Page 77 of Filthy Lovin Heroes

Billionaires, mafia men, Scottish doctors, Marines and more await you inside this addictive collection of HOT Christmas romances. Each story in this series is a complete stand alone and satisfies your craving for over-the-top love. You’ll also get Penelope's promised happily ever after!

There’s no need for a TW with this series. They are safe reads. Dive in for a HOT time with an alpha hero.

XOXO - Penelope

What does a one-night stand, a roguish Scottish Duke, and Christmas have in common?

Everything and then nothing at all.

You see, that one glorious night I shared with Malcolm Murdoch—the rough, edgy, not to mention severely muscled Scotsman checked off all my fantasy boxes. Did I mention the filthy-talking alpha used to be my boss?

And then he left. Chased after an inheritance that landed him thousands of miles away from me, the hospital we work at, and my bed.

It would be a lie if I said I hardly ever thought about the wicked things his Scottish burr did to me or that my body has forgotten the toe-curling ache he left deep inside me.

Truth is, I resigned myself in never seeing the scoundrel again.

When I catch the attention of a stalker, I’m forced to accept help from Malcolm—the arrogant man who might be just as dangerous to me in other ways.

I’ll have to find a way to survive Christmas in Scotland with the Duke and all I’ll have to do is manage to keep my fantasies underwraps.

But who am I kidding? His whispers of wanting holly kisses unravels my defenses. I’m powerless against the feel of his strong hands caressing every curve, the brush of his warm lips against my skin. By Christmas I’ll have no choice but to give in and prove he’s right when he says I belong to him—the Duke of Lachlan.

…I’m in so much trouble.

Author’s naughty note:Over-the-top everything drizzled with sexiness at Christmas time and a hero with a Scottish burr. You know you want this! As always with a Penelope Wylde book, you'll get the filthy, naughty bits you crave with the perfect happily ever after you love.

One

Malcolm

There was one way to keep my cock out of trouble: avoid socializing with the female staff at Metropolitan Hospital.

And it worked perfectly until last night.

My golden rule—never fuck around in the workplace—has not been easy to follow. Being Dr. Malcolm Murdoch, I have plenty of temptation. I’m thirty-three years old and six foot three. Most mornings, I run through Central Park before work. I have my father’s dark eyes and the small scar on my right cheekbone was put there by my brother years ago. Plus, there’s my sizable inheritance, which makes my physician’s salary from Metropolitan’s emergency department look like my local coffee haunt’s tip jar, and though my colleague, Dr. Holly Ives, routinely accuses me of being an arrogant asshole, judging from the number of women who like my Scottish accent, that’s not a shortcoming.

Tonight, I promised my former medical school roommates I’d join them to talk shit about hospital administration while we hit a few bars downtown. Oliver and I waited out front on the sidewalk for Lucas. Underneath me, the subway rumbled by and the grate we stood over sent up a whoosh of the exhaust. I wasn’t a native New Yorker, but I loved the city--like it was part of my soul.

The fresh air, such as it was in Manhattan, was welcome after my fourteen-hour shift. It was warm for May. New York is like that in spring, it had been eighty degrees earlier that day. Tonight, the temperature had only dropped ten degrees and I wished I’d left my blazer in my staff locker.

Catching a glance at myself in the reflection of the window next to me, my thick dark hair had a tendency to curl if given the slightest opportunity. I liked it cut short, so I didn’t have to bother with it. I wore a hand-tailored jacket and a button-down dress shirt, but I skipped the tie. Faded jeans were my favorite attire when I wasn’t wearing scrubs.

Oliver Sorenson was texting on his phone, trying to locate Lucas. I left him to the task while I tipped my head back and savored being outside.

Twilight in the city always fascinated me. It’s like everyone in New York takes a deep breath while the street lights come on and the office buildings go black. When the skyscrapers light up against the darkening sky, a sense of anticipation radiates for the coming night.

“He’s on his way. Let’s stop at La Salle’s. There’s a send-off for Dr. Mancuso.” Oliver didn’t look up from his phone. He was a pediatric emergency medicine physician who looked like a Viking, was a complete nut about his vinyl LP collection, and loved gossip like an old woman.

“Mancuso’s retiring again?” I asked. Dr. Mancuso “retired” about once a year; after a few months away, she was back on the schedule.

I couldn’t imagine ever retiring. Working as a doctor in the emergency department in a busy New York hospital was all I had ever wanted. Still, I admired Mancuso as a colleague and mentor.

“Do you ever read the staff emails?” Oliver asked, still glued to his phone.

“Never.” As we exited the hospital, I signaled to Lucas.

Lucas Chavez was a pathologist, and like me, New York was his adopted home. He had the compact build of a wrestler, a passion for running marathons, and loved a good dark beer. He was my best friend.

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