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      Kate Hardy lives on the outskirts of Norwich with her husband, two small children, a dog—and too many books to count! She wrote her first book at age six, when her parents gave her a typewriter for her birthday. She had the first of a series of sexy romances published at twenty-five, and swapped a job in marketing communications for freelance health journalism when her son was born, so she could spend more time with him. She’s wanted to write for Mills & Boon since she was twelve—and when she was pregnant with her daughter, her husband pointed out that writing Medical™ Romances would be the perfect way to combine her interest in health issues with her love of good stories.

      Kate is always delighted to hear from readers—do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com

       Recent titles by this author:

      THE DOCTOR’S VERY SPECIAL CHRISTMAS

       THE ITALIAN GP’S BRIDE

       THE CONSULTANT’S NEW-FOUND FAMILY

       Did you know that Kate Hardy also writes for Modern™ Extra? Some recent titles include:

      ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY

      BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S

       IN THE GARDENER’S BED

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘FANCY seeing you here, Dr Lovak,’ Melinda said with a grin as Dragan wound down the window of his car. ‘Anyone would think I had matched my call lists to yours.’

      Knowing that she’d done exactly that when she’d phoned him after her morning’s surgery—except his first call had taken a little longer than he’d expected, which was why he was arriving at the boarding kennels just as she was leaving—Dragan smiled back. ‘Tut-tut, Ms Fortesque. Suggest things like that and people might start to talk.’

      ‘If they do, I’ll just tell them I wanted to check on my favourite patient and see how her leg’s doing. Isn’t that right, Bramble?’ Melinda looked over Dragan’s shoulder at the flatcoat retriever they’d rescued a few months before, who was lying on a blanket in the back of his car.

      The dog’s tail thumped loudly, and she gave a soft answering woof.

      ‘Hear that? Bramble says she’ll be my alibi.’ Melinda leaned in through the open window and stole a kiss from Dragan. ‘Though I think people might have already started to guess, amore mio. Do you know how many people this last month have told me what a wonderful doctor you are?’

      ‘Funny, that. People have been singing your praises to me, too.’ He stole a kiss right back. ‘But that’s the thing about living in a place like Penhally. Everybody knows everything about everyone.’ Or nearly everything. So, despite the fact that they’d kept their relationship low-key, he was pretty sure that everybody in Penhally knew that the vet and the doctor were an item.

      For a moment, he could’ve sworn that worry flashed into Melinda’s gorgeous blue eyes. But then the expression was gone again. No, he must be imagining things. What did Melinda have to hide, anyway? She’d come to England on holiday years ago, had fallen in love with the country and decided to settle here and train to be a vet.

      Not so very different from himself. Although holidays had been the last thing on his mind when he’d walked off that boat seventeen years ago, he too had fallen in love with England. And he was as settled here in Cornwall as he’d ever be anywhere. The wild Atlantic wasn’t quite the same as the Adriatic, but at least the sound of the sea could still lull him to sleep at night.

      ‘Do you have time for lunch?’ she asked.

      He shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’m already behind schedule. And I really can’t keep my patients waiting.’

      ‘Of course you can’t.’ She stroked his cheek. ‘I’ll cook for us tonight, then. Your place.’

      He turned his head to press a kiss into her palm. ‘That would be lovely. Though you don’t have to cook for me, Melinda. I’m perfectly capable of doing it.’

      She scoffed and put her hands on her hips, shaking her head at him as he got out of the car. ‘Dragan Lovak, you know as well as I do that you never cook. That if I let you, you’d live on bread and cheese and cold meats and salad—even in the middle of winter.’

      He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Well. Food doesn’t have to be hot. It’s fuel.’

      ‘It’s much more than that,’ she told him. ‘You don’t just shovel down calories like a Ferrari taking on petrol at a pit stop. Food is a pleasure. Something to be enjoyed.’

      Since Melinda had been in his life, Dragan was beginning to appreciate that. Not only because she was a fantastic cook: her enjoyment of food had taught him to notice flavour. Texture. Aroma. Things he’d blocked out in the dark days and that he’d more or less trained himself to ignore since then. ‘Are you on call tonight?’ he asked.

      ‘No. It’s the turn of the other practice to cover tonight.