by Olivia Gates
And it left him more confused than ever. He’d already been at a loss to explain how the top model he’d known, or the traumatized girl he’d married, had become a doctor at all. The best explanation, and a shaky one, was that she’d been around doctors so long after her accident, had learned so much, that she’d just decided to become one and be done with it…“All ready, Dr. er…”
His gaze dragged back to Madeline. They hadn’t had time for the barest of introductions. She and Inácio had taken their cue from their boss, assuming she knew what she was doing, inviting him along, must have gathered she knew him intimately…
“Dr. Aguiar Da Costa at your service. But that’s just for reference. Call me Roque.” He felt the electrifying caress of Jewel’s gaze sweeping him. He raised eager eyes for a direct feel, and there it was again—that blast of affinity. And he’d spent eight years reassuring himself he’d always imagined it!
He couldn’t resist asking. “I’m going to perform a double-incision fasciotomy. Would you like to assist me, Jóia?”
She gave a tiny start at his offer. Then her eyes narrowed. She suspected his motives. What did she think? That he wanted to prove she’d overstated her abilities? She wouldn’t be far from the truth. The average internist would at best have knowledge of fasciotomy but no experience with performing it. And though average and Jewel couldn’t be put in the same sentence together, this was beyond her expected skills, no matter how good she was.
Her eyes searched his for the trap for two more seconds then she nodded to Madeline. The latter made way for her at once, handing her a mask and gloves. They were a good team. Fluent, at ease, yet keeping the correct amount of respect and distance for each other’s respective expertise and position.
Jewel donned her surgical garb and settled into position facing him. “What kind of nerve block are you going for?”
“What kind would you go for?”
One dense, dark eyebrow arched up. “What’s this? A test?”
“If I’m going to be counting on your assistance, can you blame me for wanting to assess your capabilities?”
She gritted her teeth. “There’s no time for your nonsense.”
“We haven’t and we aren’t wasting time,” he countered. “It’s been exactly eight minutes since we stepped in here.”
She exhaled as she snatched the syringe out of his hand. “Why don’t I give you a demonstration?” She crowded him until he made way for her. “Maybe I can teach you a thing or two about a combined sciatic-lumbar plexus three-in-one nerve block.”
Stimulation kicked higher in his blood. “Teach me, then.”
And she did. Taught him she was even better than she’d boasted.
After she’d injected the anesthetic, they used the time until it worked to reassess resuscitation and prepare the plaster splint they’d need at the end of the procedure. Then it started.
He made a six-inch incision over the anterior leg to provide adequate visualization. Then he dissected the subcutaneous tissues for wide exposure of the leg compartments while Jewel blotted out blood and oozing fluid, anticipated and interacted with his needs and moves with a fluency that brought his eyes back to her mask and cap-covered face over and over again.
After he’d finished the first stage, she murmured, “Going for a transverse incision to expose the lateral intermuscular septum and superficial peroneal nerve?”
Another spurt of surprised approval tugged at his lips beneath his mask. On impulse, he made room for her to perform that step. Without missing a beat, she took over and did it. No doubt about it. She’d done this many times before. He wondered when she’d had the time to amass such experience.
As soon as she was done, he took over again. As he made more incisions, releasing pressure, restoring circulation, Jewel retracted veins and nerves, cleared his field and helped him prepare for his next move as if they’d always worked together, until he almost forgot they hadn’t always done so.
He ended the surgical part of the procedure, asked, “What next?” Post-procedural measures were critical to prognosis and it was usually where physicians slackened. This was where he might uncover a chink in her knowledge. And he couldn’t believe how reluctant he was to uncover any. He should relish it!
To his chagrined relief, none was uncovered. She answered by practically making all the right decisions, packing the wound, leaving it open to drain, then applying Vessiloops, rubber bands that approximated the wound sides to prevent skin retraction. Inácio handed him the splint and he fitted it along the calf with the ankle held at 90 degrees.
Another assessment revealed what he’d only hoped for. Qircamo was stabilizing, with definite pulses in his leg.
Breathing again in immense relief, Roque announced the happy news to the tribe. And just as they’d been threatening and suspicious before, they were as over-zealously grateful now, sweeping their newfound heroes into an inescapable tribute.
Two hours later, stuffed with exotic offerings, Roque’s impromptu team made their escape to the truck. He walked beside Jewel, watched her as he had all through the feast, her every nuance sending his senses rioting, accessing every overriding memory he’d thought long erased. He was close enough to count her shallow breaths, the beads of sweat clinging like gems to her upper lip. His hands and tongue tingled. His heart itched. Especially now he felt how drained she was.
Once he’d settled her in the truck she turned her eyes up to his. “Think we’ll need to return in a couple of days for wound closure, or debridement of more devitalized tissue—or worse?”
Worse would be amputation. And though he usually had an accurate prognosis by now, he had no answer to anything. Not after fighting for that man’s life with the last woman he’d ever thought to do it with. It meant anything was possible.
A surge of optimism fueled his answer. “Jóia, I think our shaman still has a lot of walking in the jungle to do.”
Her gaze wavered before she dropped it. “I guess so.” Then she exhaled. “It was really good to have you with us in this.”
Instead of being warmed by her admission, it was like being doused in ice. In acid. It brought back all the disparagement she’d slashed him with before she’d walked out on him.
At length, he drawled, “I have my uses, don’t I? Though that’s not one of the uses you thought I was good for, is it? Eight years ago you told me what you thought me good for—sex and marriage. The first for your own titillation, and having one up on the amoral, disturbed women in your circle. The other as your best revenge on your snooty parents and cheating ex-fiancé—marrying the one man it had horrified them most to see you with.”
He watched her face drain of life.
When she finally spoke, her voice was equally lifeless. “It was too much to expect us to remain civil now the crisis is over. At least we won’t suffer each other’s presence much longer.”
“And you’re sure about that?”
Her gaze flared, wavered. Then it steadied again. “We can stay out of each other’s way for the couple of days it will take to complete Qircamo’s treatment.” She cocked her head at him. “But you didn’t say what you’re really doing heres” She paused at his sardonic pout, gave a dismissive wave. “Forget it. It’s none of my business.”
“Just idle curiosity, eh? But even that can be really painful if unappeased. Surely you must have theories.”
She shrugged. “None. Besides the indigenous tribes, frontier settlers and Brazilian army Frontier Command platoons who make up the population, passers-by are tourists, illegal loggers or miners, smugglers, guerillas, fugitives and—for the first time—people like my team. Surgeons don’t frequent this place.”
So cool. But he’d already glimpsed the inferno he’d once burned in, had been deprived of. He wanted more. Now.
His knee nudged her thigh. She pulled away. His hand anchored gently into her flesh, burning at the contact. “A very systematic deduction-elimination technique. So you can’t believe me burning up with the desi
re to see you as a motive, Jóia? What would you believe, then? That I’m here to work? That would be true, too. I’m here to join the expedition.”
An incredulous laugh ripped from her. “Go ahead. Pull the other one. No way in hell are you joining my expedition!”
He gave her a mock contrite look. “You’ve got me there. You’re right, I’m not joining the expedition. I’m leading it.”
CHAPTER THREE
“SURPRISE.”
His eyes glided over her flushing, stiffening features, saw denial following shock there. Then contempt rounded up the explicit display. She’d written off his declaration as an obnoxious attempt to pull her leg.
Then she stated her conclusion. “Nice try, Roque. It would be a balmy day in hell the day you’re my leader.”
Exhilaration coursed through his system. “Is it the word ‘leader’ you object to? Want to call me something else? ‘Chief’ maybe? Personally, I prefer ‘boss'. Crooned by that voice of yours…” He left the explicit imagery up to her memory, his gaze sweeping over her, no longer deliberate, succumbing to the pleasure of absorbing her exquisiteness. And her ratcheting agitation.
“I’m not calling you anything at all!”
He moved closer, re-establishing contact with her. “Then don’t call me anything, meu bela. Touch me instead.”
Her pupils almost filled her cat’s-eye-like irises. “Drop the cheap seduction act, Roque.” Her voice was husky, tight.
Not as tight as he was. Head, chest and loins. Her voice—it had echoed in his head, attacking him with sudden clarity over the years, creating the illusion of her proximity at times when it had done the most damage. He’d added to her sins with each onslaught. But it had lost its languid, reticent overtones, became more hard-hitting. Or maybe he’d never heard her in hot-blooded anger before. He could get used to this.
He went after more, provoked her, with both tone and touch. “Who says it’s an act, belleza?”
She gasped, and he almost did. Unbelievable. The people around them went unnoticed. The dozen reasons for antipathy lying between them went unheeded. So her effect on him hadn’t been an exaggerated memory. But at least back then he’d been a moonstruck fool who’d believed he loved her. Now he despised her. Shouldn’t that dampen his reaction? Apparently not.
He got out his cellphone, tugged her stiff, sweaty hand, exerted enough power to keep her from pulling it away, to place the phone there. “Call GAO Central and confirm my appointment.”
She stared at the phone for a couple more moments before she drew in a tremulous inhalation and hit the dial button. She kept those unique eyes that he’d convinced himself he’d banished from his every fantasy focused on the screen.
Those eyes—they’d once made him ready to lose a limb to make her whole again. They were now filled with frustration and fury. And shock as she got confirmation of what he’d said.
He tried to savor the emotions kicking inside him. Relish? Triumph? So why didn’t they feel good? Feel good? He’d no longer know what “feel good” felt like if it rammed him in the guts.
Anger rose again. He was entitled to satisfaction, snatching this from her. So why couldn’t he damn well enjoy it?
He knew why. It was what he saw in those eyes. Panic.
Sim, certamente. As if the woman who’d traveled the most dangerous regions of his vast country, the one who’d gone under the scalpel electively so many times, who’d just braved the threats of superstitious, desperate people, would fear anything.
But she was distressed. He should relish that.
But he didn’t. He hated seeing her distressed, hated more being the source of her distress. Deus, he was pathetic. And this after the thousand scenes he’d imagined since she’d walked out on him, of how he’d feel on the event of their “reunion.”
But she hadn’t only walked out on him. She’d left him struggling with the loss of their unborn baby, with knowing why she hadn’t wanted it. And ever since then, he’d projected. Then he’d laid eyes on her again and all his conjectures had evaporated.
He would have been content if it had been pure lust he’d felt. It, too, was ugly and cold and indifferent. But what he’d felt had stunned him. He’d just felt… happy to see her.
It had to be her beauty. Surgery had restored it then time had ripened it. That must explain the same sledgehammer effect.
But it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t. In the past, she’d trembled at his approach, melted at his touch. Now she’d dismissed him, challenged him, the haughtiness he’d only tasted when she’d had enough of him elevated to an art.
But there was something else besides the new fire and cool hauteur. Before there’d been silk running through her, a malleability that had driven him to extremes to protect her. Now there was steel. He’d seen how deep it ran through her during Qircamo’s procedure. Had it been bestowed by her ordeals? Or had it always been there and he’d just been oblivious to it?
But he was sure one thing was totally new. The assurance of experience.
An experience that extended to men?
Deus! What was that acrid taste? Jealousy? How stupid would that be? They’d both lived their lives since their explosive, short-lived marriage had ended.
So you call the attempts to rid yourself of her taste in other women’s arms living your life? an inner voice mocked.
No. That had been a waste. His work had been, and remained, the only living he did. And there he surely lived to the full.
She ended the taut phone call, turned stiffly to him.
“So it’s true.” She handed back his phone. He closed his hand over hers as he took it. She gritted her teeth. “All I want to know now is how you managed it. And why. This is my project!”
He shrugged lazily. “I know, and I must congratulate you on a job well done in setting it up.” And this was nothing but the truth. She’d gone above and beyond the call of duty. “Your stage is truly set.”
Her exquisite eyebrows drew together. “Stage? What stage? Is this some sort of metaphor?”
“We both know what stage, Jóia. It’s self-evident.”
“Not to me,” she said through gritted teeth. “Do explain the obvious!”
Anyone would believe she had no idea what he was talking about. Very convincing. As convincing as the melancholy and vulnerability that had so clashed with her voluptuousness, that had turned his attraction into obsession. He now realized it had been a trick for the cameras, her claim to fame. That it had become real after her accident was beside the point.
But in the past hours there’d been no hint of that sadness that had driven him to excesses to erase. She’d surely changed.
If not for the better! Her obsession with regaining her beauty betrayed her need to make the leap back into the spotlight. And she’d found an ingenious way that was a hundred times more effective than modeling. A reality show starring the world’s first doctor who was also an adventurer, an explorer, a humanitarian worker and a woman as alluring as a movie star.
And that was why he was here. To stop her exploiting this expedition and his people for her own ends.
“Well?”
Her sharp, imperative tone made him grit his teeth. “You have a film crew along, don’t you?”
“Huh…?” She gaped at his counter-question. Then she shook her head. “There’s any logic to this out-of-the-blue question?”
His lips twisted in a sneer. “I have to give it to you—the concept is ground-breaking. As many expeditions as there are into the Brazilian rainforest, none have been undertaken to reach the isolated tribes of the Vale do Javari region to diagnose and treat the diseases that pose a threat to their survival. And I just happen to know your purpose behind this worthy endeavor.”
He knew all there was to know about her since she’d left him. Though her personal life remained obscure, as if she had none… He exhaled, stifled foolish conjectures.
“And what the hell is this ‘purpose’ that you make sound so sinister?” she seeth
ed.
“Add yourself, a film crew, the Amazon and endangered people to the concerns GAO have about the nature and purpose of the ‘documentary’ you’ve included as an integral part of this expedition, and the result is clear. An unprecedented pilot to launch a blockbusting reality show.”
It was her turn to stare. And stare. Heat blasted off her, scorching him with her soaring anger. Was she mad that he’d found her out? An explosive denial was sure to follow.
Sure enough, she finally erupted, “A reality show? This is what you think I’m doing here?”
He gave her his best baiting smile. “It’s not?”
“Damn straight it’s not. Of all the moronic ideas! And this is why you’re here? To join the show? Taking over my projects?”
“It’s not your project,” he growled, cutting her off. “It’s GAO’s. And it’s up to them to decide who’s best equipped to lead such a delicate mission.”
“And you’re the one best equipped?”
He could swear she choked on her tongue at the unintended double-entendre. As if she were still the virgin who’d dissolved in his arms for those long, delirious months. She must have garnered experience since him.
Since him? Ha. By the time she’d left him, she could have given advanced courses to the most notorious femme fatale.
He pressed closer. “I am. Want a reminder?”
A flush swept her face. “Spare me, Roque.” She struggled with what looked like a dozen rants all demanding to erupt at once. Then one won, spilled from her flushed lips in a hot gush. “Just what the hell do you mean, ‘concerns about the nature and purpose of the documentary'? This is the first I’ve heard of any such nonsense. Though it wasn’t my idea, when I was approached for it, I thought it a great one. Those endangered people need to have their story told with compassion and realism, to raise awareness of their plight.”
