The Doctor's Perfect Match

The Doctor's Perfect Match
Irene Hannon

His Nantucket neighbor is trying to fix him up with Marci Clay? First of all, Dr. Christopher Morgan doesn't date.Not since his last relationship ended in tragedy. And second, he and the pretty waitress with the secretive past come from two different worlds. Worlds that he will not let collide during the few weeks she has left on the island. Besides, Marci seems as wary of him as he is of her. Until he discovers a special cure for the sadness in her emerald green eyes: a heaping dose of faith, trust and love.

Marci fingered the sample packet of antibiotic, her manner once more wary. “I’m not in the habit of accepting favors.”

“No strings attached, okay?” Christopher held her gaze for a long moment, willing her to believe that not all men were untrustworthy.

Marci searched his eyes, and after a few seconds he detected an almost imperceptible softening in her features.

He headed toward the door, and she stood to trail behind him. Pausing on the threshold, he withdrew a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “If you feel worse or things don’t improve by tomorrow, call me.”

A few seconds ticked by as she read the card. Blinked. Swallowed. Lifting her chin, she looked into his eyes. “Thank you, Doctor.”

The words, delivered in a soft, shy tone, revealed an unexpected…and touching…vulnerability.

IRENE HANNON

Irene Hannon, who writes both romance and romantic suspense, is the bestselling author of more than thirty novels. Her books have been honored with the coveted RITA

Award from Romance Writers of America (the “Oscar” of romantic fiction), the HOLT Medallion and the Reviewer’s Choice Award from RT Book Reviews.

A former corporate communications executive with a Fortune 500 company, Irene now writes full-time. In her spare time, she enjoys singing, traveling, long walks, cooking, gardening and spending time with family. She and her husband make their home in Missouri.

For more information about her and her books, Irene invites you to visit her Web site at www.irenehannon.com.

The Doctor’s Perfect Match

Irene Hannon

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you will know what is the hope of his calling.

—Ephesians 1:18

To Jo Ann Case—

My forever-young friend.

Happy 90th birthday!

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Prologue

The woman was crying.

Christopher Morgan gave the blonde at the dim corner table a discreet glance over the rim of his coffee cup. He’d noticed her earlier, when the hostess had shown him to his favorite tucked-away table in the Nantucket eatery. With her pinup figure, slightly frizzy chin-length flaxen hair and emerald-colored eyes, she was hard to miss.

Yet the other patrons at the popular restaurant seemed oblivious to her. And to her distress. They were all focused on their companions.

He, on the other hand, was alone.

As was the woman.

His gaze swung back to her as she turned away from her bowl of half-eaten chowder to rummage in her purse, the sheen on her cheeks mute testimony to her misery.

Frowning, Christopher set his cup back on the saucer. He’d always been a sucker for people in need. That was one of the reasons he’d become a doctor. But despite his humanitarian inclinations, it wasn’t wise to offer assistance to strangers these days. Magnanimous gestures like that could arouse resentment or suspicion, or worse.

An image of his former girlfriend, Denise, flashed through his mind, and his gut twisted into a painful knot. He’d followed his compassionate instincts with her, and that traumatic experience had taught him a valuable lesson: crying women were a disaster waiting to happen. The safest course was to steer a wide berth around them.

Besides, after a busy shift in the E.R., he was in no mood to tiptoe through the minefield the blonde in the corner booth no doubt represented.

He watched as she dabbed away the evidence of her tears with a tissue, tucked it back in her purse and withdrew a ten-dollar bill. Laying it on the table, she scooted to the edge of the booth and swiveled on the seat.