The Doctor And The Princess
Scarlet Wilson
Her very own Mr. Darcy
As a rule, Gabrielle Cartier prefers the title “Dr.” to “Princess.” And when sexy surgeon Sullivan Darcy joins her humanitarian mission in the jungle, she’s desperate to explore their chemistry. Until sudden news of her brother’s abdication means Gabrielle must return home to rule!
Sullivan longs to offer Gabrielle the support she needs but the pain of loss haunts him. Yet she stirs long-dormant feelings in him, feelings that give him the courage to confront his demons...and the determination to win his princess!
Her own Mr. Darcy was pretty much looking like manna from heaven right now.
Gabrielle was lucky. She’d never had the same pressure her brother had—to find the perfect partner, settle down, marry and get ready to run a country.
Sixteen years of spotlight being the perfect princess in Mirinez had been enough. Medicine had been considered an “honorable” profession and she’d climbed on that plane to study medicine at Cambridge University breathing a huge sigh of relief. Since then she’d only returned for weddings, funerals and a few state events. Mirinez had lost interest in her. She hadn’t been in press reports for years. And that was exactly the way she wanted it to stay.
She pulled out a chair at the table and gestured for Sullivan to sit down. “Let’s focus on what needs to get done in the next two weeks.”
She shot him a smile. He stepped closer. His chest was barely inches from her nose and she caught a whiff of pure pheromones. Oh, she could pretty it up by saying it was a combination of soap, remnants of musk antiperspirant and some subtle cologne. But from the effect it was having on her senses it was 100 percent testosterone.
He didn’t seem worried about their closeness. In fact, she could almost bet that he thrived on it. The thin material covering his broad chest brushed against her arm as he sat down. “Like I said, tell me what you need, and I’m your guy.”
Dear Reader (#ub9922eef-f61d-5864-bcb6-d9d1b4180ae7),
I really enjoyed writing The Doctor and the Princess—partly due to the fact that I got to make up two countries, and partly because I got to write about my first princess doctor!
Gabrielle isn’t supposed to take over her principality you do know that all made up principalities are secretly Monaco!—but her brother has abdicated and she has no choice. She hasn’t exactly shared the fact that she’s a princess with her doctor colleagues, and the arrival of her security staff at the exact moment she’s about to get up close and personal with her own Mr Darcy causes a stir.
Sullivan Darcy is the perfect hero—right down to his flaws. He’s a doctor who has served in the army and now works for Doctors Without Borders. The attraction between him and Gabrielle is pretty much instant. But beneath the surface Sullivan isn’t as smooth as he seems. He lost his dad two years ago and hasn’t taken time to grieve. His brain keeps pushing things away—he’s a doctor, he’s a guy, he shouldn’t be feeling like this. . . In this day and age depression is recognised and known. It can affect anyone, of any sex, at any age and at any point in their life. That’s what I wanted to reflect in this story.
And it turns out that Sullivan Darcy needs Gabrielle just as much as she needs him.
I love to hear from readers. Please feel free to contact me via my website scarlet-wilson.com (http://www.scarlet-wilson.com).
Love,
Scarlet Wilson
The Doctor And The Princess
Scarlet Wilson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Books by Scarlet Wilson
Mills & Boon Medical Romance
Christmas Miracles in Maternity
A Royal Baby for Christmas
Midwives On-Call at Christmas
A Touch of Christmas Magic
The Doctor She Left Behind
The Doctor’s Baby Secret
One Kiss in Tokyo...
Mills & Boon Romance
Maids Under the Mistletoe
Christmas in the Boss’s Castle
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
This book is dedicated to my Australian partners in crime—
Rachael Johns and Emily Madden.
Conferences have never been so much fun!
Can’t wait for the next one x
Praise for Scarlet Wilson
“The book is filled with high-strung emotions, engaging dialogue, breathtaking descriptions and characters you just cannot help but love. With the magic of Christmas as a bonus, you won’t be disappointed with this story!”
—Goodreads on A Touch of Christmas Magic
Contents
Cover (#u43b51778-0d33-57e1-9cc3-603379dd9b63)
Back Cover Text (#u52eaaba2-5619-517c-9f5c-d1036e462c92)
Introduction (#u8c8c7585-d3cc-5b76-b1bc-5489963b6c92)
Dear Reader (#u29e0bb0f-2740-559d-a300-459cca4a6e56)
Title Page (#u2450118f-f9c3-5130-9a85-d59bf78881c3)
Booklist (#u662c90a6-e67e-53e4-b0b7-b308a58cb9a0)
Dedication (#u11438acb-f982-5689-b568-f64ab28e3dc2)
Praise (#u5efa98f9-d6a5-5e81-9260-cfdca4842daf)
CHAPTER ONE (#uf168b065-38f4-5221-a58f-8a27b8773a0c)
CHAPTER TWO (#u1d163897-6830-555c-8451-2164cf509cfa)
CHAPTER THREE (#ud688e717-12de-58e2-aa25-30d731b5a20c)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u7bae7155-2998-560b-9658-7eb69891d22e)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ub9922eef-f61d-5864-bcb6-d9d1b4180ae7)
‘IT’S AN EMERGENCY, Sullivan, I swear.’
Sullivan let out a wry laugh as he shook his head and ran his fingers through his damp hair. ‘It’s always an emergency, Gibbs.’ He stared at the inside of the khaki tent.
Gibbs laughed too. ‘Well, this time it really is. Asfar Modarres collapsed. Some kind of intestinal problem. He was lucky we got him out in time.’
Sullivan started pacing. ‘Is he okay?’ He liked the Iranian doctor. He’d joined Doctors Without Borders around the same time as Sullivan. They’d never served together but he’d known him well enough to see his commitment and compassion for the job.
‘He should be fine. He had surgery a few hours ago.’ Gibbs sucked in a deep breath. Sullivan smiled. Here it comes.
‘Anyway, there’s two weeks left of the mission with only one doctor on site. We’re at a crucial stage. MDR TB is up to worrying levels in Nambura. We need another pair of hands.’
Sullivan shook his head as he paced. ‘I’m a surgeon, Gibbs. Not a medic. Last time I learned about TB I was in med school. I know virtually nothing about it, let alone the multi-drug-resistant strains.’
He wasn’t kidding. Ask him to wield a scalpel and he wouldn’t hesitate. As an army surgeon he’d operated on the most harrowing injuries, in the most dire of circumstances. No one had ever questioned his surgical abilities. He prided himself on it. But put him in a situation where he wasn’t the expert?
‘You’re a doctor, Sullivan—and that’s what I need. Anyway, there’s no one else I can send.’ Gibbs hesitated. ‘And there’s another issue.’
‘What?’
‘Nambura can be...difficult.’
Sullivan frowned. ‘Spit it out, Gibbs.’
‘The medic is Gabrielle Cartier. The two nurses Lucy Provan and Estelle Duschanel, the onsite pharmacist Gretchen Koch.’
Sullivan sucked in a breath and groaned. Four females on their own. Nambura tribes were very traditional. Some of the tribal leaders probably wouldn’t even talk to four Western women.
A female colleague had reported minor hostilities on a mission a few months ago. There was no way he’d leave the four of them there for the next two weeks with no back-up. His father would never have left fellow team members at risk and the same principles had been ingrained into Sullivan all his life.
‘Okay, you got me. When can you arrange transport?’
Gibbs started talking quickly. ‘I’ll send you our latest information and protocols on MDR TB. You can read them en route. The helicopter will pick you up in fifty minutes.’
The line went dead as Sullivan stared at the phone. Fifty minutes. Gibbs had clearly already sent the transport before he’d made the call. It was almost as if he’d known Sullivan didn’t have anything to go home to.
His top-gun pilot father had died while Sullivan had been on his final tour of duty in Helmand Province. He’d flown home, watched his father buried with full military honours, completed his tour, then had signed up with Doctors Without Borders.
Three years later he’d only managed to go home for nineteen sporadic days. He still hadn’t emptied his father’s closets or packed up any of his things.
He flung the phone onto his bunk as he pulled his bag from the top of the locker.
Just as well he travelled light.
* * *
The music met his ears as the chopper lifted back up into the black night sky, flattening the trees all around him.
He tilted his head as he tried to recognise the tune and the direction from which it was coming. There was only one path from the landing spot leading through the trees.
He wound his way along it, the music getting louder with every step, until eventually he emerged into a clearing filled with familiar khaki tents identical to the ones he’d left a few hundred miles away and three hours ago.
He glanced around. The set-up rarely varied no matter where they were in the world. A mess tent. Bathrooms and showers. An operation centre and the staff quarters.
A flap was pinned back on the tent that seemed to be the epicentre of the noise. Sullivan’s curiosity was piqued.
She had her back to him. Which was just as well as his eyes were immediately drawn to her tanned bare legs. She was wearing a rose pink T-shirt tied in a knot at her hip, revealing the curves of her waist. Her dark hair was in a ponytail that bounced along with her movements. But it was the khaki shorts that had caught his eye. Judging from the frayed edging, they’d obviously once been a pair of trousers and he’d like to shake the hand of the person who had cut them.
On her feet was a pair of heavy black army boots and a pair of rumpled socks. And those legs just kept going and going.
She was bouncing on her toes now. She wasn’t just dancing to the beat of Justin Timberlake. Oh, no. She was singing at the top of her voice. And this wasn’t just a casual bop about the place. This was a whole dance routine.
He dropped his bag and folded his arms in amusement as she slid from one side to the other, mimicking the movements the world had seen a million times in the dance video. She had rhythm. She had style.
And she had his full attention.
There was no doubt about it. His blood was definitely flowing through his body a little quicker now. This emergency mission had just got a whole lot more interesting.
Something sparked in his brain. Recognition. He could practically feel the hormones surge through his body. He couldn’t stop the smile dancing around the edges of his lips. For the first time in a long time there was a spark. A something. If he could grab this sensation right now and bottle it, he would.
Who was she again? He filtered through the names Gibbs had given him. Gabrielle somebody? Although he’d been with Doctors Without Borders for three years, it was impossible to meet everyone. There were thirty thousand staff covering seventy countries. They saved lives by providing medical aid where it was needed most—armed conflicts, epidemics, natural disasters, and other crisis situations. There were also longer-term projects designed to tackle health crises and support people who couldn’t otherwise access health care. Every day was different. He’d just spent three months covering a burns unit. The mission before that had been in Haiti, offering free surgery. The time before that had been in a DWB hospital in Syria, dealing mainly with paediatrics.
She lifted her hands above her head, giving him a better glimpse of the indentation of her waist and swell of her hips in those shorts. He couldn’t help but smile. This girl knew how to dance.
If he’d seen her in a club he would have been mesmerised. Her hips sashayed to the music. Her head flicked from side to side. Her whole body was bouncing. If they’d been in a club, he might even have fought the temptation to step up behind her, press his body against hers and join in. But they weren’t in a club. They were in the middle of the Narumba jungle.
Her feet crossed in the clunky boots and she spun around. It was obviously meant to be a full circle, but she caught sight of the unfamiliar figure and stumbled midway.
His actions were automatic. He stepped forward and caught her elbow before she landed on the floor, pulling her up against him.
Her eyes were wide. Her skin soft. And the scent of roses drifted up around him. The hand that had shot out to break her fall had landed on his chest as he’d grabbed her.
For a second they were frozen in time. The music was pumping around them, the heat of the jungle rising between them, and the darkness of the night enveloping everything.
Her eyes were the darkest brown he’d ever seen. They suited her tanned skin and chocolate hair. It was only a split second, but the heat from the palm of her hand seemed to penetrate through his thin T-shirt straight to the skin on his chest. He sucked in a breath just as she stepped backwards.
* * *
‘Gabrielle?’
As if the stranger standing in front of her, looking like film-star material, wasn’t enough, the deep throaty voice sent a shudder of electrical pulses flooding through her system that started in the palm of her hand and shot a direct route to her fluttering heart.
It took a second to catch her breath again.
No, it took more than a second.
Darn it. He was smiling at her. A perfect straight-white-teeth kind of smile.
Her palm was tingling from where she’d made contact with the firm muscles on his chest. He was tall, lean and wide. She’d bet every part of him was as muscled as his chest.
He had a buzz cut—like someone from the army. In fact, she’d put money on it that he’d served in the military. He had that demeanour about him, that aura of confidence as he stood there in his khaki army-style trousers and a thin dark green T-shirt.
He held his hand out to her again. ‘May I have this dance?’ he joked.
She gave an inward shudder as her brain kicked into gear. She spun to turn the music down on her speakers. What must she look like?
In this area she spent twelve hours with clothes fastened up to her neck, not even revealing a glimpse of her ankles. By the time she got back to camp she needed an instant shower, a quick feed and clothes she could relax in.
She took a deep breath and turned around, regaining her composure and putting her game face into place.
She shook his hand and smiled. ‘Yes, I’m Gabrielle. But you have me at a disadvantage. We haven’t met before.’
He frowned. ‘You haven’t heard from Gibbs?’
She nodded and put her hand on her hips. ‘Oh, I heard.’ She lifted her hands in the air and made quotation marks, ‘You girls can’t stay there by yourselves. I’ll find you someone.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘I’m assuming you’re the someone.’
He glanced around the tent as if he were sizing up the place. Then, in a move that only reinforced what she was thinking, he turned and looked outside at the camp, checking out the surroundings. Once he seemed satisfied he turned back to her. ‘I guess I am. I’m Sullivan Darcy.’
She couldn’t hide her smile. ‘Gibbs has sent me my own Mr Darcy?’
He raised his eyebrows as she continued. The accent was unmistakable. ‘US army?’
He nodded. ‘I was. Now I’m with Doctors Without Borders.’
She walked over to a table and lifted some paperwork. ‘What’s your speciality? Medicine? Infectious diseases?’
He pulled a face. ‘You’ll hate this.’
Her stomach clenched. ‘Why?’
‘I’m a surgeon.’
‘Oh.’ Her stomach sank like a stone. In some circumstances a surgeon would be great but it was not exactly what she needed right now. She bit her bottom lip, trying to find the right words.
He stepped forward. ‘But if it helps I did a refresher and read all the protocols on the trip here. Just give me some instructions and a prescribing regime and I’m all yours.’
He held out his hands as if he were inviting her to step into them. For the first time in for ever the thought actually did cross her mind.
Missions were exhausting, the time off in between short and frantic. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt a buzz when she’d met someone. A connection. The chance to tease, the chance to flirt.
Her own Mr Darcy was pretty much looking like manna from heaven right now.
She was lucky. She’d never had the same pressure her brother had—to find the perfect partner, settle down, marry and get ready to run a country.
Sixteen years of being in the spotlight as the perfect princess in Mirinez had been enough. Medicine had been considered an ‘honourable’ profession and she’d climbed on that plane to study medicine at Cambridge University, breathing a huge sigh of relief. Since then she’d only returned for weddings, funerals and a few state events. Mirinez had lost interest in her. She hadn’t been in press reports for years. And that was exactly the way she wanted it to stay.
His green eyes met hers again. ‘That accent? French?’
She shrugged. ‘Close enough.’
She pulled out a chair at the table and gestured for him to sit down before he quizzed her any further. ‘Let’s focus on what needs to get done in the next two weeks.’
She shot him a smile. He stepped closer. His chest was barely inches from her nose and she caught a whiff of pure pheromones. Oh, she could pretty it up by saying it was a combination of soap, remnants of musk antiperspirant and some subtle cologne, but from the effect it was having on her senses it felt like one hundred per cent testosterone.
He didn’t seem worried about their closeness. In fact, she could almost bet that he thrived on it. The thin fabric covering his broad chest brushed against her arm as he sat down. ‘Like I said, tell me what you need and I’m your guy.’
She pushed away the rush of thoughts that flooded her brain as she pulled forward a map. She circled areas for him. ‘We’ve done here, here and here. In the next two weeks we need to cover this area, and north of the river. We expect to see around seven hundred people a day.’
She was glad that he didn’t flinch at the volume of people who still needed to be seen.
He reached over to study the map. ‘How do you work your clinics?’
She gave a nod as the hairs on his arms brushed against her. Yip.
‘The TB regime is harsh. We split our duties. We have two nurses, a few local volunteers...’ she frowned ‘...and only one translator.’
He waved his hand. ‘Don’t worry about that. My Farsi is passable. The dialect might be a little different from where I’ve been working but I’m sure I’ll muddle through.’
Muddle through. She smiled. It was like something her grandmother used to say in private. Not quite the expression she’d expected from the muscular guy who screamed ‘army’.
‘You’re good with languages?’
He looked amused. ‘You’re surprised?’ There was a challenge in his words and a glint in his green eyes.
Her brain couldn’t quite find the words.
He gave a little nod. ‘I speak ten languages.’
She blinked. ‘Ten?’
He shrugged. ‘I was a navy brat. I moved around a lot. I picked up languages easily. It was the only way to fit in.’
She pressed her lips together then rearranged the papers.
Interesting. It was clear he’d hit a sore spot.
She got straight to the point. ‘Lucy and Estelle deal mainly with the patients who require treatment for their TB. Gretchen dispenses the medicines. The volunteers administer and read the tests.’
He raised his eyebrows and she quickly reassured him. ‘We train them ourselves.’
She opened a laptop. A spreadsheet appeared on the screen. She licked her lips. He was watching her closely. It was a little unnerving. ‘We’re estimating sixty per cent of the population have TB in one form or another. Some are active, some are latent, and some...’ she sighed ‘...are multi-resistant.’
‘How many?’
She nodded slowly. He must have read at least some of the information that Gibbs had sent to him. She let out a sigh. ‘Around twelve per cent.’
‘That high?’ He couldn’t hide his surprise. He’d known that drug resistance was rising all around the world, but the figure was higher than he expected.
‘Tell me what you need me to do.’ He was unnerved. And Sullivan Darcy wasn’t used to feeling unnerved. He was used to being the expert in the field. He was used to knowing his subject area inside out. And as Gabrielle’s rose-hinted scent wound its way around him he needed to find some focus.
Gabrielle nodded and licked those pink lips again. She pulled open a drawer next to her and pulled out some kind of cool pack. He watched as she unwrapped it and pulled out the biggest bar of chocolate he’d ever seen.
She gave him a cheeky smile. ‘I hate mushy chocolate.’ She broke off a piece and handed it to him. He automatically reached out and took it.
‘I didn’t peg you as a chocoholic.’
She shrugged, her brown eyes gleaming in the artificial light in the tent. ‘I have lots of secrets, you’ll just need to hang around to find them out.’
He almost choked on the chocolate he’d just put in his mouth. It was almost a direct invitation.
He leaned back in the chair, stretching one arm out to press the button to restart the music. ‘I can see Justin and I are going to become very good friends.’
He folded his arms across his chest and smiled.
CHAPTER TWO (#ub9922eef-f61d-5864-bcb6-d9d1b4180ae7)
GABRIELLE NORMALLY SLEPT like the dead. It was a skill she’d developed over the last six years of working for Doctors Without Borders. An essential skill. No one needed an overtired, grumpy medic.
But she’d been awake since four-thirty. She’d watched the sun rise as she’d contemplated some more chocolate, wishing she’d had a secret stash of wine.
She could swear she could almost hear him breathing in the tent next to hers. This wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be normal.
Most men she’d met in her life had fulfilled a purpose. She always chose carefully. No one who would sell stories to the press. No one who was secretly looking for a princess. Guys who were interested in relatively short-term gigs. Six months maximum. Enough time for some getting-to-know-you, some trust and some intimacy. But no promises, no intentions and no time for the petty squabbles and fights to set in. She’d always been the one in control.
She’d never actually felt that whoosh when she’d met someone. More like a flirtatious curiosity.
But with Sullivan Darcy it wasn’t just a whoosh. It was a full-blown tornado. For a woman who was always used to being in control, it was more than a little unnerving.
And she was mad with herself. Being caught dancing by him had thrown her off her usually professional stride. Gibbs hadn’t told her anything about the doctor coming to work with her and last night it had seemed too forward to pry.
He’d said he was a navy brat. What exactly did he mean? The guy could speak ten languages? Really? It kind of stuck in her throat. Languages had been one of her major failures as a royal. Mirinez bordered three countries, France, Italy and Monaco. Her native language was French. English had been instilled in her as a child and spending her university years and training time in the UK had served her well.
At a push she could stammer a few words in a few other languages. The same standard statements required by doctors. I’m a doctor, can I help? Are you in pain? What’s your name? But that was it. Languages had always been her Achilles’ heel.
She’d spent her life being top of all her other classes. Her brother, Andreas, had consistently been annoyed that his younger sister could out do him in every academic subject.
And being a doctor was kind of a strange thing. She’d worked with plenty of other doctors who were experts in their fields—just like she was in hers. But she’d never really met a guy who seemed smarter than her.
Mr Ten Languages felt like a little bit of a threat. It was making her stomach curl in all kinds of strange ways. She wasn’t quite sure if it was pure and utter attraction or a tiny bit of jealousy.
She flipped open her laptop to check the list of patients for today. Her emails blinked up. Three hundred and seventy-six. She’d read them all soon. The sixteen-hour shifts here were all-consuming. By the time they got back to camp, washed up and had some food, she didn’t have much energy left. Reviewing patient details and stock supplies was a must. Reading hundreds of emails when a large percentage of them were probably spam? That could wait.
She ran her eyes down the list. The work was never-ending. TB was a relentless disease. There was no quick fix here.
‘All set.’ Gretchen, the pharmacist, appeared at the entrance to the tent with a smile on her face. ‘I’ve just met our new doc.’ She winked at Gabrielle. ‘In some parts of Switzerland, we would call him eye candy.’
Gabrielle burst out laughing at Gretchen’s turn of phrase. They’d worked together for Doctors Without Borders for the last six years—always on the TB programmes. It had been Gabrielle’s first official diagnosis of a patient when she’d been a medical student and had been her passion ever since.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She smiled in return. ‘I’m far too busy working to contemplate any kind of candy.’
Gretchen wagged her finger at her. ‘Don’t think I don’t know about the hidden candy.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Maybe it’s time to contemplate another kind.’
‘Gretchen!’ The woman ducked as Gabrielle flung a ball of paper at her.
There was a deep laugh and Sullivan appeared with the crushed ball in his hand. ‘Anything I should know about?’
She could feel the heat rush into her cheeks. It was like being a teenager all over again. She stood up quickly, grabbing the laptop and her backpack. ‘Not at all. Let’s go, Dr Darcy, time to learn some new skills.’
She was baiting him and she could tell he knew it. He shook his head and slung his own backpack over his shoulder. ‘I like to learn something new every day.’
* * *
He wasn’t joking. And Gabrielle took him at his word.
As soon as they’d travelled to their first stop and set up, she took him aside. ‘You know the drill. Ordinary TB is horrible enough. It kills one point four million people every year with another nine million suffering from the disease, mainly in developing countries like Narumba. Along with malaria and HIV it’s one of the three main killer infectious diseases. Drug resistance and multi-drug-resistant TB numbers are increasing all the time. Because it’s spread through the air when people cough and sneeze, it’s virtually impossible to stop the spread. One third of the world’s population is infected with mycobacterium tuberculosis but it’s dormant in their bodies. Ten per cent of these people will develop active TB at some point in their life.’
There was passion and enthusiasm in her voice. There was also a hint of anger. She was angry at what this disease was being allowed to do to people all around the world. He liked that about her.
‘We’ve been using the same archaic test for the last one hundred and twenty years and the test is only accurate half of the time—even less so if the patient has HIV. I hope you’re comfortable with kids. We have a new test for TB but it’s not suitable for kids. They need the traditional test and we have the facility for chest X-rays if necessary. Mainly, we go on clinical presentation and history.’
He nodded. He’d read more notes after Gabrielle had gone to bed. He was happy to do something to pass yet another long night when he couldn’t sleep.
She kept talking, her voice going at a hundred miles an hour. ‘You know the clinical presentation, don’t you? A persistent cough, fever, weight loss, chest pain and breathlessness. The nurses will bring through anyone who has tested positive and is showing resistance to rifampicin. You’ll need to check them over clinically before starting their prescription.’ She pointed to a printed algorithm. ‘We have a chart for adults and a chart for paeds. The new test also doesn’t show anyone who has non-pulmonary TB. The nurses will bring through anyone with a history who gives concern.’
He blinked as he looked at the clinic list. ‘You see this many patients every day?’
She nodded, her brown hair bouncing. It was tied up on her head again. She was wearing a high-necked, long-sleeved shirt and long trousers, even though the temperature was soaring. He was lucky. He had on shorts and a T-shirt, but even so the heat was causing trickles of sweat to run down between his shoulder blades.
She gave a little tug at her neck. ‘Okay?’ he queried.
She gave a nod. ‘Let’s just get started. We need to see as many patients as we can.’
She wasn’t joking. It was only seven a.m., but news of their clinic must have spread because there was already a queue forming outside.
Four hours later he’d seen more kids in this TB clinic than he’d ever want to. Doctors Without Borders might be there to try and tackle the TB epidemic, but to the people of Narumba he was just a doctor. His surgical highlight of his day so far had been grabbing some equipment and a scalpel to drain a few abscesses. He’d also seen a huge variety of skin conditions, variations of asthma, diabetes, polio and sleeping sickness. He’d seen multiple patients with HIV—mixed with TB it would be deadly for many of the people he’d seen today. He could barely keep track of how many patients he’d actually seen. And the queue outside? It just kept getting longer and longer.
Long queues were good. He had never been work shy. Long days were much more preferable to long nights. If he exhausted himself with work, he might actually get a few hours’ sleep tonight.
He kept a smile on his face as another mother came in, clutching her child to her chest.
He nodded towards her, speaking in Narumbi. ‘I’m Dr Darcy, one of the team. What’s your name, and your son’s name?’
She gave an anxious smile at his good grasp of the language. ‘I’m Chiari. This is Alum, he’s sick.’
Sullivan nodded and held out his hands to take the little boy. ‘How old is he?’
‘Four,’ she answered quickly.
He blinked. The little boy resembled a two-year-old. The weight loss of TB had clearly affected him. He took out his stethoscope and gently sounded the boy’s chest. The rattle was clear and he had the swollen and tender lymph nodes around his neck. He asked a few more questions. ‘Does anyone else in the family have symptoms?’
The woman’s face tightened. ‘My husband died last month.’
He nodded in sympathy. There was a little pang in his chest. He recognised the expression in her eyes. He’d seen that loss reflected in his own eyes often enough when he looked in the mirror. But there was no time for that here. He had a job to do.
‘What about you? Have you been tested?’
She shook her head and looked anxiously at her son. ‘I don’t have time to be tested. I need to take care of Alum.’
Sullivan reached over and put his hand on her arm.
‘I understand. I do. I’m sorry for your loss. We need to make sure that you are well enough to take care of Alum. We can treat you both at the same time.’ He glanced outside the tent. ‘I can get one of the nurses to do the test. It’s a new kind. Your results will be available in a few hours. We can start you both on treatment immediately.’
He sent a silent prayer upwards, hoping that her test didn’t show multi-resistant TB. Chances were if she had it, her son had it too. Normal TB took a minimum of six months to treat. But if Chiari showed signs of resistance to rifampicin and isoniazid she’d be considered to have MDR-TB. The MDR-TB drug regime was an arduous eight months of painful injections and more than ten thousand pills, taking two years to complete. The side effects could be severe—permanent hearing loss, psychosis, nausea, skin rashes and renal failure had all been reported. But the worse news was there was only a forty-eight per cent cure rate.
He pressed again. ‘What about Alum? Has he been eating? Has he had night sweats or lost weight?’
Chiari nodded slowly. He could see the weariness in her eyes that was obviously felt in her heart. She’d likely just nursed her husband through this disease. Now there was a chance she could have it herself, and have to nurse her son through it too.
He stood up, holding Alum in his arms. ‘Let’s go and see one of our nurses. I’d like to try and give Alum some medicine to help with his weight loss, and start some medicine for TB. Our pharmacist, Gretchen, will give you the medicines and teach you how to give them to Alum. Then we can arrange to get your test done.’
After a few moments of contemplation Chiari stood up and nodded. Sullivan carried the little boy into the next tent. The nurses Lucy and Estelle nodded towards a few chairs in the corner. This was the fiftieth child he’d taken through to them this morning. They knew exactly what to do.
He filled out the electronic prescription for Gretchen and left her to explain to Chiari how to dispense the medicines for Alum. The reality was that children had to take adult pills, split or crushed. There were no TB medicines ready for kids in the field.
Gabrielle appeared at his side. ‘Everything okay?’ Her hand touched his shoulder.
He reached up automatically and his hand covered hers. He appreciated the thought. She was looking out for him. He met her dark brown eyes. ‘It’s a steep learning curve.’
She looked a little surprised. ‘I thought it would only take someone like you an hour to ace.’
Was she joking with him again? He shook his head. ‘Maybe after the two weeks. But not on the first day.’
She tilted her head to the side. ‘I heard you talking there. You really do have a good grasp of the language. How do you do that?’
‘It’s similar to Farsi. It was a necessary skill when I was in the army. We treated a lot of civilians as well as servicemen. It doesn’t matter where you are in life—or what you do—communication is always the key.’
She gave a careful nod. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘There are a few cases we might need to chat about later. Adults. They’re being tested but I’m almost sure that both of them are non-pulmonary TB.’
He could tell she was trying her best not to look surprised. Non-pulmonary TB was the hardest catch. The normal test didn’t work, neither did a chest X-ray. There were so many variations that the symptoms were often mistaken for something else.
‘No problem. If you give me the notes I’ll check them over.’
He picked up the two sets of notes he’d started to write, his hand brushing against hers as she reached for them. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I’d kind of like to be there to see what you think. Let’s just call it part of the learning curve.’
The edges of her lips turned upwards. She really was cute when she smiled.
‘You want a teaching session?’ There was a definite glint in her eye. He leaned forward a little. He could think of a whole host of things that Gabrielle could teach him.
She was close. She was so close that he could glimpse a few little freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her brown eyes were darker than any he’d seen before and fringed with long dark lashes. It was clear she wasn’t wearing any make-up—but she didn’t need it. He could quite happily look at that face all day.
‘Sullivan?’ She nudged him with her elbow.
He started. ‘Sorry, what?’
Her smile spread. She raised her eyebrows. ‘You were staring.’
It was a statement that sounded like a bit of a satisfied accusation. Nothing could dampen the sparks that were flying between them.
He could feel them. She could feel them. He’d been here less than twenty-four hours. How on earth would he manage a whole two weeks around a woman like Gabrielle Cartier?
He was still getting over the wonder of actually feeling...something again. There had been a number of women over the last three years—but no relationships. He wasn’t in a relationship kind of place. But now he could feel the buzz in the air. It felt alive around him, pulling him from the fog he’d been in. Gabrielle Cartier was like the freshest air that had swept over his skin in the last three years.
Two weeks could be perfect. It was just long enough to be familiar with someone but not long enough for any expectations.
He smiled back. ‘I wasn’t staring.’
‘Yes, you were.’
He nudged her back. ‘I wasn’t. I was contemplating life.’
She laughed. ‘I don’t even want to take a guess at what that means.’
She was right. She didn’t. But he couldn’t stop staring at that smile.
She glanced at the notes. ‘How about we see these two patients now? It doesn’t really work well if the two doctors are seeing patients together.’ She took a hesitant breath. ‘We just have too many patients.’
He nodded carefully. ‘I get it, you don’t like having to teach the rookie.’ He shrugged. ‘Ten minutes. That’s all. Then hopefully I won’t need to ask for a second opinion again. I’ll be confident to make the diagnosis myself.’
He wasn’t joking. He would be confident. Sullivan had never needed to be shown anything twice in his whole career. He’d embraced the doctor’s motto of see one, do one, teach one.
Gabrielle’s gaze narrowed a little. She gave a quick nod. ‘No problem.’
* * *
The next few days passed quickly. Every time she turned, Sullivan Darcy was at her back. Or maybe it just seemed like that.
He hadn’t exaggerated. He picked up things quickly. He’d diagnosed more patients with non-pulmonary TB. He’d adjusted antibiotic regimes for patients who were struggling with side effects. He’d spent hours and hours with patients with the dual diagnosis of HIV and TB.
His only tiny flash of frustration had been with a young child who was suffering from appendicitis. They had no real surgical equipment in the field. No theatre. No way to sterilise the tools that would be needed for surgery.
The nearest hospital was four hours away across a dry and bumpy road. Finding transport was a problem. All they could do was give the child some pain relief and a shot of antibiotics in the hope it would stave off any potential complications before sending him off in the back of a worn-out jeep. As the jeep disappeared into the distance Sullivan kicked an empty water canister clean across the camp, his hands balled tightly into fists.
She watched from a distance.
There was something about him that was so intriguing. Ask him anything medical and he could talk for ever. Ask about training placements, hospitals, work colleagues and experiences with Doctors Without Borders and he’d happily share all his experiences.
But ask about his time in the army or his family and he became tight-lipped. And there was something else Gabrielle had noticed about Sullivan Darcy.
He had the same skill that she’d developed over the years—the art of changing the subject. She’d recognised it instantly. And it intrigued her.
Had he noticed the same skill in her?
It was late. The sun was starting to set in the sky. They’d stayed much later at this site. It was one of the furthest away from their camp—which meant that the people in this area rarely saw medical staff. It made sense to do as much as they possibly could while they were there.
There was a noise to her left and she looked up. The heat of the day rarely dissipated and she’d undone the first few buttons on her shirt and pulled it out from her trousers. One of the tribal leaders had emerged from behind some scrub trees and was scowling at her.
There were a few other men behind him, all talking rapidly and gesturing towards her.
She glanced around. Lucy and Gretchen were nowhere in sight. Estelle was at the other end of the site, loading their transport. In the dim light it was difficult to see anyone else. Their local translator had already left.
The tribal leader strode towards her, gesturing and talking loudly. She’d almost baulked when Gibbs had refused to leave the female staff alone on the mission. But the truth was there had been a few incidents when a traditional tribal leader had refused to allow the women access to their tribes.
It had only happened twice. But Asfar Modarres had played a vital role in negotiating access to the people suffering from TB.
The tribal leader marched straight up to her face, his voice getting louder by the second. She quickly started tucking her shirt back in. No skin around her waist had been on display, but it was clear that something was making him unhappy.
The rest of the men crowded behind the leader. She swallowed. Her mouth was instantly dry.
In the distance she could see Estelle’s head jerk up, but Estelle was too far away to offer any immediate assistance. Gabrielle had never been a woman who was easily intimidated. But she’d never been crowded by a group of angry men. The others had started to fan out behind their leader, surrounding her on all sides. Her automatic reaction was to start to step backwards, trying to maintain some distance between her and them.
Any Narumbi words that she’d picked up from the interpreter flew from her brain. ‘I’m a doctor. Wh-what do you want?’ She could only stammer in English.
The tribal leader poked her in the shoulder with one finger. It wasn’t a violent action. But that one firm poke was enough to make her stumble over her own feet and thump down onto the ground, a cloud of red dust puffing around her.
The noise came from behind. It wasn’t a shout. It was a roar. She recognised Sullivan’s voice instantly, although she had no idea what he’d just said in Narumbi.
All the men looked up immediately. She could hear the thuds and a few seconds later the men were pushed roughly aside, several landing in the dust like she had.
Strong hands pulled her up roughly. She hadn’t even had time to catch her breath. One arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder, pulling her close against his rigid muscles. The words were flowing from his mouth in fury.
She didn’t have a clue what Sullivan was saying, but it was clear that the men could understand every single syllable. The tribal leader looked annoyed for a few seconds and tried to answer back. But he was stopped by the palm of Sullivan’s hand held inches from his face.
Sullivan’s voice lowered. The tone changed. Became threatening. A kind of don’t-even-think-about-it message emanating from every pore in his body. She could feel the vibrations coming from his chest, shoulders and arms. But Sullivan wasn’t shaking through fear or intimidation. She knew straight away he was shaking with rage.
It was a whole new side of him. She’d seen the cheeky side. She’d even seen the flirtatious side. She’d seen the professional side, his willingness to adapt to a situation outside his normal expertise and practise effectively.
Now she was seeing something else entirely. This was the man who’d served in the military. This was the man who left her in no doubt about how vested he was in protecting the people he worked with. Part of her had felt a little resentful when Gibbs had told her he was sending a man to work with them. Right now, she’d never been so glad that Sullivan Darcy was right by her side.
The palm of Sullivan’s hand hadn’t moved. He was still speaking in his low, dangerously controlled voice.
The men exchanged nervous glances. It didn’t seem to matter that Sullivan was outnumbered. His tall, muscular frame and no-nonsense approach left no one in doubt about his potential.
The tribal leader shook his head and muttered, casting a sideways glance at Gabrielle again. After what seemed like an endless silence—but must only have been a few seconds—he spun around, his cloak wide as he stamped back off into the scrub.
Her chest was tight. She hadn’t even realised she was holding her breath until Sullivan released the firm grip on her shoulders and blocked her line of vision.
She jolted and gave a shudder. Sullivan crouched down, his face parallel with hers. ‘Gabrielle, are you okay? Did they hurt you?’
His hands were on her, pushing up the sleeve of her shirt, checking first one arm and then the other. He knelt down, reaching for her trouser leg.
She grabbed his hand. ‘Stop it. Don’t.’
Every muscle in her body was tense, every hair on her skin standing on end.
His dark green eyes met hers and she saw a flash of understanding. She was still gripping him tightly, her knuckles turning white.
He put his other hand over hers and rubbed gently. It was comforting—reassuring. The thud of other footsteps sounded. It was Estelle, quickly followed by Lucy and Gretchen. ‘Gabrielle? What happened? Did they hurt you?’
She could hear the panic in their voices.
Her eyes were fixed on Sullivan’s hand rubbing hers. A warm feeling was starting to spread up her arm. She sucked in a deep breath, filling her lungs and trying to clear her head.
Sullivan seemed to sense the tension leaving her body. He kept hold of her hand but straightened up, glancing around at the other women.
‘Have you finished packing up? I think it would be a good idea to make the journey back to camp now. It was a misunderstanding. A language thing. He misunderstood something that Gabrielle had told his wife. He was unhappy and was angry when he realised she couldn’t speak Narumbi. We’ve done all we can do here today. I’ll need to file a report.’
Gabrielle licked her dry lips. She was the leader of this expedition. The decision when to pack up and go back to camp had always been hers. Normally, she would be offended but this time she didn’t feel slighted at all. She just wanted a chance to get back to camp and take stock.
‘We’re ready,’ said Gretchen quickly. ‘I’ll drive.’
She was decisive. Gabrielle gave a nod and walked over to where her backpack and laptop were. The rest of the staff spoke quietly to each other as she climbed into the back seat of their custom jeep. She wasn’t surprised when Sullivan climbed in next to her.
She waited until the engine had been started and the barren countryside started to rush past. ‘What did you say to them? What had I done to upset him? What did I say to his wife?’ she asked quietly. She wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t sure that she could. She fixed her eyes on the horizon. Thoughts of the language barrier were spinning around in her head. She hated it that she hadn’t understood a single word out there. It had made her feel like a complete and utter failure.
Sullivan reached over and put his hand on her leg. Some people might think it was too forward an action but somehow she knew it was only an act of reassurance. ‘He was unhappy because his wife had told him you’d given her a different medicine for the wound on her leg. She’d been using something that his mother made—some kind of paste. You said she had an infection and needed antibiotics.’
‘That was it?’ She was frustrated beyond belief. ‘That woman had a serious infection in her lower leg. If I hadn’t treated it, there’s a chance she could lose her leg.’ She replayed events over in her head. The consultation with the woman. The altercation between Sullivan and the tribal leader.
He pressed his lips together. ‘I said exactly what I should say. I told them their behaviour was shameful. We were there to help them and everyone in their tribe. I told them if the women around me didn’t feel safe, we wouldn’t be back.’
This time she did turn her head and narrow her gaze. He looked her straight in the eye.
‘Is that your poker face?’
He frowned. ‘What?’
‘Is that your poker face? I might not speak Narumbi, but I don’t think that’s exactly what you said,’ she replied carefully.
His steady gaze hadn’t wavered. He was good at this. She’d have to remember that.
He licked his lips, his first tiny sign of a release of tension.
‘Then it’s just as well you aren’t fluent in Narumbi,’ he said promptly.
He lowered his voice. ‘I won’t allow you—any of you—to be treated like that.’ He sighed. ‘I understand that we’re in a different country. A different culture means different people. I respect their views. But if they’re hostile towards you, or threaten you...’ He squeezed her thigh and looked her straight in the eye. Last time she’d been this close they’d been alone in the tent when he’d arrived. The light had been much dimmer. This time she could see the intensity of the deep green of his eyes dotted with tiny flecks of gold. ‘...I’d fight to the death,’ he finished.
She gulped. He meant it. She didn’t doubt for a second that he absolutely meant it. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered as she shifted in her seat. How come he could look at her unflinchingly one second and tell her only a version of the truth, then the next the sincerity in his eyes could take her breath away?
She looked down at her hands. ‘I hate not being in control,’ she said quietly. ‘I hate the fact that things can slip so fast, so quickly.’ She shook her head. ‘If I could have spoken the language I could have explained.’ She tugged at her shirt. ‘Or maybe he didn’t like my clothes.’
‘Stop it.’ His voice was firm. ‘Gabrielle, you and the rest of the women in the team are appropriately dressed. His mother is the head woman in their tribe. He thinks you insulted her expertise.’ He put his hand on his chest. ‘It’s a different culture. Women in their tribe aren’t really treated with much respect. Maybe that bothers him? Maybe he’s more modern than he seems—so the thought that someone questions the respect his mother holds made him angry.’
He leaned forward and touched her cheek. ‘You made a clinical decision. You’re a good doctor, Gabrielle. If you hadn’t given his wife antibiotics it’s likely she would lose her leg. And I’ve told him that. In no uncertain terms. Give yourself a break. Their behaviour was unreasonable.’
He settled back into his seat and folded his arms. ‘And I told them that too.’
For the first time since it had happened she gave a small smile. ‘And a whole lot more too.’
She saw him suck in a deep breath. His gaze hadn’t faltered from hers, but she could tell he was contemplating his words.
‘I’ve grown a little fond of you. I’d hate anything to happen on my watch.’
She felt a prickle go down her spine. Was this good or bad?
Part of her wanted to smile. It was almost an acknowledgement of the mutual attraction between them. But part of it sounded a bit over-protective. Sullivan couldn’t know, but she’d deliberately left that part of her life behind. Being a doctor and working away from Mirinez gave her the freedom she’d never experienced as a child. It wasn’t like Mirinez was some kind of superpower. It was a small country but prosperous—mainly due to its tax haven status. But her great-grandmother had been a film star, which had put Mirinez firmly on the media map.
She glanced at the others in the jeep. Estelle, Lucy and Gretchen were chatting amongst themselves in the front. They weren’t listening to Sullivan and Gabrielle’s conversation at all. The jeep had moved quickly. Even though the road was bumpy they were far away from the site of the camp today. What’s more, she felt safe around Sullivan. Now he was sitting right next to her she finally felt as if she could relax. She bit her lip. ‘Well, I might have grown fond of you too, but I’m not your responsibility, Sullivan.’
He only smiled. That was the annoying part of him. That darned confidence. Over the last three years she’d found it common amongst the medics who’d served in the army. Maybe she was even a little envious of it. She had felt vulnerable today—and she hated that.
‘I’ll take that under advisement,’ said Sullivan smartly. He leaned forward and whispered, ‘We’ve only got another week to go. Then it’s back to base. How long have you got before you’re back on another mission?’
There was an intense twinkle in his eye. He’d already admitted he was fond of her. Headquarters were back in Paris. All staff that arrived back had a few days debrief, then, unless people were rushing back to see their families, there was usually a few days where they would let their hair down before everyone dispersed to their next mission.
She licked her lips. ‘I might have around ten days. I’m not sure where I’m going next. Gibbs hasn’t told me yet. What about you?’
Mad thoughts were already flashing through her head. Ten days in Paris with Sullivan Darcy? Now, that could be fun.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I haven’t committed yet.’
‘You haven’t?’ She was surprised.
He shook his head. ‘I have a few things I should really take care of back home.’
She straightened up. ‘What kind of things?’ He’d never mentioned a family back home. And he’d been flirting with her. Just like she’d been flirting back. He didn’t wear a ring. But if he suddenly mentioned a Mrs Darcy he would see a whole new side of Gabrielle Cartier. She just wasn’t that kind of girl.
He let out a long slow breath and looked away. ‘I really should take care of my father’s house. He died a few years ago and I’ve been too busy working to get around to clearing it out and sorting through his things.’
She hoped her sigh of relief wasn’t as noticeable as it felt. ‘Who takes care of it now?’
He grimaced. ‘No one really. I’ve only been back for a few odd days at a time. I have someone take care of the garden, and I’ve made sure that the services continue to be paid. But at the moment it’s really just collecting dust.’
The tone of his voice had changed. It didn’t have the strength of earlier, or the cheekiness that she’d heard on other occasions. There was something wistful about his tone. Even a little regretful. It was a side of Sullivan Darcy she hadn’t seen before.
This time she made the move. She reached over and put her hand over his. ‘Maybe you needed to let it collect dust for a while. You have to wait until you’re ready to do things. That time might be now.’
For a second she thought he might come back with a usual cheeky quip, but something flashed across his eyes and he stared at her hand covering his.
He gave a slow nod. ‘You could be right.’ Then one eyebrow rose. ‘But I don’t want you to make a habit of it. I get the impression if you think you’re right all the time you could be unbearable.’
She couldn’t help but grin. This was how he wanted to play it. It seemed Dr Darcy could reveal the tiniest element of himself before his shutters came down again.
She could appreciate that. Particularly in an environment like this when things could flare up at any second and you had to be ready for any kind of emergency.
He leaned towards her again, this time so close that his stubble brushed against her cheek. ‘Trouble is,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘what can we possibly do to get through the next week?’
A red-hot flush flooded through her body. She tried not to look at the muscled pecs visibly outlined by his thin T-shirt, or the biceps clearly defined by his folded arms. Sullivan Darcy was one sexy guy. But two could play that game.
She moved, stretching her back out then straightening her shirt, allowing the fabric to tighten over her breasts.
Then she gave him a playful smile. ‘Who knows, Dr Darcy? I guess we’ll just need to think of something.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ub9922eef-f61d-5864-bcb6-d9d1b4180ae7)
FOR THE LAST few days they’d danced around each other. It was ridiculous. And Sullivan knew it. They were both grown adults and could do whatever they wanted to.
But he got the definite feeling that although Gabrielle was attracted to him as much as he was to her, she wasn’t comfortable about initiating a relationship under the microscopic view of their colleagues.
And she was right. It wouldn’t really be professional. No matter how much his brain told him otherwise in the depths of the pitch-black nights in Narumba.
He’d been furious when he’d seen those men around her. That leader attacking her. Anytime he thought about it for too long he felt his rage re-ignite. As soon as they’d got back to camp he’d contacted Gibbs and filed a report. Another team would replace them as soon as they left. He wanted to make sure precautions were taken to safeguard the staff.
Then he’d written another note, asking the staff to try and check on Alum and Chiari to see how they were coping with the medicine regime, and if they were having any side effects, and yet another about the tribal leader’s wife, asking someone to check on her leg and her antibiotics.
It didn’t matter where they pitched up. The clinics were packed every day and he saw a hundred variations of Alum and Chiari. That, mixed in with a hundred children who’d been orphaned and a hundred parents who’d nursed their children through their last days made him realise it might be time to have a break.
He’d never contemplated one before. Never wanted to. But the desperate situation of some of these families was beginning to get to him.
He wasn’t quite sure why he’d told Gabrielle about the reason he hadn’t signed up yet for another mission. Maybe she’d just asked at the right moment.
Or maybe he was just distracted by the possibility of ten days in Paris with a woman who was slowly but surely driving him crazy. If he didn’t taste those pink lips soon he might just decide to set up his own camp inside her tent.
Every night when they got back, she showered, changed into one of a variety of coloured T-shirts and usually those darn shorts. There should be a licence against them.
The whoosh he’d felt when he’d first seen her was turning into a full-blown tornado. Maybe it was just the blow-out of actually feeling something again. Maybe, after three years, his head was rising above the parapet a bit. He’d met a few women in the last three years but he’d been going through the motions. There had been no emotion involved, just a pure male hormonal response. Gabrielle was different. Gabrielle had an aura around her. A buzz. He smiled to himself. She was like one of those ancient sirens who had lured sailors to their deaths. He’d have to remember not to let her sing. Or talk. Or dance. Or wear those shorts.
It didn’t matter that they were the only five people in the camp. It didn’t matter that he was the only male for miles. As soon as he heard the music start to play in her tent he was drawn like a moth to the flame.
Gabrielle could conduct whole conversations while she sashayed around to the beat of the music. He’d recognised it was her thing. Her down time. So far they’d discussed fourteen special patient cases, numerous plans for the next day’s camps, treatment regimes, transfer times and some testing issues.
It was hard to have a conversation when the best pair of legs he’d ever seen was on display.
And tonight was no different from any other—with the exception of the soul music. She smiled as he appeared at the tent entrance. ‘Lionel and Luther tonight,’ she said as her loose hair bounced around. ‘Decided it was time for a change.’
He nodded as he moved towards her. She’d tied a red T-shirt in a knot at her waist but hadn’t got around to tying her hair up on her head as normal. It was longer than he’d realised, with a natural curl at the ends.
Sullivan wasn’t usually a dancer. It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel the beat of the music, it was just that he’d never felt the urge to rave in a dark disco. And he certainly hadn’t felt the urge to dance at all in the last few years.
But as the music changed to a slower song he sucked in a breath. Slow dancing he could do.
This was private. This was just him and her. No one watching. And he couldn’t watch Gabrielle much longer without touching. He moved more purposely, catching Gabrielle’s hand while she danced and pulling her against him.
‘I think the tempo’s changed.’
He could feel the curves of her breasts pressed against his chest. One of his hands lingered at the bare skin at her waist and it felt entirely natural for his fingers to gently stroke her soft skin.
She hadn’t spoken yet but as he kept his gaze fixed on hers, her pupils dilated, the blackness obliterating the dark chocolate of her irises. She reached one hand up to his shoulder. It was almost like a traditional dance position. The one a million couples dancing at weddings the world over would adopt.
‘You’re right,’ she said huskily, ‘the tempo has changed.’ She started to sway along to the music in his arms. It was easy for their bodies to move as one. What’s more, it seemed completely natural.
He couldn’t help the smile appearing on his face. He’d spent the last few days thinking of how it would feel to be in exactly this position. Her rose scent was winding its way around him. He slid his hand from her waist up the smooth skin on her back. She didn’t object. In fact, she responded, tugging at his T-shirt and moving both her hands onto his skin. He caught his breath at the feel of her soft hands. Gabrielle wasn’t shy. Both hands slid around to the front. She was smiling as she moved them up over his chest. He lowered his head, pressing his forehead on hers.
‘Not long until Paris,’ he whispered.
She glanced towards the opening of the tent. ‘I don’t know if I want to wait until Paris.’ The huskiness of her voice made the blood rush around his body.
He walked her backwards against the table, pressing her against it as his lips came into contact with hers. She tasted of chocolate. Of coffee. She responded instantly. Lips opening, matching his every move. His hands moved to her firm breasts, slipping under the wire of her bra and filling his hands.
She arched her back and he caught her unspoken message, moving his other hand to unclip her bra at the back and release her breasts more freely for his attention.
She pushed herself back onto the table, opening her legs and pulling him towards her, a little noise escaping from the back of her throat. She made a grab for his T-shirt, pulling it over his head.
He laid her back onto the table, concentrating his lips on the paler skin at her throat then around her ear. The little sigh she gave made his blood race even faster.
Then he felt her hands on his shoulders. She wasn’t pushing him away but her grip was firm. He eased back, connecting with her gaze and rapid breathing. At the base of her throat he could see a little flickering pulse.
‘Gabrielle?’ he groaned.
Her gaze was steady. ‘Four days,’ she whispered. ‘In four days, we can do this in Paris.’ Her head turned towards the tent entrance again, the flaps held back onto the dark night. It really was wide open to the world; any of the other camp members could appear at a moment’s notice.
He drew in a deep breath. She was right. He knew she was right. It didn’t matter that he’d be much happier if they could both just tear their clothes off now. For a few seconds he’d lost his normal professional demeanour.
They both had. Gabrielle was the lead professional on this mission. He had to remember that.
The spark between them had been building every day. Right now he felt as if the electricity they were generating could light up the Chrysler Building. There was something about this woman that got under his skin. Right from his first sight of her dancing around this very tent. It had been so long since he’d felt a connection like this that he was half-afraid if he closed his eyes for a second it would disappear. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.
Four days. He could put a lid on it for four days. He might even message a friend to ask for a recommendation for a more private Paris hotel than the one he usually bedded down in.
He stepped back. Keeping in contact with Gabrielle Cartier’s skin was a definite recipe for self-implosion.
He smiled. ‘Four days isn’t so long.’ He grabbed his T-shirt and pulled it over his head as he walked towards the tent flaps.
He turned as he reached the entrance and started walking backwards. He winked at her. ‘Watch out, Paris. Here we come.’
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub9922eef-f61d-5864-bcb6-d9d1b4180ae7)
THE DEBRIEF HAD been quicker than expected. Their data collection had been fastidious. It helped correlate the numbers of cases of pulmonary TB and MDR-TB in Narumba. The data spreadsheet recording all the side effects of any of the medications would be analysed by their pharmacy colleagues, and the extra information on childhood weight and nutrition would be collated for international statistics. The longest part of the review was around the safety aspects of the team that had gone out to replace them.
Sullivan had already made some recommendations. Three of the team members this time were male and extra interpreters were available.
Six missions had returned at the same time and right now every member from each of the missions was jammed around the booths in a bar in Paris. Drinks filled the tables. Laughter filled the air. After a few months of quiet it didn’t take long for the thumping music and loud voices to start reverberating around his head.
Gabrielle seemed in her element. The girl knew how to let her hair down. Literally. Her glossy dark curls tumbled around her shoulders, her brown eyes were shining and the tanned skin on her arms drew more than a few admiring glances. She was dressed comfortably, in well-fitting jeans and a black scoop-neck vest trimmed with black sequins. A thin gold chain decorated her neck, with some kind of locket nestling down between her breasts.
Maybe it was the buzz in the air. Maybe it was just the electricity of Paris. Or maybe it was the novelty of having some down time. But one part of him couldn’t fully relax.
He’d drunk a few beers and joined in a few stories but the undercurrent between him and Gabrielle seemed to bubble under the surface. This whole thing seemed like a preface to the main event.
It could be it was simply easier to concentrate on the here and now than the future. The future would mean finally having to think about going back home to Oregon to deal with his father’s belongings. His stomach curled at the mere thought. It was pathetic really. He was a thirty-three-year-old guy—and he’d served in some of the toughest areas of the world—but the thought of bundling up some clothes and taking them to goodwill made his blood run cold.
It was so much easier not to acknowledge it and just move on to the next job. Take the next emergency call that came in from Doctors Without Borders and head off on the next mission.
He excused himself and stood up, walking towards the men’s room. The corridor here was little quieter, a little darker. His footsteps slowed and he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a second.
He couldn’t talk about this. He wouldn’t talk about this. He and his dad had been on their own for so long after his mother had been killed in a riding accident when he was three. All he could remember of her was a smell and a swish of warm soft hair. He had plenty of photographs of her but when he closed his eyes, it was the touch and the smell that flooded his senses.
It meant that he and his dad had been a team. For as long as he could remember there had been an unshakable bond. His father had refused to be stationed anywhere without his son. Japan, Italy, UK and Germany had all played a part in his multinational upbringing. There had hardly been any discipline because he’d never been a bad kid. He’d never wanted to disappoint his dad. And the day he’d told him he wanted to do his medical degree and serve, tears had glistened in his father’s eyes.
The sudden phone call out of the blue had been like a knife through his heart. His father had never had a day’s illness in his life. The post mortem had shown an aortic aneurysm. The surgeon in Sullivan hated that. It was something that was fixable. Something that could have been detected and fixed. His father could have had another twenty years of life.
Instead, Sullivan had been left to unlock the door on the Hood River house and be overwhelmed by the familiar smells. Of wood, of fishing, of cleaning materials and of just...him.
The house that had been full of happy memories seemed to have a permanent black cloud over it now. Anytime he thought of returning his stomach curled in a familiar knot. It was hardly appropriate for a former soldier.
There was a nudge at his side. ‘Hey, you, what are you doing, sleeping on the job?’
He almost laughed out loud at the irony. She’d no idea how much the art of sleeping had escaped him in the last few years.
Gabrielle gave a smile and moved in front of him, matching his pose by leaning on the wall and folding her arms across her chest. He couldn’t help but smile.
‘Was I boring you that much?’ she teased.
He reached out and touched her bare shoulder, running his finger down the smooth soft skin on her outer arm. ‘Oh, believe me, you weren’t boring me at all.’
Her eyes twinkled. ‘So, why are you hiding back here?’ Her folded arms accentuated her cleavage and she caught his gaze and raised her eyebrows.
He let out a laugh. It was one of the things he liked best about her—a woman who was happy in her own skin. If only every woman could be like that.
‘I wasn’t hiding.’ He grinned. ‘I was contemplating a way to get you back here on your own.’
‘Hmm...’ She moved a little closer. ‘And why would you be doing that, Dr Darcy?’
He loved the way his name tripped off her tongue. The accent sent shivers to places that were already wide awake. Her hand reached up and drummed a little beat on his shoulder.
His hand moved forward, catching her around the waist and pulling her up against him, letting her know in no uncertain terms what his intentions were.
Her eyes widened and her hands fastened around his neck. ‘I’m assuming you made good on our plans.’
‘You could say that.’
‘What does that mean? Where are we staying?’
In the dim light of the corridor her brown eyes seemed even darker. Full of promise. Full of mystery. The feel of her warm curves pressing against him spoke of another promise.
He wound his fingers through her hair. ‘I might have booked us in somewhere a little bit special.’
Her eyebrows raised again. ‘You have?’
‘I have. It seems a shame to waste any more time.’
She rose up on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, ‘And is that what we’re doing, Dr Darcy, wasting time?’
Her warm breath danced against the skin behind his ear. He let his eyes close for a second again before he groaned out loud and made a grab for her hand.
‘Let’s go.’
She didn’t resist in the slightest. ‘Let me grab my jacket,’ she shouted as she let go of his hand and weaved her way through the crowd. He gave a quick nod and headed over to the bar, pulling out his wallet and settling the current bar tab. He didn’t want to wait for the flying euros as they fought over who wanted to contribute. To some the bar tab might have seemed large. To people who’d been in other countries for three months, it didn’t even come to the equivalent of a night out every weekend.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/scarlet-wilson/the-doctor-and-the-princess/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.