LONDON WITH LOVE

By Chris Haigh

Emily Gibson is age 26, attractive, and working in London. Her love life up to now has been a disaster, making her reckless and unpredictable. In spite of being good at her job, she gets fired.
Scott Gillons is four years older, a hot and handsome plastic surgeon who has developed a secret microchip tracker to implant into humans. Even though women adore him, he finds serious relationships don’t work – until he meets Emily.
Tensions mount as Emily's life takes an unexpected turn, and she makes a discovery which threatens her safety.
Truths emerge as Scott has to face up to his own issues. There are confessions he needs to make to Emily if their friendship is to become true love, confessions which will leave him vulnerable and, if made public, would damage his career as a surgeon.
As the facts come out, Emily and Scott become entangled in each other in a search for commitment and a future together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jul 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483451541

Book preview

End

Chapter 1

Twelve Years Ago

S COTT STOOD ON THE DECK of the sailing boat and watched her swim towards him. The bay waters of the Greek island were calm, four other boats lay at anchor, and nothing moved except the swimmer. He knew exactly what she wanted.

Although Scott was eighteen, he’d believed himself to be a mature person – until he’d met her, the woman in the water. The past seven days had changed his thinking. Now, life seemed to be full of surprises, and he was no longer sure of his future.

Her message earlier had been clear: ‘Wait for me. Do not leave the boat. I’ll be back shortly.’ Those words had been for his ears only, while her family got into the dinghy at the back of the sailing boat and waited. The husband, his wife, and two children had then motored across the bay to the sandy beach on the far side, while Scott had returned to the kitchen to clear away the breakfast, wash the dishes, and make the cabin tidy. That had been two hours ago.

The woman was a strong swimmer, breast stroke her chosen technique. One hundred yards away he could see her face every time she came up for air, her eyes fixed on him. Scott felt the anticipation and stepped towards the rail to lean on it.

Not for the first time he debated the morality of what was to come. He was young and strong, with perfect abs and a great tan. He was enjoying the summer work before university. It hadn’t taken long for him to find this job in the busy marina of Mallorca in the Mediterranean. His navigation certificate and the experience of sailing a boat had made him very employable. They, this family, had needed a crew member to help on their cruise holiday to the Greek islands and back.

Two days into the trip, she had made her first pass, the physical contact of her hand brushing his bare chest. It became impossible to stay away from her in the close confines of the boat. In her mid-forties, Mrs Parker was not only attractive but she also knew how to get her own way. Scott’s resolve melted in the face of her whispered hints, which came with the assumption he would do whatever she demanded. They had arrived at the first Greek island, and she had seduced Scott while the others were ashore. His inexperience and initial reluctance had been swept aside as Mrs Parker took over. ‘Everything is fine,’ she had said.

Scott watched as she swam closer and smiled up at him. He didn’t know whether he should feel lucky or not, because the sex was good but the guilt remained. In the end, he had given in to her judgement, the way she wanted it, and her constant assurances.

She climbed up the short ladder at the back of the boat, and he passed her a towel. Mrs Parker squeezed the water from her shoulder-length wet hair, the colour of espresso, which matched her dark eyes. Those eyes gazed at him with longing.

‘You look serious, Scott. Maybe that’s a good thing.’ She came closer and ran her fingers through his long, dark hair. ‘You don’t need to make any decisions, my sweet boy.’

Even if he had wanted to reply, he couldn’t, because her urgent kiss got in the way. Her hand snaked down his back and under his shorts to massage his buttocks. The press of her body, her sexuality, set him on fire.

‘I can feel you’re getting hard.’ She looked down and undid his fly buttons. ‘Good man. Now come with me.’

‘What about the others?’

‘Do not worry your beautiful head about anything. I told them I was going for a long swim.’ Inside the cabin, she dropped her bikini on the floor and knelt with the towel between her legs. ‘Take your shorts off.’

He had got used to her demands, but a part of his brain said he shouldn’t be doing this. The force of her personality, the seduction by a woman twenty-five years older than him, was too much to resist. It was like a fantasy come true: the older woman showing the inexperienced guy how to please her. He totally relied on her to decide what to do; her control over him was complete.

‘Now stand in front of me.’ She played with him. ‘You have to learn, Scott, to know what a lady wants.’

Thirty minutes later, she was spread-eagled on the floor, and he was on top, with his hands holding her wrists down, a position she wanted. The sex took over. She encouraged him to keep up his momentum and maintain the rhythm. He didn’t register the faint noise at the back of the boat nor the slight tilt of the hull as if someone were climbing the ladder.

She saw her husband first as he opened the cabin door. She screamed at Mr Parker, ‘Help! Get him off me!’

Scott didn’t expect the sudden force from Mrs Parker as she threw him off while she continued to shout for help. A punch to the side of his head from her husband was followed by a hard slap to the cheek from her.

‘He leapt on me, forced me, for God’s sake.’ Her ranting wouldn’t stop as Scott climbed into his shorts. ‘You filthy beast,’ she yelled as she tried to slap him again. She spat in his face. Her husband, roaring abusive words, was on the verge of assaulting Scott as his wife ran to her bedroom. ‘Chuck him off the boat!’ she yelled back.

Although Scott could see how the scene looked, he couldn’t think of anything to say. Nor would it make any difference. He was ordered to get his bag.

Nothing was said between the two men during the dinghy ride back to shore. As he stepped into shallow water and waded up the beach, Scott felt alone, stranded there on the strip of sand. He vowed he would never let another female control him again. Never.

Chapter 2

Today

E MILY ENTERED THE WINE BAR on the South Bank of the Thames River. Her friend hadn’t arrived yet as Emily swivelled her head to look for a spare table. She found it by the window and took her Chardonnay over to the two-seater leather sofa. The drink tasted of lemon and cream, which she realised wouldn’t be on the standard description from a wine expert. While she waited, she checked her mobile until she found a message from Jessica announcing that her friend would be late.

The view outside the window resembled a postcard of London: Tower Bridge lit up in the dark, with lights glittering along the supporting cables. On the other side of the river, the Tower of London still had, it seemed to her, an ominous feel to it; centuries of kings and queens had imprisoned their opponents in dark dungeons there before having their heads chopped off.

Loud laughter came from the bar as a man in a suit with an open-necked white shirt joined a group of after-work people at the far corner. They sneaked glances at Emily as if discussing her. Another message from Jessica said she would be there in two minutes.

While absorbed in her mobile, a shadow invaded her space; someone stood in front of her table. It was a guy she hadn’t noticed before: tall, wearing a shirt and tie but no jacket. He held two cocktails, one coloured pink with a cherry in it and the other one blue with the glass rim edged with sugar. The accent was London middle class, with a well-rehearsed chat-up line: ‘You choose a cocktail, and I’ll have the other one.’

She found it funny. Without realising it, she leaned her body back on the sofa and crossed her legs. Her attitude spelt dreamy, languid, relaxed. She didn’t need to look down to know her tight skirt had risen too much up her thigh, caused by the slight forward shift in her hips as she loosened her body. She knew her legs were attractive, strong from the hours of dance practice, but she emphasised their quality by twisting her ankle seductively. No words came from her as she considered what to say, although it was too late anyway.

Jessica appeared from the side, and in one swift movement leaned over and kissed Emily on the mouth. Their usual kiss was cheek to cheek. Emily’s surprise developed rapidly into shock as she found herself pinned down against the cushion. Jessica took her time to gently move her lips over Emily’s.

Jessica collapsed on the sofa and turned to the man, who wore a surprised expression. ‘Forgive my girlfriend for showing too much leg,’ Jessica said. ‘I do apologise. And thanks for the drinks.’ Jessica brazenly took the cocktails from the man.

His voice had a touch of anger in it. ‘I’m not the bloody waiter, you know!’

Emily wiped the side of her mouth with her finger. ‘You’re the one standing there.’ Her reply deliberately lacked rudeness or aggression as she blinked her eyelashes, like a butterfly, to look innocent and defenceless.

He returned to the bar, where he was welcomed back by his friends, all eager to hear what had happened.

‘Cor blimey, Jess, I’ve never been kissed like that by any girl. You nearly freaked me out.’

‘I thought of doing a Frenchie—’

‘Puh-leez, no.’ Emily couldn’t get her head round the thought of having a woman do a French kiss, tongue to tongue on her. The act for the benefit of the man had been just that – an act. Mind you, she mused to herself, it had been fun in a weird way.

Jessica broke into her thoughts. ‘Listen to me, Em. You need passion. You need a guy to stick his tongue in your mouth. Otherwise, I’m going to do it for you.’

Emily selected the blue-coloured drink. ‘I’m happy as I am,’ she lied.

‘Miss Emily Gibson. You’re 26 years old, and you haven’t pulled a guy for over a year. You should have seen that bloke just now – wanting it, wanting you. I know how men look at you. You’ve got those penetrating green eyes, and blonde hair to die for. You’re smart—’

‘All right, that’s enough, Jess. The fact is I’m waiting for Mr Right.’

‘Boll-locks. You lie like I breathe. I know what you need.’ Jessica took a sip from the pink cocktail and handed the cherry to Emily. ‘You’ve got to forget what that prick of a guy did to you a year ago. Move on. Get over it. Your love life is a mess. In all other respects you’ve got life sorted: great personality, similar to Jennifer Aniston, you’re attractive, and you got a great job.’ She put her drink down. ‘You need to fuck.’

Jess might be right, Emily knew it. Except she was wrong about Emily’s job. It wasn’t a ‘great’ job any more.

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He looked at her lips. The woman sat on the chair, her hands on her lap, and gazed at Scott. To get closer to her, he stepped around to the front of his desk and leaned forward. He carefully placed his index finger and thumb on the tip of her jaw to move the woman’s head to the right. ‘Smile, please.’ He paused. ‘And again, slowly.’ With critical satisfaction he noted the natural way the lips moved back to expose her perfect teeth. As he directed her head the other way, he asked her to do the same thing. To smile. The lower, fuller lip stretched nicely, and she froze in that position while Scott looked for any flaws.

‘How does it feel?’

‘Love it. You’ve done such a great job.’ Her American accent accentuated the word ‘job’ to sound like ‘jarb’.

‘Open your mouth, please.’ He ran his finger along the inside of both lips to feel for any lumps. ‘Has the numbness gone, Mrs Bing?’ To allow her to speak, he removed his finger from her mouth. The fact that he was a much sought-after doctor who specialised in reconstruction and plastic surgery meant that this was standard behaviour.

‘Feels normal.’ As if to emphasise this, she ran her pink tongue slowly along her lower lip. The way she did it looked sensual, a slight push of her chin in his direction, followed by a pout to bring the perfect lips together. It became impossible for him not to read the hidden message. The scent of her expensive perfume almost persuaded him to get closer, closer than the twelve inches that already separated them. He pulled back.

‘Good. I can see you’re more confident than before.’ He grinned. Mrs Bing, whose husband was an American diplomat at their embassy, had originally come on a recommendation to see Scott. The resultant augmentation procedure had changed her appearance for the better.

Her tongue glided along the tips of her upper teeth. ‘Awesome. Don’t you think?’

‘So you’re pleased with the result?’ He looked at the sparkling eyes of Mrs Bing.

‘You Brits are always so proper. You’ve given me the lips and the confidence to make me feel like a new, hot woman, so I want to splash some of that hotness and see what happens.’ Her American accent had become more British, her words more English, from the years she had lived in London.

He went over to the basin to wash his hands.

Mrs Bing stood in the middle of the room. ‘You don’t just change details, Scott, you change lives, and we Americans know what to do with life-changing moments – live them to the fullest! And I think I shall begin by taking you to dinner to celebrate.’

Offers like this, in one shape or another, were not unusual. His nurse had once said it was his bedside manner which caused some women patients to act this way. Last week he’d overheard one of the girls behind the reception desk describe him as ‘fucking hot’. Whatever the reasons, he stood by two rules when it came to dating. The first rule was never to have sex with a patient. With Mrs Bing he would have to be tactful, as usual. ‘That’s very kind of you, and in normal circumstances, I’d love to.’ He kept the conversation light-hearted. ‘It would be unethical to accept, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, if you change your mind …’

Having shown her out to reception to arrange a credit-card payment, he said goodbye. After five minutes, his nurse came back with a cup of tea and a smug grin on her face. She put his tea on the desk. ‘There you go, Scott – another female who wants to get into your pants.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Mrs Bing asked for your private email to send you a thank-you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Why do women flock to you like bees round a honey pot?’

‘It’s a hard life!’

‘Ha ha ha. Very funny.’ His nurse had worked with him ever since he’d started his private practice as a cosmetic surgeon at Harley Street. She owned a wicked sense of humour. Their relationship remained one of tell-it-straight, which he appreciated. Her secure marriage to a doctor made it easier for Scott to say how he really felt, and she always gave him her best judgement.

‘How come you know what’s going on before I do?’ he said.

‘Because I have invisible antennae on the top of my head. And you’re an innocent boy.’ She shrugged and smiled as she left the room.

The mobile in his suit pocket vibrated, indicating a message from his friend. ‘I’m stuck here, mate, with two sexy girls. Where are you?’ His buddy, Nick, was a trader for one of the large banks; the man was known as a party animal, a womaniser, and a player: fun to be with, plus deadly in getting women into bed. Nick worked at it, saying he considered it an art to seduce women. On the other hand, Scott seemed to attract women without trying, yet he remained more cautious. He wanted to keep his independence, to never let a relationship get too deep. That was his second rule regarding dating: never get too involved. His other interests came first: sport, fast cars, hanging out with his men friends, and the demands of his busy work schedule. Although he loved the company of women, Scott never allowed girlfriends to get too serious.

Chapter 3

Work

S COTT WAS IN SURGERY, PERFORMING a plastic operation under the glare of the lights for a patient with burns. He couldn’t wish for a better medical team around him. The anaesthetist, David, had become a close friend; he had worked with Scott on many of the private patients at Harley Street, the top London location for all doctors. Both men found working exclusively for the state-run National Health Service wouldn’t give them the level of income they wanted. Private work filled in around the NHS schedule, and at the age of 30, Scott had already built up an enviable reputation as a cosmetic surgeon.

Scott worked on the patient on the operating table. ‘How’s married life?’ In spite of asking the question, he kept his concentration on the patient. Since the anaesthetist was the only married person in the room, the two nurses knew who Scott was talking to.

‘Domestic bliss. How’s your love life, Scott?’

‘I enjoy my independence. Nick keeps me occupied with the girls he brings along. It’s fun up to a point, but when it gets too serious, I back off.’

‘A wife can have your slippers ready and a glass of Scotch.’

He knew David was joking. Scott kept his eyes on the patient. ‘The day I fall for a woman, I’ll buy you a bottle of the best whisky.’ He felt sure in his mind this wasn’t going to happen for many years.

‘I’ll hold you to that.’

After he’d finished and the patient had been wheeled to recovery, he took his mask and gown off. He unbuttoned his shirt as he walked back into the operating room. David stood waiting.

‘Okay, I’m ready.’ He had briefed David on what to do.

‘Is this the microchip?’ asked David as he held it between his thumb and forefinger. ‘You haven’t said what it does.’

‘It’s confidential, David. An experiment which I think is going to make children safer.’ He got himself ready on the operating table and watched David give him an injection one inch below his ribs. While they waited for the anaesthetic to work, Scott gave a brief outline of what the chip would do. ‘I can’t tell you too much, but it’s a homing device, a tracker for someone else to locate exactly where I am.’

‘Is this the thing you’ve been working on since university?’

He nodded. ‘I’ve been carrying the chip around in my wallet for a few months to make sure it functions properly.’ Scott took the knife and made a small incision in his skin. He placed the chip snugly under his rib. ‘In theory it should work inside me.’

David passed the special plaster strips to enable Scott to close the cut, followed by a bandage to protect it.

As he did his shirt up, Scott walked to the adjoining locker room. He looked in the wall mirror while he dressed in his smart suit and tie, which were the regulation dress code for all consultant surgeons except when they were in the operating theatre. Sometimes the head of management hinted that Scott’s dark straight hair was too long; it overlapped his ears and touched the back of his collar, which gave a non-conformist image, an image of a beach boy rather than a highly paid surgeon.

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Emily sat at her desk at the Department of Health and looked at the grey acoustic screen attached to the front of her desk. The sound of a crisp packet being torn open on the other side of the screen was clearly audible, and she knew Colleen was crunching into her first munch of the workday. If Emily listened to any more of the rustling with finger-licking from the other side of the screen, she would also have the urge to snack. She blanked the sound out and looked out of the window. At least, thought Emily, she had a desk next to the window facing onto the street. It gave her a nice view down onto Whitehall, the road connecting the Houses of Parliament to her left and Downing Street to her right. Although a convenient place to work, as a secretary she wasn’t engaged in a type of work which inspired her imagination.

Her degree in Economics at St Andrews University, Edinburgh, had been the door-opener to this job and a promise from her boss that she would start as his assistant and work up to better things. Apparently, so the man said, her degree would be ‘really useful’ in her future career at the Department of Health. After she had graduated, job offers hadn’t exactly been tumbling over themselves. The reality that virtually every 18-year-old school leaver went to some kind of university meant the whole concept of graduates-are-special had become dumbed down. Getting the first reasonable job had been a struggle. The offer to work as an assistant, a glorified secretary, had appeared brilliant and had received universal approval from her circle of friends. The reality of the job emerged: she was to type reports and emails. However, she applied herself enthusiastically, while keeping her eyes open for opportunities to transfer into a more responsible role.

The worst part of her job centred on her boss. She didn’t like him. He had an unacceptable way of looking at her.

Her thoughts moved on to something more pleasant. Yesterday had been fun, meeting up with Jess. She smiled at the thought of the poor man who had presented himself to Emily with two lovely cocktails before being rejected. There had been no hard feelings, though, when she and Jess had eventually left the bar and said their thanks to the guy.

A shadow brought her thoughts back to the present. She glanced up to see her boss standing beside her, and she noticed he took two seconds to swivel his eyes from looking down her cleavage to looking at her face. Over the past few months his arrogant glances had become increasingly