Neurosurgeon, Single Dad...Husband?


 
 
 
 Heat rolled between them. She ought to move away, but she was powerless to move.
 Least of all when he lifted his hand and grazed the tips of his fingers down one side of her jaw, his expression so intensely hot that it licked through her chest.
 And she silenced the voice inside screaming at her that this, for all intents and purposes, was her boss. That he didn’t date colleagues. That she certainly didn’t.
 But then suddenly he was kissing her. A kiss like nothing she’d ever known before. A kiss that breathed life into something deep inside her that had been dormant for so long.
 Had it ever existed like this before?
 Without even realizing what she was doing, her hands splayed themselves out on Seth’s chest, resting on the angular muscles and letting the heat seep from his body to hers as his mouth moved, unhurried, over hers. As though he had all the time in the world.
 It was a heady experience and it made her melt.
 Everywhere.
 
 
 Dear Reader,
 The inspiration for this story began when a friend—who specializes in selective mutism in adults—and I were walking in the woods with our wonderfully rambunctious nine-year-old kids.
 I found the subject fascinating and heartbreaking, and by the time I returned home with my blissfully happy child, I realized that I wanted to write a story that somehow featured the topic. And so Noah—my story’s six-year-old, who is suffering from trauma-induced selective mutism—was born.
 For neurosurgeon and confirmed bachelor Seth, it’s terrifying finding himself guardian to his nephew. Seth is used to solving problems and helping people, but he can’t seem to help his own nephew.
 When his scrub nurse, Andrea, steps in, able to bond with Noah in a way Seth couldn’t have even hoped to, he knows that he has no choice but to bend his own strict rules about keeping his distance from colleagues.
 I really do hope that you enjoy reading Andrea and Seth’s story in Neurosurgeon, Single Dad...Husband?, and I love to hear from readers, so feel free to drop by my website, www.charlotte-hawkes.com, or social media.
 Charlotte x
 
 
 Neurosurgeon, Single Dad...Husband?
 Charlotte Hawkes
 
 
 
 Born and raised on the Wirral Peninsula in England, Charlotte Hawkes is mom to two intrepid boys who love her to play building block games with them and who object loudly to the amount of time she spends on the computer. When she isn’t writing—or building with blocks—she is company director for a small Anglo/French construction firm. Charlotte loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her at her website: charlotte-hawkes.com.
 Books by Charlotte Hawkes
 Harlequin Medical Romance
 Billionaire Twin Surgeons
 Shock Baby for the DoctorForbidden Nights with the Surgeon
 Royal Christmas at Seattle General
 The Bodyguard’s Christmas Proposal
 Reunited on the Front Line
 Second Chance with His Army Doc 
 The Doctor’s One Night to RememberReunited with His Long-Lost NurseTempted by Her Convenient HusbandHis Cinderella Houseguest
 Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
 
 
 For Z
 Forever with us
 04/25/2021–07/02/2022
 
 
 Praise for Charlotte Hawkes
 “Without doubt one of the best medicals I have read!”
 —Harlequin Junkie on Second Chance with his Army Doc, four and a half stars
 
 
 Contents
 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
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN
 EPILOGUE
 EXCERPT FROM SECRET SON TO CHANGE HIS LIFE BY ALISON ROBERTS
 
 
 CHAPTER ONE
 ‘THE DAMN THING is a beast. It’s wrapped completely around these major vessels.’
 ‘Perhaps,’ Seth Mulder mused, peering through the co-observation surgical microscope at his patient’s brain tumour to where his fellow surgeon, and friend, was indicating. ‘Although, given how well-developed both the post-central and inter-parietal sulci are, they should make particularly good landmarks.’
 The clearer those grooves were, the easier it would be for his team to identify the separate functional centres of their patient’s brain and avoid cutting into the most essential areas of it.
 ‘I reckon we might be able to take advantage of this in order to achieve a particularly anatomical resection—at least of the most superficial parts of the tumour.’
 ‘And attempt preservation using microsurgical techniques,’ his colleague agreed. ‘Nice, yes, I like it.’
 ‘Once arterial release is achieved, we should be able to remove the bulk of the tumour in order to create a little more working space in there.’
 Seth lifted his head from the microscope and felt some of the tension of the last few weeks began to eek from his body. It felt good to be back in the operating room after the past few, hellish weeks away.
 As complex as this surgery was—and as much as he would never wish such a beast of a tumour on anyone—he found he’d missed being in the OR more than he could have imagined.
 Brain surgery was his world. It was what drove him on. It was what he was good at—brilliant at, in fact. Complex neurological procedures on patients who had not just paid handsomely to be treated at the state-of-the-art private wing of Baystone Medical Practice but to be treated by him personally.
 Up until a month ago, these surgeries had been the sole focus of his highly driven life. They’d been all he lived for. All he wanted to live for. Which was just as well, since he clearly made a lousy excuse for a father. Or surrogate father. Or whatever the hell he was supposed to call himself now.
 A wave of something cold and hard seeped into his chest—with an underlying current of something he couldn’t quite identify.
 The kid deserved better.
 He wasn’t designed to be a good parent, he thought guiltily. He wasn’t designed to be a parent at all. His sister had always had the maternal instincts—generous and patient, just like their beloved grandmother had been. Meanwhile, he