Page 2 of Prognosis So Done

CHAPTER ONE – 0700 hours

The divorce papersburnt a hole in her hand as Harriet Remy carried the large yellow envelope to her soon-to-be ex-husband’s sleeping quarters. Nausea threatened and she swallowed hard to dispel it.

Just knock on the door, hand it over, then leave, Harriet

lectured herself as her rubber-soled shoes squeaked loudly on the aged linoleum in the hushed corridors. Do not stop for a chat. Do not go in for coffee. Do not let him make love to you.

She tossed her head and clamped down on the irony that threatened to bubble up in her chest and escape as sarcastic laughter. Sex, Harriet.

Have sex with you.

Their days of love-making were long past and she couldn’t afford such romantic stupidity.

They were getting divorced. The end. Finito. Period. They were just having a little difficulty remembering their differences in the haze of lust that descended upon them every time they got a little too close.

Harriet hadn’t yet worked out the co-ordinates of that invisible line — the one that separated close and too close — but she certainly knew when she’d crossed it. Except by then it was usually...always...too late.

She stopped in front of his door, gripping the envelope

tighter. Tomorrow. She would be gone tomorrow and his

signature would be on the papers and she could get on with her

life.

So she had to do this now.

She’d had the papers since she’d arrived in this country over two months ago but part of her had held back. Somewhere inside there had still been a small kernel of hope. A little Pollyanna ray of sunshine that had believed she could truly convince him to change his mind.

But two months of alternating between fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants medical drama and snatched moments of incredible can’t-get-enough-of-you sex hadn’t resolved anything.

Sex they were great at. Marriage not so much.

Harriet took a moment to tie her wavy hair back in a hastily constructed ponytail. He was going to look all messy-haired and sleepy and sexy as hell, so she desperately needed to look no-nonsense.

He hated her hair tied back. And for this task she needed him to hate her a little.

Harriet knocked on the door. The noise echoed loudly down the corridor and she hoped she hadn’t woken anyone else. All the surgical teams had been up until 1 a.m. and she didn’t think they’d appreciate such an early wake-up call. But this had to be done.

It’d been put off too long already.

She heard a mumbled expletive on the other side of the door and smiled to herself as she pictured Gill emerging from under his pillow, staring at the clock and frowning.

Please, have a shirt on.

The door opened abruptly and Harriet was confronted with his magnificent naked chest. She looked into his grumpy face and watched as he bit off a retort and a slow, lazy smile warmed his sleepy face.

Oh, hell...

Of all the men in all the world she had to marry one that

looked like a naughty angel.

‘Harry,’ he murmured.

His morning voice stroked across her skin, sending every nerve ending in her body into a frenzy. She knew where the line was today.

She was standing on it.

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