Resisting Her English Doc

Rick chuckled, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Dessert it is, then. The biggest one I can find.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ELLIE WAS STAYING with Lara’s parents in Boston for the weekend. Rick had called ahead to let them know that he’d be in town with a friend, and James and Elise had said they’d like to meet her. Fleur had been so nervous that Rick had practically had to prise her out of the car when he’d dropped Ellie off. It hadn’t been easy for any of them, but James and Elise had been welcoming. They’d always treated him as the son they’d never had, and this felt almost as if he were bringing someone home to meet the mother and father that he’d never really had.

Then it was down to the business part of the weekend. Fleur had insisted that he shouldn’t see the venue until tonight, and she’d driven there alone to check that everything was just as she wanted it, leaving Rick to book them into their hotel for the night. The plush, high-rise room was his treat, and it afforded a view of the sea. Maple Island was somewhere out there in the mist, but tonight was all about the glittering lights of Boston.

He’d been pleased to find that his evening suit still fitted, and that he could still manage a passable bow-tie. Rick was sitting downstairs in the bar, savoring a soda and lime on the rocks. In his experience, it wasn’t a bad idea to pace himself while waiting for a woman to get dressed.

Yet again, Fleur pulled the rug out from under his feet. Barely twenty minutes after he’d left her, wrapped up in one of the hotel’s snowy white robes, she appeared. The overall effect was much the same as if an angel had just made a forced landing in the doorway.

She wore red. A bright, look at me color that complemented the cascade of dark hair down her back. The sleeveless, slimline dress shimmered and sparkled as she walked, revealing a knee-high split that gave a tantalizing view of her calves. Long black gloves concealed the healing wound on her wrist, and a necklace of twisted black and silver beads matched the heavy bracelets she wore over her gloves.

Rick gulped a mouthful from his glass, his mouth suddenly dry. Fleur shimmied across the room, turning more than a few heads as she came, and ignoring them completely. Her gaze was fixed steadily on him.

And she was smiling. Her smile outshone everything else about her.

Rick sprang to his feet, and she put her hand in his, allowing him to help her onto one of the high bar stools. His head was swimming.

“You’re putting me in a dangerous place.” He leaned toward her. “There isn’t a man in this bar who’ll let me leave with you without a fight.”

She was obviously pleased with the compliment. “You can take them, Rick. Don’t you have a pistol in your pocket?”

He chuckled. “No, I’m just glad to see you. Would you like a drink?”

“I’ll have some of yours...” She reached forward, taking his glass, her lips leaving a bright red mark on the rim. “You’re on the wagon?”

“I’m far too befuddled by you to be anything else.”

She laid her gloved hand on his cheek, urgently tapping her fingers. “Better come to your senses soon. We have work to do tonight.”

“Impossible, Fleur. You look ravishing.”

She slid down from her stool, reaching out to adjust his bow-tie. “You can ravish me later. First we’re going to make some money.”

* * *

Rick could tell she was nervous. She’d worked hard for this evening, throwing it together in such a short space of time. This morning, as they’d sailed into Boston on the ferry, she’d added him to the social media group, which was going to tell everyone where the event would take place. Over five hundred members were already speculating about what it might be and where, fueled by carefully placed messages from Fleur that gave the impression of an off-the-cuff gathering.

If everyone turned up, it was going to be amazing. If everyone stayed, and pulled out their wallets, it would be nothing short of a miracle. But he’d seen Fleur work miracles already, and now that she knew

she could succeed, each new thing that she turned her hand to seemed bound to turn out well. He was so proud of her. Maple Island couldn’t contain her now, and, despite his own feeling of loss, he wouldn’t want it to.

She directed their taxi to a large, low building, which showed no sign of life and every indication of dilapidation. To one side, a brightly lit parking area was surrounded by a high, chain-link fence, and as the taxi approached two men swung a gate open to allow them entry.

“We’ve got security.” Fleur gestured to the group of uniformed men in the car park. “I didn’t want to frighten our guests away.”

Rick nodded. A little taste of the unknown was all very well, but the reassurance of a safe and secure environment was also needed.

“What the heck...?” The taxi driver gazed at the line of metal fire bins leading to the building. Graffiti signs marked out the entrance, which was guarded by another two men.

“We’re having a party.” Fleur got out of the taxi, taking a couple of notes from her clutch bag and proffering them. “A fundraiser...”

“Well, that’s a new one on me. Good luck with it, lady.” The car reversed, speeding back out of the gates and on to the next fare.

Inside, the cavernous space was pretty much untouched. An abandoned warehouse, with more fire bins dotted around to add to the air of dilapidation. There was a trestle table to one side, with different-sized jars serving as glasses. Rick noticed that the jars were spotlessly clean, and that the labels on the drinks bottles betrayed them to be quality wines and spirits. Clearly the illusion only went so far.

The Bradys had been called in to help and a dozen red-haired cousins were busying themselves, setting out a hotchpotch of trays with what looked like dishes of caviar and probably was. Fiona and Tom Brady’s four kids had obviously been encouraged in their idiosyncratic dress styles, and Rick saw baseball jackets and biker boots teamed with pink tutus and pinstriped trousers, along with various unlikely hats.