Greek Doctor, Cinderella Bride. Amy Andrews
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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