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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.’
