The Princess and the Pediatrician

by Annie O'Neil

  Oliver was grinning at her, obviously taking the backhanded compliment on the chin. ‘I call it believing in possibility with a practical edge. I bought the cottage—all two rooms of it—when I moved to the island. It had been deserted after the hurricane and was barely habitable—which gave me an idea. Why not build up, rather than out? The tree canopy provides some protection from the winds, and... Well, who doesn’t like a tree house?’

  His enthusiasm was infectious. ‘It really is amazing.’ She held up her hands in awe. ‘You’ve created a personalised paradise. Colour me impressed, Peter Pan.’

  He grinned and gave a playful kick at the sand as if her praise had embarrassed him. When he looked up there was a very grown-up heat in his eyes that swept through her like wildfire.

  ‘I guess that makes you my Tinker Bell.’

  She gave an obliging laugh, only just catching a glimpse of something flashing across his face that unexpectedly tugged at her heart. It was sadness. Not a fresh grief. It was something that had become a part of him. She decided not to press. If his past was anything like hers, it was worth leaving precisely where it was.

  ‘Well, if that means I can fly and get a magic wand I approve.’

  He gave a self-conscious, ‘Ha!’ and then explained as he led her towards the porch. ‘It really did start out as just the cottage. Turns out I like to do a little DIY in my spare time.’

  She shook her head, amazed. ‘Your spare time sees a lot more action than my spare time.’

  ‘I doubt that.’ He ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek, then swept her wet hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck as he dropped a kiss on her shoulder. ‘You’re a doctor. You know as well as I do that every day doesn’t go as planned. We do what we need to do to regroup after work. I build things. I’m sure whatever you do is equally healing.’

  The look he gave her was so honest, so complete in its belief that Lia’s moral compass was as solidly grounded as his was, that a rush of emotion flooded her chest. There was absolutely no judgement in his tone. He believed in her.

  She could fall for this man if she didn’t watch herself.

  ‘I sail,’ she said, to fill the silence.

  She’d grown up sailing, and whenever things had grown too lonely at boarding school, or too claustrophobic at the palace, she’d run down to the harbour, jumped onto her boat and relished the relief of feeling her mind slowly return to her body as she got further away from the shore.

  Being alone was so much better than feeling lonely in the middle of a crowd. But these days she didn’t sail so much to escape her life. It was more to give herself room to breathe between its more intense moments. Sailing a boat demanded her full attention—physical and mental—and, as such, was the best way to clear her mind after a long, difficult surgery.

  She’d thought she had found the perfect balance. But this man... He’d built an actual dream house.

  She tamped down the urge to ask him what sort of dreams he’d had for inside the house when it was built, just as she could see him biting back an urge to ask her about her sailing.

  They’d said one night only.

  He took her hand in his and led her into the house, the atmosphere between them shifting once again.

  With each step she felt the flickering desire she’d felt in the sea build and gain purchase. They barely made it to the porch before she had to kiss him again.

  It was a porch that demanded moonlight kisses. It featured a wooden couple’s swing and a well-loved hammock. There was a stack of books beside each of them. And there was, of course, a door that led up into the magical maze where, somewhere amongst the trees, was Oliver’s bedroom.

  When he swung open the door she felt another, indefinable click of connection. The small sitting room was immaculate. Not institutionally so—it looked comfortable—but there was something very familiar about it.

  ‘Boarding school?’ she asked, before she could stop herself.

  He gave her a quick look of surprise and then released a self-effacing laugh. ‘That obvious?’

  ‘Takes one to know one. The only thing that’s out of control in my place are the piles of books.’

  He pulled her to him and gave her a light kiss on the lips. ‘I have a feeling there’s going to be something other than book piles that are out of control tonight.’

  Heat rayed out from below her belly button. Oh, he had that part right.

  * * *

  With nothing but towels between them, Oliver was finding it difficult to control his more primal instincts. As he guided Lia up the stairwell his fingers twitched with the urge to tug the thick cotton away from that gorgeous body of hers and have her here and now. But if they were only going to have one night he wanted to make sure each moment was more memorable than the next. One-night stands weren’t really his thing, but something told him tonight had to be the exception to his unspoken solid rule.

  When they arrived on the next level she suddenly stopped, her blue eyes alive with pleasure.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘I feel like I’m walking through your imagination.’

  Her smile was both intimate and delighted as she wandered through his living room—a largely open-air space, which was much more homely than the room downstairs. Cushiony sofas. Tumbles of tropical plants. More books. And,—one of his favourite elements, on full, proud display here—the thick trunk of the tree the house was balanced in, soaring right through the middle of the room, complete with a swirl of solar-powered fairy lights.

  She smiled at him, and the warmth of it hit him right in the chest.

  ‘Your house is like those Russian dolls.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘But instead of getting smaller and smaller, the rooms become more and more like the real Oliver.’

  When he didn’t answer she took a step back, as if questioning her own judgement and checking herself for having got it wrong.

  He thought of telling her she was spot on, but he closed the space between them, responding with a light kiss on the cheek instead. If this really was going to be a one-night thing, keeping his emotional distance was probably wise.

  The real answer, of course, was much more complex than a simple yes. To his parents the ‘real’ Oliver Bainbridge had a title. A family seat back in England. A reputation to uphold. And there were a few other, darker edges to his past he’d rather forget. As a result, the Oliver she was meeting was the Oliver he’d been for the last two years, here on St Vic. He had taken some getting used to, but at long last he really liked the guy. He was anonymous. Loved his work. The only thing that was missing was—

  He checked himself. Best not go there. Tonight was about enjoying Lia’s company.

  When they climbed one more level and reached his bedroom she let out a happy sigh and clapped her hands. ‘You sleep here?’

  She twirled round in disbelief, then grabbed hold of his hands for balance when the spinning got the better of her. She looked young and beautiful and more at ease than he’d seen her all night.

  ‘I’m insanely jealous! It’s beautiful, Oliver.’

  He drew her close, then turned her round so he could wrap his arms round her waist and they could look at the room together. It was one of the highest rooms in the house, and his favourite.

  At the centre was an enormous four-poster bed, featuring the towering tree trunk at the back. As was necessary in any tropical country, the bed was shrouded in diaphanous mosquito netting, billowing in the soft breeze. The hush-hush of the receding waves upon the beach were all the lullaby he’d ever needed here. But tonight wasn’t about sleeping. Not yet anyway.

  ‘Shower?’ he murmured.

  ‘Mmm...’

  It was all the response he needed. He led her into the bathroom, which he’d managed to kit out with all the mod cons. Teak flooring stood in for tiles, and the water t
anks hidden further up in the jungle canopy allowed for a nice hot shower out on the starlit balcony—or, on days that demanded a soak, for the filling of the claw-footed bathtub it had taken him and six other lads to pulley up the tree. The bath sat in pride of place at the open French windows.

  He lit a couple of candles in the hurricane lamps he’d hung about the place, watching their light flicker against the windowpanes and the solitary floor-length mirror. Then he turned her to face it, untucked the fold of towel that hid that beautiful body of hers, and kissed her neck with a low, ‘Now, then. Where were we, exactly?’

  Warm water was soon cascading over the pair of them as they caressed one another’s soapy bodies. It was enough to push them both to the edge of insanity.

  Lia had barely dried herself before Oliver scooped her up and carried her to the bed. He had no idea how, but as virtual strangers they seemed to share the same sexual heartbeat. Intense and fast shifted to slow and luxurious, then moved back to desperate for one another. Time became elemental. The tickling of an eyelash against his cheek made him feel as though an hour had passed. A kiss lasted for ever and not long enough. The pounding of her heart against his fingertips stopped time.

  ‘Please,’ she finally begged, her fingernails scraping the length of his back. ‘I want you inside me.’

  He swiftly sheathed himself and then lifted her, so that she was kneeling above him. Slowly, achingly slowly, she began to lower herself on to his erection. Hot, profound surges of desire made maintaining his control next to impossible. She teased him and dipped herself lower and lower, so that he felt, just for a nanosecond, what it was like to be completely surrounded by her.

  ‘I want you...’

  Her lips brushed against his ear as she lowered herself completely on to him, her fingertips moving along his sides until her light touch drove him to a near frenzy. In one swift move he slid his hands over the soft curves of her bum and flipped her on to her back. It was his turn to set the pace.

  His hips latched with hers, pushing and thrusting into her honeyed essence, their movements organically syncing with the cadenced undulations of her hips. The energy connecting them grew in intensity until it became all-consuming...fiercely passionate in a way he never known himself to be. He wanted her, too. Their individual desires combined into one mutual longing. Something more powerful than he had ever felt.

  No words needed to be exchanged for him to know that something bigger than either of them—the universe, maybe—had set everything that had ever happened in their lives into motion in order to bring them together on this one perfect night. It would, he had no doubt, set the standard for any relationship he would ever have in the future.

  The warmth of the night and the heat of their bodies seemed to increase their energy, not drain it. As one, their bodies began to rock in a sultry, delicious rhythm, a beat that swiftly increased and then, without any sort of warning, hit a speed that seemed out of their control until finally, as one, they climaxed.

  They made love a second time. More slowly...almost sleepily...but with a familiarity that hinted at a long-term relationship—which, for the second time that night, struck Oliver as strange. Having Lia in his arms gave him a warm, comfortable feeling of déjà-vu. But he’d definitely never met her before. There would have been no forgetting someone who tugged at his more primal elements with such precision. And yet being with her felt...familiar. She’d got close in a way none of his girlfriends had. As if they were two people unable to resist the magnetic lure of an attraction that went far deeper than the physical.

  When dawn came, she looked at her watch and started saying something about the forty-minute drive to the clinic and a long day on the surgical ward. Her reminder that this had been a one-off.

  He made her a cup of coffee and didn’t press to see her again. They sat on his porch, watching the sea birds dip and dive as a glittering shoal of fish shimmered past, the silence between them light and comfortable. Not a hint of expectation weighted these last moments they would spend together. If they met again...he would welcome it. If they didn’t...he now knew being with someone just the once could mean much more than he’d ever believed possible.

  She handed him the coffee mug and gave his lips a soft peck, after which she thumbed off some lipstick. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  He caught her wrist and dropped a kiss on it. ‘Don’t be.’ He took her other wrist in his hand and gave it a kiss as well. ‘For balance.’

  The smile they shared was complicit and warm—and more than that it was kind. A smile between two people who understood that they had shared something both beautiful and rare. A perfect night.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, shouldering her tote, which still held the champagne and chocolates. They’d not needed any help in the aphrodisiac department.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He got up with her and watched until she disappeared round the far edge of the cove without so much as a farewell wave.

  That’s how it is with princesses, he thought with a rueful smile as he began to get ready to head into the hospital. One minute you’re dancing together at a ball, with nothing between you but a shared heartbeat and stardust, and the next...

  He looked out to the sand where—ha!—a gold flip-flop had fallen from her bag. It was no glass slipper, but he’d remember her by it.

  Who was he kidding? He’d remember her without it. From this moment on he’d always have a part of his heart bearing the imprint of Princess Amelia of Karolinska.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  One month later

  ‘HE WAS LUCKY.’ Lia lifted her hands away from the patient and, after peeling off her surgical gloves and popping them in the disposal bin, gave her lower back a much-needed knuckle-rub.

  Thirty-two years old was a bit young to start feeling the aches and pains of standing at the surgical table, but...who knew? Her whole body was being weird lately. Stress, maybe. It had been crazy busy over the past month. So much so she’d only just managed to overcome the urge to drive to the other side of the island and accidentally-on-purpose run into a certain paediatrician at the St Victoria Hospital.

  Realising her team were still looking at her, she held up a set of crossed fingers. ‘Let’s hope he gives up the motorcycle and finds a safer mode of transport.’

  She wasn’t one to be preachy, but on an island where ‘open-air transport’ was the preferred means of travel, she wished holidaymakers in particular would pay attention to the speed limit. It was there for a reason. St Victoria was a spider’s web of curvy roads, and the more mountainous tracks, like the road the patient had been driving on, were made up of sharp-angled switchbacks.

  He was lucky he’d crashed on the road, where their helicopter had been able to airlift him to the clinic, and not at the bottom of a cliff. As things stood, the blood clot she’d just removed from his brain had been milliseconds away from changing his life for ever. And not for the better.

  A sudden wave of nausea swept through her.

  Uh-oh. She’d thought she’d curbed her queasy stomach over the last couple of days with some healthy doses of chicken soup.

  ‘Okay. We can close now.’ She needed to get out of here. And fast.

  ‘So he’s clear? We can talk to the family?’ asked Nate Edwards, her chief of staff.

  Not an unfair question about such a high-profile patient, but she really had to get to the ladies’ room.

  ‘Lia?’ He called after her, even though she was halfway to the door. ‘What do I tell the family? Is he in the clear?’

  She tried to sound bright as she fought yet another wave of nausea. ‘You know how I feel about pronouncing someone in the clear.’

  She headed for the door, simultaneously assigning closing procedures to her team and trying to visualise the fastest route to the closest private restroom.

  Nate bounded ahead of her and held open the operating theatre doo
r for her. ‘I know. I know. “Saying a patient is in the clear puts them right back in the danger zone.”’

  ‘Close.’ She gave him a playful elbow in the ribs as her dislike of being misquoted briefly overrode her queasiness. ‘Saying a patient is in the clear makes them behave as if they haven’t just had brain surgery—and that puts them right back in the danger zone.’

  Nate tugged off his face mask so that she could see his smile. ‘Thanks for jumping to the fore on this one,’ he said.

  ‘Pleasure.’

  Late-night calls were something she’d been used to in her days of training with the military back in Karolinska. Back then a pre-dawn alarm had meant putting herself through brutal physical workouts or studying as if her life depended upon it—because out in the battlefields someone else’s life eventually would.

  Her family had put a sharp halt to her doing active duty, like her cousin, but she saw her work as a neurosurgeon as a similar call to service. She’d never leave a patient in the lurch. Especially one in critical care.

  Her smile turned serious. ‘Ryan was lucky he had the accident on St Vic and not on any of the other islands.’

  Nate shook his head and gave a soft laugh. ‘Spoken like a true neurosurgeon.’ His expression sobered. ‘His wife’s probably thinking he would’ve been luckier if he hadn’t had it at all.’

  The comment landed with an unexpected barb. Up until now, Lia had never given a second thought to anyone worrying about her if she had an accident.

  Her hands swept over her belly. ‘I’ve got to dash. Sorry, Nate.’

  Her boss gave her arm a quick squeeze, then excused himself. She knew he would give Ryan Van Der Hoff’s family the good news. Lia preferred to stay out of that sort of thing—particularly when there was a celebrity involved. And Ryan had starred in an international spy series that just about everyone in the world seemed to have watched.

  As far as medical centres went, this one was at the top of the list in maintaining privacy and offering service with a gilt edge. Not actual gold, of course, but the service here was off the charts. Nate was a great boss as well. As someone who hated the limelight as much as their patients did when it came to personal matters, Lia was always happy to leave the Good news, the surgery went well talks to Nate.