200 Harley Street: The Soldier Prince

Yes, she would. She didn’t want to treat the boy she’d fallen in love with one dreamy summer. The boy who’d played guitar to her under the stars and sung songs of love in a language she didn’t know. But she’d seen the emotion in his face and known exactly what the words meant. The boy who’d made her feel so special—and then left without a single word, letting her dreams crash down round her.

But that was an emotional response. And Becca didn’t do emotional any more. She’d promised never to let herself get in a vulnerable state again. Yet, two seconds after seeing Seb for the first time in seven years, she was a mess. In shock that the past had come back to haunt her. Trying to process just how many lies she’d fallen for. Trying to get her head round the fact that Seb—the man she’d thought had been an ordinary boy—had actually been a prince in disguise.

With an effort, she pulled herself back into professional mode. ‘I’m the hand specialist. It’s my job to treat him.’

‘Not if it’s going to be a problem for you.’

She liked the fact that her boss was standing up for her. Having someone in her corner felt good; it was something she’d never known, growing up. But it also wasn’t fair to lean on Ethan and let him make excuses for her. Seb—Marco—whatever he wanted to call himself—was a patient here. Given that he was royalty, no doubt he was only here because of the reputation of the Hunter Clinic. And Becca wasn’t going to let any unprofessional behaviour on her part do anything to tarnish that reputation.

‘It’s not a problem, Ethan,’ she fibbed. ‘But thank you.’

‘Sure?’ he checked.

‘Sure.’

‘So just how do you know each other?’ Ethan asked.

‘We both worked at a children’s aid camp. Years ago. I was still a student. He’d just finished university.’ If that was true. For all she knew, that could have been another lie. She flapped a dismissive hand. ‘It’s not important.’

Ethan’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘OK. But if treating him does turn out to be a problem just talk to me and I’ll get someone else in to cover his case.’

‘Thank you. But it’ll be fine,’ Becca said. Prince Marco wasn’t going to break her heart again.

How could you break something that was already broken?

‘I guess I owe you an apology,’ Marco said when Becca walked back into the room.

‘Why?’ Becca asked. For being yet another man who’d used her and broken her heart? As if a European prince could give a damn about how an unimportant girl from an obscure family felt.

He grimaced. ‘You know why.’

And of course now she was expected to make it easy for him. Be gracious about it. Or maybe she’d just act cool and casual, as if their summer fling had been just as unimportant to her as it had obviously been to him. ‘There’s nothing to apologise for,’ she said, hoping that she sounded a lot more dismissive than she felt.

‘I didn’t tell you who I was, back then.’

‘No.’ She knew it would be hypocritical of her to be mad at him for that. She’d kept her own past a total secret—from everyone else at the camp as well as him. And nobody here at the Hunter Clinic knew about that part of her life, either.

‘But I didn’t lie to you completely. My name’s Marco Sebastian Enrique Guillermo García.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Becca tried to maintain a semblance of cool. Though right at that moment she was remembering her first introduction to Seb, the guy who was to lead her team at the aid camp. She’d been nineteen and he’d been twenty-one, just graduated from university—well, unless he’d lied about his age as well. And Seb had been the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. Tall, dark and handsome, with soulful eyes and a voice like melted chocolate, just a hint of a Southern Mediterranean accent. All the girls at the camp had been in love with him, and when he’d smiled at Becca she simply hadn’t stood a chance. She’d fallen for him almost the second she’d met him.

She’d fought the attraction at first, knowing that men couldn’t be trusted to do anything else but hurt you; but Seb had been patient with her. Gentle. He’d talked to her, skilfully drawn her out of her shell. It had amazed her that, despite the fact he could’ve had his pick of all the girls at the camp, he’d actually chosen her.

Fast forward seven years to now. There were shadows beneath those beautiful eyes—a combination of exhaustion and pain over the last few days, she’d guess—but Prince Marco was still the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. And now he was a man, not a boy. The youthfulness had gone from his face, and he’d filled out from being a tall and slightly skinny youth to having hard, perfect musculature.

And his mouth … It still promised sin. The ultimate temptation. A mouth she could remember giving her almost unbearable pleasure. It would be oh, so easy to let herself act on the old attraction.

Well, she was just going to have to resist that urge, because the likes of him were definitely not for the likes of her. And she wasn’t stupid enough to jeopardise her career for one of the few sweet memories of her past. She’d worked way too hard for that.

‘My grandfather’s called Sebastian,’ he continued. ‘I was named partly after him. So it made sense to use his name—one of my middle names.’

‘What was wrong with calling yourself Marco?’

‘It would’ve made it too easy for the press to make the link,’ he said. ‘And I didn’t want everyone thinking that I was just some bored aristocrat slumming it.’

‘Weren’t you?’ she asked, before she could stop herself.

‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I wanted to make a difference.’

She could almost believe him.

Except … ‘You left without a word.’

He sighed. ‘I was called back to the Palace. My grandfather was ill. It would’ve been too complicated to explain.’

‘And you couldn’t have told me that you’d been called home because of a sick family member? You were that paranoid about the connections being made?’

‘I didn’t say that all my decisions have been the best ones—or the right ones,’ he said, and looked wryly at his strapped-up hand. ‘Or I wouldn’t have this.’

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘Shrapnel. Well, glass,’ he said. ‘It severed a tendon.’

Which was pretty much as she’d been briefed. Patient: male, late twenties, royal, soldier, severed flexor tendon, needs physio work to regain mobility and movement in his hand.

The last thing she’d expected was for it to be the man who’d broken her heart to the point that she’d sworn off relationships for good and focused on nothing but her career.

Which was what she should be doing right now. Professional was good: it would put some much-needed distance between them. ‘Ethan said the repair was a success. So now it’s my job to get your hand mobile and working properly again.’

‘Is it going to be a problem, Becca?’ he asked. ‘Working with me?’

She shrugged. ‘You’re a patient, Your Royal Highness. This is my job.’

Was it her imagination, or had she seen a flicker of hurt in his eyes just then?

Well, tough. He’d hurt her. Badly. And, besides, she was pretty sure it was his ego that was hurt and nothing else. He might think of himself as Prince Charming, but she had absolutely no intention of playing Cinderella. Or fawning adoringly over him. She’d be cool and calm and professional, and treat him just as she would any other patient. With care and kindness, and just a little bit of necessary detachment.

‘You can drop the “Royal Highness” bit,’ he said.

‘What would you like to be called today?’ The snippy question was out before she could stop it.

He sighed. ‘I guess I deserve that. Call me Marco. And I hope I can still call you Becca.’

Oh, help. The way he said her name. That slight trace of a Spanish accent, so incredibly sexy. It made her knees buckle.

Resist, she reminded herself. This was a job. He was a patient, and she had to treat him with the utmost professionalism. And he was also a prince. They had no possible chance of a future together, and she wasn’t going to wreck her career for just a fling.

‘I guess. May I have a look at your hand?’ she asked.