The Prince Who Charmed Her. Fiona McArthur
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She’d tossed the usual personal protection gloves out from the emergency pack and donned latex-free ones, reminding herself they should use them in the whole medical centre in this current climate of escalating allergies, and had packed extra adrenalin ampoules. She carried in her hand the Epi-pen which made administration much quicker in such emergencies.
She prayed the patient’s airways wouldn’t have closed completely by the time her boss arrived with the rest of the equipment.
When the door opened she barely glanced at the distressed man in black shiny underwear and glanced ahead to the woman on the floor. Another man was bent over her as he struggled to extricate her legs from skintight latex leggings.
There was something oddly familiar about the shape of his head, but the woman was already unconscious and her skin was blotched with a paling red rash.
Kiki spoke to the dark hair of the man kneeling on the carpet as she bent down beside him. ‘Is she breathing?’
‘Just.’
Kiki glanced at the man’s face and recognition slapped into her like one of the ocean white caps outside the window.
What the hell was Stefano Mykonides doing on her ship? Lock that away, quick-smart, she chastised herself, and quickly pinched the woman’s leg to inject the adrenalin. Her eyes skimmed the almost naked woman for tiny rapid rises of her chest, aware that the movements would tell if the medication was helping. Most times with this type of shock recovery was dramatic, because the drug turned off the body’s flooding allergic response like a tap.
But a tiny section of her brain was still suggesting that the Stefano she’d known was the last person who needed a threesome with a dolly bird in latex to fill his day.
She heard her boss and the nurse arrive with the emergency stretcher as Stefano leaned towards her.
‘Of course I expect you to remain discreet about this event.’
She could see the pulse beating in his strong neck and a part of her responded involuntarily—and that increased her dislike. She met his eyes and tried with only some success to keep the contempt from her face. So typical. The woman was fighting for her life but it was all about how important the good name of the Mykonides family was.
She could say a few things about his good name. Instead she nodded at her patient. ‘Of course, Your Highness.’
Stefano turned back to extricating Marla’s foot. He was in shock—much like poor Marla without the benefit of the drug’s reversal. Kiki Fender was here and to see her like this … As a saviour to his family, dynamic, confident of her skills as he’d known she would be. But it was not these things he remembered the most. Nor the woman who looked at him with distaste and called him Your Highness.
Before he could think what to say Marla groaned and stirred, and his sigh of relief escaped silently as Kiki leant over and spoke near her ear.
‘You’re okay. Take it easy.’ She looked at him and silently mouthed, name?
‘Marla,’ he said quietly, just as thankfully the last of the trouser leg came free over her foot with an elastic snapping noise. He slid the rubber suit under the seat of the lounge chair out of sight as more medical staff approached.
Kiki saw him do it and rolled her eyes at his priorities as she turned back to her patient. ‘I’m going to put another needle—a cannula —in your arm and tape it there, Marla, as a precaution, but I think you’re improving every second.’
The cannula slid in easily. Always a relief.
‘Like I said, this is only a precaution,’ she said to the dazed woman, ‘in case you need further medication or intravenous fluids.’ But within herself, Kiki thought the response appeared adequate from the initial dose—often the way—and it seemed the crisis was over.
She felt the trolley being manoeuvred in beside her and Stefano stood up.
He said, ‘Please take my towelling robe,’ and handed it to Kiki to cover the patient with.
Her nod of appreciation wasn’t only for the gown for Marla, but because with him gone there seemed so much more air around the patient—and herself—more distance. Funny, that, and funny that she wasn’t in the mood for laughing.
She had always had a respiratory awareness of him—like her own damned anaphylaxis—but she’d thought herself desensitised against that response after what she’d been through. Later, on her own, she would worry about that.
‘Hi, Will.’ Kiki glanced at the senior ship’s doctor as he knelt down beside her. ‘This is Marla. Severe reaction to latex. We’ve removed the causative agent.’ She flicked an ironic glance at Stefano before she turned back to her boss.
Dr Wilhelm Hobson leaned over and took the woman’s wrist to feel her pulse. ‘You’ve given adrenalin?’
‘Two minutes ago.’ Kiki finished taping the intravenous cannula in place.
Marla groaned and opened her eyes more positively. ‘Where am I?’
‘It’s okay, Marla. You’re in your cabin. Just close your eyes and rest. You’ll feel better soon.’ She rested her hand over Marla’s in sympathy. She and Wilhelm looked at the welts on her arms that seemed to be fading before their eyes. ‘Good response, as you see.’
Will nodded, then wrote the pulse-rate, dose and time down on his scribe sheet while Kiki took the blood pressure cuff from the nurse and wrapped it around Marla’s arm. As expected, the pressure was very low.
‘In shock.’ The nurse nodded as she adhered cardiac dots to the patient’s skin and the sound of a racing heartbeat permeated the room. They began to assemble an intravenous line to increase the pressure in Marla’s blood vessels with an extra fluid bolus.
Confident now that their patient was stable, Will stood up and faced the two men in the room. This’ll be good, Kiki thought, and though she didn’t look away from her patient her ears were tuned for their explanation.
‘And who is responsible for this woman?’ Wilhelm’s tone was deadly serious. But then he was serious most of the time.
Stefano had watched Marla wake up with relief and now he refocused on the room. Kiki, down on the floor with Marla, ignored him—as she should. He glanced at the man in charge—a stocky blond-headed man with a South African accent and air of command. A ship this size would need a competent senior. One who knew how to be discreet.
Then he looked to Theros. His brother stood, twisting his hands across his body, suddenly aware that he looked strange in those ridiculous shorts. His mouth worked but, as usual in times of stress, nothing came out.
Stefano sighed and stepped forward. Of course he was responsible. He had been since the moment of Theros’s accident all those years ago. It did not occur to him to feel vulnerable, dressed only in swim-trunks, and he glanced coolly at the medic. ‘I am.’
Kiki flinched when she heard Stefano’s voice and realised she’d hoped otherwise. It shouldn’t have mattered. Didn’t matter. She’d always expected him to be more than he really was. A prince who lied and made promises he didn’t keep.
She didn’t wait to hear the rest. ‘Okay, Ginger,’ she said to the nurse. ‘Let’s help Marla up onto the trolley and we’ll take her down to the hospital for observation.’
Fifteen minutes later Stefano paced in front of the window in his brother’s suite. ‘Please get rid of those ridiculous shorts,’ he said. Stefano moved very slowly, with rigid control, frustrated at his brother’s propensity for disaster and his own for not preventing it—and at the fruitless urge to ask why he had to deal with this. He knew why.
At seven Stefano had pulled Theros from a deep ocean pool on their island and saved his life with a boy’s rough and ready resuscitation. Unfortunately Theros had been left with an injury to part of his brain from its time without oxygen. After