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“You’re very cute, Doc, but you’re not my type.”
Marc blinked and sat back. The fact that he wasn’t her type was certainly no news flash, but her bluntness startled him. Clearly she was feeling no pain. How ironic that her whispered vow was painful for him. Not that he’d wanted her to chase him around the office, but the idea of, well, a little mutual chasing had crept into his thoughts. “I—uh—appreciate your frankness.”
“It’s like this,” Mimi whispered. “I won’t be here for long, and no matter what you think, I don’t jump into the sack for sport.”
He clenched his teeth. Yes, he had made a crack like that, hadn’t he? Leaning forward, he started to speak, then saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. That stopped him dead.
“You don’t like me, Doc.” It wasn’t a question.
He cleared his throat. “I—of course I like you, Miss Baptiste.” I don’t want to like you, he went on mentally, and I’ll be relieved when you’re gone. “If it makes you feel better, you’re not my type, either.”
Dear Reader,
I had so much fun with my ENCHANTED BRIDES trilogy, I decided it would be exciting to write a series about three brothers. I envisaged each brother to be tough and successful in his own right, but lonely—whether he realizes it or not. Then I decided to place these men on a mountain of emeralds located on their own private island.
The heirs to the Merit emerald dynasty, Jake, Marc and Zack are as different as brothers can be. But what they have in common is that they are all gorgeous men—each about to meet one special woman for him.
I hope you enjoy Marc’s story, Coming Home to Wed. Once a doctor in a big city, he yearned for a simpler life. He’s returned home to Merit Island to settle down and the last person he expects to be attracted to is free spirit, Mimi Baptiste.
All my best,
P.S. I love to hear from readers so do, please, write to me at P.O. Box 700154, Tulsa, Oklahoma 74107.
Jake’s story in Honeymoon Hitch #3599.
Coming Home to Wed
Renee Roszel
MILLS & BOON
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To Linda Fildew
An editor with pizzazz
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
THE fog that swept stealthily over the surface of the Atlantic didn’t bother Marc. He liked the fog, its cloistered quiet, after long days of taking care of patients. The hours of tending to his charges were endless, but he was content. Six months after taking over old Doc Fleet’s practice, he could make the crossings between Merit Island and the surrounding rocky islets with his eyes closed. Which was lucky, since his radar had gone out earlier that afternoon.
Marc inhaled the damp sea air. He smiled. The night had closed around him like a comfortable old coat, and there wasn’t a sound except for the low growl from his cruiser engine as he slowly made his way home. The ocean was calm. His patients were all bandaged, medicated and reassured. Life was good, if a bit lonely.
The only trouble with being back on Merit Island was the lack of eligible women. His latest nurse, Ursula, had been attractive and enthusiastic about making their doctor-nurse relationship more than it should be. But she hadn’t liked the isolation—or the fact that Marc was not as inclined toward an affair as she. So she’d quit, yesterday. Just like that. Poof! She was gone.
He was overworked and shorthanded as it was. But what country doctor wasn’t? He made a small adjustment in course, sensing more than seeing his way.
That morning he’d put an ad for a nurse in several national medical publications. The salary he offered was exceptional so he knew he’d have a new assistant in a couple of weeks. Three at the most. He winced at the thought of two or three weeks without help and exhaled wearily. Meanwhile—
A jolt and a reverberating boom brought Marc out of his mental meanderings. “What the…?” Something had rammed his cruiser
