AVRIL TREMAYNE read Jane Eyre as a teenager and has been hooked on tales of passion and romance ever since. An opportunistic insomniac, she has been a lifelong crazy-mad reader, but she took the scenic route to becoming a writer—via gigs as diverse as shoe salesgirl, hot cross bun packer, teacher, and public relations executive. She has spent a good chunk of her life travelling, and has more favourite destinations than should be strictly allowable.

Avril is happily settled in her hometown of Sydney, Australia, where her husband and daughter try to keep her out of trouble—not always successfully. When she’s not writing or reading she can generally be found eating—although she does not cook!

Check out her website: www.avriltremayne.com or follow her on Twitter: @AvrilTremayne and Facebook: www.facebook.com/avril.tremayne

FROM FLING TO FOREVER is Avril Tremayne’s debut book for Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™!

From Fling
to Forever
Avril Tremayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader

As a diehard romantic, I like the idea of a love so strong it feels as if it’s written in the stars. And that’s a concept I’ve enjoyed exploring in FROM FLING TO FOREVER.

Aaron and Ella have known enough heartbreak to have them setting very specific life paths for themselves. But when they meet at a wedding in Australia those paths are destined for the scrapheap—they just don’t know it yet.

It takes a second encounter—in Cambodia—to ignite a scorching but unwanted passion between them as they work side by side at a children’s hospital.

And a third—in England—for them to realise that the passion isn’t going away, so they’d better get it out of their systems with a quick, hard fling before sailing into their separate futures.

But it seems fate isn’t so crazy about the ‘fling’ part.

I hope you enjoy the ride as Ella and Aaron face some tense situations and the occasional emergency as they re-set their life paths from fling to forever.

Avril Tremayne

This book is dedicated to my fellow writer PTG Man and Dr John Sammut with many, many thanks for the generous medical advice. Thanks also to Dr John Lander and Dr Hynek Prochazka. Any errors that snuck in despite their best efforts are mine, all mine!

I would also like to acknowledge the amazing Angkor Hospital for Children (AHC)—a non-profit pediatric teaching hospital that provides free quality care to impoverished children in Siem Reap, Cambodia. All the characters, settings and situations in FROM FLING TO FOREVER are fictional—however, during the course of my research, I learned so much from AHC, which has provided over one million medical treatments, education to thousands of Cambodian health workers, and prevention training to thousands of families since it opened in 1999. You can find out more about the hospital at www.angkorhospital.org

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

WEDDINGS.

Ella Reynolds had nothing against them, but she certainly didn’t belong at one. Not even this one.

But her sister, Tina, had insisted she not only attend but trick herself out as maid of honour in this damned uncomfortable satin gown in which there was no stretch. Add in the ridiculous high heels and hair twisted into a silly bun that was pinned so tightly against her scalp she could practically feel the headache negotiating where to lunge first.

And then there was the stalker. Just to top everything off.

She’d first felt his stare boring into her as she’d glided up the aisle ahead of her sister. And then throughout the wedding service, when all eyes should have been on the bride and groom. And ever since she’d walked into the reception.

Disconcerting. And definitely unwanted.

Especially since he had a little boy with him. Gorgeous, sparkly, darling little boy. Asian. Three or four years old. Exactly the type of child to mess with her already messed-up head.

Ella looked into her empty champagne glass, debating whether to slide over the legal limit. Not that she was driving, but she was always so careful when she was with her family. Still … Tina, pregnant, glowing, deliriously happy, was on the dance floor with her new husband Brand—and not paying her any attention. Her parents were on the other side of the room, catching up with Brand’s family on this rare visit to Sydney—and not paying her any attention. She was alone at the bridal table, with no one paying her any attention. Which was just fine with her. It was much easier to hold it all together when you were left to yourself. To not let anyone see the horrible, unworthy envy of Tina’s pregnancy, Tina’s life.

And—she swivelled around to look for a waiter—it made it much easier to snag that extra champagne.

But a sound put paid to the champagne quest. A cleared throat.

She twisted back in her chair. Looked up.

The stalker. Uh-oh.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘Hello.’ Warily.

‘So … you’re Ella,’ he said.

Oh, dear. Inane stalker. ‘Yep. Sister of the bride.’

‘Oh.’ He looked surprised. And then, ‘Sorry, the accent. I didn’t realise …’

‘I speak American, Tina speaks Australian. It does throw people. Comes of having a parent from each country and getting to choose where you live. I live in LA. Tina lives in Sydney. But it’s still all English, you know.’ Good Lord—this was conversation?

He laughed. ‘I’m not sure the British see it that way.’

Okay—so now what? Ella wondered.

If he thought she was going to be charmed by him, he had another think coming. She wasn’t going to be charmed. And she was not in the market for a pick-up tonight. Not that he wasn’t attractive in a rough sort of way—the surferblond hair, golden tan and bursting muscles that looked completely out of place in a suit was a sexy combination. But she’d crossed the pick-up off her to-do list last night—and that had been a debacle, as usual. And even if she hadn’t crossed it off the list, and it hadn’t been a debacle, her sister’s wedding was not the place for another attempt. Nowhere within a thousand miles of any of her relatives was the place.

‘Do you mind if I sit and talk to you for a few minutes?’ he asked, and smiled at her.

Yes, I do. ‘Of course you can sit,’ she said. Infinitesimal pause. ‘And talk to me.’

‘Great.’ He pulled out a chair and sat. ‘I think Brand warned you I wanted to pick your brains tonight.’

She frowned slightly. ‘Brand?’

He smiled again. ‘Um … your brother-in-law?’

‘No-o-o, I don’t think so.’ Ella glanced over at Brand, who was carefully twirling her sister. ‘I think he’s had a few things on his mind. Marriage. Baby. Imminent move to London. New movie to make.’

Another smile. ‘Right, let’s start again and I’ll introduce myself properly.’

Ella had to give the guy points for determination. Because he had to realise by now that if she really wanted to talk to him, she would have already tried to get his name out of him.

‘I’m Aaron James,’ he said.

Ella went blank for a moment, before the vague memory surfaced. ‘Oh. Of course. The actor. Tina emailed me about a … a film?’ She frowned slightly. ‘Sorry, I remember now. About malaria.’

‘Yes. A documentary. About the global struggle to eradicate the disease. Something I am very passionate about, because my son … Well, too much information, I guess. Not that documentaries are my usual line of work.’ Smile, but looking a little frayed. ‘Maybe you’ve heard of a television show called Triage? It’s a medical drama. I’m in that.’

‘So …’ She frowned again. ‘Is it the documentary or the TV show you want to talk to me about? If it’s the TV show, I don’t think I can help you—my experience in city hospital emergency rooms is limited. And I’m a nurse—you don’t look like you’d be playing a nurse. You’re playing a doctor, right?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘I’m flying home tomorrow, but I know a few doctors here in Sydney and I’m sure they’d be happy to talk to you.’

‘No, that’s not—’

‘The numbers are in my phone,’ Ella said, reaching for her purse. ‘Do you have a pen? Or can you—?’

Aaron reached out and put his hand over hers on the tiny bronze purse. ‘Ella.’

Her fingers flexed, once, before she could stop them.

‘It’s not about the show,’ he said, releasing her hand. ‘It’s the documentary. We’re looking at treatments, mosquito control measures, drug resistance, and what’s being done to develop a vaccine. We’ll be shooting in Cambodia primarily—in some of the hospitals where I believe you’ve worked. We’re not starting for a month, but I thought I should take the chance to talk to you while you’re in Sydney. I’d love to get your impression of the place.’

She said nothing. Noted that he was starting to look impatient—and annoyed.

‘Brand told me you worked for Frontline Medical Aid,’ he prompted.

She controlled the hitch in her breath. ‘Yes, I’ve worked for them, and other medical aid agencies, in various countries, including Cambodia. But I’m not working with any agency at the moment. And I’ll be based in Los Angeles for the next year or so.’

‘And what’s it like? I mean, not Los Angeles—I know what—Um. I mean, the aid work.’

Ella shifted in her seat. He was just not getting it. ‘It has its highs and lows. Like any job.’

He was trying that charming smile again. ‘Stupid question?’

‘Look, it’s just a job,’ she said shortly. ‘I do what every nurse does. Look after people when they’re sick or hurt. Try to educate them about health. That’s all there is to it.’

‘Come on—you’re doing a little more than that. The conditions. The diseases that we just don’t see here. The refugee camps. The landmines. Kidnappings, even.’

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Bang-bang-bang. She looked down at her hands, saw the whitened knuckles and dropped them to her lap, out of Aaron’s sight. She struggled for a moment, getting herself under control. Then forced herself to look straight back up and right at him.

‘Yes, the conditions are not what most medical personnel are used to,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve seen the damage landmines can do. Had children with AIDS, with malnutrition, die in my arms. There have been kidnappings involving my colleagues, murders even. This is rare, but …’ She stopped, raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that the sort of detail you’re looking for?’ She forced herself to keep looking directly into his eyes. ‘But I imagine you’ll be insulated from the worst of it. They won’t let anything happen to you.’

‘I’m not worried about that,’ Aaron said, with a quick shake of his head. Then, suddenly, he relaxed back in his chair. ‘And you don’t want to talk about it.’

Eureka! ‘It’s fine, really,’ she said, but her voice dripped with insincerity.

The little boy Ella had seen earlier exploded onto the scene, throwing himself against Aaron’s leg, before the conversation could proceed.

‘Dad, look what Tina gave me.’

Dad. So, did he have an Asian wife? Or was the little boy adopted?

Aaron bent close to smell the small rose being offered to him.

‘It’s from her bunch of flowers,’ the little boy said, blinking adorably.

‘Beautiful.’ Aaron turned laughing eyes to Ella. ‘Ella, let me introduce my son, Kiri. Kiri, this is Tina’s sister, Ella.’

Kiri. He was Cambodian, then. And he’d had malaria—that was Aaron’s TMI moment. ‘Nice to meet you Kiri,’ Ella said, with a broad smile, then picked up her purse. ‘Speaking of Tina and flowers, it must be time to throw the bouquet. I’d better go.’

She got to her feet. ‘Goodbye Aaron. Good luck with the documentary. Goodbye Kiri.’

Well, that had been uncomfortable, Ella thought as she left the table, forcing herself to walk slowly. Calm, controlled, measured—the way she’d trained herself to walk in moments of stress.

Clearly, she had to start reading her sister’s emails more carefully. She recalled, too late, that Tina’s email had said Aaron was divorced; that he had an adopted son—although not that the boy was Cambodian, because that she would have remembered. She’d made a reference to the documentary. And there probably had been a mention of talking to him as a favour to Brand, although she really couldn’t swear to it.

She just hadn’t put all the pieces together and equated them with the wedding, or she would have been better prepared for the confrontation.

Confrontation. Since when did a few innocent questions constitute a confrontation?

Ella couldn’t stop a little squirm of shame. Aaron wasn’t to know that the exact thing he wanted to talk about was the exact thing she couldn’t bring herself to discuss with anyone. Nobody knew about Sann, the beautiful little Cambodian boy who’d died of malaria before she’d even been able to start the adoption process. Nobody knew about her relationship with Javier—her colleague and lover, kidnapped in Somalia and still missing. Nobody knew because she hadn’t wanted anyone to know, or to worry about her. Hadn’t wanted anyone to push her to talk about things, relive what she couldn’t bear to relive.

So, no, Aaron wasn’t to be blamed for asking what he thought were standard questions.

But he’d clearly sensed something was wrong with her. Because he’d gone from admiration—oh, yes, she could read admiration—to something akin to dislike, in almost record time. Something in those almost sleepy, silver-grey eyes had told her she just wasn’t his kind of person.

Ella’s head had started to throb. The damned pins.

Ah, well, one bouquet-toss and last group hug with her family and she could disappear. Back to her hotel. Throw down some aspirin. And raid the mini-bar, given she never had got that extra glass of champagne.

Yeah, like raiding the mini-bar has ever helped, her subconscious chimed in.

‘Oh, shut up,’ she muttered.

Well, that had been uncomfortable, Aaron thought as Ella Reynolds all but bolted from the table. Actually, she’d been walking slowly. Too slowly. Unnaturally slowly.

Or maybe he was just cross because of ego-dent. Because one woman in the room had no idea who he was. And didn’t care who he was when she’d found out. Well, she was American—why would she know him? He wasn’t a star over there.

Which wasn’t the point anyway.

Because since when did he expect people to recognise him and drool?

Never!

But celebrity aside, to be looked at with such blank disinterest … it wasn’t a look he was used to from women. Ella Reynolds hadn’t been overwhelmed. Or deliberately underwhelmed, as sometimes happened. She was just … hmm, was ‘whelmed’ a word? Whelmed. Depressing.

Ego, Aaron—so not like you.

Aaron swallowed a sigh as the guests started positioning themselves for the great bouquet toss. Ella was in the thick of it, smiling. Not looking in his direction—on purpose, or he’d eat the roses.

She was as beautiful as Tina had said. More so. Staggeringly so. With her honey-gold hair that even the uptight bun couldn’t take the gloss off. The luminous, gold-toned skin. Smooth, wide forehead. Finely arched dusky gold eyebrows and wide-spaced purple-blue eyes with ridiculously thick dark lashes. Lush, wide, pouty mouth. No visible freckles. No blemishes. The body beneath the figure-hugging bronze satin she’d been poured into for the wedding was a miracle of perfect curves. Fabulous breasts—and silicone-free, if he were any judge. Which he was, after so many years in the business.

And the icing on the cake—the scent of her. Dark and musky and delicious.

Yep. Stunner.

But Tina had said that as well as being gorgeous her sister was the best role model for women she could think of. Smart, dedicated to her work, committed to helping those less fortunate regardless of the personal danger she put herself in regularly.

Well, sorry, but on the basis of their conversation tonight he begged to differ. Ella Reynolds was no role model. There was something wrong with her. Something that seemed almost … dead. Her smile—that dazzling, white smile—didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes had been beautifully empty. It had been almost painful to sit near her.

Aaron felt a shiver snake down his spine.

On the bright side, he didn’t feel that hot surge of desire—that bolt that had hit him square in the groin the moment she’d slid into the church—any more. Which was good. He didn’t want to lust after her. He didn’t have the time or energy or emotional availability to lust after anyone.

He turned to his beautiful son. ‘Come on, Kiri—this part is fun to watch. But leave the bouquet-catching to the girls, huh?’

We’re not going down that road again, bouquet or not, he added silently to himself.

CHAPTER TWO

ELLA HAD BEEN determined to spend a full year in Los Angeles.

But within a few weeks of touching down at LAX she’d been back at the airport and heading for Cambodia. There had been an outbreak of dengue fever, and someone had asked her to think about helping out, and she’d thought, Why not?

Because she just hadn’t been feeling it at home. Whatever ‘it’ was. She hadn’t felt right since Tina’s wedding. Sort of restless and on edge. So she figured she needed more distraction. More work. More … something.

And volunteering at a children’s hospital in mosquito heaven is just the sort of masochism that’s right up your alley, isn’t it, Ella?

So, here she was, on her least favourite day of the year—her birthday—in northwest Cambodia—and because it was her birthday she was in the bar of one of the best hotels in town instead of her usual cheap dive.

Her parents had called this morning to wish her happy birthday. Their present was an airfare to London and an order to use it the moment her time in Cambodia was up. It was framed in part as a favour to Tina: stay with her pregnant sister in her new home city and look after her health while Brand concentrated on the movie. But she knew Tina would have been given her own set of orders: get Ella to rest and for goodness’ sake fatten her up—because her mother always freaked when she saw how thin and bedraggled Ella was after a stint in the developing world.

Tina’s present to Ella was a goat. Or rather a goat in Ella’s name, to be given to an impoverished community in India. Not every just-turned-twenty-seven-year-old’s cup of tea, but so totally perfect for this one.

And in with the goat certificate had been a parcel with a note: ‘Humour me and wear this.’ ‘This’ was sinfully expensive French lingerie in gorgeous mint-green silk, which Ella could never have afforded. It felt like a crime wearing it under her flea-market gypsy skirt and bargain-basement singlet top. But it did kind of cheer her up. Maybe she’d have to develop an underwear fetish—although somehow she didn’t think she’d find this kind of stuff digging around in the discount bins the way she usually shopped.

A small group of doctors and nurses had dragged her out tonight. They’d knocked back a few drinks, told tales about their life experiences and then eventually—inevitably—drifted off, one by one, intent on getting some rest ahead of another busy day.

But Ella wasn’t due at the hospital until the afternoon, so she could sleep in. Which meant she could stay out. And she had met someone—as she always seemed to do in bars. So she’d waved the last of her friends off with a cheerful guarantee that she could look after herself.

Yes, she had met someone. Someone who might help make her feel alive for an hour or two. Keep the nightmares at bay, if she could bring herself to get past the come-on stage for once and end up in bed with him.

She felt a hand on her backside as she leaned across the pool table and took her shot. She missed the ball completely but looked back and smiled. Tom. British. Expat. An … engineer, maybe? Was he an engineer? Well, who cared? Really, who cared?

He pulled her against him, her back against his chest. Arms circled her waist. Squeezed.

She laughed as he nipped at her earlobe, even though she couldn’t quite stop a slight shudder of distaste. His breath was too hot, too … moist. He bit gently at her ear again.

Ella wasn’t sure what made her look over at the entrance to the bar at that particular moment. But pool cue in one hand, caught against Tom’s chest, with—she realised in one awful moment—one of the straps of her top hanging off her shoulder to reveal the beacon-green silk of her bra strap, she looked.

Aaron James.

He was standing still, looking immaculately clean in blue jeans and a tight white T-shirt, which suited him way more than the get-up he’d been wearing at the wedding. Very tough-guy gorgeous, with the impressive muscles and fallen-angel hair with those tousled, surfer-white streaks she remembered very well.

Actually, she was surprised she remembered so much!

He gave her one long, cool, head-to-toe inspection. One nod.

Ah, so he obviously remembered her too. She was pretty sure that was not a good thing.

Then he walked to the bar, ignoring her. Hmm. Definitely not a good thing.

Ella, who’d thought she’d given up blushing, blushed. Hastily she yanked the misbehaving strap back onto her shoulder.

With a wicked laugh, Tom the engineer nudged it back off.

‘Don’t,’ she said, automatically reaching for it again.

Tom shrugged good-humouredly. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it.’

For good measure, Ella pulled on the long-sleeved, light cotton cardigan she’d worn between her guesthouse accommodation and the hotel. She always dressed for modesty outside Western establishments, and that meant covering up.

And there were mosquitoes to ward off in any case.

And okay, yes, the sight of Aaron James had unnerved her. She admitted it! She was wearing a cardigan because Aaron James had looked at her in that way.

She tried to appear normal as the game progressed, but every now and then she would catch Aaron’s gaze on her and she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the game or on Tom. Whenever she laughed, or when Tom let out a whoop of triumph at a well-played shot, she would feel Aaron looking at her. Just for a moment. His eyes on her, then off. When Tom went to the bar to buy a round. When she tripped over a chair, reaching for her drink. When Tom enveloped her from behind to give her help she didn’t need with a shot.

It made her feel … dirty. Ashamed. Which was just not fair. She was single, adult, independent. So she wanted a few mindless hours of fun on her lonely birthday to take her mind off sickness and death—what was wrong with that?

But however she justified things to herself, she knew that tonight her plans had been derailed. All because of a pair of censorious silver eyes.

Censorious eyes that belonged to a friend of her sister. Very sobering, that—the last thing she needed was Aaron tattling to Tina about her.

It was probably just as well to abandon tonight’s escapade. Her head was starting to ache and she felt overly hot. Maybe she was coming down with something? She would be better off in bed. Her bed. Alone. As usual.

She put down her cue and smiled at Tom the engineer. Her head was pounding now. ‘It’s been fun, Tom, but I’m going to have to call it a night.’

‘But it’s still early. I thought we could—’

‘No, really. It’s time I went home. I’m tired, and I’m not feeling well.’

‘Just one more drink,’ Tom slurred, reaching for her arm.

She stepped back, out of his reach. ‘I don’t think so.’

Tom lunged for her and managed to get his arms around her.

He was very drunk, but Ella wasn’t concerned. She’d been in these situations before and had always managed to extricate herself. Gently but firmly she started to prise Tom’s arms from around her. He took this as an invitation to kiss her and landed his very wet lips on one side of her mouth.

Yeuch.

Tom murmured something about how beautiful she was. Ella, still working at unhooking his arms, was in the middle of thanking him for the compliment when he suddenly wasn’t there. One moment she’d been disengaging herself from his enthusiastic embrace, and the next—air.

And then an Australian accent. ‘You don’t want to do that, mate.’

She blinked, focused, and saw that Aaron James was holding Tom in an embrace of his own, standing behind him with one arm around Tom’s chest. How had he got from the bar to the pool table in a nanosecond?

‘I’m fine,’ Ella said. ‘You can let him go.’

Aaron ignored her.

‘I said I’m fine,’ Ella insisted. ‘I was handling it.’

‘Yes, I could see that,’ Aaron said darkly.

‘I was,’ Ella insisted, and stepped forward to pull futilely at Aaron’s steel-band arm clamped across Tom’s writhing torso.

Tom lunged at the same time, and Ella felt a crack across her lip. She tasted blood, staggered backwards, fell against the table and ended up on the floor.

And then everything swirled. Black spots. Nothing.

The first thing Ella noticed as her consciousness returned was the scent. Delicious. Clean and wild, like the beach in winter. She inhaled. Nuzzled her nose into it. Inhaled again. She wanted to taste it. Did it taste as good as it smelled? She opened her mouth, moved her lips, tongue. One small lick. Mmm. Good. Different from the smell but … good.

Then a sound. A sharp intake of breath.

She opened her eyes. Saw skin. Tanned skin. White next to it. She shook her head to clear it. Oh, that hurt. Pulled back a little, looked up. Aaron James. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘What happened?’

‘That moron knocked you out.’

It came back at once. Tom. ‘Not on purpose.’

‘No, not on purpose.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Gone. Don’t worry about him.’

‘I’m not worried. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.’ Ella moved again, and realised she was half lolling against Aaron’s thighs.

She started to ease away from him but he kept her there, one arm around her back, one crossing her waist to hold onto her from the front.

‘Take it easy,’ Aaron said.

A crowd of people had gathered around them. Ella felt herself blush for the second time that night. Intolerable, but apparently uncontrollable. ‘I don’t feel well,’ she said.

‘I’m not surprised,’ Aaron replied.

‘I have to get home,’ she said, but she stayed exactly where she was. She closed her eyes. The smell of him. It was him, that smell. That was … comforting. She didn’t know why that was so. Didn’t care why. It just was.

‘All right, people, show’s over,’ Aaron said, and Ella realised he was telling their audience to get lost. He said something more specific to another man, who seemed to be in charge. She assumed he was pacifying the manager. She didn’t care. She just wanted to close her eyes.

‘Ella, your lip’s bleeding. I’m staying here at the hotel. Come to my room, let me make sure you’re all right, then I’ll get you home. Or to the hospital.’

She opened her eyes. ‘Not the hospital.’ She didn’t want anyone at the hospital to see her like this.

‘Okay—then my room.’

She wanted to say she would find her own way home immediately, but when she opened her mouth the words ‘All right’ were what came out. She ran her tongue experimentally over her lip. Ouch. Why hadn’t she noticed it was hurting? ‘My head hurts more than my lip. Did I hit it when I fell?’

‘No, I caught you. Let me …’ He didn’t bother finishing the sentence, instead running his fingers over her scalp. ‘No, nothing. Come on. I’ll help you stand.’

Aaron carefully eased Ella up. ‘Lean on me,’ he said softly, and Ella didn’t need to be told twice. She felt awful.

As they made their way out of the bar, she noted a few people looking and whispering, but nobody she knew. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ she said to Aaron. ‘Do you think anyone knows you? I mean, from the television show?’

‘I’m not well known outside Australia. But it doesn’t matter either way.’

‘I don’t want to embarrass you.’

‘I’m not easily embarrassed. I’ve got stories that would curl your hair. It’s inevitable, with three semi-wild younger sisters.’

‘I was all right, you know,’ she said. ‘I can look after myself.’

‘Can you?’

‘Yes. I’ve been doing it a long time. And he was harmless. Tom.’

‘Was he?’

‘Yes. I could have managed. I was managing.’

‘Were you?’

‘Yes. And stop questioning me. It’s annoying. And it’s hurting my head.’

They were outside the bar now and Aaron stopped. ‘Just one more,’ he said, and turned her to face him. ‘What on earth were you thinking?’

Ella was so stunned at the leashed fury in his voice she couldn’t think, let alone speak.

He didn’t seem to need an answer, though, because he just rolled right on. ‘Drinking like a fish. Letting that clown slobber all over you!’

‘He’s not a clown, he’s an engineer,’ Ella said. And then, with the ghost of a smile, ‘And fish don’t drink beer.’

He looked like thunder.

Ella waited, curious about what he was going to hurl at her. But with a snort of disgust he simply took her arm again, started walking.

He didn’t speak again until they were almost across the hotel lobby. ‘I’m sorry. I guess I feel a little responsible for you, given my relationship with Brand and Tina.’

‘That is just ridiculous—I already have a father. And he happens to know I can look after myself. Anyway, why are you here?’ Then, ‘Oh, yeah, I remember. The documentary.’ She grimaced. ‘Should I have known you’d be here now?’

‘I have no idea. Anyway, you’re supposed to be in LA.’

‘I was in LA. But now—It was a sudden decision, to come here. So it looks like we’ve surprised each other.’

‘Looks like it.’

Aaron guided Ella through a side door leading to the open air, and then along a tree-bordered path until they were in front of what looked like a miniature mansion. He would be in one of the presidential-style villas, of course. He didn’t look very happy to have brought her there, though.

‘How long will you be in town?’ she asked, as he unlocked the door.

‘Two weeks, give or take.’

‘So, you’ll be gone in two weeks. And I’ll still be here, looking after myself. Like I’ve always done.’ She was pleased with the matter-of-factness of her voice, because in reality she didn’t feel matter-of-fact. She felt depressed. She blamed it on the birthday.

Birthdays: misery, with candles.

‘Well, good for you, Ella,’ he said, and there was a definite sneer in there. ‘You’re doing such a fine job of it my conscience will be crystal clear when I leave.’

Hello? Sarcasm? Really? Why?

Aaron drew her inside, through a tiled hallway and into a small living room. There was a light on but no sign of anyone.

‘Is your son with you?’ she asked. Not that it’s any of your business, Ella.

‘Yes, he’s in bed.’

‘So you’ve got a nanny? Or is your wife—?’ Um, not your business?

‘Ex-wife. Rebecca is in Sydney. And, yes, I have a nanny, whose name is Jenny. I don’t make a habit of leaving my four-year-old son on his own in hotel rooms.’

Oh, dear, he really did not like her. And she was well on the way to actively disliking him. His attitude was a cross between grouchy father and irritated brother—without the familial affection that would only just make that bearable.

Aaron gestured for Ella to sit. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

Ella sank onto the couch. ‘Water, please.’

‘Good choice,’ Aaron said, making Ella wish she’d asked for whisky instead.

He went to the fridge, fished out a bottle of water, poured it into a glass and handed it to her. She didn’t deign to thank him.

She rubbed her forehead as she drank.

He was watching her. ‘Head still hurting?’

‘Yes.’

‘Had enough water?’

Ella nodded and Aaron took the glass out of her hand, sat next to her. He turned her so she was facing away from him. ‘Here,’ he said tetchily, and started kneading the back of her neck.

‘Ahhh …’ she breathed out. ‘That feels good.’

‘Like most actors, I’ve had a chequered career—massage therapy was one of my shorter-lived occupations but I remember a little,’ Aaron said, sounding not at all soothing like a massage therapist.

‘Where’s the dolphin music?’ she joked.

He didn’t bother answering and she decided she would not speak again. She didn’t see why she should make an effort to talk to him, given his snotty attitude. She swayed a little, and he pulled her closer to his chest, one hand kneading while he reached his other arm around in front of her, bracing his forearm against her collarbone to balance her.

She could smell him again. He smelled exquisite. So clean and fresh and … yum. The rhythmic movement of his fingers was soothing, even if it did nothing to ease the ache at the front of her skull. She could have stayed like that for hours.

Slowly, he finished the massage and she had to bite back a protest. He turned her to face him and looked at her lip. ‘It’s only a small tear. I have a first-aid kit in the bathroom.’

‘How very Triage of you, Aaron.’ He looked suitably unimpressed at that dig.

‘Just some ice,’ she said. ‘That’s all I need. And I can look after it myself. I’m a nurse, remember?’

But Aaron was already up and away.

He came back with a bowl of ice and the first-aid kit.

Ella peered into the kit and removed a square of gauze, then wrapped it around an ice cube. ‘It’s not serious and will heal quickly. Mouth injuries do. It’s all about the blood supply.’

Not that Aaron seemed interested in that piece of medical information, because he just took the wrapped ice from her impatiently.

‘I promise you I can do it myself,’ Ella said.

‘Hold still,’ he insisted. He held the ice on her bottom lip, kept it pressed there for a minute.

‘Open,’ he ordered, and Ella automatically opened her mouth for him to inspect inside. ‘Looks like you bit the inside of your lip.’ He grabbed another square of gauze, wrapped it around another cube of ice and pressed it on the small wound.

He was looking intently at her mouth and Ella started to feel uncomfortable. She could still smell that heavenly scent wafting up from his skin. Why couldn’t he smell like stale sweat like everyone else in that bar? She blinked a few times, trying to clear her fuzzy head.

Her eyes fell on his T-shirt and she saw a smear of blood on the collar. Her blood. Her fingers reached out, touched it. His neck, too, had a tiny speck of her blood. Seemingly of their own volition her fingers travelled up, rubbing at the stain. And then she remembered how it had got there. Remembered in one clear flash how she had put her mouth there, on his skin. She felt a flare of arousal and sucked in a quick breath.

He had gone very still. He was watching her. Looking stunned.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SORRY,’ ELLA SAID. ‘It’s just … I—I bled on you.’

‘Ella, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to touch me.’

‘Sorry,’ Ella said again, jerking her fingers away.

Aaron promptly contradicted himself by taking the hand she’d pulled away and pressing it against his chest. He could actually hear his heart thudding. It was probably thumping against her palm like a drum. He didn’t care. He wanted her hand on him. Wanted both her hands on him.

He could hear a clock ticking somewhere in the room, but except for that and his heart the silence was thick and heavy.

I don’t even like her. He said that in his head, but something wasn’t connecting his head to his groin, because just as the thought completed itself he tossed the gauze aside and reached for her other hand, brought it to his mouth, pressed his mouth there, kept it there.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t have to like someone to want them.

He really, really hadn’t expected to see her again. She was supposed to be in LA. Their ‘relationship’ should have begun and ended with one awkward conversation at a wedding.

And yet here he was. And here she was. And he had no idea what was going to happen next.

When he’d walked into that bar tonight and seen her with that idiot, he’d wanted to explode, drag her away, beat the guy senseless.

And he never lost his temper!

He’d been so shocked at his reaction he’d contemplated leaving the bar, going somewhere else—a different bar, for a walk, to bed, anything, anywhere else. But he hadn’t.

He’d only been planning on having one drink anyway, just a post-flight beer. But nope. He’d stayed, sensing there was going to be trouble. She’d laughed too much, drunk too much, Tom the idiot engineer had fondled her too much. Something was going to give.

And something definitely had.

And of course he’d been there smack bang in the middle of it, like he couldn’t get there fast enough.

And then his arms had been around her. And she’d snuggled against him. Her tongue on his neck. And he’d wanted her. Wanted her like he’d never wanted anyone in his life.

And it had made him furious.

Was making him furious now.

So why was he moving the hand he’d been holding to his mouth down to his chest, instead of letting it go?

His hands were only lightly covering hers now. She could break away if she wanted to. Bring him back to sanity. Please.

But she didn’t break away.

Her hands moved up, over his chest to his collarbones then shoulders. Confident hands. Direct and sure.

He stifled a groan.

‘You don’t want me.’ She breathed the words. ‘You don’t like me.’ But her hands moved again, down to his deltoids, stopping there. Her fingers slid under the short sleeves of his T-shirt, stroked.

This time the groan escaped as his pulse leapt.

Ella moved closer to him, sighed as she surrounded him with her arms, rested the side of her face against his chest then simply waited.

He battled himself for a long moment. His hand hovered over her hair. He could see the tremor in his fingers. He closed his eyes so the sight of her wouldn’t push him over the edge. That only intensified the sexy smell of her. Ella Reynolds. Tina’s sister. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I can’t do this.’ Was that his voice? That croak?

He waited, every nerve tingling. Didn’t trust himself to move. If he moved, even a fraction …

Then he heard her sigh again; this time it signalled resignation, not surrender.

‘No, of course not,’ she said, and slowly disentangled herself until she was sitting safely, separately, beside him.

Whew. Catastrophe averted.

‘A shame,’ she said. Her voice was cool and so were her eyes as she reached out to skim her fingernail over his right arm, at the top of his biceps where the sleeve of his T-shirt had been pushed up just enough to reveal the lower edge of a black tattoo circlet. Her lips turned up in an approximation of a smile. ‘Because I like tattoos. They’re a real turn-on for me. Would have been fun.’

He stared at her, fighting the urge to drag her back against his chest, not quite believing the disdainful humour he could hear in her voice, see in her eyes. Wondering if he’d imagined the yielding softness only moments ago.

At Tina and Brand’s wedding he’d sensed that there was something wrong with her. It had made him uncomfortable to be near her. Made him want to get away from her.

He had the same feeling now. Only this time he couldn’t get away. He would be damned if he’d let Tina’s sister stagger home drunk and disorderly, with a pounding head and a split lip. Oh, yeah, that’s the reason, is it? Tina?

Ella shrugged—a dismissive, almost delicate gesture. ‘But don’t worry, I won’t press you,’ she said calmly. ‘I’ve never had to beg for it in my life and I won’t start now, tattoos or not.’

She stood suddenly and smiled—the dazzling smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I’d better go,’ she said.

‘I’ll take you home,’ he said, ignoring the taunt of all those men she hadn’t had to beg. None of his business.

‘I’ll walk.’

‘I’ll take you,’ Aaron insisted.

Ella laughed. ‘Okay, but I hope we’re not going to drag some poor driver out of bed.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘Close enough. I can walk there in under ten minutes.’

‘Then we’ll walk.’

‘All right, then, lead on, Sir Galahad,’ Ella said lightly, mockingly.

And that was exactly why he didn’t like her.

Because she was just so unknowable. Contrary. Changeable. Ready to seduce him one moment and the next so cool. Poised. Amused. They made it to the street without him throttling her, which was one relief. Although he would have preferred a different relief—one for inside his jeans, because, heaven help him, it was painful down there. How the hell did she do that? Make him both want her and want to run a mile in the opposite direction?

Ella led off and Aaron fell into step beside her, conscious of her excruciatingly arousing perfume. The almost drugging combination of that scent, the damp heat, the sizzle and shout of the street stalls, the thumping music and wild shouts from the tourist bars, was so mesmerisingly exotic it felt almost like he was in another world. One where the normal rules, the checks and balances, didn’t apply.

The minutes ticked by. A steady stream of motorbikes puttered past. A short line of tuk-tuks carrying chatty tourists. Jaunty music from a group of street musicians. Sounds fading as he and Ella walked further, further.

‘Needless to say, tonight’s escapade is not something Tina needs to hear about,’ Ella said suddenly.

‘Needless to say,’ he agreed.

A tinkling laugh. ‘Of course, you wouldn’t want it getting back to your wife either. At least, not the latter part of the evening.’

‘Ex-wife,’ Aaron corrected her. He heard a dog barking in the distance. A mysterious rustle in the bushes near the road.

‘Ah.’ Ella’s steps slowed, but only very briefly. ‘But not really ex, I’m thinking, Sir Galahad.’

Aaron grabbed Ella’s arm, pulling her to the side of a dirty puddle she was about to step into. ‘It’s complicated,’ he said, when she looked at him.

She pulled free of the contact and started forward again.

‘But definitely ex,’ he added. And if she only knew the drug-fuelled hell Rebecca had put him through for the past three years, she would understand.

‘Oh, dear, how inconvenient! An ex who’s not really an ex. It must play havoc with your sex life.’

She laughed again, and his temper got the better of him.

The temper that he never lost.

‘What is wrong with you?’ he demanded, whirling her to face him.

She looked up at him, opened her mouth to say—

Well, who knew? Because before he could stop himself he’d slapped his mouth on hers in a devouring kiss.

Just what he didn’t want to do.

And she had the audacity to kiss him back. More than that—her arms were around him, her hands under his Tshirt.

Then he tasted blood, remembered her lip. Horrified, he pulled back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

She ran her tongue across her lower lip, raised her eyebrows. ‘Definitely would have been fun,’ she said.

‘I’m not looking for a relationship,’ he said bluntly. And where had that come from? It seemed to suggest he was after something. But what? What was he after? Nothing—nothing from her.

It seemed to startle her, at least. ‘Did I ask for one?’

‘No.’

‘That’s a relief! Because I’m really only interested in casual sex. And on that note, how fortunate that we’re here. Where I live. So we can say our goodbyes, and both pretend tonight didn’t happen. No relationship. And, alas, no casual sex, because you’re married. Oh, no, that’s right, you’re not. But no sex anyway.’

‘I should have left you with the engineer.’

‘Well, I would have seen a lot more action,’ she said. She started forward and then stopped, raised her hand to her eyes.

‘What is it?’ Aaron asked.

‘Nothing. A headache,’ she answered. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Goodbye, then,’ he said, and turned to walk back to the hotel.

A lot more action! Ha! Aaron was quite sure if he ever let himself put his hands on Ella Reynolds she wouldn’t be able to think about another man for a long time. Or walk straight either.

But he was not going to touch her, of course. Not.

Ella made her way to her room, cursing silently.

Her head was throbbing and her joints were aching and she longed to lapse into a thought-free coma. She’d just realised she’d contracted either malaria or dengue fever. She wasn’t sure which, but either way it sucked.

But when she’d taken two paracetamol tablets and clambered into bed, praying for a mild dose of whatever it was, it wasn’t the pain that made the tears come. It was shame. And regret. And a strange sense of loss.

Aaron James had wanted her. Ordinarily, a man wanting her would not cause Ella consternation. Lots of men had wanted her and she’d had no trouble resisting them.

But Aaron was different. He’d kissed her like he was pouring his strength, his soul into her. And yet he’d been able to fight whatever urge had been driving him.

Why? How?

She manhandled her pillow, trying to get it into a more head-cradling shape.

Not looking for a relationship—that’s what he’d said. How galling! As though it were something she would be begging for on the basis of one kiss. All right, one amazing kiss, but—seriously! What a joke. A relationship? The one thing she couldn’t have.

Ella sighed as her outrage morphed into something more distressing: self-loathing. Because she was a fraud and she knew it. A coward who used whatever was at her disposal to stop herself from confronting the wreck her life had become since Javier had been kidnapped in Somalia on her twenty-fifth birthday.

She’d been in limbo ever since. Feeling helpless, hopeless. Guilty that she was free and he was who-knew-where. In the year after his kidnapping she’d felt so lost and alone and powerless she’d thought a nervous breakdown had been on the cards.

And then she’d found Sann in a Cambodian orphanage, and life had beckoned to her again. Two years old, and hers. Or so she’d hoped. But he’d been taken too. He’d died, on her twenty-sixth birthday.

And now here she was on her twenty-seventh birthday. Still in limbo, with no idea of what had happened to Javier. Still grieving for Sann.

Panicking at the thought of seeing an Asian child with an adoptive parent.

Unable to entertain even the thought of a relationship with a man.

Pretending she was calm and in control when she was a basket case.

Her life had become a series of shambolic episodes. Too many drinks at the bar. Getting picked up by strange men, determined to see it through then backing out. Always backing out, like the worst kind of tease, because no matter how desperate she was to feel something, the guilt was always stronger. Coping, but only just, with endlessly sad thoughts during the day and debilitating dreams at night.

She knew that something in her was lost—but she just didn’t know how to find it. She hid it from the people she cared about because she knew her grief would devastate them. She hid it from her colleagues because they didn’t need the extra burden.

And she was just … stuck. Stuck on past heartbreaks. And it was starting to show.

No wonder Aaron James abhorred the idea of a ‘relationship’ with her.

Ella rubbed tiredly at her forehead. She closed her eyes, longing for sleep, but knowing the nightmares would come tonight.

Dr Seng slapped his hand on the desk and Aaron’s wandering mind snapped back to him. ‘So—we’ve talked about malaria. Now, a few facts about the hospital.’

Kiri had been whisked off to do some painting—one of his favourite pastimes—on arrival at the Children’s Community Friendship Hospital, so Aaron could concentrate on this first meeting.

But he wasn’t finding it easy.

He had a feeling … A picture of Ella here. Was this where she was working? He wasn’t sure, but he kept expecting her to sashay past.

Dr Seng handed over an array of brochures. ‘Pre-Pol Pot, there were more than five hundred doctors practising in Cambodia,’ Dr Seng said. ‘By the time the Khmer Rouge fled Cambodia in 1979 there were less than fifty. Can you imagine what it must have been like? Rebuilding an entire healthcare system from the ground up, with almost no money, no skills? Because that’s what happened in Cambodia.’

Aaron knew the history—he’d made it his business to know, because of Kiri. But he could never come to terms with the brutal stupidity of the Khmer Rouge. ‘No, I can’t imagine it,’ he said simply. ‘And I’d say this hospital is something of a miracle.’

‘Yes. We were started by philanthropists and we’re kept going by donations—which is why we are so happy to be associated with your documentary: we need all the publicity we can get, to keep attracting money. It costs us less than twenty-five dollars to treat a child. Only fifty dollars to operate. Unheard of in your world. But, of course, we have so many to help.’

‘But your patients pay nothing, right?’

‘Correct. Our patients are from impoverished communities and are treated free, although they contribute if they can.’

‘And your staff …?’

‘In the early days the hospital relied on staff from overseas, but today we are almost exclusively Khmer. And we’re a teaching hospital—we train healthcare workers from all over the country. That’s a huge success story.’

‘So you don’t have any overseas staff here at the moment?’

‘Actually, we do. Not paid staff—volunteers.’

‘Doctors?’

‘We have a group of doctors from Singapore coming in a few months’ time to perform heart surgeries. And at the moment we have three nurses, all from America, helping out.’

‘I was wondering if …’ Aaron cleared his throat. ‘If perhaps Ella Reynolds was working here?’

Dr Seng looked at him in surprise. ‘Ella? Why, yes!’

Ahhhhh. Fate. It had a lot to answer for.

‘I—I’m a friend. Of the family,’ Aaron explained.

‘Then I’m sorry to say you probably won’t see her. She’s not well. She won’t be in for the whole week.’

Aaron knew he should be feeling relieved. He could have a nice easy week of filming, with no cutting comments, no tattoo come-ons, no amused eyebrow-raising.

But … what did ‘not well’ mean? Head cold? Sprained toe? Cancer? Liver failure? Amputation? ‘Not well?’

‘Dengue fever—we’re in the middle of an outbreak, I’m afraid. Maybe a subject for your next documentary, given it’s endemic in at least a hundred countries and infects up to a hundred million people a year.’

Alarm bells. ‘But it doesn’t kill you, right?’

‘It certainly can,’ the doctor said, too easily, clearly not understanding Aaron’s need for reassurance.

Aaron swallowed. ‘But … Ella …’

‘Ella? No, no, no. She isn’t going to die. The faster you’re diagnosed and treated the better, and she diagnosed herself very quickly. It’s more dangerous for children, which Ella is not. And much more dangerous if you’ve had it before, which Ella has not.’

Better. But not quite good enough. ‘So is she in hospital?’

‘Not necessary at this stage. There’s no cure; you just have to nurse the symptoms—take painkillers, keep up the fluids, watch for signs of internal bleeding, which would mean it was dengue haemorrhagic fever—very serious! But Ella knows what she’s doing, and she has a friend staying close by, one of the nurses. And I’ll be monitoring her as well. A shame it hit her on her birthday.’

‘Birthday?’

‘Two days ago. Do you want me to get a message to her?’

‘No, that’s fine,’ Aaron said hurriedly. ‘Maybe I’ll see her before I head home to Sydney.’

‘Then let’s collect Kiri and I’ll have you both taken on a tour of our facilities.’

It quickly became clear that it was Kiri, not Aaron, who was the celebrity in the hospital. He seemed to fascinate people with his Cambodian Australian-ness, and he was equally fascinated in return. He got the hang of the satu—the graceful greeting where you placed your palms together and bowed your head—and looked utterly natural doing it. It soothed Aaron’s conscience, which had been uneasy about bringing him.

They were taken to observe the frenetic outpatient department, which Aaron was stunned to learn saw more than five hundred patients a day in a kind of triage arrangement.

The low acuity unit, where he saw his first malaria patients, a sardine can’s worth of dengue sufferers, and children with assorted other conditions, including TB, pneumonia, malnutrition, HIV/AIDS and meningitis.

The emergency room, where premature babies and critically ill children were treated for sepsis, severe asthma, and on and on and on.

Then the air-conditioned intensive care unit, which offered mechanical ventilation, blood gas analysis and inotropes—not that Aaron had a clue what that meant. It looked like the Starship Enterprise in contrast to the mats laid out for the overflow of dengue sufferers in the fan-cooled hospital corridors.

The tour wrapped up with a walk through the basic but well-used teaching rooms, some of which had been turned into makeshift wards to cope with the dengue rush.

And then, to Aaron’s intense annoyance, his focus snapped straight back to Ella.

Tina and Brand would expect him to check on her, right?

And, okay, he wanted to make sure for himself that she was going to recover as quickly and easily as Dr Seng seemed to think.

One visit to ease his conscience, and he would put Ella Reynolds into his mental lockbox of almost-mistakes and double-padlock the thing.

And so, forty minutes after leaving the hospital, with Kiri safely in Jenny’s care at the hotel, he found himself outside Ella’s guesthouse, coercing her room number from one of the other boarders, and treading up the stairs.

CHAPTER FOUR

AARON FELT SUDDENLY guilty as he knocked. Ella would have to drag herself out of bed to open the door.

Well, why not add another layer of guilt to go with his jumble of feelings about that night at the bar?

The boorish way he’d behaved—when he was never boorish.

The way he’d assumed her headache was the result of booze, when she’d actually been coming down with dengue fever.

The door opened abruptly. A pretty brunette, wearing a nurse’s uniform, stood there.

‘Sorry, I thought this was Ella Reynolds’s room,’ Aaron said.

‘It is.’ She gave him the appreciative look he was used to receiving from women—women who weren’t Ella Reynolds, anyway. ‘She’s in bed. Ill.’

‘Yes, I know. I’m Aaron James. A … a friend. Of the family.’

‘I’m Helen. I’m in the room next door, so I’m keeping an eye on her.’

‘Nice to meet you.’

She gave him a curious look and he smiled at her, hoping he looked harmless.

‘Hang on, and I’ll check if she’s up to a visit,’ Helen said.

The door closed in his face, and he was left wondering whether it would open again.

What on earth was he doing here?

Within a minute Helen was back. ‘She’s just giving herself a tourniquet test, but come in. I’m heading to the hospital, so she’s all yours.’

It was gloomy in the room. And quiet—which was why he could hear his heart racing, even though his heart had no business racing.

His eyes went first to the bed—small, with a mosquito net hanging from a hook in the ceiling, which had been shoved aside. Ella was very focused, staring at her arm, ignoring him. So Aaron looked around the room. Bedside table with a lamp, a framed photo. White walls. Small wardrobe. Suitcase against a wall. A door that he guessed opened to a bathroom, probably the size of a shoebox.

He heard a sound at the bed. Like a magnet, it drew him.

She was taking a blood-pressure cuff off her arm.

‘I heard you were ill,’ he said, as he reached the bedside. ‘I’m sorry. That you’re sick, I mean.’

‘I’m not too happy about it myself.’ She sounded both grim and amused, and Aaron had to admire the way she achieved that.

‘Who told you I was sick?’ she asked.

‘The hospital. I’m filming there for the next week.’

She looked appalled at that news. ‘Just one week, right?’

‘Looks like it.’

She nodded. He imagined she was calculating the odds of having to see him at work. Flattering—not.

He cleared his throat. ‘So what’s a tourniquet test?’

‘You use the blood-pressure machine—’

‘Sphygmomanometer.’

‘Well, aren’t you clever, Dr Triage! Yes. Take your BP, keep the cuff blown up to halfway between the diastolic and systolic—the minimum and maximum pressure—wait a few minutes and check for petechiae—blood points in the skin.’

‘And do you have them? Um … it? Petechiae?’

‘Not enough. Less than ten per square inch.’

‘Is that … is that bad?’

‘It’s good, actually.’

‘Why?’

Audible sigh. ‘It means I have classic dengue—not haemorrhagic. As good as it gets when every bone and joint in your body is aching and your head feels like it might explode through your eyeballs.’

‘Is that how it feels?’

‘Yes.’

Silence.

Aaron racked his brain. ‘I thought you might want me to get a message to Tina.’

Her lips tightened. Which he took as a no.

‘That would be no,’ she confirmed.

A sheet covered the lower half of her body. She was wearing a red T-shirt. Her hair was piled on top of her head, held in place by a rubber band. Her face was flushed, a light sheen of sweat covering it. And despite the distinct lack of glamour, despite the tightened lips and warning eyes, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

‘Shouldn’t you keep the net closed?’ he asked, standing rigid beside the bed. Yep—just the sort of thing a man asked a nurse who specialised in tropical illnesses.

‘Happy to, if you want to talk to me through it. Or you can swat the mosquitoes before they get to me.’

‘Okay—I’ll swat.’

She regarded him suspiciously. ‘Why are you really here? To warn me I’ll be seeing you at the hospital?’

‘No, because it looks like you won’t be. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. See if you needed anything.’

‘Well, I’m all right, and I don’t need anything. So thank you for coming but …’ Her strength seemed to desert her then and she rolled flat onto her back in the bed, staring at the ceiling, saying nothing.

‘I heard it was your birthday. That night.’

An eye roll, but otherwise no answer.

He came a half-step closer. ‘If I’d known …’

Aaron mentally winced as she rolled her eyes again.

‘What would you have done?’ she asked. ‘Baked me a cake?’

‘Point taken.’

Trawling for a new topic of conversation, he picked up the photo from her bedside table. ‘Funny—you and Tina sound nothing alike, and you look nothing alike.’

Silence, and then, grudgingly, ‘I take after my father’s side of the family. Tina’s a genetic throwback.’ She smiled suddenly, and Aaron felt his breath jam in his throat. She really was gorgeous when she smiled like that, with her eyes as well as her mouth—even if it was aimed into space and not at him.

He gestured to the photo. ‘I wouldn’t have picked you for a Disneyland kind of girl.’

‘Who doesn’t like Disneyland? As long as you remember it’s not real, it’s a blast.’

Aaron looked at her, disturbed by the harshness in her voice. Did she have to practise that cynicism or did it come naturally?

Ella raised herself on her elbow again. ‘Look, forget Disneyland, and my birthday. I do need something from you. Only one thing.’ She fixed him with a gimlet eye. ‘Silence. You can’t talk about that night, or about me being sick. Don’t tell Tina. Don’t tell Brand. My life here has nothing to do with them. In fact, don’t talk to anyone about me.’

‘Someone should know you’ve got dengue fever.’

‘You know. That will have to do. But don’t worry, it won’t affect you unless I don’t make it. And my advice then would be to head for the hills and forget you were ever in Cambodia, because my mother will probably kill you.’ That glorious smile again—and, again, not directed at him, just at the thought. ‘She never did like a bearer of bad tidings—quite medieval.’

‘All the more reason to tell them now.’

Back to the eye roll. ‘Except she’s not really going to kill you and I’m not going to drop dead. Look …’ Ella seemed to be finding the right words. ‘They’ll worry, and I don’t want them worrying about something that can’t be changed.’

‘You shouldn’t be on your own when you’re ill.’

‘I’m not. I’m surrounded by experts. I feel like I’m in an episode of your TV show, there are so many medical personnel traipsing in and out of this room.’

Aaron looked down at her.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Ella said.

‘Like what?’ Aaron asked. But he was wincing internally because he kind of knew how he must be looking at her. And it was really inappropriate, given her state of health.

With an effort, she pushed herself back into a sitting position. ‘Let me make this easy for you, Aaron. I am not, ever, going to have sex with you.’

Yep, she’d pegged the look all right.

‘You have a child,’ she continued. ‘And a wife, ex-wife, whatever. And it’s very clear that your … encumbrances … are important to you. And that’s the way it should be. I understand it. I respect it. I even admire it. So let’s just leave it. I was interested for one night, and now I’m not. You were interested, but not enough. Moment officially over. You can take a nice clear conscience home to Sydney, along with the film.’

‘Ella—’

‘I don’t want to hear any more. And I really, truly, do not want to see you again. I don’t want—Look, I don’t want to get mixed up with a friend of my sister’s. Especially a man with a kid.’

Okay, sentiments Aaron agreed with wholeheartedly. So he should just leave it at that. Run—don’t walk—to the nearest exit. Good riddance. So he was kind of surprised to find his mouth opening and ‘What’s Kiri got to do with it?’ coming out of it.

‘It’s just a … a thing with children. I get attached to them, and it can be painful when the inevitable goodbyes come around—there, something about me you didn’t need to know.’

‘But you’re working at a children’s hospital.’

‘That’s my business. But the bottom line is—I don’t want to see Kiri. Ergo, I don’t want to see you.’ She stopped and her breath hitched painfully. ‘Now, please …’ Her voice had risen in tone and volume and she stopped. As he watched, she seemed to gather her emotions together. ‘Please go,’ she continued quietly. ‘I’m sick and I’m tired and I—Just please go. All right?’

‘All right. Message received loud and clear. Sex officially off the agenda. And have a nice life.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, and tugged the mosquito net closed.

Aaron left the room, closed the door and stood there.

Duty discharged. He was free to go. Happy to go.

But there was some weird dynamic at work, because he couldn’t seem to make his feet move. His overgrown sense of responsibility, he told himself.

He’d taken two steps when he heard the sob. Just one, as though it had been cut off. He could picture her holding her hands against her mouth to stop herself from making any tell-tale sound. He hovered, waiting.

But there was only silence.

Aaron waited another long moment.

There was something about her. Something that made him wonder if she was really as prickly as she seemed …

He shook his head. No, he wasn’t going to wonder about Ella Reynolds. He’d done the decent thing and checked on her.

He was not interested in her further than that. Not. Interested.

He forced himself to walk away.

Ella had only been away from the hospital for eight lousy days.

How did one mortal male cause such a disturbance in so short a time? she wondered as she batted away what felt like the millionth question about Aaron James. The doctors and nurses, male and female, Khmer and the small sprinkling of Westerners, were uniformly goggle-eyed over him.

Knock yourselves out, would have been Ella’s attitude; except that while she’d been laid low by the dengue, Aaron had let it slip to Helen—and therefore everyone!—that he was a close friend of Ella’s film director brother-in-law. Which part of ‘Don’t talk to anyone about me’ didn’t he understand?

As a result, the whole, intrigued hospital expected her to be breathless with anticipation to learn what Aaron said, what Aaron did, where Aaron went. They expected Ella to marvel at the way he dropped in, no airs or graces, to talk to the staff; how he spoke to patients and their families with real interest and compassion, even when the cameras weren’t rolling; the way he was always laughing at himself for getting ahead of his long-suffering translator.

He’d taken someone’s temperature. Whoop-de-doo!

And had volunteered as a guinea pig when they’d been demonstrating the use of the rapid diagnostic test for malaria—yeah, so one tiny pinprick on his finger made him a hero?

And had cooked alongside a Cambodian father in the specially built facility attached to the hospital. Yee-ha!

And, and, and, and—give her a break.

All Ella wanted to do was work, without hearing his name. They’d had their moment, and it had passed. Thankfully he’d got the message and left her in peace once she’d laid out the situation. She allowed herself a quick stretch before moving onto the next child—a two-year-old darling named Maly. Heart rate. Respiration rate. Blood pressure. Urine output. Adjust the drip.

The small hospital was crowded now that the dengue fever outbreak was peaking. They were admitting twenty additional children a day, and she was run off her still-wobbly legs. In the midst of everything she should have been too busy to sense she was being watched … and yet she knew.

She turned. And saw him. Aaron’s son, Kiri, beside him.

Wasn’t the hospital filming supposed to be over? Why was he here?

‘Ella,’ Aaron said. No surprise. Just acknowledgement.

She ignored the slight flush she could feel creeping up from her throat. With a swallowed sigh she fixed on a smile and walked over to him. She would be cool. Professional. Civilised. She held out her hand. ‘Hello, Aaron.’

He took it, but released it quickly.

‘And sua s’day, Kiri,’ she said, crouching in front of him. ‘Do you know what that means?’

Kiri shook his head. Blinked.

‘It means hello in Khmer. Do you remember me?’

Kiri nodded. ‘Sua s’day, Ella. Can I go and see her?’ he asked, looking over, wide-eyed, at the little girl Ella had been with.

‘Yes, you can. But she’s not feeling very well. Do you think you can be careful and quiet?’

Kiri nodded solemnly and Ella gave him a confirming nod before standing again. She watched him walk over to Maly’s bed before turning to reassure Aaron. ‘She’s not contagious. It’s dengue fever and there’s never been a case of person-to-person transmission.’

‘Dr Seng said it deserved its own documentary. The symptoms can be like malaria, right? But it’s a virus, not a parasite, and the mosquitoes aren’t the same.’

Ella nodded. ‘The dengue mosquito—’ She broke off. ‘You’re really interested?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I just …’ She shrugged. ‘Nothing. People can get bored with the medical lingo.’

‘I won’t be bored. So—the mosquitoes?’

‘They’re called Aedes aegypti, and they bite during the day. Malaria mosquitoes—Anopheles, but I’m sure you know that—get you at night, and I’m sure you know that too. It kind of sucks that the people here don’t get a break! Anyway, Aedes aegypti like urban areas, and they breed in stagnant water—vases, old tyres, buckets, that kind of thing. If a mosquito bites someone with dengue, the virus will replicate inside it, and then the mosquito can transmit the virus to other people when it bites them.’ Her gaze sharpened. ‘You’re taking precautions for Kiri, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, yes. It’s been beaten it into me. Long sleeves, long pants. Insect repellent with DEET. And so on and so forth.’

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