Tempted By Her Hot-Shot Doc

Casual conversation about supply checks and sleeping arrangements at the camp kept them going as their starters were consumed and everyone’s glasses were refilled, and then, just as the waiters hovered on the periphery with their main courses, Ryan tapped his fork on his glass to silence the table.

He rose to his feet, dropping his napkin.

‘Ladies and gents,’ he said, smoothing down his white shirt and holding up his glass. ‘I’d like to thank you all for coming on this brand-new mission with Medical Extremes. Let’s welcome Pablo, our new cameraman from right here in Rio, who’ll be joining us where thousands wouldn’t and hopefully not capturing everything on camera. No one looks their best after living on bananas and tropical rain for a few weeks.’

He paused for laughter, which flittered around the table as he’d known it would.

‘I’d also like to introduce Madeline, here. She’ll be working on some writing and lending a hand wherever possible, so I’d like you all to give her the Medical Extremes welcome we give everyone and make her feel like one of the family.’

He raised his glass higher, but before she or anyone could say another word, a noise from the kitchen made the entire room jump in their chairs.

‘Fogo! Fogo! Fogo!’

The voice was female.

‘Help!’

Ryan just had time to see Evan grab his medical bag before they were both off their chairs in a flash, running for the kitchen. He made it to the back of the restaurant just in time to see the blaze of orange fire running up a woman’s sleeve—just before he plunged her arm into a nearby sink, under a gushing tap. She was sobbing.

‘What happened?’ he asked, and was flooded with a stream of Portuguese. The fire was gone, but a crowd of people in white coats and chef’s hats were all talking at once.

Evan was behind him, pulling out a sterile bandage from his bag as Ryan moved closer to keep the woman’s arm under the water. It was blistered and red, but he could already tell she wasn’t going to need hospital treatment—thank God.

‘I’ll go tell everyone not to panic—you got this?’ Evan said.

‘All good,’ Ryan told him, and watched him shoot back through the door.

‘She was pouring pecans into the chocolate mix when her sleeve caught on fire. That’s why they’re all over the floor.’

Madeline.

Ryan had only just realised she was there, too. She was holding the bandage Evan had given her and translating every word. He took the bandage from her, noticing the pecan nuts under his feet for the first time.

‘She says she’s worried the dessert is ruined. It’s been cooking too long now without being stirred.’

Ryan listened as Madeline spoke in Portuguese to the crowd and someone moved to stir the pot she was pointing at. She reached for a clean dishcloth, soaked it under another tap and handed it to him. On autopilot Ryan placed it over the woman’s arm for a moment, before wrapping the bandage around it and fastening it behind her wrist. Her tears were subsiding already and she really did seem more concerned about her dessert.

‘Can you tell her I’ll give her some ibuprofen, and that she should go home and get some rest?’ he asked Madeline, who promptly did as she was asked.

Back at the table, when the ibuprofen had been dispatched and the drama was all but forgotten, the party resumed its happy chatter while the glorious Rio sunset made way for a sky full of stars.

‘You were pretty impressive in there, Nurse Madeline,’ he whispered, when he couldn’t keep it in any more.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it—the way she’d sprung into action and known what to do, and say. His Portuguese was limited, as was his Spanish. He got by—but mostly on charm and miming, he had to admit.

‘I didn’t do anything,’ she said quickly.

He frowned. ‘Yes, you did. It was instinctive.’

She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with his eyes on her. Her jaw started pulsing and he knew not to say anything else.

He also knew without question that keeping away from Madeline Savoia was going to be impossible. Not only was she impossibly intoxicating—whether she liked it or not—she wasn’t just a writer.

If he had his way she’d be helping him with medical duties so frequently that the details she really needed for the memoir to be a hit would be the last thing on her mind.

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