The Doctor's One Night to Remember

She could tell that he was caught between wanting to make another call and not leaving her alone with his crewman. What did it say about her that she got a tiny kick out of unsettling this man, who was clearly acutely accustomed to being the one in control?

‘Not when he’s unconscious and his heartbeat is so erratic. What if he suddenly needs CPR? Also, it’s best to remove glass immediately to reduce the risk of infection, and to prevent any allergic response. I need to remove the foreign body and clean the wound.’

‘Not just a patient. My crewman. You will wait.’

‘I’m afraid not. You might be second in command on that floating city out at sea, but right here, right now, this is a medical emergency and I’m the only doctor on scene. So you need to wind your neck in; we’re doing it my way.’

Had she really just told a man who was senior enough to be her boss to wind his neck in?

When was the last time anyone had got under her skin the way that he seemed to have done?

She could practically feel the castigation in his glower; it zinged through her.

‘You misunderstand...’ he growled, and a lesser woman might have quaked at the warning tone in his voice.

After Bradley, Isla had certainly had enough of being the lesser woman.

‘There,’ she cut in, holding aloft the long shard and smiling sweetly. ‘All out.’

The giant of a man glanced down, and she could swear, just for a fraction of a moment, that he blanched. So fleeting that she thought she might have imagined it.

‘He’s still bleeding,’ McHotty rasped. ‘How are you going to stop that now?’

‘Like this,’ she said grimly, quickly cleaning up the wound and plugging it with her finger.

As though it was every day that she stared at the hottest man she’d ever seen in her life whilst her finger was plugging some other guy’s arse cheek. Worse, she was almost sure she saw amusement flicker over his impossibly arresting features.

‘See?’ She glowered. ‘Now where’s that damned ambulance?’

* * *

Nikhil Dara listened as the doctor—Isla, she’d said her name was—wound up her handover to the emergency services, and instructed himself to concentrate on how efficiently she performed her job, rather than how particularly ravishing she was. It was surprisingly difficult—certainly for him.

He knew his reputation for being single-minded, and exacting—as well as several less polite terms his crew used, particularly when they were exhausted and he was making them run a scenario one more time to ensure that it was right. Rather than balk at such nicknames, however, he had always prided himself on them. Yet now, for the first time in memory, he found himself struggling to focus purely on the task in hand without letting his gaze slide to the arresting doctor.

As if being at sea meant he’d somehow been deprived of female company when the truth was that his life as First Officer on a cruise liner often entailed women—crew and passengers—offering themselves up to him daily on a silver platter. On one occasion, quite literally.

He never bit.

Certainly never on board and, if on shore, then never with anyone he would see again. It was a measure of control on which he prided himself. Which made it all the more aggravating that he seemed to have to fight his own body to keep his distance from the young doctor, as he concentrated on instructing his recently arrived junior officer to accompany Philippe in the ambulance and then for said officer to keep him informed of the hospital’s progress.

Helping the crew to close the doors, he watched the vehicle speed off and finally turned to the doctor and bobbed his head in acknowledgement.

‘Thank you for your help. Philippe is fortunate that you were there.’

‘No problem.’ She shrugged, hauling out her phone for a moment and frowning as she read some message.

There was no reason on earth for him to wonder what it was that had irritated her. Or why he should notice quite how her blue eyes looked almost silvery-grey when she nodded back and swung away from him. Or how her golden-brown hair skimmed her shoulders from the ponytail high on the back of her head.

Ridiculously fanciful, he berated himself, with a rough shake of his head. As if he could dislodge the ball of pressure that had been squatting on his brain for days, pressing up against his skull, creating a dull throb. One that no amount of headache medication could hope to touch.

He wasn’t himself.

He hadn’t been since he’d received the birthday card from Daksh yesterday.

Daksh. The brother he hadn’t heard from in over two decades but who now, out of the blue, apparently wanted to meet. Right here, in Chile.

How the hell Daksh had even tracked him down was beyond him. But, worse than that, the man who was his brother in nothing but name was stirring up old ghosts that should be left buried. Preferably as deep as possible.