The Doctor's One Night to Remember

by Charlotte Hawkes

  ‘What language, please?’ she repeated, as firmly as she could.

  ‘His name is Philippe. He can speak English.’

  ‘Okay, Philippe, I’m Isla, I’m a doctor, I’m here to help you. We’re going to roll you onto your stomach, okay?’ she warned, as McHotty crouched down beside her—so close that it made her feel altogether too many sensations in too many places, the heat seeping from his body into hers playing havoc with her insides.

  Then he took the patient, rolling the muscle-bound hulk as if he weighed nothing.

  The crowd collectively sucked in a breath.

  A long, sharp shard of glass was protruding from the man’s left buttock, blood surrounding the area. There was no doubt that it had severed his superior gluteal artery.

  As her new, unwelcome companion grabbed his walkie and issued another irate command for the ship’s doctor, Isla looked around for some material, eventually settling on her own chiffony scarf. Wrapping it around her hand, she prepared to grab the shard.

  ‘What are you doing now?’ McHotty demanded abruptly, dropping back next to her.

  ‘I need to remove the glass.’

  ‘If you remove it, won’t he just bleed all the more? Or can you tourniquet it?’

  ‘I can’t tourniquet his backside.’ She shook her head, drawing the shard out carefully. ‘And yes, the artery will need occluding.’

  ‘I suggest you would do better to leave it in place,’ he continued in a voice which bore little resemblance to a suggestion and entirely too much like a command. ‘Certainly until my ship’s doctor arrives.’

  This last comment was clearly a slight. She’d heard them before; there was no reason this should rankle more just because it was coming from this stranger.

  She forced herself to keep her tone even. ‘Your ship’s doctor is taking their time. Time this patient may not have.’

  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.

  Better yet, left to burn in some hell at the centre of the earth.

  Nikhil cursed silently. No wonder his head was all over the place. No wonder he was letting the attraction for this woman, this stranger, get under his skin. If he’d been himself, he would have dismissed it as simple physical attraction—pleasant enough but best left unexplored in the middle of a cruise.

  He tried to clear his head.

  ‘Okay,’ offered the young doctor when the silence stretched out an uncomfortable touch too long. ‘Well, I guess I should be going.’

  Without warning, something twisted and darted within Nikhil’s veins. The sudden realisation that a few more steps and she would be gone. Inexplicably, he found that he didn’t want her to leave.

  ‘Wait.’ The command was out before he even realised he was going to issue it.

  She stopped, then turned back slowly. As if she didn’t really want to, but felt compelled.

  As compelled as he did? The notion was fascinating.

  ‘Let me buy you a drink.’

  She stared at him, not blinking.

  ‘No,’ sh
e managed at last, and he had the oddest notion that it was harder for her than she thought it should have been.

  ‘Why not?’ He grinned, liking the way her eyes darted to his mouth, and then she flushed.

  As if her thoughts weren’t entirely proper.

  ‘Because I don’t even know your name,’ she blurted out, and then squeezed her eyes shut, suggesting that she hadn’t intended to say that.

  ‘Nikhil.’ He inclined his head. ‘And you’re Isla.’

  She looked surprised, and Nikhil shrugged. ‘You told Philippe your name, even though he was unconscious.’

  ‘Right.’ She bobbed her head. ‘Well, you can never be sure how much a person can hear, even then.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ he acknowledged.

  It was a topic that had long interested him, yet right now he couldn’t think of anything less fascinating.

  ‘Now introductions have been made, how about that drink?’

  ‘I...’ She pulled a rueful face, tailing off into a telling silence.

  ‘As a thank you.’

  Why was he pushing this? He should just return to the ship, finish up his shift and get ready for his rare evening onshore. Alone. Instead, he heard himself speaking again.

  ‘The company will want to take your details—for their report. I can guide you through filling it out.’

  It was true, but it hadn’t been the thought at the forefront of his mind. Odd, since it ought to have been.

  ‘It’s okay. I can provide a report of my own if necessary.’

  There was something in his tone that he couldn’t quite place. He found that he didn’t care for the way it unbalanced him. He’d spent years ensuring nothing, and no one, ever rattled him. Yet this woman affected him like no one else ever had.

  It had to be that damned birthday card he’d received yesterday from his brother. If ‘brother’ was what you could call the stranger Nikhil hadn’t heard anything from in practically two decades.

  ‘The forms are unnecessarily convoluted,’ he warned, shutting down the other, errant thought.

  ‘I just had my finger in your crewman’s arse cheek. A ship’s form doesn’t faze me.’

  A ghost of a smile played at her mouth, and it seemed to jolt through his entire body. Somehow, it was more than just attraction. He was well-versed in sexual chemistry, and equally skilled at controlling it, not giving in to it. But this was...different. She—Isla—got to him. And he didn’t care for such a realisation.

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘It is.’ She bobbed her head. ‘I may not be one of the doctors on your ship, but I am actually Port-Star Cruise’s newest doctor.’

  ‘Say again?’

  She laughed unexpectedly and her face lit up so stunningly, so vibrantly, that for a moment he was sure she’d eclipsed the hot Chilean sun.

  Suddenly he realised he wanted more of that smile. More of that joy. As if he’d taken a shot of something earth-shaking. And now he needed more.

  ‘You work for Port-Star?’

  ‘I do. The Jewel of Hestia will come into this port in two days’ time, and it will be my first assignment.’

  ‘A new career move then?’ he mused. ‘All the more reason to celebrate, surely.’

  And although it should have been a question, Nikhil realised that it hadn’t been.

  ‘Dinner, I think. I’ll collect you around seven-thirty. Where are you staying?’

  ‘What if I have a boyfriend?’ she asked, but he could tell it was more curiosity than refusal.

  ‘You don’t,’ he answered simply. ‘You have a line where you have recently removed a ring. Judging by the width of it, I’d say an engagement ring, not a wedding ring. And, as you just said, your assignment on the Hestia will be your first. So, a fresh start.’

  And if the fact that he’d noticed so much about her in so short a time worried him, he was determined to ignore it.

  She stared at him for a long moment, those expressive eyes of hers threatening to draw him in with every sweep of her gaze.

  What the hell was he doing?

  ‘Fine,’ she answered after what seemed like for ever. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend, but I have...friends here, with me. I can’t just ditch them.’

  ‘You’ve ditched them now,’ he pointed out. ‘Or they’ve ditched you. Either way, you clearly don’t live in each other’s pockets. You have your last night with them tomorrow, and presumably that’s the big farewell meal, so you’re free to meet me tonight.’

  She opened her mouth but then closed it again.

  She was tempted...and that gave him more of a kick than it had any right to.

  ‘Plus it’s my birthday—are you really going to leave me to celebrate it alone?’

  Why the hell had he told her that?

  Fury shot through him. It had to be Daksh’s letter and imperious command to meet that had rattled him.

  He never told anyone when his birthday was.

  If he were honest, Nikhil didn’t know why it was such a secret, or how it had come to be this big thing. Nor did he know quite why he got such a kick out of the fact that no one on board knew. Perhaps it was because, in these close-quarter confines, everybody knew everything about everyone else’s business and this was one little nugget he could keep to himself—save for the Captain and HR, both of whom would have been in breach for divulging it.

  Yet now he’d just announced it to the newest member of Port-Star. It should have been his cue to turn around and walk. Instead, he heard himself speaking again.

  ‘Which hotel then, Isla?’

  Her blue-grey eyes sparked, and yet still she didn’t shut him down.

  ‘Okay,’ she answered suddenly, biting out the name quickly.

  His eyebrows shot up; too late, he wished he hadn’t reacted. But that hotel was well-known to be a playground for the rich and famous. Certainly not somewhere the average ship’s officer might stay, not even a doctor, and the last thing he wanted to do was get involved with the monied crowd.

  They, apparently, were more his brother’s crowd than his.

  ‘A farewell gift from my...friends,’ Isla said suddenly, as if reading his thoughts. Though he could tell she was holding something back. ‘We thought we’d push the boat out, if you’ll pardon the pun.’

  He could understand that. Didn’t he do the same thing each year, when he booked twelve months ahead just to eat in Chile’s world-renowned Te Tinca restaurant?

  Alone.

  ‘Ah. And they can’t spare you for an evening?’

  So why was he now insisting on the stunning doctor accompanying him?

  It had to be his way of avoiding Daksh.

  ‘I... They... I suppose they could,’ she hazarded after a moment. ‘Not a date, of course.’

  ‘Of course not,’ he demurred. ‘Well, Little Doc, shall we say seven-thirty? In this lobby.’

  And then, before anything else could be said—or any more damage done—Nikhil turned around and strode away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ISLA DIDN’T KNOW what had possessed her to agree to dinner with Nikhil.

  Or at least that was what she tried to tell herself.

  She could pretend that it was because of the text she’d received from her mother moments before Nikhil had asked her for that drink. Even as she’d been walking away from him, she’d seen the message demanding to know where she was. More than that, she’d been able to practically hear her mother’s excitement in every word, as Marianna had crowed about finding the most perfect new man for her to meet.

  Isla shuddered, just as she had back then. The last thing she wanted was a blind date, or any date, really. Which was why her head had been calmly telling her to politely decline Nikhil’s offer, even whilst her skin had been on fire and her insides had been jostling as if her organs were playing a game of musi
cal chairs.

  But then, instead of a refusal, she’d listened to that devilish voice in her head telling her that the best way to avoid being pressed into a blind date by her mother would be to tell her that she already had a date—with a First Officer, no less.

  It was a logical solution. But, deep down, Isla suspected that her motives weren’t quite so logical. If she was honest, she might suspect that they had less to do with practicality and more to do with the way that Nikhil had made her body feel...alive.

  Just by looking at her. There had been more chemistry between her and this relative stranger than she thought she’d ever felt with Brad.

  And wasn’t that rather sad?

  Certainly it explained why she was now standing in front of the mirror, trying to quash some unwanted thrill as she critically assessed her sixth outfit choice so far, like the kind of teenager she had never really been.

  She might have spoken to Leo, but her former stepsister didn’t seem to have got back to the hotel either. Isla tried not to take that as fate giving her a naughty little push.

  Staring at her outfit again, she heaved a sigh. She never dithered over her clothing choices. And her room had certainly never looked as though she’d emptied the contents of the closet onto her bed. That was for other girls. Just as the rich lipstick was, purchased barely two hours ago from the hotel’s extortionately priced boutique.

  Ridiculous.

  There was taking the opportunity to avoid a blind date set up by her mother, and then there was dressing up as though this dinner with Nikhil was a date in itself.

  Well, it wasn’t happening.

  Marching into the bathroom, she wiped the lipstick off her mouth and threw the tube into the bin and marched back out into the bedroom. Then she proceeded to quickly and neatly put all the clothes back onto the hangers and away, as though she could restore some order into her suddenly uncharacteristically topsy-turvy world.

  And if her hands were shaking slightly, and her eyes kept flying to the clock to see that the digits had barely changed from the last time she’d checked, then at least no one else but her would ever know.

  Finally, her room was clear again. Pristine. Ordered. The way she liked it. Isla checked the clock again. Five minutes had passed.