Dr. Hot Stuff - Tawna Fenske Page 0,1

pen until I lay it down and fold my hands. “No record of this conversation should leave this room.”

Oh.

Now he’s got my attention. Everyone else’s, from the looks of things, though no one appears as alarmed as I’m feeling now. Do they know something? Have they heard from my mother?

Or worse, from the Duke of Dovlano, the man who raised me as his own until I learned my biological father was a man named Cort Bracelyn. That’s what brought me here, much to the chagrin of the Duke and Duchess.

I realize I’m fidgeting with the notepad, so I push it away and hide my hands under the table. “Right. Of course, strictly confidential.”

Jonathan gives a hearty laugh. “Watch out, Iz,” he says, delighting me with the casual nickname I’ve acquired only recently. “You write anything down, he’ll make you tear it up and eat the pieces.”

“I’ve got a great recipe for that.” Sean pushes up the sleeves of his chef’s coat and leans back in his chair. “A little heavy cream, a touch of tarragon, and then—”

“Will you please be quiet?” James is scowling as he takes his seat. As the CEO, he’s the one running this meeting. Or maybe it’s because he’s the eldest brother. I’m still not entirely familiar with this country’s customs, let alone Bracelyn traditions.

James glances at me, and his expression softens again. “We’re very glad you’re with us, Isabella. You’re part of this family, and as we’ve all stated before, you are welcome to stay with us for as long as you like.”

I nod as my brain telegraphs words I won’t say aloud.

How’s forever?

I don’t say this aloud. It’s an impossibility, of course. I simply fold my hands on the table and nod like the perfect lady I was raised to be. “Thank you,” I tell him. “All of you have been so gracious since my arrival.”

Gracious doesn’t begin to cover the fact that Jonathan gave me an actual kidney mere days after I landed in Oregon. It’s been almost a year, and even though I’ve thanked him daily, I should probably do so again.

Before I get the words out, James resumes his speech. “Typically in these meetings, we go around the table and assess what’s happening with resort operations,” he says. “We review financials, discuss future plans, consider any requests we might have for major events or guests with special needs.”

Jon snorts at that. “Like the guy who visits a luxury resort to make stew?” He nods at the spoon in Sean’s pocket. “That’s the big bald guy, right? The one in cabin 34?”

“Creepy motherfucker.” Mark frowns. “Checked in yesterday, and I’m pretty sure he’s packing heat.”

“Heat?” I’m not familiar with the term.

“A gun.” Bree glares at our brothers. “Don’t scare her like that. No one shows up armed to stay at a luxury resort.”

A shiver ripples up my arms. I know who they’re talking about now. I spotted him across the lawn this morning and tried to convince myself it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be, right?

But I know I wasn’t seeing things, just like I know I can’t breathe a word to my siblings about their new resort guest. Not yet, anyway.

“Would anyone like tea?” I start to stand, desperate to be helpful. “I’m happy to go fetch some.”

Bree gives me an odd look. “I think we’re okay, but if you’d like something, I can ring for someone to bring it.”

“No, no—I’m fine.” I sit back down, resigned to feeling like a burden. An interruption in the family dynamic. “Go on, please. I don’t want to hold up the meeting.”

James pauses a moment, then looks me in the eye. “Isabella, there are a few things you should know about this family.” Another pause, this one longer than the first. “A few…shall we say, sensitive items for discussion.”

Mark grunts. “Understatement of the fucking century.”

James regards him with a look I can’t read. “Would you like to address the first item on the agenda?”

Mark shrugs and scrubs a hand over his beard. “I’m a bastard.” He announces this like he’s just told us he prefers honey ham over prosciutto, then continues. “I mean, yeah, my mom never married Cort Bracelyn, but he paid a fuck-ton in child support, even though he knew damn well it wasn’t his batter in the oven.”

“Beautifully put.” Sean’s smile is a whole lot softer than Mark’s voice. “I mean, we’re all bastards in one way or another, so—”

“Can we please stop with the bastard talk?” Bree bounces the baby in