Her Playboy's Secret

Before she could scurry away in horror over that last blooper, he murmured, “I stand corrected on the kissing, although you totally had me for a moment or two. But I’m intrigued by this supposed love triangle you envision us in. Care to enlighten me as to who the third party might be, or do I have no say in the matter?”

Was he serious?

She wanted to hurl Cora’s name at him. Instead, by some superhuman force of will, she clamped her jaws shut before they had a chance to issue any other crazy statements. Then, without another word, she swung back into their patient’s room to give her the news about the redback.

At least he hadn’t asked her about the been-there-done-that part of her rant, because no one needed to hear her sad tale about the wedding that almost had been. Or the woman who’d stolen her fiancé’s heart when he was supposed to be madly in love with her.

Since when had she become so reckless with her words?

Just like the ruby stripe on the infamous redback that warned of dire consequences to those who came in contact with it, the answer to her last question was inscribed with words that were just as lethal: Lucas Elliot.

He made her forget about everything but his presence.

The thing was, she had no idea how to go about scrubbing him—or the image of their lips locking in a frenzy of need—from her mind and finishing out the rest of her time in Australia in relative peace.

But she’d better figure out an antivenin that would work against his charm and inject herself with it. As soon as she possibly could.

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