Kate Hardy

Her Celebrity Surgeon


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      He couldn’t stop himself. Charlie bent his head and very gently brushed his mouth against hers. And Sophie was starting to kiss him back.

      God, he wanted this so much. Wanted to feel her body close to his. Wanted her to kiss his demons away.

      It couldn’t happen. He had to stop.

      Except he couldn’t. Not when it felt so good, so right, to hold her and kiss her.

      The beep of a car horn shocked them apart.

      He dragged in a breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I just…” Just couldn’t help himself. Wanted to be a real person for once, instead of Charlie, Baron Radley. Wanted Sophie’s warmth to enfold him.

      “Don’t worry. I won’t be ringing Celebrity Life to give them a kiss-and-tell,” she said dryly.

      He shook his head. “That isn’t what I meant. But we have to work together. I think it’s best if we ignore what just happened.”

      Honorable, eligible and in demand!

      Baron Rupert Charles Radley

      The Hon. Sebastian Henry Radley

      The Hon. Victoria Radley

      Three aristocratic doctors, the very best in their field, who just can’t avoid the limelight!

      In this exciting and emotional new trilogy from bestselling author Kate Hardy read how these eligible medics do their best to stay single—but find love where they least expect it.

      HER CELEBRITY SURGEON

      Baron Rupert Charles Radley

      (aka Director of Surgery) meets his match with fiery registrar Dr. Sophie Harrison. The paparazzi have a field day!

      Sebastian’s story from Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™!

      Her Celebrity Surgeon

       Kate Hardy

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Maggie, Sue and Sandy—with love

      CONTENTS

       Cover

       Excerpt

       Title Page

       Dedication

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       Extract

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      HALF past eight. Sophie groaned inwardly. She’d probably missed the party for Guy’s promotion to Director of Surgery, but no way could she have left her patient in the middle of the operating table. And she never, but never, left the ward until her patients had been round from the anaesthetic for at least half an hour. You never knew with surgery: one moment, your patient was fine; the next, all hell could be let loose and you might even need to go back into Theatre.

      But when she finally made it into the wine bar opposite the hospital, Guy was on his own. ‘Don’t tell me that rotten lot went off to get food and gave you the short straw of waiting till I got here, when it’s your party?’ she asked.

      ‘No. The party’s off.’

      ‘Why?’

      He shrugged. ‘The job went to an external candidate.’

      ‘Oh, Guy. I’m so sorry.’ He was a brilliant surgeon and a nice bloke, too. It really wasn’t fair. ‘I was so sure…’

      ‘It means you’re stuck where you are, too, Soph.’

      Because she’d been in line for promotion to Guy’s job. She waved her hand to protest at his bitter tone. ‘Hey. My promotion wasn’t a given, anyway. They couldn’t advertise the job until your promotion had been announced—and I might not even have made it to the interview stage.’ She could see in his face that he was brooding. And he’d had more than his share of hassles this year, with an acrimonious divorce. His wife had blamed her affair on Guy spending too much time on his career. Time that clearly hadn’t paid off.

      ‘Come on, let’s have a commiseration drink instead. I’ll shout you a curry. We can put the world to rights, and stick two fingers up at the hospital board—who clearly can’t see talent when it’s two millimetres in front of their noses.’

      ‘You’re good for my ego.’

      Not as good as Abby would have been—Guy’s house officer, who’d admitted to Sophie in the changing rooms a few weeks ago that she had the hots for Guy—but Sophie could work on that. A few judiciously dropped hints, and maybe Guy would see what was two millimetres in front of his nose.

      When they’d settled themselves comfortably in the local curry house and ordered their meal, Sophie turned the conversation back to Guy’s bad news.

      ‘I hate to rub salt in your wounds, Guy, but do you know anything about the new director of surgery?’

      ‘R. C. Radley, you mean?’

      The name was familiar, but she couldn’t think why. She nodded.

      ‘He’s a plastic surgeon.’

      ‘We’re going to have