The Doctor And The Princess

‘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

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.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию 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.