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       ‘Flora, you remember Conner?’

      It didn’t matter how many rules or hearts he’d broken, there wasn’t a woman alive who would forget Conner MacNeil once she’d met him.

      Determined not to boost his ego by revealing her thoughts, Flora adopted what she hoped was a puzzled expression. ‘Conner—Conner—the name is familiar—were you below me at school? Or were you above me?’

      His blue eyes glinted with wicked humour. ‘I don’t recall ever being above or below you, Flora,’ he murmured softly.

      She felt the heat flare in her cheeks and remembered, too late, that anyone trying to play word games with Conner was always going to lose.

      Flora didn’t know why she felt so hot and bothered. The only person who didn’t seem remotely embarrassed was Conner himself. He simply laughed.

      Flora bit her lip. She knew she ought to say something nice and welcoming, but her brain just didn’t seem to be working with its normal efficiency. Seeing Conner again without warning was shocking, confusing and—thrilling?

      One thing she knew for sure. The calm, tranquil routine of Glenmore Island was about to be overturned.

      Sarah Morgan trained as a nurse, and has since worked in a variety of health-related jobs. Married to a gorgeous businessman, who still makes her knees knock, she spends most of her time trying to keep up with their two little boys, but manages to sneak off occasionally to indulge her passion for writing romance. Sarah loves outdoor life, and is an enthusiastic skier and walker. Whatever she is doing, her head is always full of new characters, and she is addicted to happy endings.

       Recent titles by the same author:

      Medical™ Romance THE ITALIAN’S NEW-YEAR MARRIAGE WISH* THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS SINGLE FATHER, WIFE NEEDED** A BRIDE FOR GLENMORE**

      *Brides of Penhally Bay **Glenmore Island Doctors

      Modern™ Romance BOUGHT: THE GREEK’S INNOCENT VIRGIN THE SHIEKH’S VIRGIN PRINCESS THE BRAZILIAN BOSS’S INNOCENT MISTRESS THE SICILIAN’S VIRGIN BRIDE

       Dear Reader

      Last summer I wrote two books set on the fictitious Scottish Island of Glenmore. At the time, I didn’t think I’d be returning there, but I woke up one morning with the character of Conner in my head and I fell in love instantly.

      On the surface, Conner MacNeil is the ultimate bad boy. He had a rough start in life and was always in trouble. When he finally turned his back on Glenmore, the islanders were as pleased to see him go as he was to leave.

      Now he is back, and the boy is a man. He’s also a doctor, and his arrival sends the traditional close-knit community of Glenmore into an uproar. Islanders have long memories, and they find it hard to believe that wild, unstable Conner is capable of fulfilling such a responsible role.

      Only the practice nurse, Flora Harris, is willing to give Conner the benefit of the doubt. She has been fascinated by Conner since childhood, and soon finds her feelings for him growing into something deeper and more permanent.

      But their differences soon make the relationship complicated. Flora is a very private person, and she hates being talked about. And everyone is talking about Conner. He doesn’t care, but she certainly does. This is her home, and she doesn’t want people gossiping. So they try and keep their relationship private, forgetting that on an island like Glenmore nothing remains a secret for long...

      I hope you enjoy reading Conner and Flora’s story, and returning to the wild, wind-battered shores of Glenmore Island.

      Love

       Sarah x

      THE REBEL DOCTOR’S BRIDE

      BY

      SARAH MORGAN

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      PROLOGUE

      THEY were all staring.

      He could feel them staring even though he stood with his back to them, his legs braced against the slight roll of the ferry, his eyes fixed firmly on the ragged coastline of the approaching island.

      The whispers and speculation had started from the moment he’d ridden his motorbike onto the ferry. From the moment he’d removed his helmet and allowed them to see his face.

      Some of the passengers were tourists, using the ferry as a means to spend a few days or weeks on the wild Scottish island of Glenmore, but many were locals, taking advantage of their only transport link with the mainland.

      And the locals knew him. Even after an absence of twelve years, they recognised him.

      They remembered him for all the same reasons that he remembered them.

      Their faces were filed away in his subconscious; deep scars on his soul.

      He probably should have greeted them; islanders were sociable people and a smile and a ‘hello’ might have begun to bridge the gulf that stretched between them. But his firm mouth didn’t shift and the chill in his ice blue eyes didn’t thaw.

      And that was the root of the problem, he brooded silently as he studied the deadly rocks that had protected this part of the coastline for centuries. He wasn’t sociable. He didn’t care what they thought of him. He’d never been interested in courting the good opinion of others and he’d never considered himself an islander, even though he’d been born on Glenmore and had spent the first eighteen years of his life trapped within the confines of its rocky shores.

      He had no wish to exchange small talk or make friends. Neither did he intend to explain his presence. They’d find out what he was doing here soon enough. It was inevitable. But, for now, he dismissed their shocked glances as inconsequential and enjoyed his last moments of self-imposed isolation.

      The first drops of rain sent the other passengers scuttling inside for protection but he didn’t move. Instead he stood still, staring bleakly at the ragged shores of the island, just visible through the rain-lashed mist. The land was steeped in lore and legend, with a long, bloody history of Viking invasion.

      Locals believed that the island had a soul and a personality. They believed that the unpredictable weather was Glenmore expressing her many moods.

      He glanced up at the angry sky with a cynical smile. If that was the case then today she was definitely menopausal.

      Or maybe, like the islanders, she’d seen his return and was crying.

      The island loomed out of the mist and he stared ahead, seeing dark memories waiting on the shore. Memories of wild teenage years; of anger and defiance. His past was a stormy canvas of rules broken, boundaries exploded, vices explored, girls seduced—far too many girls seduced—and all against an atmosphere of intense disapproval from the locals who’d thought his parents should have had more control.

      Remembering the vicious, violent atmosphere of his home, he gave a humourless laugh. His father hadn’t been capable of controlling himself, let alone him. After his mother had left, he’d spent as little time in the house as possible.

      The rain was falling heavily as the ferry docked and he turned up the collar of his leather jacket and moved purposefully towards his motorbike.

      He could have replaced his helmet and assured himself a degree of privacy from the hostile stares, but instead he paused for a moment, the wicked streak inside him making sure that they had more than enough time to take one more good look at his face. He didn’t want there to be any doubt in their minds. He wanted them to know that he was back.

      Let them stare and

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