The Texan's Royal M.D.

by Merline Lovelace

  Mike had always enjoyed the nonstop celebrations. Even when his ex-wife was at her worst. Jill had alienated everyone in the family, but she’d never managed to destroy their enjoyment in the traditions they celebrated year after year.

  Tradition was one thing, Mike thought as he eyed the woman seated across the table. Anastazia St. Sebastian was another. He’d met her less than twenty-four hours ago. Still, he would cheerfully abandon any and all family rituals for a chance to spend another evening with her.

  Oh, hell! Who was he kidding? He wanted more than an evening. He wanted another entire night. Or two. Three.

  “What about tomorrow? After all the presents have been opened and everyone’s feasted? You might need a break from the family. I know I will.”

  “Tomorrow’s full. It’s Christmas and the twins’ birthday.”

  “The day after?”

  He was pushing too hard. He knew it. But he hadn’t gotten where we was today by conceding defeat without a fight. And he still had an ace in the hole.

  “Actually, I have an ulterior motive for wanting to see you again.”

  Her inky-black brows drew together. “Ulterior?”

  He could see her turning that over in her mind. Maybe wondering if she’d walked into something here. She had, but Mike didn’t want to scare her off.

  “Last night at dinner you told me a little about the research you’re doing. I’d like to know more.”

  The groove in her forehead deepened. “Why?”

  “GSI has an entire division dedicated to studying and implementing technological improvements. Most of our efforts focus on the petroleum and shipping industries, of course, but we’ve funded research in other areas, as well.”

  “Medical research?”

  He leaned forward, all business now. “We were part of a study last year to look at the exposure of crew members to carcinogenic agents on the decks of crude oil tankers. It assessed the effects of the lead chromate paint used in cargo holds. I’ve also got my people looking at ways to contain the spread of norovirus. It doesn’t hit only cruise ships,” he admitted wryly.

  “But I’m looking specifically at MRSA and its rate of incidence in newborn infants.”

  “You might be interested to know two Galveston seamen sued the owners of the Cheryl K for two million dollars a few years back. They claimed the owners failed to inform them of an allegedly high presence of bacteria on the vessel. Both seamen became infected with MRSA.”

  Mike had actually forgotten about that incident until Zia mentioned the virulent virus last night. He’d hit the internet this morning, though, and was now armed with specific details.

  “The men reportedly suffered multiple infections to their extremities, backs and other parts of their body. Their suit accused Cheryl K Inc. and its namesake ship of general maritime negligence, unseaworthiness and failure to pay maintenance and cure.”

  He’d snagged her. He saw the interest spark in her eyes and slowly, carefully reeled her in.

  “If you could squeeze out an hour or so, you could talk to the head of our Support Division. He’s the one who manages our technology and research divisions.”

  “I would love to but I fly back to New York on Friday.”

  “Then we’ll have to do it today or tomorrow.”

  “You wouldn’t make your man come in on Christmas Eve!”

  “Actually, he’s my brother-in-law. Trust me. Rafe will grab at any excuse to escape the chaos for an hour or two.”

  She chewed on her lower lip, obviously torn. “How about I call you after I talk to my family and see what the plans are?”

  “That works.” He grabbed a pen and scribbled his cell phone number on a napkin. Once she’d tucked it in the pocket of her jeans, he pushed away from the table. “If you’re ready, I’ll walk you back to the resort.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Sure I do.” He took her hand and tugged her out of her seat. “I also need to do this.”

  She came into his arms so easily, so naturally. The satisfaction that gave Mike didn’t come close to the jolt that hit him when she tipped her head and returned his kiss, though. The taste of her, the feel of her, raised an instant, erotic response in every part of his body. And the little purr in her throat damned near doubled him over.

  He spent the entire walk back to the resort plotting ways to delay Dr. St. Sebastian’s return to New York.

  Four

  Zia key-carded the condo’s main entrance and braced herself for the inquisition ahead. To her profound relief, the male half of the St. Sebastian clan had already departed for a round of golf. The females were lingering over cups of coffee and tea before a girding up for a final shopping foray. The adult females, anyway. The twins, Gina informed Zia before she pounced, were down at the resort’s kiddie playground with Maria and the hound.

  “So tell us! Was Brennan as yummy in bed as he is in person?”

  “Really, Eugenia.” The duchess sent her granddaughter a pained look. “Do try for a little more refinement.”

  “Forget refinement,” Sarah interjected, crossing her hands over her belly. “We want details.”

  Even Natalie endorsed the demand, although she prefaced it with a solemn promise not to share those details with Dom.

  “There’s not much to tell,” Zia answered, grinning. “Vidi, vici, veni.”

  Despite her bubbly personality and careless tumble of curls, Gina was no dummy. She picked up immediately on the variation of Caesar’s famous line and gave a hoot of delight.

  “No way you’re getting away with just that, Zia Mia. We need more than ‘I saw, I conquered, I came.’”

  “Eugenia!” The duchess issued a distinct huff. “If Anastazia wishes to explain why she spent the night with a complete stranger, she will.”

  “I didn’t intend to,” Zia admitted with a sheepish grin as she dropped into an empty chair. “We had a lovely dinner and talked about...about all kind of things.”

  The duchess didn’t miss the brief hesitation. Charlotte cocked her head, her shrewd gaze intent on her great-niece’s face, but kept silent. She disapproved of casual sex with all its inherent dangers and complications. Not that she hadn’t indulged in one or two liaisons during her long years as a widow. The brief affairs couldn’t erase the pain of losing her husband, of course, but they had helped to lighten it.

  Just as last night appeared to have lightened some of the shadows in her great-niece’s eyes. Seeing the smile that now filled them, Charlotte gave the absent Mike Brennan her silent stamp of approval.

  “Then after dinner,” Zia continued, “when we were walking home in the moonlight, he kissed me.”

  Gina pursed her lips in a long, low whistle. “That must have been some kiss.”

  “It was. Believe me, it was.”

  That produced several moments of silence, which the irrepressible Gina broke with a snicker. “So you tumbled into bed and did the happy dance. What happens now? Are you and Mike going to see each other again?”

  “He wants to. But it’s Christmas. Like me, he’s got family obligations. And I’m flying back to New York Friday morning, so...”

  “So nothing! Much as we love you, cousin of mine, we’ll understand if you decide to absent yourself for a couple of hours. Or,” she added with a wicked grin, “nights.”

  “Thanks,” Zia said wryly. “Nice to know I won’t be missed. But there’s no point in getting together with Mike again, as hunky as he is. He’s based here in Texas, I’m in New York. For the next few months, anyway. After that...”

  “After that, you’ll stay in the States,” Gina finished firmly. “Your family lives here. Dom and Natalie, all of us. And you’re already getting offers from children’s hospitals all across the country. Any of them would be lucky to have a ph
ysician with your smarts. Who knows?” she added with a gleam in her blue eyes. “You may end up here in Houston. So, yes, you should most definitely steal away with the hunk for another few hours.”

  To everyone’s surprise, it was the duchess who settled the matter. She’d picked up on Zia’s vague reference to the future and watched her face during Gina’s declaration. Folding her hands on the top of her cane, she held her great-niece’s gaze.

  “If I’ve learned nothing else in my eighty plus years, Anastazia, it’s that one must trust one’s instincts. As you must trust yours.”

  She knew, Zia realized. Maybe not the exact parameters of the decision she’d been struggling with. But the duchess had obviously guessed something was weighing on her heart. Chagrined, Zia leaned over and kissed the papery skin of her cheek.

  “Thank you, Aunt. I will.”

  * * *

  Mike answered on the second ring. He didn’t try to hide his satisfaction when she told him she’d like to take him up on his offer to learn more about his company’s research programs.

  “I can slip away for a few hours today if that doesn’t mess up your plans for Christmas Eve.”

  “Not at all. I was just about to shut down the beach house and head into Houston. I’ll pick you up.”

  “Then you’ll have to drive all the way back out to the island.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Maybe not, but Zia had some serious showering and makeup repairs to attend to. “Also not necessary,” she said firmly. “I’ve got a whole fleet of rental cars at my disposal. Give me the address of your corporate offices and a good time to meet you there.”

  * * *

  Zia pulled into the underground parking lot of the steel-and-glass tower housing the corporate headquarters of Global Shipping Incorporated a little before two that afternoon. Following Mike’s instructions, she found the GSI guest parking slots and took the elevator to the three-story lobby dominated by a monster Christmas tree. Bubbling fountains and a rippling stream cut through a good half acre of marble tile, serenading her as she checked in at the security desk.

  The uniformed guard wished her happy holidays and checked her ID. “I’ll let Mr. Brennan know you’re here,” he said, handing her a bar-coded guest pass. “Take the first elevator on the left. It’ll shoot you right to the GSI offices.”

  “Thanks.”

  The express elevator opened to a reception area with an eagle’s-eye view of the Houston skyline. An electronic map of the world took up one entire wall, with flashing lights designating GSI’s ships at sea. Zia’s eyes widened at the array of green and amber dots. The legend beside the map tagged the green dots as cargo ships and the amber ones as oil tankers.

  She was trying to guesstimate the total number when Mike emerged from an inner office accompanied by the individual she presumed was his brother-in-law. Both wore jeans and open-necked shirts but the similarity stopped there. Where Mike was tall, tanned and green-eyed, the man with him had jet-black hair, a pencil-thin mustache and a smile that emitted at least a thousand kilowatts of wow-power.

  “Hello, Zia.”

  They strode forward to greet her, presenting a double whammy of pure masculinity.

  “This is Rafe Montoya, GSI’s VP for Support Systems. The poor guy’s married to my sister Kathleen.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. St. Sebastian.”

  “Please, call me Zia.”

  “Zia it is.” He took her hand in both of hers. “The whole family’s still shaken over Davy’s near miss yesterday. You have our deepest gratitude.”

  “I’m just glad I was there.”

  “So are we.” Releasing her hand, he cut right to the reason they’d congregated in the empty office building. “I understand you’re an expert in bacterial infections.”

  “Not an expert, by any means, but I’m compiling statistical data on the increasing incidence of infectious diseases in newborn infants.”

  “A disturbing trend, certainly. As is the increasing incidence of both bacterial and viral infections among crews at sea. Would you like to see some of the data we’ve collected?”

  “Very much.”

  “I set up my laptop in Miguel’s office.”

  “Miguel?” she echoed as Mike gestured to the set of double doors leading to the inner sanctum.

  “Miguel, Mick, Mickey, Mike, Michael. I answer to any and all.”

  “Don’t forget your sisters’ favorite,” his brother-in-law interjected, pitching his voice to a reedy falsetto. “Mike-eee.”

  With a good-natured grimace, Mike-eee ushered her into a spacious, light-filled office. It was surprisingly uncluttered. The desk was a slab of acrylic on twin, bow-shaped arcs of bronze. A matching conference table was positioned beside the windows to take advantage of the distant view of Houston’s busy docks. Above the credenza that ran the length of one wall was another map, this one depicting global shipping lanes. The computer-generated routes crisscrossed cobalt-blue oceans in a spaghetti tangle of neon red, gold, green and black.

  Zia noted with interest the eclectic collection of items Mike had obviously picked up in his travels. An elaborately carved boomerang that looked big enough to take down an elephant occupied a triangular frame made of some exotic wood. A three-foot-high Maori tiki god painted persimmon red sat on a pedestal, his face screwed into a ferocious grimace and his tongue stuck out, presumably to deride would-be enemies. And standing in a corner like a fourth attendant at the meeting was a tan canvas dive suit topped by a dented brass helmet.

  “I made coffee,” Mike told Zia, “but there’s tea or soft drinks or water if you’d prefer.”

  “Water would be great, thanks.”

  “Wise decision,” Montoya commented as he powered up his computer. “Miguel’s coffee has the flavor and consistency of bilge water.”

  “I had a sample this morning,” Zia replied, laughing. “It would certainly rank up there with some of the bile we residents down to stay awake during a thirty-six-hour rotation.”

  Montoya hiked a brow but he was too well mannered to follow up on her admission that she’d shared morning coffee with his brother-in-law. Instead, he tapped a couple keys on his laptop. The computerized wall map faded to a blank screen.

  “As you can imagine, the health of the crews that man our ships is an ongoing concern. The IMO—International Maritime Organization—has set guidelines for conducting pre-sea and periodic fitness examinations for all crewmembers. Despite this medical screening, however, we’ve noted disturbing trends in recent years.

  “Part of that stems from the fact that seamen constitute a unique occupational group. Their travel to different parts of the world exposes them to infections and diseases at a rate comparable only to that of airline crews. And, like airline crews, they generally remain in port for relatively short time periods.”

  “But wouldn’t a short turnaround mitigate their risk of exposure?”

  “You’d think so, but that doesn’t prove to be the case. In fact, seafarers report an incidence of certain diseases eight to ten times higher than the international average.”

  Montoya brought up the first slide. Its no-nonsense title—Infectious Diseases—riveted Zia’s attention instantly.

  “GSI maintains a database of all medical issues that impact our crews, but I extracted the data Mike indicated you might be particularly interested in.”

  The title slide gave way to a series of graphs that tracked GSI’s reported incidents of HIV, malaria, hepatitis A, B and C, and tuberculosis against the international average. As Montoya had warned, the numbers were significantly higher than those Zia was familiar with.

  “Although GSI is below the maritime average in every category, we’re concerned by the worldwide upward trend in both malaria and tuberculosis. As a result we’ve funded or contrib
uted heavily to a number of research projects targeting those diseases.”

  The next slide listed five studies, the company or institute that conducted them and the dollars GSI had contributed. The string of 0’s on each study made Zia blink.

  “Mike said you’re focusing specifically on MRSA-related incidents,” Montoya commented.

  “That’s right.”

  “We track that data, too.”

  She leaned forward, her interest riveted once again as he brought up the next slide. It showed the number of MRSA incidents by year and then by ship.

  “Damn,” Zia muttered. “You’re seeing an across-the-board increase, too.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “That’s one nasty bug,” Mike put in.

  “Yes, it is. And becoming more and more resistant to antibiotics.”

  “Which is why we’d be interested in the results of your study,” Montoya continued.

  Startled, Zia started to protest that she’d focused on the very controlled world of neonatal nurseries. She couldn’t imagine an environment farther removed from a massive container ship or oil tanker until she stopped, backed up and thought about it for a moment. The grim fact was that MRSA was on the rise in hospitals, nursing homes, homeless shelters, military barracks and prisons. All places where people were crowded and confined. Crews on oceangoing vessels certainly fell into that category.

  “I’d be more than happy to share my findings, as limited as they are.”

  GSI’s chief executive officer and VP for Support Systems exchanged a glance.

  “Mike mentioned the possibility you might expand your research,” Montoya said. “If so, GSI might be in a position to help with a grant.”

  Zia’s jaw sagged. No way she would have imagined that a casual dinner date with a near stranger could lead to funding for the kind of in-depth study Dr. Wilbanks had talked to her about.