www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Gail Chasan, who saw the emotional depth of this story from the beginning.

      Chapter One

      Here comes trouble.

      Hope Carmichael knew more about trouble than she ever wanted to and recognized it instantly. The man who’d just walked into her office had the big T written all over him.

      Jake Andrews, M.D. Dr. GQ. That’s what the Mercy Medical Center nurses called the hotshot trauma surgeon.

      She could see why. The charcoal suit probably had an Armani label. His snappy red tie said follow me home if you’re looking for a good time. And the sexy grin aimed straight at her was all about who he intended to have that good time with. Simply put, his fabulous dark hair, chiseled jaw and charismatic career made him a chick magnet.

      “Hi. I’m Jake Andrews—Dr. Andrews,” he added.

      Hope stood behind her desk. Ordinarily she would have walked around it to shake someone’s hand. This time she didn’t and wasn’t sure why. “I know who you are.”

      “I didn’t think we’d met.”

      “Because your memory is infallible?” she asked, trying to control the nerves tweaked by his shameless scrutiny.

      “Because a pretty lady like you is unforgettable.”

      Oh, please. If she had a nickel for every time she’d heard that line before.

      Actually, she’d never heard it before.

      Hospital gossip had warned her about him. Two out of the three doctors in his medical practice had recently married and officially resigned from the bachelor ranks. Jake Andrews was the last playboy standing. Her new job meant she’d have to deal with him—whether she wanted to or not.

      Two weeks ago she’d arrived in Las Vegas to assume her duties as trauma coordinator of Mercy Medical West, the hospital’s third campus which was a few months away from opening its doors. She’d done her employment orientation at the main campus and someone had pointed out Jake Andrews to her, which was why she knew him. Definitely a capital T for trouble.

      “You’re correct,” she said. “We haven’t been formally introduced.”

      “A situation I’m here to rectify.” He held out his hand. “Let’s make this official.”

      She hesitated to touch him and knew she didn’t cover it very well because she was out of practice with men in general and a man like him in particular. Although out of practice would imply that at some point she’d been competent with his type, which was so not the case.

      Finally she reached across the desk to place her hand in his. “I’m Hope Carmichael, Dr. Andrews.”

      “A pleasure. And call me Jake.”

      Maybe it was his take-no-prisoners smile or his touch, but Hope felt a blast of heat that was nuclear in scope. With good reason she’d hesitated to touch him, but there was no uncertainty when she quickly pulled her fingers from his.

      “It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

      “Likewise. So, I’m curious. How did you know who I was?” One corner of his mouth quirked up.

      His ego was asking and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but on the inside she was groaning. It was a good thing her job was to organize the new hospital’s trauma department and not choose the doctor who would run it, the job this surgeon was campaigning for. If she got a vote, it would be firmly in the no column.

      “Process of elimination,” she finally said.

      “Excuse me?” He didn’t look puzzled, just amused.

      “The other two candidates for trauma medical director have already stopped by to introduce themselves.”

      “Worthy adversaries both.” He moved closer and rested a hip on the corner of her desk, a blatantly masculine pose. “But neither of them is going to get the job.”

      Hope refused to give in to the very strong urge to put space between herself and Doctor Dashing because she suspected he would notice. There probably wasn’t much those piercing gray eyes missed and even the slightest retreat would give him more intimidation quotient than he already thought he had.

      She remembered his competition for the position—Dr. Robert Denton and Dr. Carla Sheridan, both in their forties. The former was a small, studious man who reminded her of Albert Einstein. The female doctor was all business. If she had charm or a sense of humor, both had been well concealed. Jake Andrews had set both his charm and humor on stun.

      “It’s my understanding that the hospital board hasn’t made a final decision about who gets the contract.” She sat behind the desk and looked at him. “How can you be so sure the position is yours?”

      “Because the appointment means more to me than it does to either of them. And I’m the best trauma surgeon in Las Vegas.”

      The words ignited something in his eyes that hinted at a fire in the belly. A need for victory. Determination to succeed. A passion for power. Hope didn’t remember either of the other doctors exhibiting a similar vibe.

      “If it’s what you want, then I hope the vote goes your way,” she said.

      “Me, too. Even more now.” His eyes