by Olivia Gates
Sending Savannah away had been a simple matter of pragmatism before
Or that would have been his argument. She was unqualified on all counts, period.
He’d been wrong on one count, the one that mattered most. She was surgically competent. So what excuse could he give GAO—worse, give her—as he looked her in the eye and told her to leave? His belief that she would melt in the heat of toil and discomfort was only his opinion. No one, starting with her, was bound to take it.
So what could he say? That he couldn’t function with her around? That his mind had emptied of everything but the need to drag her back to his room, rip her out of her clothes and bury himself in her, take her? Then take her again until he’d made up for just the first few days of the three years without her?
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Dear Reader,
First chances happen; second chances have to be won. In Savannah Richardson’s case, winning a second chance with Javier Sandoval isn’t just about working on their relationship and on the fundamental differences between their worlds. It takes her on a quest to uncover her true nature and calling, to overcome her upbringing and to triumph over her weaknesses. Only then can she feel worthy of joining him in the life he’s dedicated to humanitarian ambitions.
But Javier also has to make discoveries of his own, to learn among danger and toil and their explosive passion that his iron-clad dedication must give way to the demands of his heart.
Savannah and Javier are two lovers who started out all wrong. When their first relationship ended, it seemed it would be over forever. Going for the ride with them as they rediscovered each other and themselves, passed brutal tests and built a unique relationship gave me the greatest satisfaction. I hope their story satisfies you as much.
Olivia Gates
The Doctor’s Latin Lover
Olivia Gates
To my husband. You lift me up and you keep me going.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
PROLOGUE
THEY were gaining on her.
They were chasing her for more than her purse and jewelry. For more than her body and all the sick, violent freedoms they wanted with it.
She’d seen their faces. Rabid, high on cruelty and chemical stimulation. If they caught her, it would be the end.
She ran, her feet long frozen, her heart long burst, shrieked for help with a voice long gone.
No help came. Or would come. They were herding her, forcing her off the road and into the dark, dead wood.
“You’re dead, rich bitch.” A pubescent voice shrilled after her, hitting her square between her shoulder blades. Revulsion made her stumble. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Barely human, hyena-like panting hoots followed, scraping along her nerve endings. Loathing lurched inside her. It wasn’t enough to clear the fog of fear. And even the adrenaline was draining out of her. Resignation was already descending on her, would soon paralyze her.
If only she hadn’t always avoided ER and emergency surgeries. Perhaps she could have learned to keep part of herself in reserve, cool under fire. This was hopeless, but she didn’t have to make it easy for them!
Perhaps if she made it too much trouble to reach her, if she climbed a tree, maybe they’d just go away…?
A lifetime ago she’d been a tree-climber. Another forbidden activity she’d done behind her father’s back before every impulse and initiative had been trained out of her. Richardson princesses didn’t scrape knees and velvet cheeks. Didn’t fall out of trees and sprain precious hands groomed for Prince Charming’s five-carat diamond rings and ten-thousand-dollar scalpels.
Richardson princesses also didn’t attend the kind of party two of them had gone to tonight. The one she’d just escaped, only to discover she’d run from the fire into an inferno.
One of her stiletto-heeled evening shoes was long lost and her foot was raw. She had to kick off the second to climb.
She didn’t even remember how to do it. Her hands and legs trembled so hard she lost her grip and footing. She staggered down the few feet she’d climbed, her backless designer dress catching on the thorny branches, ripping. Her skin was already a red-hot map of lacerations.
Her pursuers were below her now. She hadn’t gotten far enough up. Two of them climbed after her, one snatching at her legs, the other at her long dress.
She plummeted to the ground and was only sorry the vicious impact didn’t knock her out. She lay at their feet, crumpled, cowering. Then she felt the clawing hands, saw the faces filling her dimming vision. Let them finish me quickly.
But instead of falling on her, one of her attackers flew into the air and hit a tree with a sickening crunch. A second assailant turned, only to convulse once and collapse on her in an unmoving heap.
She struggled under his dead weight, her mind frozen with all sorts of impossible fears. What force had come to her rescue? Would it now turn on her?
The body was heaved off her. Suddenly she was free from her burden and saw—him.
Huge, menacing, and emitting power. A man?
“I wouldn’t advise you to do that.” His voice was like the night, still, deep—heart-stopping.
Not heeding his advice, her regrouping attackers charged him, slashing the air with switchblades. He moved, maneuvered, his arcing legs and arms a dance of precise power. The thugs thudded to the ground one after another.
Then he turned to her. Dear God.
“Are you hurt?”
What did that matter as long as he was here?
Her headshake earned her a satisfied nod. Then he took care of business. He called the police and an ambulance for her, and knocked out those thugs who tried to stir, securing them for easy pick-up by the police. Then he stood by her as she gave her statement, supporting her in every way, and tried to get her to have her cuts treated, to call someone.
She just needed to be away from here. With him.
“I have a first-aid kit at home. Will you take me there?”
Everything went still as he stared down at her. If he said no…
He didn’t. He held her in the curve of his body all the way to his car, warding off the cold, absorbing the ordeal.
All the way to her apartment she luxuriated in studying him.
She’d never seen anything so beautiful. So perfect.
He carried her to the elevator and into her apartment, stood outside her bathroom as she showered. She’d just slipped into her bathrobe when she saw him there, looming behind her as she stood facing the drug-cabinet mirror, a frown marring his hard, noble features. Her helpless gaze clung to his rich chocolate eyes, his wide, sculpted mouth, saw her feverish awareness reflected there.
Then he pushed her bathrobe down.
Oh, God. Had she just jumped from one inferno into another? If she had, she was fully to blame for this one…
Her fears came to a shamed halt as he reached for the first-aid materials. Then those beautiful hands that had been damaged in her defense were everywhere she hurt, healing, cherishing, until she felt his gentleness sealing her wounds, seeping through to her soul.
How could she have feared him? He had to be an angel. Her own angel.
Now she knew what it meant to want. It was this, wanting him.
He draped her again, slipped
an analgesic tablet between her lips, held the glass of water to her mouth then stepped away. “Now you need to rest.” She closed her eyes and let his magnificent voice permeate her with peace, protection—passion. “Are you sure you won’t call someone? A friend? A relative?”
For answer, she just surged into him, burrowed all she could into his chest.
Shock, resistance then control chased through him. His battered hand below her chin raised her eyes to his smile. Oh, my! “All right. I’ll stay. Let’s put you to bed—you need to sleep this off.”
“I need to sleep with you.” There was no question in her mind. None.
He moved away. But not before she felt his powerful, instant response. “Querida, you’ve had the scare of your life. You’re shaken, still unable to believe you’re safe, that it’s over.” Those healing hands went to the back of his neck, dug into his silken, raven mane. “You just need a haven, comfort…”
“I need you!”
“No…”
“Yes.” Her mind had never been this clear, her focus never this unwavering. She could have died tonight with just stunted, barren relationships to her record, without knowing someone existed who could spread life into her every fiber. But she knew now. This man would be her lover. Why wait for later when sooner—now—was here? “You don’t need to protect me now. You just need to make love to me.”
She dropped her bathrobe to the floor, reached for his proud head, brought it down, pressed her lips to his forehead then pressed his mouth to her breast.
His shaken breath scorched her with a blast of desire, with his helpless confession of equal craving. “Savannah…” She took her name out of his mouth, tasted his power and his submission, and knew everything she’d done in life had been just another step leading her here.
CHAPTER ONE
“WHAT the hell are you doing here?”
Savannah’s hand jerked. The Thermos missed her mouth and cold water splashed down her neck, between suddenly prickling breasts.
Not exactly the welcome she’d hoped for.
Not that she’d expected a welcome. Or had even had expectations in the first place. She’d had…projections, possible scenarios. Indifference and maybe some unease played major roles in each. But Javier sounded neither indifferent nor uneasy now. He sounded livid, big time.
A tremulous breath escaped. You’ve had three years to prepare for this moment. You should be as ready as can be.
She should be. But she wasn’t.
Turn to him. And stop trembling, for God’s sake.
She turned. It was a good thing she had the Jeep to sag back on. Javier was less than a foot away, glowering down at her from his intimidating height, the tropical sun at its zenith throwing stark shadows over his face. Had he always been that hard-hitting?
Yes, he had.
But that…hard?
Yeah again, once, that last night together, right before he’d walked out on her.
Oh, she’d missed him!
But that wasn’t news. She’d known that, and how much. What she hadn’t factored in had been what seeing him again would do to her or how she’d handle it, outwardly at least. A thirty-year-old who hadn’t yet mastered basic logic. Result: another miscalculation.
So what was one more in a life made of a string of those? Onwards, then. But since throwing herself into the arms that were pointedly folded across his vast chest was out, she had to try something else. A smile, maybe? Nah. He was liable to answer it with a snarl. And it would just wobble and shatter anyway.
OK, one thing left. Talk. Something light. “Nice to see you, too, Javier.”
His legs didn’t move but his body leaned closer. The balmy Bogotá day suddenly sizzled. “I don’t remember saying it was nice to see you, Savannah.” His voice lowered, softened, becoming the voice that had rocked her with passion and shattered her with pleasure during long-gone months of abandon. “Since it’s definitely not.”
She pressed back against the Jeep, itching inside and out with the effort not to press into him, come what may. “Not very polite of you, with me a first-time guest in your country.”
“But you’re not a guest, Savannah, are you? You’re here intruding on my work, on my project, and I want to know why!”
“So I’m not a guest, but more of a pest, huh?”
Was that surprise in those lethal eyes? An unwilling spurt of amusement? She’d once accessed all his senses but never his sense of humor…
His head inclined to one side, his hair following the move, falling over his forehead. “Your words, not mine.”
Her hands burned to smooth back the blue-black gloss, expose the expanse of sculpted bronze. Her heart sizzled with regret over the long-lost freedom to reach up and trace his every line with adoring fingers and lips.
A windblast stirred dust off the unpaved road. Her eyes stung.
Oh, no, you don’t. It was all over, gone and done with. Picking up where he’d cut them off wasn’t an option on his side. It shouldn’t be on hers.
Remember what you’re here for. Get this done the right way this time. No doing things out of order.
She straightened away from the Jeep, not adding much to her comparative size but adjusting her swooning stance. “So we’re clear on your stand. You’d rather I was in Alaska.”
“Not really.” Oh? “Just back where you belong, and not here, intruding on my territory.” Oh.
Ridiculous. Wishful. She knew he’d rather not have set eyes on her again. How could hope to the contrary even stir—even exist? Was self-delusion immortal? Resurrected over and over, no matter how many times it was laid to rest?
She shrugged. “I see. Oh, well, I didn’t expect you’d be exactly happy I’m here. But here I am, and I hope you’ll adjust to the new situation—”
The twisting of his mouth interrupted her speech, and her heart. “Take it like a man, get over it, face the facts and all that, huh?”
Teasing? Was he teasing her? The old Javier had never joked with her. He’d never even sensually teased her. After that first time, he’d always met her more than halfway, perpetually eager, devouring, ready—oh, so ready, until she’d grown sure of him, of her power over him, had grown intoxicated with the certainty. Then one horrible night he’d proved how wrong she’d been to feel so secure…
But if he was teasing now, that had to be good, didn’t it? Her spirits lifted a bit. “Your words, not mine.”
At her mimicry his eyes, which had once been richest chocolate, became opaque rocks of resentment and disgust. So it hadn’t been fun after all, but fury, tamed, camouflaged and now bared. “Nice to see you’re enjoying yourself. Just like you, to do it at others’ expense. But I’ll be damned if you do it at my project’s. You’ve made a mistake coming here. Now save us all a lot of hassle—just head back to Bogotá airport and take the first flight home.”
She had wished for something other than indifference, hadn’t she? Well, she should have been more specific what she’d wished for. She wasn’t ready for this.
The worst she’d been ready for had been that he’d be uncomfortable, that he’d think that she was still unable to take no for an answer. And wouldn’t he be right to think so?
No. Not exactly. And even if he was right, her presence shouldn’t inflame him this way. This went beyond aggravation, the worst the situation arguably deserved. This bordered on hostility.
Why should he be hostile? He might have originally had cause to be bitter, but as things had progressed, if there had to be bitterness, it should be on her side. He had gotten his own back, had walked away from her and had turned down all her pleas for even one last glance.
She squared her shoulders. “Again, thanks for the lovely welcome, Javier. It’s so good to know how eagerly my participation in the mobile surgery unit’s mission is anticipated.”
“You could have saved yourself the trip, and the unpleasantness, if only you’d checked with me before coming.”
“Oh, sure. You responded promptly to
all my past messages, didn’t you?”
“If you’re trying to say you’ve contacted me lately, don’t! The last time I received a message from you was exactly two and a half years ago.”
So—he had kept a record of her pathetic attempts. Six months’ worth of them, dozens per day at first, and all met with scorn and silence. What a time to discover she’d been hoping her messages had never reached him, that he hadn’t just ignored her.
Had he enjoyed making her grovel?
Maybe. Probably. Fine, that was his prerogative. But she was done feeling overwhelmed being near him again. And there’d be no groveling now. She was a legitimate colleague, an equal. He’d better start dishing out the respect she deserved.
“I didn’t think I needed to contact you. I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.”
“You didn’t think you owed me the courtesy of asking my opinion about joining my project?”
“It’s a Global Aid Organization-sponsored project, and they sent you all the details.”
The comfortable climate, which still amazed her since they were so near the equator, chilled with the frost in his glance and voice. “I know what GAO sent me. A surprise letter, just yesterday, informing me of the change of plans. “‘Dear Dr. Sandoval Noriega…”’ His delivery switched to a mock narrator’s as he recited from memory. “‘This is to inform you that Dr. Savannah Richardson is replacing Dr. Rupert Fiennes as your MSU’s medical co-administrator for the next two months. She’s been selected from a host of highly qualified surgeons to represent GAO’s interest in your most ambitious project and as an integral part of our continued and dedicated sponsorship.”’
The words “highly qualified” and “integral” hit her in the face, his tone an amalgam of insult and wrath. Was that it? Did he think “highly qualified” an exaggeration, even a lie? He thought it beyond her to be “integral” to anything—to anyone—her presence as good as her absence? As she’d been to him…
He was going on. “I know all the details all right. What I’m asking, what you haven’t answered, is what you’re doing here. What happened to Rupert? And just how did you manage to worm your way into this? GAO is supposed to be a humanitarian effort, out of bounds for your profit-based medical empire. How did you pull their strings? Or shouldn’t I ask? Hell…” His huff of laughter was all jaded derision. “Between you and your royal family, you can pull anything off. So what really remains is why. This isn’t your scene, Savannah. Why do this, why come here? Just tell me—why?”
