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A Woman To Belong To
Fiona Lowe
Proposal under the Eastern sun…To Dr. Tom Bracken, working in the Far East is about more than setting up a healthcare agency. He's come to cleanse his heart by dedicating himself to his patients.When nurse Bec Monahan arrives on his doorstep, he thinks she's just another nurse. But something about her beautiful violet eyes and the secrets they hide intrigues him.Gradually, as they work together amongst the lush valleys, high mountains and stunning lagoons, Tom realises that Bec holds the key to his guarded heart. Might he have finally found a woman to belong to?
‘Thank you for rescuing me, Tom.’
Bec spoke softly, the sound evaporating so quickly it was almost as if the words had not been said. But the echo of the message resonated loud and clear, vibrating in his chest.
Tilting her head forward, she pressed her lips gently against his cheek.
The touch was brief, a light caress. But the softness and warmth of her lips sent a riot of sensation ricocheting through him, making every part of him vibrate with suppressed longing.
She trusts me. The warning sounded faintly in the recesses of his mind.
She wants me.
Six weeks of concealed emotions exploded inside him, pushing every rational thought from his head. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He needed her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, her lips against his own. He needed her now like he needed air.
Dear Reader (#ub8bddf8a-18b2-5651-8106-7e09de0392f9)
Have you ever watched a movie and come away from it saying, ‘I am going to visit that place’? I have. The memory of the jade waters of Halong Bay in the film Indochine stayed with me long after the credits had faded. A couple of years later, when a friend came home raving about Vietnam, I booked a holiday.
Vietnam sends you into sensory overload. The sound of horns, the smell of fish sauce and lemongrass, the chaos of people continuously on the move, the spectacular scenery and the friendliness of the people—all of it sucks you into its welcoming vortex.
This got me thinking about a romance set in this beautiful country…Bec, an Australian nurse, comes to Vietnam determined to help the children of the country and escape the memory of her own troubled childhood. She has decided that it’s safest not to love, and is creating an independent life for herself. But she meets Tom, a dedicated doctor. He is Eurasian. Born in Vietnam, raised in Australia, and feeling as if he does not belong in either country, he is working in Vietnam and trying to trace his birth mother. He feels his life is on hold until he knows more about himself. Together they challenge each other’s beliefs about themselves as they travel around Vietnam dealing with medical emergencies.
Just as Halong Bay wove its magic over me, it weaves a special magic over Tom and Bec. But is magic enough to keep them together? I hope you enjoy travelling through Vietnam, and perhaps you might book yourself a holiday there as well. Let me know!
Love
Fiona x
A Woman To Belong To
Fiona Lowe
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Always an avid reader, FIONA LOWE decided to combine her love of romance with her interest in all things medical, so writing Medical™ Romance was an obvious choice! She lives in a seaside town in southern Australia, where she juggles writing, reading, working and raising two gorgeous sons, with the support of her own real-life hero!
You can visit Fiona’s website at www.fionalowe.com (http://www.fionalowe.com)
To Caroline, Deb, Gayle, Karen and Mon.
Thanks for the laughs, the company and the great tennis.
And to Gayle for her wonderful travel tales and inspiring our visit to Vietnam.
CONTENTS
COVER (#uf84b006d-823f-5d9a-a9fb-e416b190da1c)
Dear Reader
TITLE PAGE (#uccd027d4-059e-550c-8a48-5c9fbadbb522)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u0c5dc74c-18fb-5682-b9df-4b25ecd80610)
DEDICATION (#ue62f96fe-b4b2-5471-9963-31db25ac9776)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EPILOGUE
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ub8bddf8a-18b2-5651-8106-7e09de0392f9)
RAIN TUMBLED FROM the sky, a wall of pure water—the response of humidity finally reaching breaking point. Bec Monahan tilted her head back, enjoying the refreshing coolness on her face. A moment later she sighed.
Hanoi traffic, chaotic under perfect conditions, would now be at gridlock. No point getting a taxi. She glanced around. No cyclos either—all the drivers had retreated to shelter. Damn.
Pulling her non la forward she smiled at the varied uses of the traditional Vietnamese conical hat. Just an hour ago she’d been using it as a fan and a much-needed sunshade. Now it doubled as an umbrella. It also screamed tourist or country hick in the emerging cosmopolitan city.
She didn’t care. Two days after arriving and immediately sweating in tight Western clothing, she’d adopted the local dress of light cotton trousers and a long-sleeved blouse. The outfit was practical, comfortable and plain. She stood out enough just by being Australian, and this way she drew less attention. She’d learned from an early age it was safer to fade into the background.
She peered at the scrawled address as the rain blurred the blue ink, making it run across the page. She bit her lip and sent up a hopeful plea that this time the address was correct. Tracking down Dr Thông had turned into a marathon.
Weaving her way around the impromptu food stalls and parked motorcycles, she turned into a street clearly marked by an enamelled street sign, a legacy from the French occupation. She stopped abruptly. A shiver raced across her skin as a wave of goose-bumps rose in warning.
A dead-end narrow lane. Always have an escape route.
Life with her father had taught her that. Never let yourself be cornered. She breathed in deeply. This was a leafy suburb of Hanoi. But you know what leafy suburbs can hide.
‘Madame?’
Bec started and turned.
A young man with an umbrella came toward her, concern crossing his face.
‘Bác s
. Doctor.’ Bec repeated the oft-said phrase wondering how bad her accent sounded to the locals.
The young man grinned a trade-mark wide Vietnamese smile and pointed to the gate in the high wall at the end of the lane. ‘He is there.’
Bec smiled, nodding her head in thanks, and ran the last few metres to the gate. Her heart hammered against her ribs in anticipation. Finally, after two days of searching, she was making progress. Since arriving in Vietnam on holiday, she’d had an increasing sense of needing to contribute to this glorious country. To do something for the children of Vietnam. At night she lay in bed and tried to work out the best way to help. One week ago she’d decided that a clinic which combined health and education was the best way to go.
Healthy children had a greater capacity to learn and children who had access to education had a greater chance to improve their lives. Education opened up options even if it was just the option to flee an unsafe situation.
She’d used that option.
Now she wanted to give other kids the same chance. Australia had a lot of established services for children and Vietnam didn’t. She hoped to use the ties Australia had with this nation to her advantage.
But trying to work out how to start the process of working with the Vietnamese health department and education department had almost defeated her. Each bureaucrat fobbed her off with, ‘Talk to Dr Thông.’ She had no idea who this doctor was but she was pinning her hopes on him. He must hold the key to her plan.
The heavy gate closed behind her. Suddenly she was in a tranquil courtyard; the noise and hustle of Hanoi receded to barely a buzz. Only the sound of heavy rain on the ground broke the peaceful serenity of this haven.
A French villa stood before her, its green shutters closed against the rain. Bec swore she could hear whispered stories of a life of decadent elegance before years of turmoil. She shook her head against a feeling of light-headedness. The heat and humidity must be getting to her.
Soaked to the skin, she tugged on the old door pull and a bell sounded in the distance.
She waited. The bell rang out. Silence descended.
Her stomach growled—hunger gnawing at nothing as anticipatory acid burned her stomach. She’d given away her breakfast of rice soup to a homeless child. She’d planned to grab something else but had got sidetracked with her search.
The world tilted slightly and she realised it was now mid-afternoon. Stupid. She needed to be on top of things when she met Dr Thông.
She pulled the bell again, her hand gripping the pulley tightly for support.
The bell chimed loud and long. Footsteps sounded.
Bec bowed her head and breathed in a calming breath. This is it.
The door creaked open and stilted Vietnamese swirled around her, the accent clumsy and unfamiliar.
She looked up quickly, her practised greeting dying on her lips.
She’d been expecting a short Vietnamese doctor. Instead, a tall, broad-shouldered man with designer tousled black hair filled the doorway, a backpack slung casually over one shoulder. He wore a well-known surfing-brand T-shirt, the spun cotton clinging like a second skin to a toned chest and muscular arms. A shadow of dark stubble highlighted a strong jaw and a firm mouth.
An unexpected quiver spread through her, racing down to her toes. She shook her head. She really needed some food. Blinking, she took another look at him through the rain. A sigh of dismay escaped her lips as her heart sank. This golden-skinned man belonged on a beach. He had tourist written all over him. He couldn’t possibly be Dr Thông.
Large oval eyes, the colour of dark chocolate, studied her intently. ‘Can I help you?’
The Australian accent stunned her and she searched for her voice. ‘I’m sorry, I think I’ve been directed to the wrong place. I’m looking for Dr Thông.’
An ironic smile passed over high cheekbones. ‘That’s me. I’m Tom. It’s written Thông, but pronounced Tom. Tom Bracken.’ He hitched his backpack further up his shoulder. ‘I’m also just leaving so you’d be better off trying the French hospital.’
Her brain stalled at his smile, driving away the confused thoughts of why he sounded and looked so Australian. She forced herself to focus. ‘No, I’m not sick.’
‘Glad to hear it. I’ll be back in a few weeks so make an appointment with my housekeeper.’
Panic simmered in her belly. Don’t let him leave. ‘I need to talk to you about the orphans.’
He stiffened. ‘Are you a journalist?’
She shook her head, confused, her mind racing to find a succinct sentence to make an impression on him and to stop him leaving right away. ‘I’m a nurse.’
‘Great. Again, try the French hospital.’ He moved forward, towering over her meagre five feet and two inches.
She clenched her fists against the surge of unwanted fear that twisted inside her as she looked up at him. ‘You don’t understand. I’m not looking for a job.’
‘So, you’re not sick, you’re not looking for a job and you’re not a journalist.’ His black eyebrows rose in perfect arches. ‘Why do you need to see me?’
She swallowed hard, knowing what she said next would either delay him or see him marching through the gate. ‘I have a mission and I need your help.’
Don’t stop, you’ll miss your plane. Tom’s grip on the doorhandle instinctively lessened as an irrational need to listen to this woman’s story clashed with his desire to leave immediately.
Something in her voice made him pause. Energy and vitality rolled off her in waves, matched with a steely determination. Her chin jutted slightly as she stood her ground. He recognised that stance. He’d seen photos of himself doing the same thing.
When he’d opened the door and seen a petite woman in plain Vietnamese dress, with her head bowed against the rain, he’d immediately assumed she was a patient who’d been given the wrong address. Then she’d raised her face. The rush of heat that had whipped through him when her violet-blue eyes had caught his gaze still simmered inside him.
He’d never seen eyes that colour before. They reminded him of his mother’s spring irises, the purple-blue flowers she insisted on growing despite the heat of the Australian bush.
And yet shadows lurked in the sparkle of vibrant colour. For a brief moment he had a crazy desire to chase those shadows away.
You don’t have time for this, the pilot has a timetable. Ever since he’d been interviewed on local television, people had started approaching him, requesting his time for his perspective on health and his support for their own projects. And the local government officers referred to him anyone who asked about starting health programmes. He’d tried to convince them not to, but to no avail. He was flat out keeping up with his own patients and clinics, let alone taking on other people’s work. His patients came first every time.
Thank goodness Jason, the PR person for Health For Life, was due back from his extended leave next week. He couldn’t wait to hand over all the admin stuff and get back to focusing completely on medicine. His review of the rural outreach programme was overdue. He’d been jealously watching the other staff heading out around the country. Although he enjoyed the Hanoi hospital work, he’d missed his outreach work and the chance to assess new projects.
Water trickled down his neck, the droplets jerking him back to the present. For the first time since opening the front door he realised it was raining. Remember the plane. Dragging his gaze away from his visitor’s mesmerising eyes, he countered the nagging voice inside his head. Five minutes is all this will take.
‘Ms…?’
‘Monahan. Rebecca Monahan, but please call me Bec.’
He smiled. ‘You’d better come in out of the rain, Bec.’
‘Thank you. I thought you’d never ask.’ She took off her hat and long chestnut hair streaked with sun-kissed blonde cascaded down around her shoulders.
