‘But you can call me Jake,’ he interrupted, and this time she knew she didn’t mistake the amused rumble in his tone. ‘And for the record, you really shouldn’t let oafs like Delgado get to you.’
‘I don’t,’ she denied hotly, then cursed herself for sounding so defensive.
‘I beg to differ. It was clear from the way you reacted that he had rattled you. And you have to know that’s only going to encourage him all the more. Bullies like him thrive off making others feel small.’
‘I’m well aware of that.’ She bristled, despite her attempts not to. ‘But it was the doctor he called a frump who I was most concerned about.’
‘Who? Krysta
Simpson? I’m running a case with her at the moment... Actually, it would interest you—the patient has oral cancer and I’ll be using the scorpion-venom-based fluorescent contrast agent when I remove the tumour in their jaw. But the point is, there’s no need for you to worry about Krysta. She’s more than secure enough in herself not to let such a comment get to her.’
Yes, that much was clear. Flávia couldn’t help thinking that if she had a fraction of Krysta’s confidence then she, too, could be wearing a dress which—if she had to be entirely honest—might not be the most flattering, but in which Krysta looked entirely comfortable.
What must it be like to be so cool and self-assured when chatting with these people?
Instead here she was, feeling utterly self-conscious in a figure-hugging dress and statement shoes, both of which her far more fashion-forward sister had insisted on foisting on her for tonight’s event. Yet all Flávia could think was that one couldn’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear—and she most definitely felt like a sow’s ear. And no matter the shocked compliments she’d been receiving all night.
Hastily, she told herself that she felt nothing at Jacob’s... Jake’s...apparent appreciation. Assuming that was what this was, of course. And if he did appreciate her, then it was the dress he admired—her sister’s dress—not her, per se.
Only, she wasn’t sure she believed that. Or, more pertinently, wanted to believe it.
Admittedly, she adored the colour—a forest green which shimmered to inky black as she moved, the stunning colour so like another of her beloved snakes—but other than that, she was too plagued with self-doubt to relax. Was the neckline too low? The slit in the skirt too high? Did it cling to her a little too much when she moved?
Her only consolation was that if she had looked as on display as she’d feared, then Silvio Delgado would surely have taken great delight in mocking her clothes, as well as her choice of career.
So maybe it was more that the clothes mirrored her environment and how she felt about her state of mind? Out in the forest, in her bush gear, she felt strong, powerful, in control. She spent practically twenty-three hours out of twenty-four in blissful solitude, with the glorious orchestra of the rainforest pleasing her senses. Here in this ballroom, in this city, harsh sounds assailed her from every side.
Some people loved the city with its shimmering lights, vibrant sounds and bustling life—her sister and brother-in-law being prime examples—but Flávia had never been able to understand its allure. Whether it was the light pollution, the noise pollution, the air pollution, Flávia couldn’t be sure.
She felt out of her depth, like she was suffocating.
At least, she had felt that way, right up until a few minutes ago—ever since Jacob Cooper. Now, the butterflies were still there, but instead of flutterings of fear and discomfort, she could swear they were flutterings of...awareness? Anticipation? Not least because he was looking at her as though he thought she was the only woman in the room.
And then she hated herself, because her goose-bumping body seemed to find that rather too thrilling.
‘Did you want to speak to me about anything in particular?’ The question came out sharper than she’d intended.
‘Frankly, Flávia Maura, I find myself curious about many things right now,’ he answered, and she couldn’t have said why but she wasn’t sure he’d intended it to have quite the huskiness that it did. ‘But how about we start with your antivenom therapy, and how you think your snakes can change the face of cancer treatment today?’
She could see the inherent danger in responding to Jake’s question—the effect he was having on her just from a few minutes in his company. Yet, like a frog attracted to the sweet-scented nectar in a tropical pitcher plant, Flávia couldn’t resist the open invitation to talk about her work—her true passion.
Even as she knew that, like the pitcher plant, a man like Jake would eat her up in a heartbeat.
Worse, the naughtiness of such an idea was almost deliciously thrilling.
She shook her head. It didn’t completely rid her head of the uninvited images, and that made her feel more combative than she knew she should.
‘You say it as though I’m suggesting the awful hoax remedies they call “snake oil.”’
‘On the contrary,’ Jake answered easily. ‘I’m well aware of the difference between “snake oil” and very real medicine. A recent study listed six groups of venom-based drugs which have gained FDA approval in the last thirty-five to forty years.’
Flávia didn’t know whether to be impressed by his knowledge or irritated that it wasn’t helping her to be any less attracted to him. She gritted her teeth.
‘I’m guessing that you also know that captopril, an ACE inhibitor used to treat high blood pressure, some types of congestive heart failure and kidney problems caused by diabetes, is derived from snake venom?’
‘I do know that, given that it’s used by around forty million people worldwide.’ Jake nodded.
‘Well, did you know that it comes from bothrops jararaca, which is another of the Brazilian pit vipers I deal with?’