Four Weddings. Fiona Lowe

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ thought he glimpsed a woman’s naked need, a flare of desire.

      For an infinitesimal moment she swayed toward him.

      He recognised the precise moment she stopped herself.

      Regret surged through him. His arms ached to hold her, to feel her body moulded against his own, just like on the ride up the mountain. He wanted to feel her face snuggled against his shoulder, wanted to let his head drop down against her silky hair and lose himself in her distinctively fresh scent of cinnamon apples. Wanted to taste her, feel her soft lips yielding against his own.

      It scared the hell out of him.

      He specialised in detachment. He didn’t get involved with anyone. Never had. He couldn’t offer a woman anything until he’d found the missing piece of himself. And Bec didn’t want his touch.

      So why did the thought of changing the rules even enter his head?

      * * *

      ‘Leprosy?’ Bec couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘There’s leprosy in this country?’

      She and Tom were pulling medical kits out of the back of a truck. They’d left the far northwest of the country yesterday after three weeks in the village. She hadn’t wanted to leave.

      She’d never worked so hard in her life as she had during the cholera outbreak. Amidst the hard work and heartache she’d fallen in love with the tenacity of the villagers and the glorious mountains that isolated them.

      She’d learnt more in three weeks than in all her years at university.

      Now they were on the coast. Wide sandy beaches edged with tall coconut trees extended both north and south as far as the eye could see.

      ‘There’s still some leprosy, although we’re winning and the rates have dropped dramatically. According to the World Health Organization we’re pretty close to eliminating the disease. But the stigma causes social problems and the health of the lepers needs constant monitoring.’ He handed her a medical kit backpack and smiled. A restrained smile.

      She swallowed a sigh. She missed the wide, cheeky grin he used to give her and still gave everyone else. She hadn’t been the recipient of that smile since their trip to the Sunday market.

      When he’d stood so close to her at the lookout, holding her hands and caressing her skin with his thumbs, coils of yearning had unravelled inside her like silk streaming in the wind. Glorious sensations had spread through her, making her knees buckle. She’d desperately wanted to lean into him. Wanted to rest her body against him and snuggle into the shelter of his arms.

      But stepping into his arms would have been a huge mistake. Way too big a risk.

      So she’d pulled back and a dull pain had started to throb under her ribs. It had never completely left her.

      When he’d released her hands his eyes had flickered with an emotion she hadn’t quite been able to pin down. Probably relief. The last thing he needed was an emotional nurse throwing herself into his arms. Now he seemed almost wary around her. She missed the laid-back doctor she’d first met.

      She straightened her shoulders. None of that mattered. What mattered was the time she had left to learn all she could from him about Vietnam. Then she could decide the best way she could help the children of this wonderful country.

      ‘Follow me down to the boat.’ Tom turned and walked across the sand.

      Bec scanned the water, looking for a boat, but she could only see gentle waves and the horizon. Five fishermen sat on the beach mending nets, leaning up against enormous round bamboo baskets.

      As they approached, one of the men rose and greeted Tom. He turned over the large basket and floated it in the water.

      ‘Put your pack in the middle and then hop in.’ Tom gently placed his pack on the floor of the eight-foot-diameter basket.

      Bec shrugged her pack off her shoulders. ‘Where’s the boat?’

      Tom laughed, his eyes dancing. ‘This is it.’

      Her shriek of surprise caused a great deal of mirth amongst the fishermen. ‘This is a boat?’

      ‘It’s a Vietnamese dinghy, a basket boat. It’s made from woven bamboo and covered in a waterproof tar-like substance, which is actually sap from a tree. It gets me safely to the island every time I visit.’

      He caught her gaze, his eyes suddenly intense and earnest. ‘Trust me, Bec.’ He held out his hand.

      Trust me. She tamped down the streak of panic those words generated. She could do many things, but the men she’d known had destroyed her faith in trust.

      ‘Hold onto me, step in and sit down while I steady it with my foot. It won’t sink, promise.’ His lips curved into a reassuring smile that raced to his eyes as he coaxed her into the boat.

      But it wasn’t the boat trip that worried her. It was holding his hand. She could act all independent, avoid touching him and scramble into the boat on her own. She calculated that against the risk of upending the medical supplies into the salt water.

      The medical supplies won. She reached out and caught his hand with her own, her fingers dwarfed in his wide palm. His heat fused with hers, racing through her, reigniting all the places that had glowed at his touch once before.

      ‘Nothing like an adventure, right?’ His solid, dependable tone encased her.

      He was worried she was freaking out over the boat. If only it was that simple. ‘I’m always up for an adventure.’ She plastered a fake smile on her face and lowered herself into the round boat, ignoring the vague sense of loss that speared her when she let go of his hand.

      Tom and the fisherman took their places in the basket boat, and the fisherman started to propel it forward using a single wooden paddle.

      ‘We act as counterweights so lean back and enjoy the view.’ Tom slid on sunglasses against the glare of the sun.

      Sparkling turquoise water surrounded them as they headed toward an island dotted with coconut palms and golden sands. A conical mountain rose in the middle, dominating the landscape with its jungle green canopy. ‘If this was in Far North Queensland, this place would be an exclusive tourist resort. I’m guessing it became a leper colony a long time ago.’

      Tom nodded. ‘The Catholic Church started this colony in the early 1900s, back in the days when the isolation of lepers from the general community was thought to be the way to stop the disease from spreading.’

      ‘But the world knows now that leprosy is not transmitted by touch.’

      His shoulders rose and fell in a resigned shrug. ‘But in some local communities in Africa and Asia attitudes are slow to change. Lepers are still shunned. We’re working on change and some will take place in our lifetime, but it’s a long, slow process.’

      She glanced up at the mountains that seemed almost to join the colony to the mainland. ‘Is the only way to get here by boat?’

      ‘Boat or a rugged jungle trek. Technically it’s not an island but for all intents and СКАЧАТЬ