Greek Doctor, Cinderella Bride

‘I know, I know.’ She sighed. ‘I just wish…I wish it had never happened.’ Another tear squeezed out from beneath her lids and she wiped it away. It had been years since she’d uttered those words. Damn Alexander Zaphirides!

‘Me and you both, babe.’ Carla raised herself up on her elbow. ‘Not least of all because those first few weeks you spent in Intensive Care were so harrowing there wasn’t a day that went by when we didn’t think you were going to die. But here you are. Alive. Don’t let it keep robbing you of your life.’

Yes, Carla was right. She was right. But even though she’d already decided to give up modeling, the whole reverse fairy-tale—the swan turning into the ugly duckling—had been a huge psychological blow. Her self-esteem had taken an even bigger hit than her body. Her physical scars had reduced slightly over time, but she still grappled with her mental ones every day.

‘Now up!’ Carla ordered, grabbing Isobella’s arm. ‘Let’s find you something to wear.’

Isobella followed reluctantly, and stood passively while Carla hunted through her cupboard.

‘Aha! This. You bought it and never wore it. It’s perfect.’

Isobella looked at the dress Carla was brandishing. It was one of many things she’d bought over the years since the accident, despite knowing she’d never wear it. Mainly because she didn’t socialize, but also because it revealed more than it concealed. But the female inside her had been unable to resist. The Fleckeri’s brand might have robbed her of her confidence, but it hadn’t taken away her love for shopping or beautiful clothes.

It was the colour of a deep merlot, and was made from a fabric that clung in all the right places. Isobella shrank from it. ‘No. It’s too… It’ll show my trachey scar… I can’t possibly…’

‘It’s perfect,’ Carla bossed.

The feminine side of her wanted to reach out and touch the very sexy dress, but Isobella knew if she touched it she’d be a goner. ‘It’s all wrong.’

‘Why did you buy it, then?’ Carla demanded.

Because it was beautiful. ‘It’s not the image I’m trying to project,’ she said primly.

‘McHusky is here for a few days, and then you won’t see him again. Don’t you want to at least make him drool a little?’ Carla held up her thumb and index finger with a whisker of space separating them. ‘It’s one night, babe. Just one. Don’t you want to feel like a woman instead of a nerdy, four-eyed lab geek?’

‘Hey,’ Isobella protested at her sister’s blunt assessment. But she could hardly refute it. A ‘four-eyed lab geek’ was the image she’d meticulously presented to the world. ‘I do not want to attract Alex.’

Carla shrugged. ‘So do it for yourself. You just said you wished it had never happened. Put on the dress and pretend for one night that it didn’t. Be Izzy again.’

Carla held out the dress, and Isobella felt herself reach for it against all her better judgments.

Alex wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from Isobella tonight. In fact he wouldn’t have been surprised had she not shown at all. But secretly he’d hoped that maybe they’d all get to see a little more of the person beneath the coat and the glasses.

Unfortunately not.

He spotted her the second she walked in. She was late, and he’d been eyeing the doorway while making polite conversation with Roland about the project. She paused at the ‘Wait here to be seated’ sign, searching for their table.

She was wearing horrible baggy trousers and a shapeless shirt that flared down from a mandarin collar in an A-line and left everything to the imagination.

She looked around, her eyes darting from table to table. She seemed nervous, one hand clutching at her bag the other pushing her god-awful glasses back up her nose. Her left foot tapped, and she flinched as a man at a table near the door let out a booming laugh.

She was obviously uncomfortable as her gaze continued to flit around the room, and he started to wonder whether Isobella suffered from agoraphobia. She had seemed perfectly at home in the lab, albeit completely alarmed at his suggestion that she come out tonight. But here she looked completely out of place.

She finally spotted them, and he noticed her hesitation before she squared her shoulders and moved towards them. One thing was certain—Isobella Nolan did not want to be here.

Without the camouflage of the white coat he could see her legs were long and slender as she strode to the table but the second she stopped the layers of trouser material swallowed their shape.

Isobella was conscious of her colleagues all watching her as Alex stood and greeted her. His husky rumble rendered her powerless to move. Her nipples hardened as if he had reached out and trailed his fingers across her breasts.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ She addressed the table. ‘I was…’ mentally hyperventilating ‘…my sister held me up.’

‘You’re here now.’ Alex nodded. ‘We saved a seat for you.’

Isobella was pleased to see her legs were still obeying impulses from her brain, even if the rest of her body was not. The empty seat was directly opposite Alex, and she cursed Carla for delaying her departure.

She stroked her throat reflexively as she settled in her chair, reassured by the presence of the high collar. She nervously adjusted her glasses, pleased she had changed out of the dress after Carla had retired to her bed. The dress had looked amazing, and had felt so feminine against her skin, with its clingy fabric and plunging neckline. But she lacked the confidence to wear it. She would have felt exceedingly self-conscious in it, and she was already way out of her depth.

Luckily the same couldn’t be said for her underwear. Lingerie was a major weakness of hers—always had been— and the feeling of soft satin and the rub of lace was one she freely indulged. Something had to compensate for the blandness of her lab wardrobe and the fact that no one at the table tonight knew the silken wisps that lay beneath her baggy clothes made the wearing of them bearable.

Conversation resumed at the table, and Isobella feigned interest. Reg was beside her, talking about the presentation, and she nodded and replied and made some suggestions on automatic pilot, while at the same time taking absolutely none of the discussion in.

She was aware of Alex’s too frequent gaze on her. It felt heavy against her skin, and she wanted to look him straight in the eye and tell him to stop. What did he want from her? She was here, wasn’t she?

His presence was just too disturbing by far. Every husky word and gravelly chuckle coming from his perfectly sculptured mouth vibrated the air currents around her, causing a feather-light friction all over her body that was as erotic as it was distracting. He was hitting a big ten on her McHusky scale, which only ramped up her nervousness several more notches.

It didn’t help that he looked amazing tonight. He was wearing a shirt the exact shade of his cerulean blue eyes, which somehow managed to magnify his utter maleness tenfold. He hadn’t shaved before coming out, and the light growth of stubble at his jaw drew her gaze like a helplessly addicted moth craved light.

When he laughed his face creased into irresistible dimples, and the skin around his eyes crinkled into little lines that she just wanted to reach out and touch. Smooth. Kiss.

And then there were the scars on his neck, fully displayed again. As Reg talked about Cairns she found herself thinking that if he only wore his shirt buttoned up, and a tie, they’d be completely covered. Why didn’t he? She had the same urge to touch them as she did his eye crinkles. Feel their irregularity. Smooth them. Kiss them.

‘I don’t know, Roland,’ Alex said to the man sitting beside him. ‘I think it’s a field that attracts a more mature workforce. Most people seem to come from other occupations into the lab. Take Isobella, for example. She was a nurse before becoming a research assistant.’

Tuned in as she was to the rumble of Alex’s conversation, Isobella’s head snapped up instantly.

‘Really? I didn’t know that,’ Roland murmured.

She heard the surprise in Roland’s voice and saw it mirrored all over his face. In fact the whole table was looking at her, as if Alex had just proclaimed she’d been a nun prior to joining the team.

Imagine their surprise had he announced she’d been on track to becoming the next supermodel.

Isobella looked at him. His blue eyes were challenging her to elaborate. Her cheeks grew warm beneath her colleagues’ scrutiny, and her pulse pounded through her head. She thought at this moment she quite possibly hated Alexander Zaphirides.

Hated his supreme confidence and how comfortable he looked in this social situation, in contrast to the near panic that was sweeping through her own veins. She hated him for insisting she come tonight, dragging her out of her comfort zone and then putting her in the spotlight. She wanted to crawl under the table and hide from prying eyes.

How the hell did he know this stuff anyway? She’d gone through the interview process with his admin people, and whilst she assumed he’d had the final say she’d also assumed he’d taken their recommendation and approved her employment without more than a cursory glance at her application.

‘Yes,’ Isobella confirmed, uncomfortably aware of the growing silence. She wasn’t used to being the centre of attention any more. She was used to fading into the background. She didn’t want their interest piqued. ‘For a while.’

‘And what made you decide to jump ship?’ Alex probed.

Conscious of everyone waiting for her response, Isobella squirmed. This was none of his business—none of their business. But avoiding the question would only serve to arouse further interest. After all, this was a social evening with colleagues. People talked about themselves in social situations.

Which was exactly why she avoided them.

Isobella suppressed a sigh. Where did she start without sounding like a complete loon? By saying that six weeks in hospital had given her a true appreciation for what nurses did? That it had been a natural progression for her, eager for a new career and jaded from the selfishness of modeling, to fall into that honourable profession? That she’d enjoyed being a nurse— in fact missed the patient contact more than she allowed herself to admit? But it had been too…social? And…open.

How crazy did that sound? Even if it was the truth. Her nursing colleagues, used to being entrusted with people’s most personal details, had never really understood her desire to keep to herself. Their candidness and their expectation of it being returned had made her uncomfortable. Also, the uniforms had made hiding her tracheostomy scar really difficult. Civvies and a white coat had been an absolute dream.

‘I enjoyed being a nurse very much,’ she said primly. ‘But…’ Isobella adjusted her glasses. ‘I wanted to try something different.’

Alex noted the nervous fiddle, and the way her gaze didn’t quite reach his eyes. She was lying. He wanted to reach across the table, whip those god-awful glasses off her face and demand to hear the truth. He hated that she hid herself behind those dreadful, unfashionable, clunky frames.

‘Did you have to retrain?’ Roland asked.

Isobella nodded. ‘I did a science degree, majoring in medical research.’ Thanks to her modelling years she’d had a nice nest egg saved, and had been able to undertake her degree full-time and not have to worry about money.

‘I was going to be an engineer at uni.’ Reg joined in the conversation. ‘Bored me stupid.’

Isobella could have kissed Reg for stepping into the conversation, sparking others to share their stories. Not that she heard what they were saying. She was conscious only of Alex’s eyes on her. He knew. She could tell. Knew that she had fobbed him off. His Aegean gaze held hers and she was powerless to look away.

Alexander Zaphirides was a man who could see right past her reserve. And, frankly, it scared the hell out of her.

The meal and the conversation flowed around her for the next couple of hours, requiring very little input from her—thankfully. Most of the chat centred around the Cairns Envenomation Symposium, and Alex and Reg’s scheduled visit to the Piccolo Island scientific station. The facility, situated on a small island north of Cairns, sent many box jellyfish specimens their way, and both men were keen to look around.

Isobella added very little, uncaring of the itinerary or any of the other topics. Her colleagues heeded her shuttered demeanour, but Alex felt no such compunction and drew her into the conversation with practised ease at every opportunity. Not even Isobella’s guarded, progressively stilted replies seemed to daunt him. She knew he was doing it deliberately. And she knew he knew she knew.

Isobella finished her dessert and wondered what the time was, and if it was too early to leave. Just listening to his voice was its own brand of erotic torture, and she’d had more than she could take for one evening. Once or twice a week for a couple of minutes at a time was usually more than enough for her sanity. His voice, those eyes, made her want things she couldn’t have.

‘Have you got the time, Reg?’ she asked quietly, turning to face him.

Reg turned his wrist. ‘Nine-thirty.’

Isobella heard the slight puff in his reply and frowned. Reg was sweating and looking a little pale. Sure, it was November, but the restaurant was air-conditioned. ‘You okay?’ she asked.

Reg nodded. ‘Heartburn’s playing up,’ he nodded, rubbing his chest.

Isobella nodded back. Reg wasn’t the healthiest specimen of manhood she’d ever seen. He had a massive beer belly and lived on liquid antacid. He always seemed to be swigging on a bottle. She’d never pried into whether or not he’d ever had it checked out, because she didn’t believe in prying. But he was looking particularly pasty just now. ‘Have you got your antacid with you?’ she asked.

‘Nah. Left it at the lab. Probably time for me to mosey on home anyway. The wife doesn’t like being in the house at night by herself. She’s pretty annoyed about me going up north for the week. I think I’m in the bad books enough.’

Reg stood and made his goodbyes, and Isobella took the opportunity to depart also. ‘Think I’ll call it a night too,’ she said, rising to her feet.

Alex rose, his gaze glittering his disapproval, telling her he knew she was chickening out. Isobella returned his look defiantly. He didn’t own her, and she’d had enough of this charade.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Reg,’ he said, turning his attention away from Isobella, holding out his hand. ‘I’m really looking forward to attending the symposium with you.’

Reg nodded, and Alex frowned as he felt the sweatiness of Reg’s palms. He looked at the man closely. ‘You okay?’ he asked.

Reg nodded briskly. ‘Bloody heartburn.’

Isobella felt a prickle of unease as Reg turned and staggered a little.

‘Reg?’ Alex flicked a glance at Isobella, who was also regarding Reg with obvious concern.

Then Reg clutched his chest and let out a guttural moan, before sinking to his knees on the ground beside his chair.

‘Reg!’ Isobella sank down with him, a hand on his arm, knocking her chair over in the process.

Alex strode around the table and joined her as their work colleagues hovered around. ‘Call an ambulance!’ he barked, straining his voice as he positioned himself behind Reg, easing the man back to support him whilst reaching for Reg’s pulse.

The fast, erratic pace was worrisome, and whilst Alex might not have practised real medicine in quite a few years, he’d never quite forgotten what a heart attack victim looked like. And Reg’s pale, cold, clammy skin was a big red warning flag. The man certainly fitted the description of heart-attack-waiting-to-happen.

The entire restaurant stopped as Alex’s hoarse demand sliced through their evening merriment, and then bedlam ensued as people gasped, some stood and at least one person from every table made an emergency call.

‘Reg, have you ever had angina before?’ Isobella demanded.

Reg groaned, still clutching his chest. ‘No.’

‘The pain? What’s it like? Does it go anywhere?’ she fired again.

‘Down my…my arm,’ Reg huffed. ‘I feel like…like an elephant’s sitting on my chest.’

Isobella glanced up at Alex. She looked away quickly, stunned that even in the midst of this crisis he could take her breath away. Reg cried out again, gripping his chest, and then slumped against Alex. Isobella shook him vigorously and called his name.

‘It’s no use. He’s not responsive,’ Alex said.

Her hand trembled as her fingers sought his carotid pulse.

‘Anything?’ Alex demanded.

Isobella kept her fingers in place, praying for a bound, a flutter, any movement against her fingers to prove that everything was okay. She shook her head and looked at Alex again. ‘Nothing.’

They exchanged a look, both knowing this was a very bad development. If he’d lost his cardiac output so quickly then the heart attack must be significant.

‘Clear some of these tables back.’

His voice might have been low but it was laced with urgent authority. He shifted so he could lie Reg on the ground. It was too cramped to do adequate CPR, and the paramedics were never going to get a trolley in here.

‘I’ll look after the airway,’ Alex said to her. ‘Can you do compressions?’

She nodded, her medical training coming back to her with surprising clarity. ‘Pass me my bag,’ Isobella said to one of her colleagues.

She fished in it and found the small sealed package she was looking for. ‘Here.’ She passed it to Alex.

Alex looked at the protector kit. ‘Thanks,’ he said, ripping it open to reveal a handkerchief-sized square transparent piece of plastic, with a central two-way mouthpiece to prevent the exchange of bodily fluids during expired air resuscitation. He inserted it into Reg’s mouth and delivered his first two rescue breaths.

‘What’s the ETA on the ambulance?’ Alex asked, pausing while Isobella performed the chest compressions.

‘It’ll be here in a few minutes,’ Roland confirmed.

A waiter pushed through the crowd. ‘Here,’ he announced, ‘we have this. Will this help? My boss had it installed last year, when our head chef had a heart attack.’

Isobella and Alex looked up to find the waiter holding a portable automatic defibrillator. At this particular moment it was worth more than the Holy Grail.

Alex grinned as Isobella kept up her chest compressions. ‘Yes, sir, it most certainly will.’ He relieved the waiter of the treasure.

Alex wasn’t overly familiar with this type of unit, but he knew that once switched on it gave audible prompts and only delivered a shock if it deemed the patient’s rhythm warranted it. It was designed for lay people to use, and at the moment it was Reg’s best chance. Alex knew that early defibrillation was crucial to ensure the best outcome in this rapidly deteriorating situation.

He worked around Isobella, tearing Reg’s shirt open and slapping the two adhesive pads in the indicated positions on Reg’s cold, clammy chest. The automated voice on the machine asked them to cease CPR while it assessed the rhythm. They waited for the machine, and Alex tried not to notice the way Isobella’s blonde fringe had fallen forward in his peripheral vision.

The machine prompted him to deliver a shock, and asked everyone to stand clear. ‘Stand clear,’ Alex said, raising his voice, cursing the gravelly wobble and the havoc the increased volume wreaked on his damaged vocal cords.

He put his arm out in front of Isobella’s chest and urged her back further. The last thing he wanted to do was to electrocute her. ‘Stand clear,’ he repeated to the crowd as his finger hovered over the button.

When Alex was satisfied no one was in contact with Reg’s body he hit the green button, and Reg’s body arced as the electricity charged through him. The machine re-evaluated and prompted another shock, and Alex delivered the second one.

Finally Reg moved. He gasped and moaned and the entire restaurant seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Welcome back, Reg,’ Alex murmured as he helped Isobella roll the big man on his side.

He looked at her and she gave him a relieved smile. A totally candid, non-guarded, elated smile. It was exhilarating. He grinned back, pleased beyond measure to be finally seeing the real Isobella. It was only the wail of a siren breaking between them that stopped his sudden impulse to lean over and kiss her soft full lips in triumph.

The paramedics pushed through the crowd, and then it was a blur of activity as they applied oxygen and hooked the patient up to their own monitor. Reg was throwing worrying ectopics and having short runs of ventricular tachycardia as the paramedics hastily inserted an IV and administered some GTN spray under his tongue.

‘Let’s scoop him and go,’ the female paramedic said. ‘I don’t like the look of his rhythm.’

Isobella and Alex assisted, and they had him on the stretcher and were loading him into the back of the ambulance in two minutes.

‘Ring my wife,’ Reg whispered to Isobella, pulling the oxygen mask aside.

‘Yes, I will.’ Isobella nodded, her anxiety increasing at the grey tinge to Reg’s skin.

‘I’m going with him,’ Alex said to her.

‘I’m so sorry about the symposium,’ Reg groaned as they locked the stretcher into place.

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Alex dismissed. ‘Nothing is more important than getting you better.’

‘You can ride in front,’ the paramedic said to Alex as she slammed the back doors.

Alex nodded. He turned to Isobella. ‘Well, that’s one way to break up a party.’

Isobella gave him a weak smile as his voice scratched along her taut nerves. The adrenaline that had surged into her system during the crisis was making her even more sensitive to its sinful eroticism.

‘Thanks for your help tonight.’

‘It was nothing,’ she dismissed.

He nodded. The ambulance engine roared to life. ‘I need a favour,’ he said, raising his voice to be heard over the noise.

Isobella hesitated, wary of the sudden gleam in his too intriguing eyes. ‘Okay…?’

‘I need you to come to Cairns with me.’

Isobella blinked. What the—? ‘No.’

‘It’s not a request.’ Alex grinned at her increasing look of horror. ‘I’ll have the tickets transferred,’ he said, turning away.

Isobella gaped at him, watched him climb into the cab. No way. No way was she going away for a week with him.

Absolutely not.

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