ibuprofen, you dull the pain and keep me upright. It’s not sexy, but it’s not wrong,” he said, and then answered her question. “My objections have all been about the ways that I would screw it up and knowing I couldn’t live with myself if I did. I told myself I didn’t want marriage and children because I don’t trust myself. I still don’t trust that I’ll have the right instincts. I’ve been terrified that I’d fail them and you. But after I talked to Nick, after I pieced together his motivation, my motivation, and your motivation, I realized what’s been missing in me.”

She shook her head, not understanding.

“When you Watsons screw up in relationships, when you make the wrong calls for the people you love? It’s because you’re trying to do what is best for them. When I’ve been making the wrong calls, it’s been because I was afraid and trying to do what was best for me. But I know it now. I see the difference. I finally get it. And I know I can do better.”

He stopped, tears standing in his vision. So open. If he said another word she’d break. They both needed a moment to touch before even one more word came. She tugged his head down, the barest urging needed.

His mouth closed on hers and he pressed her back, two steps and he had her once again against the entry wall. Only this time the need that drove him was toward closeness, to starved kisses, until they were both left gasping for air.

“Please take another chance on me.” His forehead went back to hers, the rest of his body melding to hers. His words came slowly, with pauses for breath, but he didn’t stop long enough to catch his breath properly. “I can promise, right now, that I’ll want you. Forever. I’ll love you forever.”

He’d said it! Again a breathless laugh bubbled up, and she could only nod.

“Be patient when I screw up, because I’m going to screw up, I know I will, but I’ll do it for the right reasons. Teach me how to make a life together—a real life, not some surface-deep Hollywood sham of a relationship. I want you, Gracie. I love you. And I understand now.”

One tear fell onto her cheek, and then another. It took her a moment to realize they were his.

“One life, nothing held back. Deal?” Her voice, still not strong, wobbled over the words, and she smiled even as they both cried.

He nodded. “Deal.”

“Now take me to bed.”

He laughed, nodding and swooping her into his arms to head for the bedroom. And she let him. His ankle was wrapped, and it felt too good to be cradled against his chest.

She leaned up and kissed his ear, then nuzzled in close and whispered, “I got some new lacy black underwear...for next time...”

Because there would be a next time. A lifetime of next times.

Winning Back His Doctor Bride

Tina Beckett

To my husband and children…always!

PROLOGUE

Six years ago

THERE WERE CERTAIN benefits to returning to civilization, texting being one of them.

Without it, she doubted she would survive this party.

No. Not party. “Charity event,” as these A-listers liked to call their swanky affairs.

Whatever.

Mila Brightman’s thumbs glided over the keys with remembered ease.

I will let u know.

C’mon, Mila. He’s gorgeous and newly single.

Perfect. Just what she needed. A charity date to go with the charity event. She grinned at her own witticism. Okay, so her mental play on words hadn’t been all that funny. But, then again, neither was this party.

He’s ur bro. You have to say that. Does he even know u r trying to set him up on a date?

Not yet. But it’ll be fine. And he is cute. Promise.

She hadn’t even told him yet. Mila rolled her eyes, thumbs already responding.

That’s what u said about the last guy.

She’d let her new friend Freya Rothsberg talk her into going on a different blind date a week ago. That particular man had been good-looking all right, but their date had stalled when he’d road-raged his way down Hollywood Boulevard. She’d ended up hopping out of the car at a stoplight and hailing a cab to take her home.

This is different. PROMISE.

Uh-oh. Her friend had used the word promise twice in a row. This time in caps. Never a good sign. Freya was on the other side of the room, waiting for her supposedly gorgeous brother to arrive. Time to head her off at the pass. Maybe she could use humor to soften the blow.

With my luck ur bro is probably short and squatty. A real toad.

The screen stayed blank for almost a minute, and Mila wondered if she’d offended her friend. Then it lit up.

A toad? Really?

A smiley face followed the words. Whew! Not offended.

Yep. T.O.A.D. Warts and all.

Another long pause. Maybe the Wi-Fi reception in the hotel ballroom was glitching or something.

Why don’t you look up and see?

Something about those words caused a shiver to ripple across her midsection. Swallowing, she glanced over the top of her screen.

Freya stood right in front of her. Eyes wide. Mouthing something. “I’m sorry.”

In that instant, Mila realized her friend was no longer holding a cell phone. Neither was she alone. And the person standing beside her was neither short nor squatty.

Oh. My. God. Her thumbs pretend-typed the words as they sprinted through her head.

The man in the tuxedo was tall. Very tall. And gorgeous?

Yes. Oh, yes. He was also holding something up, turning the object to face her.

A phone—with all Mila’s text messages surrounded by a bold blue bubble. The air left her lungs, and she struggled to breathe.

He’d read what she’d written. And suddenly the banter didn’t seem quite so innocent. Or funny.

Before she could apologize, one side of the man’s mouth tilted up, the movement carving out several craggy lines in his face. If she were a swooner she’d have keeled over by now.

“You know what they say about kissing toads. One of them might just turn out to be a prince.”

Her brain fought to process anything other than that low sexy tone. Although she could have sworn the word “kiss” had been in there somewhere. At least, she hoped it had.

She gulped, her eyes straying back to his mouth just as the other side tipped to form a smile that scorched across her senses. If she moved she feared she’d crumple into a pile of ash.

As if reading her thoughts, he passed the phone back to Freya, his gaze never leaving Mila’s face. “Shall we test that theory?”

“Th-theory?”

Before she knew what was happening, he’d swept her out onto the dance floor and off her feet. And when his kiss came a few hours later, just as the party was winding down, it was indeed magical. Only there was no need for any kind of transformation. Because James Evan Rothsberg already looked like a prince. A prince whose kiss was every bit as deadly as his smile.

Right then and there Mila knew, without a doubt, her world would never be the same.

CHAPTER ONE

Present day

BZZZZZZ...

No matter how many different ringtones James tried—and it seemed like he’d tried them all—he still hated receiving text messages. The flat sound of his current tone was no different. His pulse sped up and his throat went dry, even though he knew it wasn’t from Mila.

Losing the fun, sexy messages they’d used to exchange had been one of the hardest adjustments he’d had to make after calling off the wedding, and his no-texting rule was his way of trying to deal with that.

He shook himself from his stupor. Six years had changed nothing. No matter how right he’d been to break off their engagement, he couldn’t blot out the image of the horror in his ex-fiancée’s gorgeous hazel eyes when she’d realized it was over.

So were the intimate texts. All texts, in fact, since everyone around him was aware that he preferred actual phone calls to typed messages.

Besides, Mila had taken off to parts unknown soon after he’d skipped out on her, going back to Brazil, where she’d been doing relief work among indigenous people.

Until now.

He’d had a damned good reason for leaving her at the altar: a panicked phone call from a former girlfriend telling him she was pregnant. And an unexpected betrayal by his father.

It didn’t matter now that the whole thing had been a setup. That deception had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Mila had been saved from being dragged into the reality that was his family, with its arguments and its never-ending scandals. His famous parents had been the darlings of the paparazzi for that very reason—even after their divorce years ago.

Mila might not have seen it at the time, but surely in the years since then she’d come to realize the narrow escape she’d had.

He’d never tried to contact her, even after he’d discovered what Cindy had done.

The phone sent him a reminder buzz.

He forced himself to look down at the screen as he exited his car along with the damned photographer the clinic had made him bring along to this meeting. The text was from Freya. The no-text rule had become a running joke with her. She would text him just because she knew how much he hated it. To try to provoke him to answer. It never worked. He always responded with a phone call. Or not at all.

It would seem she was still at it. And under the circumstances it was in extremely poor taste.

We saw you pull up. Waiting just inside.

We. That could only mean one thing. Freya wasn’t alone inside that tiny building. Although he’d known she wouldn’t be.

Hell. He’d hoped to have a moment or two to get his thoughts together, although he’d had plenty of time to prepare for this photo shoot. Over two months to plan his words down to the final punctuation mark.

Had he done that? No. He had not. Even during the twenty-minute drive out of the more secluded Hollywood Hills and into the city of Los Angeles itself he’d done no advance planning.

Morgan, the photographer the PR department had contracted, had been more than happy to keep up a steady stream of conversation. She might have been fishing, but James didn’t care. He was no longer biting. He was fresh out of yet another superficial relationship, which the paparazzi had followed with glee. He was definitely not ready to test the waters again. Especially not with this meeting with Mila hanging over his head.

He’d avoided thinking about that particular woman. He’d decided that if he kept his head in the sand long enough, this whole damned situation could have just dissolved into nothing.

It hadn’t.

And he knew exactly who’d be on the other side of the door once he walked through it.

Mila Brightman.

The woman who’d almost become his wife.

The woman who’d barely escaped that particular fate.

Thank God she had.

He didn’t bother to respond to his sister’s text. They both knew he was here, so there was no point. How, exactly, his sister had talked him into this arrangement he had no idea. The Hollywood Hills Clinic had been gliding along just fine without another addition to their efficient little family.

Except this was Freya. And Mila. Two women he’d always had trouble saying no to.

Sucking down a resigned breath and dragging a hand through his hair, he waited for Morgan and then he headed up the walk, stopping short when he spied a ragged square of cardboard taped to the outside of one of the clinic’s windows. He was so used to the pristine opulence of his own medical center that the squat building huddled on the corner of a busy street seemed as foreign as the relief work Mila had once done. But the sign painted at the top of the clinic was bright and cheery, a bevy of colorful handprints forming an imaginary sidewalk that led to an artist’s rendition of the building—only whoever’d painted it had had quite an imagination because although the edifice was the same shape, the painted version was a welcoming place. And there were no cardboard patches in sight.

The photographer raised her camera, aiming it right at the broken window. James wrapped his fingers around the woman’s, stopping her short. “No. Not that.”

Morgan frowned at him but lowered the camera. “So you only want the positive stuff?”

His eyes were still on the brown square in the window as they reached the front entrance. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Bright Hope Clinic. The painted lettering on the glass door matched the colors of the handprints on the sign. And the glass doors were spotlessly clean. His glance went back to the cardboard patch.

A sliver of unease worked its way through his gut. Not about Mila’s safety. Of course not. About the soundness of his decision to allow a branch of this clinic to open inside his own. Freya’s doing. Not his. But his damned board of directors had put him in charge of overseeing the opening of the facility. Which was why he was here, pricey photographer in tow.

The woman took a few shots of the sign and the door, dutifully avoiding the window. “We can go inside anytime you want.”

Before he could even reach for the door, however, it was flung open and Freya stood there. “Come on, James, what’s taking you so long?”

“What happened to the window?” He nodded toward the offending cardboard, not sure he even wanted to know the answer.

Although he couldn’t see Mila, she was just inside the dark entrance of the clinic. The growing pressure in his chest told him that. Schooling the rest of his body to mimic the bland mask he wore on his face, he made no move to go inside.

“Oh...um...” Freya glanced behind her. “It’s nothing. Probably just a stray baseball.”

James turned his attention to the busy street behind him. Cars clogged the asphalt as they waited for the light to change and allow them to head on their way. Baseball? He didn’t think so. Not on this road. He lowered his voice, to avoid Morgan hearing him. “Tell me you weren’t here when it happened.” His sister was seven months pregnant and did not need any stress at this point.

“No, it was sometime last week.” She waved off his concern, a frown appearing between her brows.

Biting back his next words, knowing his sister wouldn’t welcome any brotherly advice, he sighed, hoping she’d catch his drift.