Dante's Shock Proposal

  An inconvenient desire

  Growing up in the midst of her parents’ fraught union, surgical nurse Lise Bradshaw has never wanted nor needed a man by her side. Until a sensual chance encounter with Dr. Dante Valentino on the dance floor of a Miami club sparks a full-blown passionate affair...leading to a shock proposal!

  Dante knows what he wants—a family—and what he doesn’t—love. But as the fire blazes between him and beautiful Lise he realizes that he’s inconveniently falling for his convenient fiancée!

  Dear Reader,

  Have you ever loved a series—book/film—so much that you couldn’t wait to talk about the latest instalment with someone else who loved it too?

  Brainstorming and writing the Hot Latin Docs quartet with Annie O’Neil, Amy Ruttan and Tina Beckett was like that for me! When an email pinged on our email loop, my excitement demanded I stop everything and go and bask in the latest awesome idea, or devour a snippet one of the other authors had shared from their work in progress.

  Dante’s not an easy man to love. Halfway through writing this book even I became afraid he couldn’t be saved. Thank you, Amy Ruttan, for talking me down! So I pushed on through, and now I know: it takes a strong heroine to save a broken man hidden behind his gorgeous smoke and mirrors.

  All my characters become real to me as I write their stories, but these lovely ladies have made Dante’s whole family real to me now too.

  Thank you for picking up Dante’s Shock Proposal, and if this is your first Hot Latin Doc please search out Santiago’s Convenient Fiancée, Alejandro’s Sexy Secret and Rafael’s One Night Bombshell.

  Happy reading!

  Amalie xo

  AmalieBerlin.com/Contact

  Facebook.com/AuthorAmalie

  Dante’s Shock Proposal

  Amalie Berlin

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  AMALIE BERLIN lives with her family and critters in Southern Ohio, and writes quirky and independent characters for Mills & Boon Medical Romance. She likes to buck expectations with unusual settings and situations, and believes humour can be used powerfully to illuminate truth—especially when juxtaposed against intense emotions. Love is stronger and more satisfying when your partner can make you laugh through times when you don’t have the luxury of tears.

  Books by Amalie Berlin

  Mills & Boon Medical Romance

  Desert Prince Docs

  Challenging the Doctor Sheikh

  The Hollywood Hills Clinic

  Taming Hollywood’s Ultimate Playboy

  Return of Dr Irresistible

  Breaking Her No-Dating Rule

  Surgeons, Rivals...Lovers

  Falling for Her Reluctant Sheikh

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

  To Amy, Annie, and Tina. Expect me to whine incessantly until we do this again! No, really. When are we going to do this again? How does now work for y’all?

  Amy: will pretty much always be jealous of your inspirational idea—Magic Mike: surgeon. Thank you for your tireless friendship, and for seriously raising the bar! *luff*

  Annie: for being an amazing, energetic weirdo who makes this hyperactive purple-haired lunatic feel right at home! And being the other quirky medical writer. Ugly Sisters 4 Evah!

  Tina: this marks our third author-led collaboration and it keeps getting better! Thank you for continuing to come back and try again. ♥

  Laura McCallen: sorry for being such a pain! And thank you for not only whipping the proposal into shape, but for all you’ve done to work with me—this year’s been a tricksy one! ♥

  Contents

  Cover

  Back Cover Text

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  About the Author

  Dedication

  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

  Extract

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  SHE WAS BEING stood up.

  Badgered into a blind date by her coworkers, and they hadn’t even picked a responsible man who’d actually show up to the club where he’d asked her to meet him.

  Nurse Lise Bradshaw looked at her watch for the tenth time in twenty minutes, waved down a server, ordered a mojito, then let herself look somewhere besides the door she’d been staring at since arriving.

  Don’t think about him.

  Don’t think about any of it.

  To heck with judgmental people who had no idea what it was like to date in the current decade and absolutely didn’t support her life plan.

  No one here knew she’d been stood up, and even if they figured it out, she didn’t know any of them anyway.

  The music was good. Tonight could be an embarrassing footnote to her week, or it could be the fun she’d dressed for. Even if she was there alone, no one was ever really alone on a dance floor in South Beach.

  If, by some miracle, her date managed to drag his sorry butt to the club, amid the black and white decor, her slinky red wrap dress would stand out whether it was crowded or not, and it was still too early to be hopping.

  In her safe, quiet life, Lise went to work, worked hard, read a lot, and planned for her future—a future where she’d have a family again. She didn’t go clubbing with her coworkers, and had no close friends to speak of since moving from Jacksonville to Miami—so didn’t go dancing with them either. Basically, she didn’t go clubbing. If—no, when—she managed to get her plan rolling, there wouldn’t be any nights in her future for dancing, so she might as well make the most of it.

  She’d agreed to the fix-ups not because she ever wanted to replicate her parents’ deadly marriage but because she wanted to fully enjoy her remaining not-pregnant weeks.

  Her mojito arrived and she downed half of it before helping herself to the dance floor.

  Instruments sat ready on a stage elevated at the far side of the dance floor, promising live music later. But for now the DJ’s choice got her feet and body moving, and they could put the song on repeat for the whole evening for all Lise cared.

  Staking out a corner near the stage, she closed her eyes and let the music take her. Most of the lyrics shot past her, but she picked up on enough to get the meaning. The beat filled in the rest, and she let it wash away the week’s frustration and worry, let it warm her belly...or maybe that was the mojito.

  Three songs in, the music faded, but another song didn’t start. She stopped her swinging beat and opened her eyes, her gaze landing on musicians striding past her to the stage.

  A tall man in a three-piece black suit and shirt—jacket missing—and a black fedora pulled low met her gaze as he walked past her.

  Eyes black as his suit connected with hers, and Lise felt the thrill of shared attraction before recognition seared through her.

  Those eyes. She knew those eyes. Her breath stuttered, heat flaring in cheeks and racing down over her neck and chest.

  Dr. Valentino.

  While not technically her boss, she worked too closely at his side in surgery with masks covering everything but those eyes for her not to recognize them.

  She would have even if she hadn’t also been ignoring an unwelcome lusty crush on the good do
ctor for the past two years. He looked at her like he wanted to sweep her into his arms and learn her curves right there on the dance floor, like a sugar addict at an all-you-can-eat ice-cream bar. Tempted, with intentions forming...

  He’d never looked at her like that before, and she’d always tried hard not to look at him like that.

  For all their time working together, she knew next to nothing about him. Great surgeon, freakishly sexy, sometimes testy, and she knew which instruments and techniques he preferred.

  Some voice in the back of her mind shook her out of her staring. Go back to your table, dummy.

  Her feet stayed stuck, like her eyes.

  Dr. Valentino headed for a piano at her end of the stage. As he stepped over the bench his gaze connected with hers again, and her stomach bottomed out.

  That was desire. Real desire. An honest-to-God, I-want-you-hot-on-this-piano heat, those gorgeous eyes filled with dirty, dirty promises.

  How did he do that?

  Had he always felt that way but been too proper to show it at the hospital? He could obviously hide things—like musical ability. Like him being in a band and wearing real, non-scrub-like clothing better than anyone had a right to. Who wore a three-piece suit to a nightclub—assuming there was a jacket somewhere around the establishment?

  A rush left her feeling powerful and sexy, something she’d not felt in a long time. This was the emotional payoff for the red dress, which had been giving her courage and confidence all evening.

  Her date may have stood her up, but she barely gave him a passing thought when Dr. Valentino looked at her like that!

  Suddenly his brows snapped down over narrowing dark eyes. A scowl darkened them further and thinned his usually fine mouth. His storm shutters came down hard as he sat at the piano.

  First desire—let’s have naked fun with this marshmallow fluff kind of dirty, playful sexiness. Then...

  It took her a second to riddle it out, and the tipsy alcoholic butterflies in her belly figured it out first, and a ripple of something wrong stole her breath for an entirely different reason.

  He hadn’t recognized her until he’d sat.

  She’d probably been looking at him exactly like she’d been striving not to for two years—suggestively goofy, with added appreciation of his dirty looks. But he’d only just recognized her.

  The man never said much outside of delivering orders or maybe some narration for the surgery recordings, so she’d learned to read his eyes, often the only part of his face she could see.

  If she’d seen that look over a patient, she’d be readying for the worst.

  Her alcoholic butterflies definitely needed another mojito. If the laws of physics could at least be counted on—as it seemed possible they could have suddenly turned against her too—going back to her table to get another glass of liquid forgetfulness would move her far enough outside the glow of spotlights for him to see her. Or how the color of her face currently probably rivaled that of her dress.

  Lise unslung the small purse from across her torso, fished out her phone, and set it on the table as the music began. Soon she had another mojito in hand, and having things to fiddle with helped her settle in to listen without worrying about what his scowl had meant.

  The music that had been playing before the band had taken to the stage had been modern, Latin pop—mostly Spanish and some Spanglish songs. But the band played something different, and it took her a moment to classify the bright, fevered jazz that rolled off the stage and through the speakers.

  It helped a little, though, the idea of leaving tempted. If she ran away, she could have three whole days for him to forget before the usual Monday morning surgery.

  But Jefferson might still show up. There existed a slim chance that he’d gotten stuck in traffic or forgotten what time they were going to meet. A terrible accident could excuse not phoning or texting to bow out. If she left now, knowing her luck today, he’d show up and she’d have to reschedule rather than just getting to mark this third date officially off her to-do list without further delaying her life plans.

  The band had either practiced daily or had been playing together for years. The arrangements gave all instruments and stylings a chance to shine, and no matter the major personality trait Dr. Valentino displayed in every other interaction she’d had with him, he didn’t try to dominate the music like he took over everything else.

  That awful scowl left him before the first song finished. Tension flowed off him, brows and posture relaxed. He enjoyed it, clearly, and was good.

  By the time the set finished just over an hour later, she’d almost convinced herself that he’d only scowled because he’d given her The Look, and she was a coworker. That was all it could be, she hadn’t done anything to earn his ire. Could he look at her with unhidden interest then hold it against her because she’d shared it?

  Nah... It was consternation over a case of mistaken identity.

  But if she trafficked in lies, now would be the time to claim to not have recognized him. The fact that she even considered lying showed how far away from him and his sexy looks she should stay. Lying was a slippery slope. Lies that started out hard to tell became easier, became reflexive... This was just the power of a sexy dress and mojitos mixed with her lusty crush. It made her react uncharacteristically, and she’d own it.

  If it came up.

  She would not become her parents.

  As soon as the lights lowered at the end of the set, his gaze found her again and she did the only thing she could think to do: lift her now-empty glass in a socially ludicrous toast.

  He stood, no sign of the scowl, hopped down from the stage, and made a beeline directly for her.

  “Another drink, Bradshaw?”

  Last names. Yes. Good. Like at work.

  “I wasn’t asking but, sure, if you like. I was just apparently trying to wave or toast you with an empty glass because I wasn’t paying proper attention, Dr.—”

  “Dante.” He cut her off as he sat, gesturing to the server, to her, and then back to himself. Two mojitos ordered, he focused on her. “When I’m here, it’s Dante.”

  “Dante...” she repeated, but her tongue felt woolly and unequal to the task of calling him anything other than what she always called him. Having his first name in her mouth felt dangerous, like she could break all her rules. “Thank you, Dante, for the mojito.”

  * * *

  Dante inclined his head. “It’s just a drink,” he said. It was in him to say more, but he had time, and her phone started to buzz. Instantly, he picked it up and checked what was incoming. Text. Jefferson.

  Dante knew he tended toward suspicion—he’d learned young that suspicion kept him sharp and alert—and sometimes that alertness was the only thing going for him. If her being there was what it looked like, he just didn’t want to have to handle it. Who knew where he’d find another place to relax in peace if his connection with The Inferno was discovered?

  “Do you usually answer other people’s phones?” she asked, a hint of irritation in her voice and a billboard of irritation on her eyes. As she spoke, she leaned toward him across the small round table, making it hard not to look down that amazing cleavage.

  “When they show up at my club, unannounced, on a night I’m playing. Did you take pictures?” Not recognizing the name Jefferson, he didn’t immediately open the message, but he did pull his eyes back to the screen and flipped to photos.

  Focus on the facts, not the astoundingly luscious body she’d kept hidden in baggy scrubs.

  “Your club?” she asked, then his questions seemed to sink in and the confused look morphed into a scowl, shadowing her incredibly pretty features. “No, I certainly didn’t take any photos of you.”

  The words out, she snapped her fingers and held out her palm for the phone, the jerky arm movements making her
jiggle in her well-filled dress.

  Which he would ignore.

  Stick with the plan. Handle this. If it was something innocent, he could entertain entertaining her after.

  The photos tab contained lots of sunset skies and ocean, along with progress photos on a yellow-painted duck-themed nursery.

  Huh.

  But no pictures of him or the club. “Call or text anyone to say you’d found me here?”

  “Why would I do that? Are you in the witness protection program or something? Just give me my phone, Dante.” Her frustration...or her drinks...made her practically sing his name, but in a manner he’d not heard since high school. Annoyed. A bit too pointed. Sarcastic.

  He ignored it, but had to remind himself who he was speaking to—the best surgical nurse he’d ever worked with. Not someone usually prone to...well, any displays of emotion.

  “I don’t like my professional and personal lives to cross. No one knows about The Inferno, and I plan to keep it that way. If it’s truly coincidental that you’re here, you don’t need to speak of it with anyone at Buena Vista.”

  “Don’t tell anyone you’re in a boy band. Got it.”

  Boy band. He laughed despite his intention to intimidate her into following through with his demands. Bradshaw always seemed so calm and professional at work—this smart-mouthed and angry version really shouldn’t tickle him.

  “You know I don’t sit around waiting to gossip about you anyway.”

  Her squinting eyes got nowhere close to convincing him. How many drinks had she had?

  The message. If she was reporting to someone...

  He lifted the phone again and read the message. “Who’s Jefferson?”

  Lise, I’ve heard many good things about you, and that was the reason I initially agreed to our date. But I’ve had second thoughts. It seems unfair to lead you on when I’ve just never been into Large Women.

  Unknown name, frankly horrible message—she was telling him the truth. It was only coincidental that she’d happened to come into his club.