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  HEART MELTER

  SOPHIA KNIGHTLY

  Heart Melter

  Copyright 2013 by Victoria Koch

  Cover design by Gilded Heart Design, Inc.

  Formatting by IRONHORSE Formatting

  Kobo Edition

  Without limiting the rights under copyright(s) reserved above and below, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner. The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thank You.

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  www.SophiaKnightly.com

  https://twitter.com/SophiaKnightly

  http://sophiaknightly.webs.com/newslettersignup.htm

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  * * *

  Dedication

  With much love to my daughter, Gigi, the talented songbird who inspired this story. May you always sing and spread joy with your beautiful voice.

  Acknowledgements

  Huge thanks to Martha Paley Francescato for your many reads and encouragement during the writing of HEART MELTER. I’m so happy you loved Natasha and Ian’s story from the start.

  To Maggie Dove, many thanks for the laughter and fun times in plotting, and to Marcia King-Gamble for your feedback and always lending an ear.

  A big shout out and thanks to my wonderful beta readers and to the amazing Sophia’s Sirens led by our fabulous team leader, Amanda Brown!

  Lots of love to my daughters, Gigi and Jacqui, for your boundless enthusiasm and support. Gracias to my Mom, the original storyteller whose tales held me spellbound as a child.

  And finally to my husband, Paul, for your heart melting love.

  * * *

  Ian and Natasha - Heartthrob Series, Book Two

  Scottish surgeon, Dr. Ian MacGregor, has no desire to see his ex-fiancée again. But when the dazzling Broadway star lands in his office wounded, the healer in Ian can't turn her away.

  Natasha White has no idea why anyone would knife her on a crowded street in Times Square. At first she thinks the cut on her thigh is an accident, but as frightening events unravel, she learns the mob is after an incriminating flash drive they think she has. She's grateful when Ian whisks her away to his castle in the Highlands, far from the mob.

  Irresistibly drawn to her, Ian tries to deny the sexy sparks that ignite as he becomes her fierce protector. Their hot chemistry deepens into strong feelings as they dodge impending danger and he fights to keep her safe. Ian will do anything to guard Natasha, but will their love be strong enough to survive the shocking secrets revealed?

  Dear Readers,

  HEART MELTER is a story very dear to my heart. Years ago, I traveled to Scotland and was captivated by its valiant history, the warm and friendly Scots and the magic of their land. I always wanted to set a romance there, and now I’m thrilled to share Ian and Natasha’s love story with you. I hope you will root for them and fall in love with them as much as I did.

  Happy reading,

  Sophia Knightly

  Table of 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

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Excerpt: Heart Raider

  Sophia Knightly - Bio

  Look for these books by Sophia Knightly

  Chapter One

  “You’re flat,” Simon called out from the third row of the dark theatre.

  “No, I’m not.” Natasha White gritted her teeth and raised a challenging eyebrow at the director. Her hands curved on the waist of her fawn satin teddy as she tamped down her simmering temper. Simon Worth was referring to her pitch, not her breasts, although he had spent most of the morning ogling them while she danced. It was the third time he’d rudely interrupted her song, and he’d made Freddie the choreographer change her tap number so many times, her muscles were screaming in protest. But she ignored the pain; it was worth having the starring role of Legs LaRue in “The Bee’s Knees”, a new roaring twenties musical sure to be a Broadway hit.

  Simon was pushing hard during dress rehearsal—unfairly so. But what else could she expect from the control freak who had written the songs and lyrics of “The Bee’s Knees” and was also directing it? The thirty-nine-year-old musical genius was temperamental and rude, but that wouldn’t have stopped Natasha’s mother, legendary Broadway diva, Anitra White, from letting loose a rant that would have singed Simon’s bushy black brows. Where her acerbic mother would have screamed, Natasha held her tongue, even if she felt like strangling Simon. She didn’t want any comparisons with her drama queen mama, not now, not ever.

  “She was pitch perfect,” her accompanist, Bruce, said instantly. Her white-haired defender pushed his horn rimmed glasses up on his high-bridged nose and glared at Simon. Bruce was an experienced, old school Broadway accompanist and nobody dared contradict him, not even Simon.

  “Sounded gorgeous to me. Piss off, Simon.” Freddie the choreographer’s jaw clenched beneath his trim salt-and-pepper goatee as he sent a supportive nod Natasha’s way. He had already had a meltdown this morning over Simon’s intrusive meddling in his choreography. His compact dancer’s body was coiled tightly, ready to spring on the director if he continued to bully Natasha. Not that she needed protecting. If she could handle her mother’s tough criticism all those years growing up, she could certainly endure Simon’s.

  “Thanks, guys,” Natasha said, blowing them kisses. She alternately rolled her neck and shoulders, and then peered into the theatre, her gaze zeroing in on her understudy, Lisette Raye, who watched with rabid ambition.

  It was no secret Lisette was hot for the starring role—and the director. The pushy twenty-one-year-old actress and Simon were already sleeping together. Once he’d plowed through the ensemble and slept with most of them, Simon settled on Lisette, who eagerly pleased him in all areas. Well, she could have the pompous gasbag. Musical genius or not, he didn’t appeal to Natasha, and she’d be damned if she’d sleep her way to the top. She’d seen too many failed “showmances”—mostly hook-ups that thrived during shows, but rarely made it past the last curtain call. Hanging around backstage as a child during her mom’s Broadway shows had taught her to steer clear of romances in the business. It had also toughened her enough to let Simon’s insults slide and not affect her performance.

  “Let’s take it from the top, and this time make sure your E makes me weep,” Simon drawled caustically, ignoring the collective groans from Bruce and Freddie.

  An hour later when Elisha, the stage manager, called lunch break, Natasha fled the theatre intent on grabbing a bite to eat and taking her Pomeranian puppy, Evita, for a quick walk. Evita w
as a gift from her childhood friend, Ronnie, and Ronnie’s gorgeous new husband, Nick Cameron. They’d given her the puppy before leaving on their honeymoon. The moment the puppy emitted a melodious, crooning howl while Natasha sang, she promptly named her Evita, after the musical.

  Natasha hurried across Times Square, her nerves frayed from Simon’s heedless interruptions and unwarranted criticisms. Something wasn’t right; she could feel it in her bones. Thinking back to her horoscope this morning, maybe she should heed Sydney Taggert’s advice: Keep an eye on your back and an eye toward the future.

  She zipped her tan leather jacket against the blast of ice cold air swirling around her. A bit early for such frigid weather in October, but everything this month seemed off. She usually made her way home at a brisk trot, but today her leg and butt muscles quivered from the morning’s repetitive variations of the same dance. She was used to grueling workouts, but Simon had gone overboard. It was almost as if he were trying to push her to the breaking point. Well, it wasn’t going to happen. He had underestimated the kind of grit she had developed over the years. She wasn’t about to relinquish the plum role of Legs LaRue to a greedy newbie like Lisette.

  With her head bent forward and her heavy dance tote slung across her chest, Natasha wove through the teeming crowd of tourists. She was two blocks away from her apartment when she felt a firm jerk on her dance bag. As she grappled to hold onto it and not lose her footing, a sharp pain sliced across her outer right thigh.

  “Ouch!” She craned her neck to the side to see where the jab had come from. A quick glance at her leg made her gasp at the slash in her jeans and the long red line on her skin revealed by the gaping fabric. Within seconds blood rose to the cut’s surface. With shaky hands, Natasha pulled her long knit scarf off her neck and tied it tightly around her upper thigh, forming a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.

  She stepped onto the curb and frantically hailed a taxi. Within seconds, a cab drove up and she clambered inside.

  “Where to?” the driver asked, turning to stare at her when she didn’t answer right away.

  Natasha could barely breathe, let alone speak as she stared at the driver. She swallowed and said through trembling lips, “Take me to the closest emergency clinic.”

  No, that wouldn’t do. If she went to an emergency clinic, she’d be there all day. With Simon’s foul mood and Lisette itching for her starring role, Natasha had to get back to rehearsal ASAP.

  When the driver turned on 40th Street onto 6th Avenue, she remembered Ian’s medical clinic was on that street. Her heart leaped at the thought of seeing her ex-fiancé again and it brought an onslaught of painful memories. Given the way they’d split up seven years ago, would he even agree to see her? At this crucial moment, who cared? She needed his expertise and who better than brilliant renowned cosmetic surgeon, Dr. Ian MacGregor, to treat her wound and not leave a disfiguring scar?

  Knowing Ian, he’d take care of her too. He was a doctor first and foremost. Years ago, he’d been strong and protective of her…and they’d been passionately in love. Did she really want to go there after struggling for seven years to get him out of her heart? How would he react to her unexpected visit? She’d soon find out, she thought, quaking inside as she made a rash decision.

  When she recognized Ian’s building, she told the driver, “Stop here. Please. I’m getting off.” She handed him a ten dollar bill and bolted out of the cab.

  Inside the building, Natasha gulped air and tried not to look at her wound as she pressed the elevator button. Thankfully, it was empty and she rode up to Ian’s office alone. But the moment she entered the reception area, she panicked at the roomful of patients waiting to be seen. Summoning strength—and courage—she limped toward the counter and tried not to put too much pressure on her injured leg.

  “Excuse me,” she said to a gray haired woman whose narrowed gaze was fixed on the computer screen before her. “I need to see Dr. MacGregor.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but it’s an emergency.”

  “I’m sorry. Dr. MacGregor doesn’t take walk-ins,” the woman replied briskly. Her name tag said Carla and Natasha wondered if she was the office manager.

  “But I’m hurt,” Natasha said, her voice rising in anguish. She motioned to her injured leg, hoping Carla would take pity on her.

  “You’re bleeding! You need to go to an emergency center. Now!” Carla said with a disapproving shake of her head.

  A collective gasp sounded behind her and Natasha didn’t need to turn around to confirm that all attention was riveted on her, from the buzzing voices of waiting patients to the concerned faces behind the glass reception counter.

  She leaned forward and clutched the counter. “I don’t feel very well. Please tell Dr. MacGregor that Natasha White needs to see him. He knows me.”

  “I can’t interrupt him while he’s with a patient,” Carla said firmly.

  Natasha closed her eyes and drew in calming breaths. How on earth was she going to get past Ian’s gatekeeper to see him? Desperate times called for desperate measures. She swayed on her feet and collapsed, making sure to land carefully on her uninjured side. Good thing her acting classes had included pratfalls, she thought wryly, as she lay on the floor pretending to be unconscious.

  Carla rounded the corner immediately. “Good Lord! She fainted. Get Dr. MacGregor. Quick!” she yelled, patting Natasha’s cheek.

  Seconds later, Natasha heard a deep male voice say, “What’s going on, Carla?” He reached Natasha’s side in seconds. “Tasha? Oh God. What happened?”

  The hairs on Natasha’s arms stood on end and butterflies swarmed her belly at the sound of Ian’s rich voice, resonant with a Scottish burr. She opened her eyes and slowly met his—silver-green wolf eyes densely rimmed with sooty black lashes. Her heart pounded riotously as his arresting gaze locked with hers and a familiar weakness overcame her making it hard to breathe.

  Ian’s sheer male force engulfed her, held her in thrall as she lay before him, almost sick with anticipation of his next move. A jumble of potent emotions blindsided her. Longing, excitement, trepidation, despair. She hadn’t realized how much seeing him again would affect her and she needed a moment to pull herself together.

  Natasha closed her eyes and let her body go limp again.

  Muttering “bloody hell”, Ian lifted her up and carried her down the hallway and into a room. She didn’t dare open her eyes. Please let him think I’m unconscious, she thought, mortified she’d had to resort to fainting like a damsel in distress. Before Ian, of all people.

  He gently deposited her on the examining table and made short work of removing her jeans with the help of a nurse named Judy. While the nurse cleaned the wound, Ian examined it and Natasha kept her eyes closed the whole time.

  “It’s superficial. I’ll take it from here, Judy. Please go to Mrs. Phillips in room six. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Yes, Doc,” Judy said and hustled out of the room.

  “Nobody faints for that long. Open your eyes, Tasha,” Ian said in a voice laden with irony.

  Tasha. Hearing Ian’s pet name for her made Natasha’s heart squeeze. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked at the bright lights and focused on Ian’s face. He loomed above her, handsome as ever with a straight, aristocratic nose, a firm jaw and sensual lips that rivaled any Michelangelo statue. Thick dark brows formed straight slashes above narrowed crystal green eyes that raked over her with concern. Ian's vibrant wolf eyes stirred her blood and a tremor coursed through her as his steady gaze held her immobile.

  "Ian.” Natasha took a deep breath of the sterile air in a fruitless attempt to calm her racing heart. “I…I…” she stammered.

  Ian arched one brow and stared at her meaningfully.

  She rubbed her arms against the shivery sensations he aroused, fervently hoping he couldn’t tell how unhinged she felt. She stared back, trapped in his penetrating gaze. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything to say. He had
to be wondering if she’d lost her marbles.

  “I’m sorry I passed out and bled all over your carpet out there. I’ll have it replaced,” she finally managed to say. She held her breath and waited for Ian to do something. A smile, a frown—anything to break the crackling tension between them.

  Ian’s mouth tightened. “I don’t care about the bloody carpet. Let’s turn you on your left side so I can tend to the cut.” He placed a supporting hand on Natasha’s upper back and carefully eased her onto her side.

  The moment his warm skin touched hers, gooseflesh spread on Natasha’s sensitized skin and zips of excitement shot to her pleasure points. It had always been like this with him. Ian’s touch or a look from his heated eyes was all it took to set her aflame.

  She huffed for air before meeting his gaze. “I probably shouldn’t have come here, but I don’t trust anyone else with my legs. You’re the best.” The moment the words left her lips, she regretted it. Where was her filter for God’s sake?

  Ian raised a sardonic brow. “Oh?”

  This was no time for modesty, but she couldn’t help feeling utterly exposed in nothing but her blouse and bikini panties. A light blanket was draped over her hip, but her legs were bare to his gaze from thigh to ankle. He kept a blank expression, professional as a doctor should, but still…

  She gave a shaky laugh. “Wait, that didn’t come out right. I meant you’re the best physician.” She cleared her throat and looked at her thigh. “Is the cut very deep? How bad is it?”

  “It’s not deep at all. You’re lucky your jeans were in the way or it would have been worse.” Ian’s angular jaw was set in taut lines and his clipped tone spoke volumes.

  Natasha lifted her eyes to meet his steady gaze. She was still reeling from his touch and the electrifying moment their eyes had met after so many years. Now the sexy sound of his Scottish burr and his nearness were making her heart pound and her senses buzz. This wouldn’t do. Ian’s intense gaze wreaked havoc on her composure as she wondered what lurked beneath the stillness.