Greek Doctor, Cinderella Bride

by Amy Andrews

  She had to say something. This silence while their bodies swayed inappropriately, just shy of touching, was crazy. ‘So who’s Sonya?’

  Alex’s hand tightened on her hip. ‘My ex.’

  Isobella looked up at him, shocked by the admission and the bitterness in his gravelled tone. His brow had furrowed, his smile had become taut, his sexy dimples were flattened into solemn lines. Yep—just the cold bucket of water she needed. ‘You were married?’ she squeaked. No wonder they’d looked so good together.

  He looked down into her unadorned face through the awful owlish glasses and thought how much he preferred Isobella’s classic understated beauty to Sonya’s high-maintenance glamour. ‘Ex-fiancée,’ he corrected grimly.

  His top lip furled. It hardened his features, and she got a glimpse at the arrogant surgeon he’d probably been back in his heyday. She dragged her gaze from his, focusing on his shoulder again. So Sonya and Alex had been engaged.

  ‘What happened?’

  He didn’t look at her. His grip on her hip had started to bite, and the rigidity of his frame now matched hers. His face was shuttered and the silence stretched between them.

  ‘Alex?’ Why she felt compelled to push, she wasn’t sure.

  ‘Let’s just say she preferred me when I was a surgeon.’ Not so much when I was undergoing radium, throwing up, losing my hair and being generally angry at the world.

  He still hadn’t looked at her, but he radiated hostility, the huskiness of his voice adding an extra degree of indignation. Isobella started to get the feeling that Sonya had deserted him when he’d most needed her. She thought about Paolo’s desertion, and how much it had torn at her heart, at the fabric of her life and all she’d thought she’d known about herself and their love.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  The emotion in her whisper was compelling, and he glanced at her sharply. She had that soft empathy in her gaze again, that molasses quality. Eyes a man could drown in. For a moment he felt enveloped by her compassion.

  He shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. Her empathy was seductive. ‘It was a valuable lesson.’

  It sounded so hard, the words delivered with a gravelly bleakness she couldn’t help but shiver. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea?’ she said, injecting a lightness into her tone. This was too deep, too personal, for both of them.

  ‘Oh, no. I may be Greek, but I’m not worth a damn as a fisherman. These days all I do is catch, kiss and throw back.’

  Her efforts at lightening the mood had failed. If anything his mood had become darker, the timbre of his voice dropping to an almost sinister whisper. She could see his jaw clench and unclench in her peripheral vision, and shivered at the sudden sapphire chill of his eyes.

  She forced a smile to her lips, feeling strangely claustrophobic in the airy room, so close to his grim countenance. She was desperate to lighten the situation. Her body had relaxed and she deliberately straightened, pulling away from the mesmerising magnetism of his presence.

  ‘I thought all good Greek boys wanted to settle down and have lots of little Greek babies? Little boys to carry on the family name?’

  Alex had seen the wariness creep into her gaze, and gave a sudden laugh to ease the tension. Isobella was right. His mother nagged him constantly about him being the only chance to carry on the Zaphirides name. How ecstatic she’d been all those years ago, when Sonya had been on the scene. Her firstborn son settling down with a nice Greek girl.

  He dipped Isobella quickly, and smiled down into her startled face as she clutched at his shoulders. ‘What makes you think I’m a good Greek boy?’ He pulled her up again just as quickly, and smiled at the sudden rag-doll feel to her frame, taking full advantage to pull her closer.

  Isobella’s head spun. His husky question had caused a wild leap in her pulse. His cerulean gaze was full of daring. His body was pressed into hers, and suddenly she was thinking of things—bad things—that bad boys did. She had to get this back on track.

  She laughed to cover the nervous gallop of her heart. ‘I’m sure even bad Greek boys want the same thing.’

  Alex pondered it for a moment and then grinned at her. ‘No. But I bet their mothers do.’

  She laughed genuinely this time. His humour was just the antidote to the spiralling sexual attraction. He joined her, and his wicked dimples tightened her pelvic floor muscles as if he’d stroked her belly.

  The music ended and she was grateful, stepping out of his arms and heading off the floor before she was tempted to stay for another. One dance with catch-kiss-and-throw-back Alex was more than enough for her sanity. Dancing in his arms had made her want things, inappropriate things, and she had absolutely no intention of ever becoming hooked on Alexander Zaphirides’ line.

  Saturday and Sunday flew by for Isobella. There were several panels and workshops that she found very useful, and they had the added advantage of allowing her to hide from Alex. Not that he seemed interested in keeping an eye on her. She’d seen him on more than one occasion with Sonya following closely behind, and she knew that they’d met for drinks in the bar on Saturday night.

  Maybe running into each other again had rekindled old memories for Alex? Good ones as well. Maybe time had given him the distance he needed to be objective? Buffered the anger she had sensed in him while they had danced. Maybe he’d never really got over her? Whatever. He was a grown man and his personal life was none of her business.

  She had sat in the audience and listened with rapt attention to his paper on Saturday—along with about every other woman in the room. His delivery had made somewhat hard statistical data eminently enticing, and she’d almost heard a collective whimper when he had finally finished.

  His talk had been made all the more fascinating by the fact that for the first time since she’d met him he’d worn a tie. She’d got used to his open-necked style, and wouldn’t have thought a tie could have improved on his potent sexuality. But she’d been wrong. He’d looked utterly professional—like the successful doctor-cum-businessman he was. He’d exuded all his usual confidence bordering on arrogance, but the tie had lent him an edge of power.

  Sonya had certainly noticed it. Isobella had spotted her sitting cross-legged in a tight short skirt in the front row, circling her ankle lazily, flirting outrageously. She’d beamed up at the stage as if she owned him, and when everyone had clapped at the end she’d looked around, nodding at people as if she’d written the damn paper herself.

  Isobella’s paper had been well received, and she’d taken a full thirty minutes of questions, but she’d been disappointed that Alex hadn’t made it. Her gaze had scanned the lecture theatre repeatedly, hoping to locate him. But the lights had been too bright in her eyes and she’d eventually given up and concentrated on her presentation.

  So it had been a full two days, and as Isobella climbed out of the shower on Sunday night, enveloping herself in the luxury of the fluffy white gown, she was pleased they were over. There was a knock on the door, and her stomach growled in acknowledgement that her room service meal had arrived.

  She tightened the belt around her waist, pulled the lapels together and bunched the gown around her throat, holding it in place as she opened the door. She’d treated herself to her favourite things from the menu, and her mouth was salivating in anticipation.

  ‘Oh.’ Isobella clutched the robe closer to her neck. Alex stood at her door. Even in her blurry without-glasses world she could make out that he was still wearing his black trousers and turquoise shirt from earlier that day, minus the jacket.

  He gave her a look of enquiry. ‘I’ve come at a bad time?’

  Or a good one, as the case might be. He’d never seen her look so unclothed, even encased in towelling from neck to knee. The material was drawn tight around her body, showing off her slender build. Her hair was damp and her glasses were blissfully missing. She looked fresh-faced and rosy-cheeked. She looked very, very kissable.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was expecting someone else,’ she said, absentl
y trying to calm the thrill of her pulse.

  Alex bristled. She was opening the door dressed like this to someone else? ‘Really?’

  It was low and husky, but nothing disguised the note of displeasure in his voice. ‘Room Service,’ she said hastily, although quite why she felt the need to set the record straight she wasn’t sure. If he could run around with his ex all weekend, who was he to say what she could do in the privacy of her hotel room? Bloody arrogant man.

  Alex relaxed. The thought of her entertaining a man was disturbing, and he really didn’t want to explore why. ‘May I join you?’

  Isobella gripped the door handle. ‘No.’

  Alex chuckled at her unflinching rejection. ‘I hope you’re having the prawns. They’re divine.’

  She nodded. ‘And the beer-battered chips. And the sticky date pudding.’

  Alex chuckled again. How did she manage to stay so slender? Every time he’d seen her this weekend she’d been stuffing her face with some calorie-laden morsel.

  Isobella gripped the neckline of the gown harder. His laugh was sexy as hell. ‘Is there something you want?’ she asked. It came out a little harshly, but she was acutely aware that she was very undressed beneath her gown.

  As she stood before him, showing off all her desirable womanly features for once, Alex could think of several things he wanted—very badly—but she was obviously annoyed at his intrusion. And he knew enough about her to know she just wasn’t the catch-kiss-and-throw-back type.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Couple of things, actually. I thought I’d pop in and let you know your presentation was fantastic. You did a great job. Everyone’s talking about it.’

  Isobella frowned, finding the knowledge that he had been there after all disturbing. ‘Thank you. I didn’t know you’d caught it.’

  He nodded. ‘I was at the back.’

  So he had been there, watching her in the darkened room. Her abdominal muscles clenched. She blinked to clear the sudden buzz in her head. ‘There was something else?’

  Alex nodded. ‘I’ve just had a call from Cairns General hospital. A box jellyfish patient was admitted to their Intensive Care Unit a couple of hours ago. An eighteen-year-old female, an English tourist here on holiday.’

  Isobella had no control over the gasp that escaped her lips, and was grateful that the door handle gave her something to hold on to. The pain that had scorched her body sixteen years ago haunted her in a blinding flash, stealing her breath. ‘Is she okay?’

  Alex heard the anguish in Isobella’s voice and noticed the pinkness leech from her cheeks. He took a step towards her, concerned at her unexpected reaction. ‘She’s stable. She didn’t have too much tentacular exposure. It wrapped itself around her thigh. She’s having the antivenin and will go to the ward tomorrow, all going well.’

  Isobella felt relief sweep her body at the good news. Still, she was rattled by the rekindled memories. ‘Good,’ she said weakly. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘I told the consultant we’d call by in the morning and see her, before she’s moved.’

  Isobella’s heart banged against her ribs in slow, explosive thuds. ‘In Intensive Care?’

  Alex frowned, bothered by the hint of reluctance he heard in her tone. ‘That’s okay, isn’t it? We’re going to be there anyway for the clinic. We can get a case history and take some photos.’

  The thought of talking with a young woman who had been through what she’d been through was unsettling. In fact she wasn’t looking forward to the clinic tomorrow at all. Even sixteen years later she wasn’t sure she was ready to face other people’s demons. She’d spent all this time hiding her scars from the world—how did these people voluntarily agree to expose themselves? She felt like a hypocrite. But, frankly, the thought of venturing into Intensive Care again was utterly terrifying.

  ‘Isobella?’

  She shut her eyes as the gravelly timbre of his voice hardened her nipples, causing them to rub erotically against the fabric of her gown. Damn Alexander Zaphirides! Why hadn’t he just left her in the lab? She tightened her grip on the door handle. ‘Sure. No problem.’

  ‘Pardon me, sir?’

  Alex turned to find an impeccably dressed waiter standing behind him, a room service cart complete with starched linen at his side. ‘Your feast.’ He gestured to her as he stood aside to let the waiter pass.

  Isobella’s gaze followed the path of the trolley, laden with sophisticated silver domed plates, delicious smells wafting in its wake. She glanced back at Alex, the bearer of bad news.

  Suddenly her appetite had completely deserted her.

  Great! She was going to starve to death around this man.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ALEX and Isobella waited outside the closed swing doors the next morning. She darted a nervous glance towards him and adjusted her glasses. He seemed so calm. Her heart was belting along in her chest like a runaway train, but he looked as poised as ever.

  ‘Doesn’t this bother you?’ Nausea was roiling through her gut, and she needed to distract herself from it’s vice-like grip.

  Alex frowned. Isobella looked as pale this morning as she had last night. ‘What?’

  Isobella made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. The man had a trachey scar; he had to have spent some time in an ICU. ‘Being back in Intensive Care. Won’t it bring back some unpleasant memories for you?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t really remember anything of the time I spent in Intensive Care. I was only in it for a few days, and the drugs pretty much made the whole time there a bit of a blur.’

  Yes. Her memory was hazy too. But a mish-mash of distorted soundbites and snippets of fog-enshrouded images still occasionally woke her from her sleep at night. ‘Probably just as well,’ she said. ‘Intensive Care’s no Club Med.’

  Alex raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’ There was a vehemence in her voice that sounded as if it came from personal experience.

  Isobella tensed. ‘I did a rotation there in my grad year,’ she lied, amazed at how easily it slipped off her tongue. But she shouldn’t be. Hadn’t she been lying by omission to everyone for years, hiding from her past?

  ‘Trust me, being in hospital at all is no Club Med.’

  Isobella glanced up as the bleak truth in his gravelled tone swept to her very core. Ain’t that the truth?

  Then the doors opened and they were ushered inside, and Isobella’s heartbeat picked up to a crazy canter.

  The first thing that registered was the smell. It was that hospital smell. The same smell they all had, no matter where you were in the world. Disinfectant and industrial-strength soap, mingling with floor wax and air deodorisers. Her nose wrinkled, and she realized it was one of the things she didn’t miss about being a nurse.

  And then the noises took over. Mechanical clatters. Monitor alarms trilling. Suction units slurping. A range of machines and pumps all blaring, attracting attention. A special ventilator called an oscillator, its membrane thumping at three hundred a minute, sounded like a pimped up car vibrating with too much bass. At one bed a woman was sobbing, at another a nurse was talking loudly to her patient while she restrained his flailing arms and called for assistance.

  Isobella’s eyes darted from bed to bed. The noises reverberated around the walls and ricocheted across her nerves. She felt like a cat on a hot tin roof. Somewhere the peal of a bedside buzzer splintered her tenuous hold on normality, and she lurched into Alex, clutching his arm.

  Alex looked down at her, one dark brow winged in enquiry. ‘You okay?’

  She nodded, taking a few calming breaths as the spike in her pulse settled. ‘Noisy places,’ she murmured.

  They spoke briefly with the consultant, who confirmed that a skin scraping had been taken and sent to the Zaphirides lab in Brisbane. Isobella wished she was there, peering at it through her microscope, instead of here about to witness the damage it had wreaked.

  They read through the chart, paying particular attention to the ambulance transport sheet at the
front of the notes. Or at least Alex did. Isobella didn’t read that the patient had been given an intramuscular injection of antivenin, or that she’d had just under a metre tentacle contact length. She was trying to find some Zen amidst her freaked-out state. Trying to tune out the noises and the smells and the memories to concentrate on the project.

  The consultant personally directed them to the bed, introduced Danielle Cartwright and left them to it. The patient was wired up to a monitor, an oximeter peg attached to her finger. Even twelve hours post envenomation the English girl looked scared witless.

  ‘I was wondering if we could ask you some questions, Danielle?’ Alex asked, pulling up a chair beside the bed. Isobella stood on the opposite side.

  The patient looked from one to the other and nodded. ‘It was so stupid. They told us when we first arrived at the hotel it was stinger season, but the water looked so inviting. I was just going in for a dip. To cool off. I mean…how unlucky can you be? I can’t believe it. I still can’t believe it.’

  Isobella nodded, understanding the girl’s dazed demeanour—box jellyfish stings were rare. It hadn’t even crossed her own mind, wading into the water off Cardwell for the shoot that day, that she’d be a Fleckeri statistic.

  ‘Can you tell us all you can remember from yesterday?’

  ‘Like what?’

  Alex smiled at her. ‘Everything—from just before you went into the water until you got stung and what happened after.’

  Isobella watched as Danielle responded to the calm tones of Alex’s gentle enquiry. He was sitting forward in his chair, his elbows propped against his knees, his attention completely focused on his patient. As if Danielle Cartwright and her story were the most important things in his life.

  Danielle responded beautifully, hesitantly at first, and then more surely as Alex’s intense nods and murmurs and succinct questions garnered the information they needed. Isobella wondered, as she jotted down notes for when she was cataloguing the specimen on her return, if this was Alexander Zaphirides the surgeon she was seeing.