Hi! I write contemporary romance for Harlequin Mills & Boon Medical Romance line. My sixth book is now available in both print and eformat from Harlequin and Mills & Boon websites, as well as in eformat from most major etailers. Links below the image for clicky ease :)
Random Thoughts and Useless Trivia
Excerpt from Latest Release
Dante rang off and dropped the phone back into his chest pocket. “So, you were saying?’
“I was asking why you just lied, because you never asked why I was late.” Lise answered.
“No one will question it. Our secret, then? I was simply giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
“I don't like secrets. And you admit you had doubts.” Lecturing a grown man about honesty wasn’t a smart use of her time, and yet…prior to this morning Lise would’ve never thought she could enjoy arguing with anyone, and she really didn’t want to examine why she liked arguing with him.
“You’re right. Tell me why you were tardy.”
“Because I was rear-ended this morning on the way to work,” she said, “which, granted, is a good excuse. But the point is—”
“You had a car accident on the way to work?” He cut her off—much as the driver ahead of her had done, which had ended in her being rear-ended.
“You had an accident and you were only about fifteen minutes later than usual? Did you have yourself checked out? That’s why you were dropping instruments and why you keep rubbing your shoulder?”
Muttering an expletive, he didn’t wait for her to answer the questions at all, just stood, rounded her chair, and ran his fingers along her vertebrae. Thumb. It was the pad of his thumb—she could even feel the texture of his skin, the ripple of every ridge of his thumbprint seemed to stand out to her.
The man went from smirking and self-assured to angry doctor mode in an instant. She couldn’t keep up, and moments before smirking and self-assured, he’d been all sexy.
“I’m a little sore. It didn’t destroy my car. They didn’t have to cut me out with the Jaws of Life. My back bumper fell off. I got a jar forward but I’m okay. I’m just a little sore.”
“A little sore deserves to be checked out.” He swore again and once again one hand slipped around the front of her neck, long index finger and thumb cradling the underside of her mandible while his palm and fingers cupped her throat.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m keeping you from— Stop moving your head!” he grumbled, and then he was speaking again—no doubt into the phone since he wasn’t talking to her.
“My neck isn’t broken.”
Radiology. He was calling Radiology. She didn’t know what to feel, amused or aggravated. “I don’t need any imaging done.”
“You might have whiplash. You might have something that would benefit from immobilization, and you’re flouncing around like you haven’t a care in the world.”
“I didn’t flounce!” She tried to look up at him again and Dante dropped his phone in her lap so he could get a better hold on her neck. “I was late for work. We performed the surgery and then I came right to you here, as you demanded. When was I supposed to get checked out? If I called you and said, ‘Oh, Dr. Valentino, I think I may need to see a doctor. I feel moderately frowny on the picture pain scale, is it okay if I blow off your neuro-endoscopy?’ you would’ve lost your mind.”
This kind of conversation had never happened with him prior to last week. She’d always been her professional, antiseptic work self before—keeping her work environment calm. She liked calm and safe, she lived for calm and safe—something she’d never been able to control in the middle section of her life. Or even before a year ago when she’d finally stopped living in crappy apartments in crappier neighborhoods so she could save down-payment money for her cottage.
With one hand, he grabbed his phone off her thigh and dialed again. He’d stopped listening again. And now he had in-hospital transport coming—someone with a wheelchair—and a cervical collar sized medium.
“Shut up, Lise,” he grumbled, keeping his hand resting against the side of her neck. “You just told me that you don’t have any family looking out for you or making you take care of yourself. So, you’re going to have some X-rays, and if they’re fine, you can just go home and rest for the remainder of the day. Though really you should probably at least schedule a massage, because today you’re a little sore, tomorrow you’re going to be very sore.”
“I’m not that fragile.”
“But you are that stubborn.”
“I’m just so glad we’re not blowing things out of proportion.”