The Doctor And The Princess. Scarlet Wilson

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       CHAPTER THREE

      FOR THE LAST few days they’d danced around each other. It was ridiculous. And Sullivan knew it. They were both grown adults and could do whatever they wanted to.

      But he got the definite feeling that although Gabrielle was attracted to him as much as he was to her, she wasn’t comfortable about initiating a relationship under the microscopic view of their colleagues.

      And she was right. It wouldn’t really be professional. No matter how much his brain told him otherwise in the depths of the pitch-black nights in Narumba.

      He’d been furious when he’d seen those men around her. That leader attacking her. Anytime he thought about it for too long he felt his rage re-ignite. As soon as they’d got back to camp he’d contacted Gibbs and filed a report. Another team would replace them as soon as they left. He wanted to make sure precautions were taken to safeguard the staff.

      Then he’d written another note, asking the staff to try and check on Alum and Chiari to see how they were coping with the medicine regime, and if they were having any side effects, and yet another about the tribal leader’s wife, asking someone to check on her leg and her antibiotics.

      It didn’t matter where they pitched up. The clinics were packed every day and he saw a hundred variations of Alum and Chiari. That, mixed in with a hundred children who’d been orphaned and a hundred parents who’d nursed their children through their last days made him realise it might be time to have a break.

      He’d never contemplated one before. Never wanted to. But the desperate situation of some of these families was beginning to get to him.

      He wasn’t quite sure why he’d told Gabrielle about the reason he hadn’t signed up yet for another mission. Maybe she’d just asked at the right moment.

      Or maybe he was just distracted by the possibility of ten days in Paris with a woman who was slowly but surely driving him crazy. If he didn’t taste those pink lips soon he might just decide to set up his own camp inside her tent.

      Every night when they got back, she showered, changed into one of a variety of coloured T-shirts and usually those darn shorts. There should be a licence against them.

      The whoosh he’d felt when he’d first seen her was turning into a full-blown tornado. Maybe it was just the blow-out of actually feeling something again. Maybe, after three years, his head was rising above the parapet a bit. He’d met a few women in the last three years but he’d been going through the motions. There had been no emotion involved, just a pure male hormonal response. Gabrielle was different. Gabrielle had an aura around her. A buzz. He smiled to himself. She was like one of those ancient sirens who had lured sailors to their deaths. He’d have to remember not to let her sing. Or talk. Or dance. Or wear those shorts.

      It didn’t matter that they were the only five people in the camp. It didn’t matter that he was the only male for miles. As soon as he heard the music start to play in her tent he was drawn like a moth to the flame.

      Gabrielle could conduct whole conversations while she sashayed around to the beat of the music. He’d recognised it was her thing. Her down time. So far they’d discussed fourteen special patient cases, numerous plans for the next day’s camps, treatment regimes, transfer times and some testing issues.

      It was hard to have a conversation when the best pair of legs he’d ever seen was on display.

      And tonight was no different from any other—with the exception of the soul music. She smiled as he appeared at the tent entrance. ‘Lionel and Luther tonight,’ she said as her loose hair bounced around. ‘Decided it was time for a change.’

      He nodded as he moved towards her. She’d tied a red T-shirt in a knot at her waist but hadn’t got around to tying her hair up on her head as normal. It was longer than he’d realised, with a natural curl at the ends.

      Sullivan wasn’t usually a dancer. It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel the beat of the music, it was just that he’d never felt the urge to rave in a dark disco. And he certainly hadn’t felt the urge to dance at all in the last few years.

      But as the music changed to a slower song he sucked in a breath. Slow dancing he could do.

      This was private. This was just him and her. No one watching. And he couldn’t watch Gabrielle much longer without touching. He moved more purposely, catching Gabrielle’s hand while she danced and pulling her against him.

      ‘I think the tempo’s changed.’

      He could feel the curves of her breasts pressed against СКАЧАТЬ