200 Harley Street: Girl from the Red Carpet. Scarlet Wilson
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quiet. To leave him with no excuse but to mull it over.
She changed gear and her hand brushed against his thigh. Wow. Now there were a hundred reasons for a girl not to concentrate on the road.
For a second she felt a little panicked. She could smell him. His scent was invading her senses and she was starting to feel swamped by his presence in her car. She could remember his firm hands on her shoulders, holding her down on the couch. It had been terrifying. All rational thought had flown out of the window.
Of course it had to have been Iain. He was the person she’d been hunting for in the clinic—who else could it possibly have been?
And once the terror had left her, all she’d been left with had been the whoosh.
That feeling of being close to a man again. How long had it been since she’d let a man touch her? And how much had her senses fired in Iain’s powerful arms?
She tried to shake the intimate thoughts from her head. She was a professional. She had a job to do. And Iain McKenzie was part of that job.
Her PR head started to buzz. Should she have concerns about Iain McKenzie? Why on earth was one of their top surgeons sleeping at the clinic? She’d read the information in his personnel file. She knew he was originally from Edinburgh and had a broad general experience before specialising in plastics. He’d printed several professional papers, spoke at conferences and conducted scientific clinical studies into different techniques for various types of plastic surgery. Technically, he was brilliant.
So why did she feel as if something was wrong? More importantly, why did it make her stomach twist?
That was the thing about Iain’s personnel file. There was hardly a ‘personal’ thing in it. All professional. It just didn’t sit right with her.
She pulled up outside his townhouse.
‘How did you know where I stay, Lexi? I never told you.’
The frown was etched on his brow again. If he wasn’t careful it would become a permanent fixture.
She smiled. ‘I’m the Head of PR, Iain. I know everything about everybody.’ She looked up at the dark townhouse. It wasn’t exactly welcoming.
Bleak and sombre. A bit like Iain.
She’d expected him to more or less jump from the car the second they arrived but he didn’t. He sat for a few moments then turned to face her. With so little space between them in the car she was almost afraid to turn round.
‘I appreciate what you’re trying to do for the charities. Really, I do, Lexi. And if Leo hired you then he must think you’re good at your job.’
‘And you don’t?’ Was that the implication? Because that train of thought alarmed her.
He shook his head and lifted his hand. ‘Don’t be so defensive. What exactly is it you want from me?’
She took a deep breath. Finally. She was going to get somewhere with him.
‘I want to shadow you for a few days. See your consultations with patients. Watch you perform surgery. Once I’ve had a chance to get to see the real you, I’ll interview you on camera. It will work better that way, I’ll know you—you’ll know me. The interview will go more smoothly.’
He frowned. ‘That’s a bit more in-depth than I expected. I can’t have you disturbing things with my patients. If they don’t want you around you have to leave.’ His words were absolutely definite.
She nodded quickly. ‘Agreed.’
‘And I’ll need my patients’ consent for you to watch any surgeries.’
‘Will that be difficult?’
He let out a slow stream of air through his lips. ‘Not tomorrow it won’t. I’m performing surgery on Aida Atkins. You know how fame-hungry she is. She’ll be falling all over herself at the mere thought of some publicity for herself.’ He paused. ‘You signed a confidentiality agreement when you started at the clinic?’
She nodded.
‘I think you’ll find with Aida Atkins you may as well throw it out the window.’
Aida Atkins. The latest model-cum-actress-cum-trophy wife. Lexi had seen more of them than she’d eaten home-cooked meals. Hardly difficult.
‘This publicity is really about the clinic, the work you do and the associated charities.’
‘Aida won’t care. If she gets her five minutes of fame she’ll be happy. Her type are all the same.’
‘What does that mean?’ There was a horrible little gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach. She could almost predict what he was about to say.
‘Vain. Pretentious. Fixed ideas about what a perfect body should look like.’
‘If you feel like that, why are you operating on her?’
‘Because it’s what she wants. Because she’s medically and psychologically competent to make a decision about surgery and she’s not an anaesthetic risk. As simple as that.’
Lexi could feel a wave of disappointment sweep over her body. Was that what he thought about all his plastic-surgery clients? That they were all superficial and vain? Was that what he thought about her because she’d had a boob job?
He shook his head as if he realised his words sounded unnecessarily harsh. ‘Wait until tomorrow. You’ll understand then. There’s a reason I’m doing Aida’s surgery instead of a general plastic surgeon.’
Iain put his hand on the door handle. ‘Princess Catherine’s. Seven a.m. tomorrow. And bring something to eat. It will be a long day.’ It took him a few seconds to release his long legs from the foot well. He straightened up and pulled some house keys from his pocket.
She watched as he looked over at the house. There was no look of relief to finally be home. More a look of resignation. He bent back down. ‘Thanks for the lift, Lexi. See you tomorrow.’ Then he slammed the door and trudged up his steps.
Lexi took a deep breath. There was so much more hidden behind the handsome façade of Iain McKenzie. The question was, how much did she want to find out?
THE DARKNESS PERVADED him as soon as he set foot in his house. It was such a shame as it was a beautiful home and, in theory, all his dark memories should have been left behind in Edinburgh.
Coming to London was supposed to be the start of something new for him. He just couldn’t seem to shake off the big black thundercloud of guilt that hung permanently above his head.
He flicked on a light and looked out at the road. Lexi hadn’t pulled away yet. Should he have invited her in? Had he been impolite? It had been so long since he’d done any of the social niceties with women that he’d probably forgotten what most of them were.
He watched as she indicated and pulled out onto the quiet street. It was after midnight. If he’d invited her in it might have been misconstrued as something else entirely. And whether he admitted it or not, he was trying to avoid the woman who was causing uncomfortable flarings in his libido, not invite her into his home.
He paused at the dark polished sideboard, which held a photograph of himself and his wife, Bonnie. They were sitting on the grass in their garden in Edinburgh, her back leaning against him and his arms wrapped around her enlarged abdomen. Bonnie had the most contented look on her face. The look of a woman who had finally got the thing she’d always dreamed of. They both looked like that, but Iain knew the truth behind that photo.
One of his friends had suggested he put that picture away. A friend who’d been close enough to both of them to know what had actually happened.
But