Her eyes felt wide and dry. She sent a blinking order to her lids and they slid down, but took their time, reluctant to lose sight of him. Just that respite helped her bring a few more brain cells back into play. She had a libido. Later she’d have to figure out if that was good or bad. For now, she flipped open the file with one hand and pretended to study it while she ordered her heart to slow down.
There was no noticeable sign of obedience.
“How are you feeling?” That was kind of a doctor question. She felt almost stupid. It was new, so she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t mind. She liked new experiences.
“I am alive.”
Her mouth curved up in a not-doctor way. “Being dead would bite.”
Okay, that was so not doctor speak. For a minute her mind floundered, looking for something that was doctor-like. She freed her hand from his grasp and it crept up toward her hair, encountered her stethoscope. She grabbed it like the lifeline it was.
“Mind if I take a listen?”
He did this sweeping gesture with his hands, the graceful movement giving her unspoken permission. The discreet flare of heat in his blue eyes didn’t help her sensory overload.
Doc eased back his gown and leaned in to listen. The scent of him filled her nostrils, making her heart go so crazy she couldn’t hear his heartbeat. Or his breathing. Moving the scope didn’t help. Even with bruises and contusions, his chest was impressive. Smooth taut skin, lightly dusted with blond hair, lay over muscles that weren’t just for show. Proximity boosted his personal power factor to the nth degree. She slid the scope to a new location. This forced her hand to trail across hair-roughened skin in a way that sent lovely, hot sparks along her nerve endings. It took all her self-control not to bring her other hand into play. She wanted to explore the planes and angles more than she wanted to breathe. She was used to being at war with herself, but not in this battle.
It helped that she still held his medical file. Surprised her, too. Strength seemed to have faded from all her muscles. She chanted patient about twenty times and managed to put some distance between herself and his chest. Her body protested at the cellular level.
“You aren’t going to do that to my back?”
There was an impish light in his eyes that indicated that he knew she wasn’t indifferent, but then neither was he. Heat lurked behind his humor. To act as a distraction, she flipped open his file and looked down. The words danced and blurred on the page.
“Doc?”
The voice jerked her attention toward the open door. It took Doc a minute to recognize the young corporal who’d held the flashlight while she disarmed the bomb. She wrapped the tattered edges of doctor—and her dignity—around her. With lifted chin, she managed a cool, “Yes?”
He held up a cup of coffee. “The lieutenant asked me to give you this.”
“Thank you, Corporal.”
“She also wanted the card key for your quarters?” His gaze tracked down her body, then hastily returned to her face. “Something about your laundry?”
Doc patted her pockets and produced the card, exchanging it for the cup of coffee.
“Thank you,” she said again, her tone a bit more professional. He left and she had to face him again. And somehow she had to keep her composure. She gave herself a mini-lecture, at the speed of an auctioneer, set the cup on the tray by his bed and turned back to her patient. To her surprise, she didn’t melt on the spot. Maybe she needed repeated exposure to build up immunity. Or maybe her body was taking a time-out to regroup.
He wore a frown, but it didn’t mar his face. Maybe nothing could.
“Why did he call you Doc?” He looked and sounded annoyed.
“I’m a doctor.” Had she ever stated the obvious quite so obviously? “But it’s also because of my initials. Delilah Oliver Clementyne. I’ve been called Doc since I was born.” Since before she was born, in point of fact.
Except for Stan. He’d called her Ollie because he was Stan. It wasn’t that funny, but neither was Stan. Her mum had always planned to call her Doc. Both her parents had held multiple doctorates. It wasn’t unreasonable to expect their daughter to be a doctor of something. Her Mum liked to plan ahead, though nothing had worked out the way she’d expected.
Unbidden, unwanted, came the memory of her brother. He’d sometimes called her Del until he stopped calling her anything. But even he’d called her Doc most of the time. Robert had been “the Professor,” even without initials. Until they took him. Then he became Robert again.
“Your names are very different from ours,” her patient said, breaking into her thoughts.
Doc was happy for the distraction. Thinking about Robert made them close in on her, as if they sensed a sudden vulnerability.
“My mum wanted to name me for both my grandfathers, but Stan insisted on Delilah.” She didn’t know why. No Delilah’s in the family tree. Hard to see him as someone nursing a flame for a long lost love, but he must have been young once. “My mum was kind of anti-gender.”
Her patient’s eyes widened. “How is that possible?”
Doc shrugged, her eyes scanning the file for his name. He probably thought she knew it, which she should, since it was in the file—
Her thoughts fragmented. She took an involuntary step back.
“You’re…the Leader. Of the Gadi.” And the freaking galaxy.
Not to mention very, very married. Certainly the most married man she knew—as if they weren’t a good enough reason to keep her distance and her wits about her. She took another step back, her doctor façade snapping back into place with an audible, embarrassed click.
“You didn’t know.”
It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer him. It was hard enough to marshal her scattered thoughts, not to mention trying to find her dignity—which might be hiding under his bed. Color scorched her face. It had to be a blush. Had she ever blushed before? She couldn’t remember.
“This troubles you.”
“No.” Yes. Now that her libido wasn’t clouding her thinking, she matched his personal power with his role. How had she missed it? She never missed anything. This was a man, not just used to command, but comfortable with it. She’d read the material from first contact, when he’d acted like a shallow goofball. Looking at him now, it was hard to believe he’d gotten away with it. It was a pointed reminder for her not to underestimate him, too. He had also run a ruthless insurgency using a second, secret identity, too much like The Scarlet Pimpernel. If he’d had access to the book, which he hadn’t, she’d have accused him of plagiarism.
“I am just a man, Delilah,” he said, as if he heard the lie in her voice. His chin lifted arrogantly. “You may call me Hel.”
He said it like he was conferring a favor, which maybe he was. She hadn’t been briefed on Gadi protocol. The Ambassador probably thought she already knew because of her diplomatic ID.
“No.” She needed the distance of formality, the reminder. “Sir.”
His brows contracted. “It is what I wish.”
His tone was imperious. Doc found that stiffened her resolve more than his marital status. She knew how to shift his focus off her.
“There are people anxious to speak to you, when you’re up to it.”
“People?”
He said the word lightly, but Doc had a feeling he was homing in on the area of her unease. She didn’t want him to. He might think she was jealous.
“The people you work with, I assume. And the drama queens.” Okay, hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Nor had she meant to sound so caustic.
His brows shot up. “Drama queens?”
“Your…wives.” Doc couldn’t bring herself to use the word “mates” to describe the drama queens. “They seem to think you’ll die without their presence at your side. Only there’s not room for them in here.”
She took the excuse to look away from him, feeling red sting her cheeks again. A pity the room wasn’t big enough to provide long-term distraction. In the end, she had t
o swing her gaze back his way.
He appeared pleased, amused and a tad guilty.
“I suppose that now I must confess I have been guilty of teasing your general.”
Before she realized it, she’d taken one step toward him. “Teasing?”
“The drama queens, as you say, are not my bond mates.”
“But you said…”
“…that I had many mates. But they are not bond mates. A bond mate is closer to your concept of wife. Mates are not.”
So what were mates, she wondered. Concubines? Mistresses? And just how close was a bond mate to a wife? She was glad that this time she didn’t voice the question.
“Your people have offered many criticisms on how we treat our women, their lack of equality,” his voice chilled. “These women, the drama queens, are mated to the position of leader. It allows them to retain their status in our society, even if their mate dies. It protects them from a loss of home and support. My bond mate no longer lives. She died some time ago, not long after the birth of our last child.”
“I’m sorry.” Why didn’t they know this? What was happening in the diplomatic corp that they didn’t know this?
“As am I. She was a good mate, a good mother to our children.” His heavy lids lifted, pinning her with their intensity. “I am not saying that physical bonding is unknown among a leader and the women who chose to be mated to the position, but it is not my way. My people also have a system of political bonding, to cement alliances, but again, physical bonding is optional—and must be mutual. Unlike the Dusan, we don’t force ourselves on women. Ever.”
Though he didn’t quibble at kidnapping, she recalled.
“And you didn’t mention this to General Halliwell because…”
“He did not ask.”
The sternness of his expression reminded her that she stood in the presence of a very powerful man. And then he smiled, bringing back the charm. He was as good at hiding who he was as she was. Was that the source of his attraction for her, that combination of lethal and charming? That he was gorgeous didn’t hurt, she conceded.
“And I will confess to not helping matters.” A flicker of mischief further softened the sternness of his face. “He gets so beautifully angry.”
And the Gadi did like beautiful. Doc found herself smiling back, again without a conscious decision to do so.
“Well, we can be a bit self-righteous.” Her smile widened, even as the last sensible piece of her brain was pointing out that she still needed training wheels in the arena of guys and girls and hearts. For a bright girl, she was being pretty dim.
“May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.” She didn’t have to answer it.
“Your voice is differently inflected than others of your people. I wondered why?”
Not what she’d expected, but a question she could answer. “That’s because my mum was British. I guess I caught a hint of her accent.” It was the only thing British about her, since she’d been raised in the U.S.
He smiled, taking his time. It slid through her like warm honey.
“I like it.” He paused. “I haven’t thanked you for saving my life.”
She blinked. “I didn’t triage you.”
“But you defused the explosive device.”
“Oh.” He shouldn’t have seen her do that. “You’re welcome.”
His smile deepened, bumping up the sexy vibe some more. She should be pondering it, analyzing it, defusing its power, not enjoying it. Her body was mush, while her mind was aware of everything, right down to the microscopic level. It wasn’t that her mind was blank. It was full to the brim with him. She looked at him. He looked at her. And the air around them crackled and popped, like water dancing on a hot plate.
“You are an extraordinary people.”
Doc frowned. “How so?” Hadn’t he just called them narrow-minded and judgmental?
“You have the ability to be a healer, and you defused the explosive device. And you joke while you’re doing it. I assume the reference to the inn was a joke? And when you said you had not defused a bomb before, that was humor, as well, was it not?”
Doc preferred to dodge the questions she couldn’t answer. A pity her lust-fogged brain wasn’t producing an acceptable dodge. Or even a lame dodge. His face was mobile, expressive and yet very controlled, very focused. On her. She opened her mouth, but before words could emerge, there was a welcome interruption.
“Ma’am?”
Lieutenant Simmons stood in the open doorway, her presence spreading a calm balm into the room that soothed Doc’s ruffled senses. Hel’s eyes told her he knew she’d been saved by the nurse, but she’d deal with that later. After she’d had some rest.
“Yes?”
“The general would like to see you.”
Okay, as rescues went, this wasn’t Simmons best.
* * * * *
Doc didn’t expect to enjoy her first meeting with General Halliwell, but she had expected to survive it. Judging by the look on his face when she entered his hospital room, she’d set her expectations too high. Good thing Simmons had found her some scrubs to wear or who knew what the general would have done.
Did he know who she was? The Major wasn’t above sending her places without anyone needing to know. He didn’t even tell her what she needed to know until he had to.
The Doolittle wasn’t as cut off from Earth this deployment. The expedition had positioned a series of relay satellites, with boosted transmit capabilities, along their course to this galaxy. The Major had managed to piggyback a coded, secure packet for her on the last transmission, so she knew more than she’d known five minutes ago, but it still wasn’t much. The packet was sparse on detail, even for the Major. It did hint her objective had something to do with the Kikk Outpost. This wasn’t a total shock. It was the only ground the expedition held in the galaxy. The thought of spending time there made her jaded senses tingle with anticipation—and anxiety. Despite the plethora of weapons, it was still a geek’s playground. While Doc had serious geek credentials, she didn’t play in the traditional geek end of the pool. Actually, she didn’t play period. The Major tended to deploy her in places geeks feared to go and shooting was expected. Neither criterion appeared to apply to the Outpost.
With more questions than answers, now wasn’t the time to think about that. She needed every brain cell she had for this interview. Since she had a lot of them, she should have been good, only she was still off balance from her meeting with Hel and lack of sleep. She assumed a military stance, because she was military, with or without a uniform. She added a touch of humility. It might not help, but it couldn’t hurt.
Or it could. His basilisk stare should have burned her to a black crisp. It seems she’d donned her asbestos drawers this morning.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
She blinked. “That if I didn’t disarm it more people would die?” She kept her tone mild and bumped up the humility factor some more. She liked exercises in futility.
“What are you talking about?”
“The bomb?” What was he talking about?
“Why would I be upset about that?”
Doc could think of several reasons, but if he wasn’t upset about it, why provide more ammo for his outrage?
“Isn’t that what you do?” the general snapped.
He thought she disarmed bombs? He must know some unusual UN doctors. Unless he knew who she was. And even if he did, the answer would still be, no, she didn’t disarm bombs.
The Major, who’d taken her unique skill set and focused it for his use, called her a troubleshooter, because it didn’t limit what he could have her do. None of which gave her a clue about why the general was pissed, no, make that apoplectic. It wouldn’t take that much to bring on a full-fledged heart attack. On the upside, he was in the right place if he had one.
“I’m talking about you and the Gadi Leader.”
Doc blinked again. She flipped through several responses and settle
d on, “He needed a doctor, sir.”
“I’m talking about the reception. You aren’t here to get googly-eyed over a man, particularly that one.”
Color surged into her cheeks, but she managed to keep her mouth shut. Did she want to admit she’d never felt like this? Not bloody likely. And had the tough-minded general just said googly-eyed?
That thought must have hit him at the same time. Color washed into his face, well, more color. The anger hadn’t subsided yet.
And his comments still didn’t answer the basic question of what he knew about her. Was he pissed at her as a member of the expedition or because he knew she was the Chameleon?
“The Leader’s reputation with women is,” he paused, “unfortunate.”
If she were forced to describe the Leader, unfortunate wouldn’t make her list, but she knew better than to tell him that. Her lack of response didn’t help his temper. The dressing down was thorough and unabridged. Doc bore it stoically. It wasn’t the first time someone had ripped her a new one, and it wouldn’t be the last. Though being ripped for getting “googly-eyed” was a first.
When he ran out of words—or steam—she ventured a comment.
“You’re doing well, sir. Your vitals look good.” Her gaze intercepted the heart monitor. “Well, they did.”
His color faded to normal as he stared at her. She almost thought his mouth twitched. She’d heard he had a sense of humor, but there’d been no evidence of it until now. If that was evidence.
He needed to know what had happened after the bomb, but his gaze didn’t invite confidences. She studied him from behind her harmless and misunderstood doctor face while she considered her options. His gaze narrowed. He wasn’t buying it, she realized. That was interesting. On the heels of that came another realization. Whether he knew who she was or not, she needed him to know who she was, if only because she was in another freaking galaxy. What limited support she got from the Major wasn’t available here.
“You have something you want to tell me, Doctor?”
Okay, that was kind of an invitation, though his tone could use some work. Nor did it answer the basic question: did he know the Chameleon was on board his ship? And if he didn’t know, what would he do when he found out?
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