‘The sea is glorious. To think I’ve watched it for days and I’ve only just touched it.’

Nick drifted closer until he could brush her hand. ‘Mmm. I feel the same.’

She opened her eyes lazily and paddled with her hands until she bumped into his chest. ‘Oops. Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ His hands captured her shoulders and pulled her slowly into his chest, so that she was anchored on his lap in the water. ‘I’m a sea god. You have to pay a tax when you bump into me.’

She closed one eye. ‘Well, I’m a mermaid. Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?’

Oh, yes. She was dangerous, all right—much more than a woman who knew the rules—but still he turned her to face him.

‘I laugh at danger,’ he said, and she giggled again.

So he kissed her, which was what he’d wanted to do since she’d met him on the gangplank this morning, and time stood still and her skin felt like silk under the water as she twined her arms around his neck.

When she returned his kiss with such an innocent ardour it tore at his heart and tightened his chest. He couldn’t remember when it had been like this.

Holding Tara was precious, yet terrifying, and some of that fear was a residual warning against becoming too fond of someone.

Dear Reader

Have you ever been on a sea voyage? Or imagined being on one? Had moments when you lean on the rail and gaze out over an ocean that stretches away to the horizon?

I’ve always wanted to write a cruise ship love story, and have been fascinated by the staff who work in those mini-hospitals below decks. There was even a handsome single doc on my cruise, who showed us around, and I’ve been itching to write his story.

So meet my two shipboard doctors: Nick and Tara.

Tara has been working as an aid doctor under primitive conditions in the Sudan and is being forced to have a break. She just doesn’t expect to end up as a doctor on a cruise liner.

Nick Fender loves to party. He was the only man in the house with four fabulous sisters, and he has no wish to settle down. Nick’s on holiday at the moment, but working as a cocktail waiter on the Sea Goddessa, filling in for his youngest sis Kiki, who has pneumonia. It’s a job he once did himself when he took a break from medicine. (Watch out for Kiki’s story coming soon!)

Our voyage sails Nick and Tara around the magnificent Mediterranean, and they discover each other’s strengths as they pass the Greek Isles, the coast of Italy, Croatia and finally Venice. Venice… Ahh… I hope you have fun as we sail away on the fantasy of the Sea Goddessa and the emotional journey of Nick and Tara.

With warmest wishes

Fiona

Mother to five sons, Fiona McArthur is an Australian midwife who loves to write. Medical Romance™ gives Fiona the scope to write about all the wonderful aspects of adventure, romance, medicine and midwifery that she feels so passionate about—as well as an excuse to travel! Now that her boys are older, Fiona and her husband, Ian, are off to meet new people, see new places, and have wonderful adventures. Fiona’s website is at www.fionamcarthur.com.

A Doctor,

A Fling &

A Wedding Ring

Fiona McArthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Rosie, my shipmate,

who made it possible.

CONTENTS

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 ONE

TARA MCWILLIAMS walked away from the tent but the whispering sobs of grief from the widower followed her like the relentless harshness of Africa followed her clients. The sound of heartbreak. Losing a young wife and child because by the time they’d walked here it had been too late for Tara to be able to help.

A tiny insect flew into her eye and as she brushed it away she wished she could summon up some tears. Doug’s hand rested gently on her shoulder and she reached up to cover the wrinkled skin, offering comfort. Just to feel life beneath her fingers.

Douglas Curlew squeezed her shoulder. ‘You’re done, Tara. No more.’

Tara pushed the limp hair off her forehead and sighed as Doug’s fingers fell away. ‘I’m fine.’

Doug glanced back over his shoulder towards the tent. ‘You’re not fine, you’re mentally exhausted, physically frail and need to get away from here for at least six months, if not permanently. Two years battling to save lives here is enough. Vander wouldn’t have expected it.’

‘We both know he would have.’ She glanced around at the grimy greyness of the tent city. The harsh sun beat down on them from overhead and she shielded her eyes. ‘And I’m not the one who’s left crying.’

‘Maybe you should be. When was the last time you let yourself go?’

A trickle of sweat rolled between her breasts and skittered down to her belly. Not much cleavage there to stop it any more. She lifted her head wearily. ‘I haven’t cried since he died. No time for useless emotion here, is there?’ Tara thought about that and sighed again.

For the first time she glimpsed the truth in Doug’s words. Her body ached with the lethargy of deep exhaustion. She had no doubt she could sleep where she fell.

She almost couldn’t remember why she stayed here. ‘You know as well as I do, Doug, we’re critically understaffed. Who would do my job if I didn’t? That’s why Vander wanted me to stay.’

Doug shrugged philosophically. ‘Vander died eighteen months ago.’ He was more grounded to reality than Tara. ‘Who did the job before you both came?’ He shrugged. ‘The same person who’ll do your job if you burn out completely. The fact is, you’re different from the vibrant young woman you used to be.’

Her chief patted her shoulder and gestured to the sea of tents in the refugee evacuation camp. ‘You’ve done an incredible job for too long. This place has grown from five thousand to eighty thousand. The emergency birth procedures you’ve taught are saving countless lives that would have been lost. The staff you trained will carry on, but they love you and they’re worried, and they’re entitled to care enough to ask you to rest.’

It was almost too much effort to lift her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Okay. I’ll rest.’

Doug’s dog-with-a-bone worrying became even more tenacious. ‘Have a decent holiday at least. A total change of scene.’

‘And do what?’ Tara threw out her hands. ‘I’ve seen so many tragedies here I don’t think I could stop and just sit. Images of all those brave women who’ve died would revolve in my head like a horror film.’

‘That’s exactly what I mean.’ He lowered his thick white Scottish brows and his brogue softened and shifted like the sand beneath their feet. ‘Time to go, Tara. Find a little light relief. I’ve seen staff crash and burn and you’re close. I don’t want that for you.’

And do what? she thought again. Her parents were gone. No significant other. That was a laugh. ‘I can’t just sit. Do nothing. My house is rented, I don’t have a job, there’s nothing in Australia for me.’ Sure, she was different from the wanting-to-do-good and eager-to-learn young woman of two years ago. You couldn’t stay enthusiastic and fresh when you saw birthing women stoically accept they would die because they lived in the wrong part of the world.

‘You don’t have to go all the way home.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Been thinking about that. I’ve a friend who captains a cruise liner due to sail in three days from Rome. Twelve days at a time and their junior doctor broke his leg. He’s willing to rush the paperwork.’

For the first time in a long time Tara felt like laughing but the tinge of hysteria she could feel in her throat gave her pause. Shakily she gathered her control, like grasping at the string of a kite that almost got away. ‘You’re not talking change, Doug, you’re talking a different planet.’

Tara grimaced and tried to imagine herself caring for pampered cruise-line passengers after the horrors she’d seen here in the Sudan. ‘You know how many women out of every thousand women die having babies here, Doug. How could I move to a luxury liner?’

‘It’s the quickest option I can think of. The cruise is less than two weeks long. Then they’ll drop you off in Venice, where they can replace the crew doctor and you can fly home or wherever you want. Or you could stay on and have a working holiday.’

Venice? She’d always wanted to see Venice.

She shook her head. Incomprehensible.

‘And you wouldn’t be treating the passengers as your main priority—the unfortunate guy was the junior and you’d be caring for the crew. The senior would do most of the passenger liaison.’

Still. A luxury liner? After this? ‘I don’t think so.’

Doug stared her down. Not something he would’ve been able to do a year ago. ‘It’s not a suggestion, Tara.’

‘Are you ordering me to leave?’ She raised her brows but her voice wasn’t as steady as she would have liked.

‘Yes. And if I could, I’d order you to indulge in a random dalliance with a cocktail waiter or gym instructor and really let your hair down.’ Doug had one hand on his hips and the other in the air, admonishing.

Now she did laugh and it sounded almost natural. ‘And I always thought of you as a father figure. I can’t ever imagine my father telling me to get laid.’

His finger dropped. ‘I didn’t say that.’ He smiled as he continued, ‘But maybe treating yourself to a bit of pampering, indulging yourself for a week or two, go all out on the massage and happy hour when you’re off duty. I would love to picture that when you drive away.’

‘I’ll think about it.’ Nice dream. Last thing she could imagine but she could pretend.

But Tara’s world shifted as Doug laid down the law. ‘Your driver will be here in the Jeep in four hours to take you to the airport. You fly to Rome, sleep for an extra day, and pick up the ship there. You should have enough time to pack and say goodbye.’

Tara felt the cold wash of reality, of change, and a little of the trepidation new places caused in a woman who just might have forgotten how to be a woman. And just a tiny whisper of relief. She really was getting close to the edge. ‘I can’t leave just like that.’

He looked at her kindly. ‘Can I tell you, in my experience, when you’ve invested as much as you have into this place and with these people, it’s the only way to leave?’

CHAPTER TWO

TWO DAYS later at eleven a.m. Tara stood on the dock in Civitavecchia, Rome’s nearby port for cruise ships. Apart from the blinding white cruise liner that dominated the dock, it wasn’t a romantic place, more a service centre with cranes and cargo ships and a semi-deserted building more reminiscent of a warehouse than a cruise-liner departure hall. Well, that was good. She wasn’t feeling in the least romantic.

The officer in white asked her business and she handed over the papers Doug had given her.

‘Welcome to the Sea Goddess, Dr McWilliams. I’ll page Dr Hobson to meet you as soon as you board. If you would move through to check in via Security, please.’

‘Thank you.’ What the heck was she doing here?

* * *

Nick Fender, temporary bar manager for the Sea Goddess, decided the hardship of holding his sister’s job for her wasn’t so bad.

The sounds and subtle shift of the moored cruise ship soaked into his smile. It had been a while since he’d done a stint on a ship, as ship’s doctor last time. It had been even longer since the early days when he’d had a year off from med school after his parents had died and worked as the cocktail waiter everyone had loved. That’s when he’d laid the foundations for the life-of-the-party persona he’d grown very comfortable with.

So here he was back behind the bar, selling cocktails and holding down Kiki’s job while she fought off pneumonia. Wilhelm, the current ship’s doctor, had thought Nick’s retro-vocation hilarious and Nick was starting to see the funny side of it too.

And then there were the women. Some men could develop an ease with the opposite sex and Nick was one of them. He loved women. No favouritism.

That was until he glimpsed the tall, fine-boned dolly bird arrive late to the briefing room, and judging by her uniform she was the ship’s new junior doctor.

An uneasy prickle of déjà vu kept his eyes on her but he’d remember if he’d seen her before. But something was there. Something about her that tweaked at all the protective instincts he hadn’t known he had, at some gut level of awareness.

Nick loved the female gender. His doting sisters probably had something to do with that, and Nick liked to dip and dally, like the seagulls he could see outside the porthole, because he wasn’t falling for the have-and-hold dream. His parents’ early deaths and the letter he could tell no one about had seen to that.

Nick laughed his way through life with like-minded friends, and there were a lot of those working cruise liners. It was all about avoiding the horror of being left with just one person for ever.

Until she walked in. What the hell was that? He dragged his eyes away and concentrated on his watch to work out when the first passengers would arrive, when the ship would sail out the harbour, and when the bar would open. He didn’t have time for some random woman to explode unexpectedly like fine champagne on his frothy beer life.

He was the good-time guy.

Tara glanced around the small room filled with chairs and smiling crew members and started towards a seat in front of the hunky guy in the back row. He had those laughing black eyes all the best pirate actors had, the ones who could crook their little fingers at buxom wenches who’d come running.

Well, nobody would call her buxom. She’d lost so much weight she’d left her breasts in the Sudan and now for the first time she almost missed them.

He looked away as she caught his eye and she thought of her boss, Doug, and for the first time today a small smile tugged at her mouth. The smile broadened as she got closer, read his badge and realised he was actually a bar manager. Doug had said find a cocktail waiter so she was going up in the world.

Not that she really wanted to have an affair. Being the merry widow wasn’t her style but she did need to relearn how to talk to people. How to talk to men. That was, men who weren’t relatives of women who’d died or Doug.

She’d grown up enough not to expect to find ‘romantic love’. Vander had laughed at that. Still, maybe she could practise her smiles and small talk and become a normal socially acceptable human being again.

She’d at least managed to have her cracked and broken nails attended to and her hair cut this morning at the hotel. She really would try to lighten up for a week or two as ordered because even with the twenty-four hours’ sleep she’d had she was starting to feel better.

Maybe Doug had been right and she did need to touch the other world out there.

Her immediate superior on ship, Wilhelm Hobson, had met her at the gangplank and given her a quick orientation tour. Big ship! No doubt she’d be hopelessly lost for a few more days and planned on sticking to the crew areas and the medical centre to keep her bearings.

She certainly didn’t want to flirt with Wilhelm. The last thing Tara needed was to discuss work socially, apart from the fact doctors and death went together in her mind at the moment. She didn’t want to flirt with anyone but she would like to meet people she could talk with and, heaven forbid, even laugh with after the uneven fight she’d been waging for the last two years.

She sighed and wrenched her mind away from the camp. Concentrate on the here and now, she reminded herself.

The ship’s medical centre, much larger than she’d expected, seemed almost obscenely stocked with equipment after her workplace at the camp. Apart from three consulting rooms and ten observation inpatient beds, the centre even had its own X-ray machine. And morgue. She frowned at herself.

There were ECGs, defibrillators, minor surgical equipment and orthopaedic immobilisation gear. No doubt all would be useful, along with the myriad general-practice skills that would be needed in this isolated community far from land.

It actually did promise to be interesting the more she blocked her mind from her desertion of the refugee camp. In fact, perhaps not a bad way to ease back into the general-practice headspace she’d need to revisit for the next six months. That was how long Doug had stipulated before he would even consider her return.

The dashing young South African physician in charge was sweet, and obviously a bit of a player, but if she wanted to learn people skills, she wanted light, frivolously very far from medicine, and definitely short term. Just so she could show Doug she was fine.

So here she was and she resisted the evil urge to sneak another peek at the heady masculine brew behind her. Way out of her league but maybe she could make up a drink name for him. Unfortunately the ones that popped into her head tinged on the Curacao blue side and she mentally backed away.

What had got into her?

She hadn’t expected to leap onto Doug’s idea with a vengeance. Bizarre when she hadn’t looked at a man since med school and look where that had left her. A widow in a refugee camp with shoulders full of guilt for being the one who’d survived.

She’d never even been a necessary part of her parents’ lives, and Vander had said he needed her. Actually, as a missionary he’d needed her skills, so she’d flown off with her new husband filled with the warm and fuzzy idea that he’d loved her. Reality had left her bewildered but before she’d been able to get too angry at him for not being interested in love and sex, apparently the last thing he needed after a fifteen-hour day, he’d died of cholera.

So two years down the track was that what she wanted? Sex? Would that fix her? Make her human again?

Because she certainly felt robotic with years of bounding out of bed after ten minutes’ sleep, crash Caesareans with one eye open, triplets before breakfast, and massive post-partum haemorrhages at least once a night.

She’d have to stay awake for it, of course. Sex. She’d never really had the chance to figure what all the fuss was about. But one glance behind at corded muscles and mile-wide shoulders and she was contemplating caffeine to help keep her eyes open.

Good grief. She was seriously unstable and maybe Doug had it right. She chewed her lip to stop the smile. She felt decidedly immoral just thinking about it, and as a blush stole up her neck she glanced at her watch, willing the safety lecture to get going.

Safety seemed like a good thing to dwell on. That, and removing her mind from the gutter.

A shift in air currents and a sudden blocking of light was probably what had caused her breath to catch. That or the fact the intoxicating man behind had shifted and sat down beside her. Suddenly the room was two degrees hotter and filled with a crackling tension. So there really were men out there where that pheromone antenna thing actually happened and you got goose-bumps?

‘Hello, there. You’re new here?’ Deep, skin-tingling voice that raised the hairs on the back of her neck and a whiff of some expensive cologne the price of which would probably feed a Sudanese family for a month. Pleeease. Tara fought the blush from her cheeks.

Nick had specifically told his legs no when they’d wanted to shift him forward one row and sit beside the too-thin brunette, but the force of nature was not to be reckoned with and by the time he’d settled in next to her he’d already accepted it. Just a conversation.

She raised thick brown eyebrows that disdained fashion. In fact, he smiled to himself as he thought of the women he knew and their fetish for perfect dyed and primped arches, he doubted these had ever seen a pair of tweezers. ‘Do I look that new?’

He waggled his forehead. ‘New. Lost. And very new….’

She glanced away. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She looked at him again and he grinned to show he was only kidding, but she didn’t smile back. Crashed and burned, old boy, he mocked himself. ‘And on that auspicious beginning perhaps we could introduce ourselves.’

He held out his hand and he’d have to say gingerly she put her fingers briefly in his. Maybe he should have assured her his were clean, judging by her reluctance.

‘I’m Tara McWilliams.’

‘Tara.’ The star-ar. He always rhymed names to remember. First rule of attracting women. Remember their names. Nick had never noticed hands during a handshake before. Not what you did, really, but hers…fingers, bone-slender, too cold. She looked a little anaemic, her hand so workworn that he had the bizarre impulse to rub it warm and shelter it between his palms.

Instead, he continued the conversation as if he hadn’t noticed her pull herself free quickly. ‘Nick. Bar manager for the Casablanca Bar.’

‘Appropriate.’

He scratched his head comically and shook it. ‘Don’t get it?’

‘Humphrey Bogart. Casablanca. His name was Nick in the movie.’

He grinned. ‘Actually, it was Rick. Sorry. I have four sisters who love romantic movies but will henceforth think of Bogart every time I see my name now.’

She narrowed her eyes at him but not enough to distract him from noticing the colour. Honey brown. Or toffee. Like her skin. Like her gorgeous legs and arms. Edible. And yet incredibly weary.

She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Do you always correct people?’ She was cross. And still looked good with it. Damn good.

He blinked and opened his eyes wide. ‘Only when they’re wrong.’

Tara had to laugh. Or be hurt because she wasn’t used to people correcting her. It had all been life and death for the last two years with very little light relief and this barman had probably seen just the opposite. In fact, maybe she should cultivate him and relearn her humour and fluff from the fantasy world of shipboard existence. Good candidate.

‘Don’t worry. You’ll have fun.’ Could he read her mind?

She tasted the word. Rolled it around in her mouth and nibbled at it. Fun. Imagine. She grimaced. Boy, was she out of practice.

This guy looked like he rolled in good times. Most likely shimmied in sex. ‘I’ll try.’ She had no doubt he could provide her with more fun than even Doug would want for her if she made any effort at all. Scary thought but she’d been a reasonably fun person before she’d grown up.

The emergency drill session at the front of the room started and she sat up straight.

Nick watched her concentrate as the senior safety officer began to speak. So a serious pupil, determined to pay attention and learn all she could before the new influx of passengers arrived that afternoon. That was good.

He was interested too, had had a private introduction as a manager that had been more in-depth and he’d come along to see if his staff were attending, but there was no doubt he’d become distracted by the intensity that Tara gave to her own process of learning.

He sat forward and concentrated. Had to admit he was keen to see where she’d be deployed compared to him. He might just have to keep an eye on her.

He guessed he had the advantage, having worked on ships before. After he’d qualified he’d done a year as junior doctor on board the sister ship to this one, and had actually been instrumental in Wilhelm deciding to try the life. So his old friend owed him and he’d called in that favour to put a word in for his sister when she’d gone down with pneumonia.

But all they’d been able to manage was Nick replacing Kiki for the two weeks or her bar manager’s job would go. Luckily for Kiki, he didn’t mind. He’d been due for a holiday anyway.

His ex-girlfriend, Jasmin, had been getting way too serious and not been pleased to jet off from Rome to New York on her own. Hence the relief in his newly single status. Family came first and he made no apologies. Especially when it suited him.

His attention flicked back to the lecture. The safety officer discussed the routine of a compulsory muster for all passengers before they sailed and outlined the crew’s duties as emergency officers. Not much had changed and he was glad to see he was on the same station as Tara.

With over three thousand passengers and one thousand crew members the ship would give enough opportunities for her to slip out of sight. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been so aware of planning to ‘bump into’ a woman.

Usually it just happened—or not. Funny how he didn’t feel the same relaxed acceptance of fate with this slip of a medic beside him. Must be because she looked so frail—in an I-can-look-after-myself way that dared him to mention it. He wasn’t saying a thing but he’d be watching for her.

But as the middle child and only male in the family, it was his job to make everyone smile. After his parents had died it had been even more reason to be the entertainer. He was still the entertainer. He could show this Tara a very good time.

* * *

Tara walked away from Nick Fender. Fender? She could imagine the guy with an air guitar, thrusting his hips and pretending.

She blinked. What? Had she left her brain back in that room? She concentrated on the directions to the hospital pinned to the wall in front of her.

She had to keep reminding herself she was at work. It was so strange without the need to rush from one emergency to the next.

With the help of the occasional map, Tara navigated two stairwells and a corridor and found her way back to the hospital where Marie, the head nurse, was shifting boxes of supplies.

‘Let me help with that.’ Tara hurried forward and helped lift the other side of an awkwardly shaped parcel Marie wanted on the desk.

The nurse brushed the hair out of her eyes when the parcel was safely stowed. ‘Thanks, Tara. It’s the new ECG machine. It wasn’t heavy but, boy, was it awkward.’

‘So what else can I do for you?’ Tara glanced around. Boxes everywhere.

Marie grinned at her. ‘Seriously, I’m just unpacking. First day is all about unpacking and stowing.’

Tara rubbed her hands. Activity would be excellent. ‘Then I’ll help. It’s the best way to find where things live anyway. Can’t be asking you where everything is all the time.’

The two women smiled at each other and Tara felt like she’d gone the first step to making at least one friend. ‘Always happy to have help. Though you’ll have to go through the crew’s notes before we leave this afternoon. Those with illnesses they’ve notified us of, anyway.’

She gestured Tara through to the ward area and a sterile supply room. ‘Reckon this will be the place that confuses you most.’

The storeroom was wall-to-wall shelves. She glanced around and Tara wondered if she’d get back to being as easy to talk to as Marie was. Her own conversation skills needed repolishing—just those few exchanges with air-guitar Nick had shown her that—and she wanted to fit in. Drop her doom-and-gloom mantle that had grown since she’d married and try at least to pretend to join in with ‘normal’ people.

The day passed swiftly, especially when the passengers came on board. Most of them looked as lost as Tara had been when she’d been out of the hospital but the mood was high and excited and totally different from the world Tara had just left.

Tara stood with Marie on the deck and watched the lines being cast off, then they eased away from the dock and maybe she could adjust to the sway of the ship and the routines on board. It was all so different from the hectic rush from one dire patient to the next.

Normally the clinic for passengers opened three times a day for two hours. The crew phoned down for quick access most of the time.

Today the passenger clinic would open once except for emergencies—most of which Wilhelm would deal with. Lovely change. She only dealt with occupational mishaps of the crew, minor illnesses among them, and passenger cabin calls when Wilhelm couldn’t attend.

Even her cabin on the crew deck seemed outrageously luxurious compared to her tent at the camp. Air-conditioning and hot and cold running water and a porthole that was much larger than she’d expected and afforded an amazing view across the water. She just might be in heaven.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN Tara woke on her first morning they weren’t even at sea. They’d docked at six a.m. She’d never got around to really studying the itinerary before she’d boarded, had been so busy finding routes and equipment that when she opened the blinds, pleasure craft and even a castle on a mountain seemed surreal. Here she was, peering out of her window at the glorious bay of Monte Carlo.

Another good night’s sleep had lightened her step and she found herself smiling as passengers oohed and ahhed over the rich and famous playground off which they’d anchored. There was something amazingly special about sitting at anchor on a floating hotel adjacent to a charming principality.

When Tara walked into the clinic waiting room she found it surprisingly busy for a day in port until she realised that most passengers wanted their tests and injections before they left on the tenders heading for shore.

When she offered to help with the backlog, Marie sent her in a young mother and her small son.

The woman was petite, perfectly coiffed and immaculately dressed. ‘I’m Gwen, and this is my son, Tommy.’ The woman patted his head and touched her son’s forehead. ‘I’m so worried. He’s got spots. He’s not contagious, is he?’

I sincerely hope not, Tara thought as she looked down at the little boy. ‘Hello, Tommy.’ Tara bent down and the little boy held out his hand for Tara to shake. His skin wasn’t hot or dry and his eyes were clear.

‘Is he getting German measles? He has spots,’ his mother said again, clasping and unclasping her hands, and Tara felt the pull of sympathy for Tommy and his obviously distressed mum.

‘You poor thing. Imagine that on the first day of your holiday. But I think he’s fine. It may be a heat rash. Does he seem unwell to you?’ She looked at the reading from the digital thermometer she’d just used in Tommy’s ear.

Tara had seen more than enough German measles to be fairly certain this wasn’t a case. The rash wasn’t typical, barely visible and mildly pink, and the little boy didn’t present as being unwell, but she gave the mother a list of other signs and suggested she bring him back if they manifested.

The mother nodded her head with concern. ‘He’s normally a little terror. Are you sure the spots are okay?’

‘Yes, but you did the right thing bringing him in to check. Especially if he’s going into the child activity centre.’

Gwen shook her head vehemently. ‘Oh, no. I’d never do that. There’s just the two of us. His dad left us, you see, and we’re visiting my sister in Mykonos on holiday. Sometimes he’s not a well little boy and on the ship I don’t have to travel without being safe. It’s Tommy’s holiday too.’

Tara smiled at the pair. ‘He’s very lucky to have you. Bring him back if you’re worried, Gwen.’

Tara showed them out and Marie sent in an older lady who wanted her ear looked at for wax. Marie was chewing her lip, trying not to laugh, and Tara pretended to frown at her. This was not life-threatening stuff at all but the waiting room was emptying. Still no crew and at this rate they’d be clear of patients before the two hours was up.

Wilhelm was still sequestered with his previous patient so Tara took the older lady in with her.

Wilhelm and Tara had planned to catch up on the in-service needed with the new ECG machine, as well as go through the cases from the day before, and Marie planned to venture ashore to peep into the casino in Monaco.

Tara couldn’t help but wonder what a certain bar-staff member was doing because most of the bars were shut when the cruise ship was in port. No doubt by the end of the cruise she’d have a fair idea. She even toyed with the idea of looking for him after tea, she’d seen the bar on the wall directions, but a swell came up and the hospital was inundated with motion-sickness sufferers and that put paid to that. Good thing too.

* * *

On the second morning when Tara woke they were tied to the wharf at Livorno, the gateway to Florence, the leaning tower of Pisa and Tuscany, none of which she’d seen. Or would.

But Tara was off duty later in the morning and quite happy to explore the less-crowded ship.

She ventured through the main passenger areas in civilian clothes and gazed around at the surprising throng of passengers foregoing the shore excursions.

Up in the sunlight, at one of the few open bars on board, Nick lorded it behind the Casablanca Bar like a sheikh in a harem. Tara stepped back behind one of the ship’s columns on the swimming-pool deck and watched him work.

She had to admit he filled his blue T-shirt admirably and the muscles in his chest and those arms were blatantly provocative as he shook his cocktail shaker and grinned at the world.

Why weren’t these women off visiting the city where they were docked? The rattle of ice carried across the hum of conversations that floated above the deckchairs and his teeth flashed as he theatrically poured the contents into a glass from a great height without a splash.

Well, she guessed Nick was one reason. She had to cover her mouth to stop herself laughing out loud, which kind of surprised her because the little bubble of excitement that surfaced just by seeing him was totally unexpected.

She frowned and looked away but there was nothing quite as much fun to look at. She couldn’t dispute she was feeling better than she had been when she’d stepped on board but this guy was nobody to her. And she was certainly a nobody to him.

Her gaze drifted back to Nick as he scooped up a decorative skewer of pineapple and cherry and garnished a creation with a flamboyant wave.

He was so confident, Tara could feel her lips tug again, so clearly a showman and ladies’ man, she probably didn’t have a hope of practising her extremely rusty wiles on him, but if she got the chance, at least it meant he couldn’t be hurt if she did get to first base with him.

Still she hung back. Watched the woman he’d served walk away with an exaggerated wiggle, and noted with approval Nick’s attention was on cleaning his cocktail equipment, not on her bikini bottom. So he took the rules for consorting with passengers seriously. She’d been surprised how severely intimacy with passengers was dealt with on the ship. No doubt instant dismissal wouldn’t look good on his résumé.

Or maybe he just wasn’t interested. He didn’t look gay. At all. She smiled to herself. She wondered how he would look at her if she asked for one of those non-alcoholic ‘mocktails’ they served to teetotallers? She’d never been much of a drinker, most alcohol gave her a headache, and during college she’d usually offered to be the designated driver if she’d gone out.

Maybe that was what Vander had liked about her. She’d often wondered because she’d certainly felt she’d let him down in some way, though he’d never said.

Nick glanced up, saw her skulking behind the pillar, and gestured her over. Well, maybe he wasn’t totally disinterested.

She straightened away from the column and smiled shyly. Funny how that little tug in her stomach made her mouth curve. Her feet seemed pretty eager to move his way too and she tried not to wiggle like the last woman had.

He gestured to a stool at the side of the bar. ‘Hello, there, Dr Tara. Fancy a drink?’

She smiled back. ‘Non-alcoholic?’

‘Sure.’ He gestured to his makings. ‘I’ll have you know there is just as much skill needed for a really top mocktail, if not more.’

‘You reckon you’re pretty good at these, do you?’

‘The best.’

‘I see you lack in confidence.’

‘I know. Sad really. How about a No-jito?’ His white teeth flashed and she had to grin and the extraneous noises faded until it was as if the two of them were in a private little bubble. She bet all the girls behind her at the pool felt like that too. He went on to explain. ‘Crushed mint, loads of limes, sugar syrup and soda?’

‘Sounds great.’ She shook off her absorption of him and glanced around. ‘How’s the bar-manager gig going?’

He smiled at the half-naked women on loungers spread out in a fan in front of him. ‘Always fun.’

She shook her head sadly. ‘Tsk, tsk. Men.’

He leaned towards her. ‘Perhaps it should be “Tsk tsk, women”? Though I don’t mean that. I love women. I have sisters I adore and a new girlfriend every month.’

Tara wondered if he was warning her. Temporary. Don’t plan a wedding. Nice if he was. Because that suited her down to the ground!

* * *

Nick wondered if he was warning her. Bit of an exaggeration, that monthly girlfriend thing, but he certainly wasn’t into permanence. Had discovered long ago that even the most likely couple would stretch to find eternal happy-ever-after. But to warn about his preference for the short term was not his usual tactic when he was trying to chat up a woman.

What made this one different? He’d kept an eye out for her but had been unexpectedly busy with his duties and he’d have much preferred it if his sister had decided on a position with less responsibilities.

Dr Tara had intruded into his thoughts persistently last night when the sea had played games. He’d bet there were a few seasick passengers and some crew not used to the sway of the ship yet. ‘Did the swell bother you last night?’

‘No.’ She shrugged. ‘I have a cast-iron stomach.’ He pushed the peanuts her way but she wasn’t interested. ‘A few of the new beauty staff were a little queasy and we doled out some anti-emetics.’

Nick shoved the cheese and crackers across and she ignored them too. She glanced at the women and changed the subject away from medicine. ‘What about your patrons?’

‘It was pretty quiet for a second night.’ Lord, he just wanted to feed her. He used his tongs to put two hulled strawberries in a dish in front of her. She couldn’t miss them. To his delight she picked one up absently and bit into it. Gorgeous lips, white little teeth… Nick’s stomach kicked as he tried not to mimic her.

He glanced at his watch for a bit of control. ‘So, what time are you off duty?’

‘Apart from being on call?’ She patted her lips with a paper towel he gave her. ‘I’m off now till lunch. Then off again at eight. Why?’

Maybe he shouldn’t do this. He’d always listened to his instincts before so why was this so difficult? ‘Care to join me for dinner about eight-thirty?’

She narrowed her eyes at him and then glanced away. ‘I guess so.’

Had he sounded too eager? She certainly hadn’t. But he’d seen a few other crew members eyeing her and it hadn’t sat well with him. Another out-of-character trait she seemed to bring out in him. Maybe he just needed to demystify her attraction and then he’d understand what drew her to him.

CHAPTER FOUR

AT TWENTY-THIRTY hours they sat in a quiet corner of the crew dining room, or middle mess as they called it, because it was common ground.

Nick was aware she’d normally eat in the first mess because that was where the officers congregated, and on this gig he ate with the auxiliary and admin staff.

The largest staff dining area catered for the seven hundred domestic and deckhand staff but there was always a little mix and match that went on with the dalliances.

It was after the usual time for dinner and before late supper so nobody came near them.

Unobtrusively Nick had been studying the fine veins in her hands. She was so frail when he really looked. There was that stupid protectiveness again. ‘So what made you go to the Sudan?’

He pushed a bread stick her way but she ignored it. Two years? Nick was still flabbergasted. No wonder she looked like a strong wind would blow her over. One of his friends had lasted three months. He wanted to draw her into his arms and protect her. That was a serious worry. Apart from his sisters, he’d avoided the whole emotional responsibility thing.

‘I went with my husband. We wanted to do something worthwhile, use our training, and after he died it was too hard to leave.’

The impact of her statement sat heavily in his chest. He wouldn’t have picked her for a widow. There was a certain naive vulnerability he couldn’t miss. ‘I’m sorry. How did your husband die?’

She glanced away. ‘Cholera.’

Ouch. ‘Nasty.’

She looked back at him. ‘Very.’ Succinct.

‘So why the Sudan?’

She shrugged. ‘We’d both finished our internships and he met a midwife who’d worked in the displaced person refugee camps. She told him how they were crying out for GPs with obstetric training and he enquired. The next thing I knew we were there and I didn’t lift my head up until a week ago when my boss said I needed to take a break.’

Nick shook his head. ‘After two years. I’ll bet.’ He glanced at her hands again. She didn’t wear a ring. Why was that? Almost ruminatively he said, ‘What were they thinking of to leave you there so long?’

She blinked and for a horrible moment he thought she was going to cry and he wanted to kick himself. It brought home just how close to the edge she was and he vowed to himself he’d keep a close eye on her. Might even have a word to Wilhelm about her work hours.

‘You don’t want to talk about it?’ He could see her squirming. He wanted her to eat something. He picked up the strawberry he’d kept for last and put it on her plate.

She shook her head. ‘Not particularly.’ But at least she absently ate the fruit. He was ridiculously relieved.

So she didn’t want to talk about it. Good. Neither did he. Especially about her husband. ‘Fine.’

She glanced away but he couldn’t tell if she was upset from her voice when she spoke again.

Such a bright and cheery voice that said back off. ‘Hey, I’m tougher than I look.’ She turned to him and he decided her smile was only just forced. ‘And here I am…’ she spread her arms ‘…talking to a bar manager, on a ship cruising the Mediterranean, and very glad I don’t have to think about anything disastrous.’ She put down her fork.

‘So, talk to me about something light and frivolous. That’s why I’m cultivating you.’

So she was cultivating him, eh? Sounded promising and damn straight he could be frivolous. Well, he guessed that summed him up. Compared to her anyway.

It didn’t seem the time to tell her he was a doctor too. Not frivolous enough. Or about his own transition through med school and rotation to learn the lot, anaesthetics, obstetrics and surgery. He’d had his moments requiring skill and dedication but compared to what he could imagine she’d been through, his world was a cinch.

Though frivolously speaking, he never had to get involved with patients and their real lives because he would only be there for a weekend or a month at the most because he was locum man. So no talk of medicine and he told her what he thought she wanted to hear.

‘I haven’t been on a ship for a while but worked my way up from barman to cocktail master.’ He puffed out his chest theatrically. ‘Took out a medal at the world cocktail championships with a friend.’

He didn’t usually tell people that, it had been years ago, but he guessed the title would sound playful enough for her, and he wanted to see that smile he knew was in there.

‘So what do you do?’

‘I mix drinks when the bar staff are on their breaks, make sure all the behind counter orders are filled and we don’t run out of Margarita mix. I fill in when staff are sick and just try to keep everyone happy.’ He shrugged. ‘Apparently I’m pretty good at that.’

‘I can see you are.’ Now she smiled and it had been worth waiting for. He felt a flicker of satisfaction from lightening her mood and more than a flicker of awareness, as though the moon had just peeked through a bank of clouds outside. Bizarre how good she made him feel.

He leaned towards her and a tendril of hair fell across her face, making his finger itch to push it back. ‘Been for a swim yet?’ He fancied seeing her in a bikini.

‘No. I’m very boring. Just getting used to things and finding my way around. I bet you use all the amenities.’

‘Every single one.’ He flashed his teeth at her and she smiled again. ‘I like a good game of table tennis.’

‘Do you? I used to have a very competitive streak for ball games.’

‘Aha! That sounds like a challenge.’

Tara almost laughed out loud. The fizzing in her stomach was getting stronger. And was it all about a ball game? Was she challenging him? Maybe she wasn’t as bad at this as she’d thought she’d be. ‘We’ll see.’

He went on like a tour guide and she could feel herself relax more every minute. He was like her own personal cruise director. ‘Then there’s Movies Under The Stars, with deckchairs, checked blankets and popcorn, and of course the latest flicks.’

‘Checked blankets, eh? Very observant for a man.’

He shrugged. ‘My sisters have this thing for tablecloths under trees for picnics. So I have a soft spot for checks.’

The image of cuddling up with Nick and a blanket under Mediterranean stars was almost tangible. ‘I’ll watch out for those blankets.’ Though she wasn’t quite sure now just what she was watching out for.

‘So why don’t you let me show you around when we anchor off Naples? Maybe hire a convertible. We could take a drive down to Amalfi, check out Praiano and Positano.’

His chest tightened and he realised he was actually holding his breath. This was crazier by the minute. Her toffee gaze slid over his face thoughtfully and he could almost taste her sweetness. Something whispered sweet was dangerous.

‘Sounds good. I’ve always wanted to see the Italian coastline from those windy roads.’ She opened her eyes wide and he had an epiphany as to what they meant by ‘almost fell in’. Was that a come-on? He sure as hell hoped so because he could feel his body stir like leaves in a breeze at that hint of promise.

‘The roads have to be seen to be believed,’ he warned with a grin. ‘And they appeal to the frustrated Ferrari driver in me.’

‘A Ferrari?’ She pretended to frown. ‘They must pay good wages where you work.’

He guessed he could hire one if he wanted to but he’d be too worried he’d scratch it. Not many cars were dent free on Italian roads. ‘No. But maybe a little sports number so we can put the roof down.’ He grinned. ‘You know, feel the whoosh of air as the buses push us up against the cliff.’ He watched her. Deliberately painting the picture to make sure she knew what she was getting into. To his delight, if anything her eyes sparkled more.

‘Oh, yeah. I’ve heard about that. A little danger that’s not blood-product related would be a great way to remember life is for living.’

Not blood-product related. He wanted to hug her. Felt the rapport. Medical people laughed at the oddest things and he was feeling a little more alive than usual himself.

Tara couldn’t believe she was flirting like this. And had made an infectious-disease joke that he probably hadn’t got. He might think she was loony but the idea of capturing a few hours of wind in her face and amazing views was enticing. Cathartic even. And she couldn’t hide the fact the idea of spending time with someone light and mischievous like Nick wasn’t a big plus too.

‘So tell me about your morning,’ Nick said. ‘Any interesting cases?’

Did he really want to know? She doubted it. Probably the whole ‘I’m paying attention to everything you say’ persona he had down pat. ‘It was fine. A few bouts of nausea and a fractured forearm.’

‘They have an X-ray machine here, don’t they?’ Interest shone from his eyes and she enlarged slightly to explain.

‘Yes.’ She smiled at him for humouring her. ‘Not something I’ve had to do personally before and interesting to learn how simple taking an X-ray really is. The patient’s views are emailed away to a large centre to be reported on, and the results are emailed back.’

She shook her head, still bemused by the speed of reporting. ‘Wilhelm had the results within two hours, which was even faster than my training hospital in Sydney.’

‘Which hospital was that?’ She saw his eyes sharpen and she frowned. Warning bells rang.

‘In the south.’ But she didn’t go into more detail. She quite liked the fact he didn’t know where she came from. ‘A long way from here. But, of course, at the refugee camp we had nothing except our hands to decide if a bone was broken.’

She saw him accept she wasn’t about to give out her home address and her relief expanded. She wasn’t sure why she was so keen on keeping distance from the real world with him but it was better to err on the side of caution.

This whole Nick exercise was designed as a holiday flingette, just a tentative fling, and the idea of the future or anything or anyone serious made her cringe. Like Saint Vitus’s dance. A full-body shudder. She knew for a fact she wasn’t mentally ready for any kind of normal relationship.

‘So the last two years will always have an impact on your work?’

Not just my work, she thought with sudden insight and a flash of her late husband’s face. ‘Of course.’ Images from their work flooded back, some of them uplifting but most of them tragic, and she winced. ‘Another thing I don’t want to talk about. Tell me about the world cocktail championships. I love the sound of that.’ Blunt, but she hoped, effective.

He studied her for a moment and saw him nod with understanding but there was no way this man would have any idea what she’d seen. ‘You mean the place where all the movers and shakers go?’

Effective communication, then. She smiled. ‘That would be the place.’

‘Vegas.’ He spread his arms. ‘You gotta think big. And sparkly. We were dressed in black with blue sequins, my sisters had a ball making the outfits, and our drink was a Morrocan Marguarettaville.’

‘Sounds deadly.’ She couldn’t keep the smile from her face and she was suddenly conscious of how big and handsome this man was. This man, who was paying intense attention to her. Quite a heady experience really for a girl from tent city.

He spread his hands self-deprecatingly. ‘A cocktail that carries a decent kick. Made for slow sipping at sunset.’

The picture of the two of them sipping drinks on some beach seemed ridiculously easy to imagine. ‘You’ll have to make me one.’ She laughed. ‘One sunset when I can sleep in the next day.’

He put his finger to his lips and her gaze followed his finger. ‘As long as you don’t tell anyone the recipe.’

‘My lips are sealed.’ She’d said it and shouldn’t have been surprised he glanced at her mouth in return. But she felt the heat.

For a woman who had minimal experience of seduction she had no trouble recognising his ability to turn it on.

Zap! Almost as if he’d touched her, and suddenly the making of drinks in competitions was ludicrously unimportant. His eyes darkened, his gaze locked on hers, the air thickened with his intention so that she knew he needed her alone, in the dark, locked in an embrace. And soon. Whoa, there. Her imagination was working overtime here.

Then he glanced down at the food they’d only picked at and she let out her breath. Felt like a fanciful idiot. ‘Would you like to go outside? I’ll share the rest while we walk. It’s nice on deck at this time of night.’

Her stomach kicked. She hoped he hadn’t read her mind again. He stood up and moved around to help pull out her chair and she stared at the tablecloth thoughtfully. He could be quite smooth at getting his own way when he wanted, but knowing it didn’t stop her feet from shifting, standing, moving beside him with a little beat of anticipation fluttering in her throat.

When they stepped out onto the walkway around the ship he tucked her hand into his arm and after the initial shock she let her hand relax and just enjoyed the sensation of being close to a man she had to admit she fancied. She even had to fight down the heat in her cheeks like a schoolgirl. The concept made her grin. Her hip brushed his solid thigh as they walked and when they passed two female crew members walking together she even enjoyed the envious look they cast her.

A little devil of satisfaction made her fingers curl more tightly into his arm and his skin warmed her fingers. He must have felt her approval because he looked down at her and smiled.

She hurried into speech in case he read too much into her involuntary action. ‘Maybe I could get used to forgetting the world on a cruise ship because it’s all an illusion that only lasts twelve days.’

He tilted his head and studied her. ‘Not everything is an illusion.’

That was a laugh. ‘What’s not an illusion?’

She watched him search for an example that was amusing and backed up her statement. This guy’s life was an illusion. Which was why she liked him.

‘I imagine the person with the broken arm is steeped in reality at the moment.’

She dug in her chin, refused to be deflected from her common-sense aide memoire that they had no future. Light, frivolous, she reminded herself again. ‘I prescribed decent analgesia. Checked the cast wasn’t too tight. I’d say she’s floating along quite nicely despite it.’

She felt his glance brush over her again, felt it physically because her skin prickled, and she hurried into speech. ‘You were going to tell how you became the world cocktail champion.’

‘Well, I boasted a little. There were two of us. And we had an idea for a drink that resembled a boat and tasted like an island. To be sipped, as I said, at sunset.’ He grinned. ‘Lots of rum.’

He stopped beside a little tuck in the deck that created an alcove and she stopped beside him. The waves were quietly relentless, insistently slapping the side of the ship as the big white hull sliced its way through the swell. The breeze was cool and laden with the tang of salt as they sped to their next port.

At the bow of the ship, to the side, the wheelhouse hung out over the sea and she could just discern figures on duty.

They both turned to look out over the ocean as they leant on the cool lacquered rail and the intensity of the moment that had sprung from nowhere eased. The tension she’d picked up slowly dissipated from her neck as, in the distance, tiny flickers of light twinkled on the horizon from the nearest land.

‘Gotta love the Italian coastline.’ His hand swept along the land mass.

‘Where do you think that is?’

He shrugged. ‘There’s so many cliff hewn townships plastered onto the side of Italy, I’d be guessing.’ Then he moved his hip until it was firm alongside hers and she forgot the lights as his solid thigh imparted insidious heat like a warm current through a cold sea.

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