Praise for
Sarah Morgan
‘Full of romance and sparkle’
—Lovereading
‘I’ve found an author I adore—must hunt down everything she’s published.’
—Smart Bitches, Trashy Books
‘Morgan is a magician with words.’
—RT Book Reviews
‘Dear Ms Morgan, I’m always on the lookout for a new book by you …’
—Dear Author blog
About the Author
As a child SARAH MORGAN dreamed of being a writer and, although she took a few interesting detours on the way, she is now living that dream. With her writing career she has successfully combined business with pleasure, and she firmly believes that reading romance is one of the most satisfying and fat-free escapist pleasures available. Her stories are unashamedly optimistic, and she is always pleased when she receives letters from readers saying that her books have helped them through hard times.
Sarah lives near London with her husband and two children, who innocently provide an endless supply of authentic dialogue. When she isn’t writing or reading Sarah enjoys music, movies and any activity that takes her outdoors.
Readers can find out more about Sarah and her books on her author page at www.millsandboon.com/sarahmorgan. She can also be found on Facebook and Twitter.
Love Sarah Morgan?
Join the conversation on Twitter with #SummerReads
Summer
With Love
Katy
Libby
Alex
Sarah Morgan
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,
1 London Bridge, London SE1 9GF
SUMMER WITH LOVE © Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. 2013
The Greek Children’s Doctor © Sarah Morgan 2004 and The English Doctor’s Baby © Sarah Morgan 2004
eISBN: 9781472012630
Version: 2018-04-11
CHAPTER ONE
SHE’D forgotten how much she hated coming home.
Katy’s breathing quickened as she looked round the elegantly landscaped garden filled with groups of people sipping champagne and laughing together. The air smelt of summer, the heady fragrance of blooms mingling with the scent of grass mown to uniform perfection.
Suddenly she felt completely stifled and longed for the familiarity of the riverside apartment in London.
If it weren’t for her mother she wouldn’t be here.
‘Happy birthday, Dr Westerling.’
Hearing the familiar voice behind her, Katy turned with a smile of relief, her mouth dropping open as she caught sight of her sister.
‘What happened to your hair?’
Libby tossed her long, shaggy mane and grinned wickedly. ‘I did it especially for Dad. It’s called strawberry blonde. Don’t you love it?’
‘It’s pink,’ Katy said faintly, and Libby’s smile widened.
‘I know. It’s perfect, isn’t it?’ Her eyes moved defiantly over the throng of conservatively dressed people and Katy bit her lip, looking at Libby’s normally gorgeous blonde hair in dismay.
‘Will it wash out?’
‘Yep.’ Libby reached out and scooped a glass of champagne from a waiter who was passing. ‘But hopefully not before I’ve caused a spectacular firework display from our esteemed parent.’
Katy tensed, anticipating her father’s anger. ‘You always try and provoke him. Couldn’t you have worn a slightly longer dress?’
‘Definitely not.’ Libby wiggled her bottom provocatively. ‘Think he’s going to like it?’
Katy slid her eyes over the skin-tight dress that exposed almost all of Libby’s perfect legs. For a nightclub it would have been barely decent and for a summer garden party it was—
‘He’s going to have a heart attack.’ Katy’s eyes darted warily over to where their father stood, broad-shouldered and unsmiling, deep in conversation with several cabinet ministers. There was going to be trouble. She bit her lip and shook her head. ‘Why do you always do this, Lib? Can’t you conform just once?’
‘Why would I want to?’ Libby reached out a hand and touched the pearls that lay around Katy’s neck. ‘I’ve never been a pearls sort of person. And neither are you underneath.’
Katy looked away.
She didn’t know who she was any more.
As usual, Libby’s directness had unsettled her. ‘Just because I dress appropriately for our parent’s summer party, there’s no need to—’
‘Our birthday party,’ Libby reminded her pointedly. ‘This is supposed to be our birthday party, remember? You, me and Alex.’ She glanced round the manicured garden at the hordes of elegant guests and rolled her eyes. ‘We’re the only triplets in the world whose parents throw them a garden party and then invite all their own guests and offset it against tax as business entertaining. Well, I, for one, refuse to play the game. And you only do it because you’re so sweet and gentle and hate confrontation.’
There was a light in her eye that made Katy feel extraordinarily jumpy. ‘We can all go home in a few hours,’ she reminded her sister wearily. ‘Just play along, Libby. For Mum’s sake. Please.’
‘Like you do, you mean?’ Libby’s eyes slid over her. ‘Don’t you ever want to shock them all, Katy? Rip your clothes off, get drunk, take drugs, swear?’