The Doctor And The Princess. Scarlet Wilson
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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