Raw Deal
Caroline Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘SHE’S up to something, you know—have I told you the latest?’

Jo’s lips twitched at her friend’s outraged tone. ‘Which particular latest?’

Maggie Wells straightened from the incubator and grinned wryly.

‘Lucinda’s not going on the cruise. Says she thinks her health isn’t up to it—something about lassitude and being very run down.’

‘Maybe she is?’

Maggie snorted. ‘Lucinda? That old rascal’s as strong as an ox. She doesn’t know the meaning of the word lassitude! She’s on more committees than I’ve had hot dinners, and if she isn’t arranging the flowers in the cathedral she’s at some RMBF lunch party or else hatching my nuptials with her cronies. No, if I know my grandmother, there’s something sinister behind it, and I’ll give you three guesses what!’

‘You could always give in and marry one of these eligible young men——’

‘Are you kidding? I neither want nor need Lucinda’s help to find a husband. I’m quite capable of doing it on my own.’

‘Are you? When did you last go out for a serious date with a man you wanted to be with?’

Maggie met Jo’s eyes with habitual honesty. ‘I’m not sure I ever have, but one thing I am sure of— my grandmother isn’t any better at finding my Mr Right than I am!’

She jotted a reading down on the baby’s chart, and smiled at Jo. ‘Amy’s improving.’

They both looked at the baby, still unbelievably tiny but stronger with every day that passed. Her young, tragically drug-addicted mother had committed suicide the day after her birth, leaving a note putting the baby in Jo’s care. All that remained was to convince the Social Services that Jo and her new husband Alex were suitable adoptive parents—and that was by no means a foregone conclusion.

‘How are the adoption proceedings going?’ Maggie asked now, and Jo shrugged and gave a strained smile.

‘Slow, intrusive, very thorough. They have to be, don’t they? After all, Amy’s the important one.’

Maggie nodded. ‘I hope—you know …’

‘Yes—thanks, Maggie.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Have you got time for a quick coffee? I promised Annie I’d meet her at eleven.’

‘It’ll have to be a quick one.’

They left the quiet bustle of the special care baby unit and made their way down in the lift.

As the doors opened they met Alex Carter, Jo’s husband, and he dropped a kiss on Jo’s lips and smiled. ‘Ships in the night—how’s Amy?’

‘Better.’

‘Great—I’ll try and pop up later. Must go—I’ve got an emergency section. I don’t suppose you’ve got time to assist, Jo?’

‘Well—as it’s you …!’ She grinned at Maggie. ‘Duty calls, I’m afraid.’

Maggie watched as the lift doors slid shut on them, Jo tall and slender with enviable curves and a wild mane of dark red hair, Alex taller still, and good-looking in a soberly distinguished sort of way. Sober, that was, until you caught the way he looked at his wife.

Maggie felt an unexpected pang of envy. For all she complained about her grandmother’s conniving and matchmaking, she would love nothing more than to settle down with the right man.

She sighed. Perhaps she was just too darned fussy?

She found Anne Gabriel in the canteen, and explained that Jo had had to assist Alex with an emergency.

Anne nodded. ‘I just admitted her. Antepartum haemorrhage. If all goes well, you’ll have another baby upstairs to deal with.’

Maggie dropped into the low chair and sipped her coffee. They’ll be a few minutes yet. I’d better make the most of it.’

They look happy, don’t they?’ Anne said after a moment, and Maggie noticed that she looked wistful.

She gave a tiny, humourless laugh. ‘Yes, they do. I was just envying them a minute ago.’

Anne smiled. ‘Me too. Never mind, perhaps you’ll meet someone on this cruise—where are you going?’

‘Singapore and the Indonesian Islands—except I don’t think I am. My grandmother’s pulled out—says she’s ill.’

‘Oh, dear! Anything serious?’

Maggie snorted. ‘You jest. No, she’s up to something. I expect the captain is the emotionally crippled son of one of her bridge partners!’

Anne laughed. ‘Anyway, why does that stop you going?’

‘Well, I can’t go without her—she’s paid for my ticket so that I can accompany her. It wouldn’t be moral——’

Anne stared at her in amazement. ‘Are you nuts? She’s loaded! She could pay for that cruise out of her small change! I think you should go—she obviously intends you to.’

‘That,’ Maggie said wryly, ‘is what bothers me.’ She sipped her coffee again, and then met Anne’s eyes over the top of the cup. ‘Of course, it’s always possible that she really is sick … Perhaps I’ll go and see her.’

‘You do that—on the way to the airport! And if you decide not to go, give me a shout. I’ll take your ticket any day. I could cope with a week of luxury in the Far East!’

‘Ten days.’

‘Even better!’

Just then Maggie’s bleep went, and with a resigned sigh she put down her coffee. ‘I’ll keep you posted,’ she promised, and made her way over to the wall phone.

‘Dr Wells—you bleeped me.’

‘Oh, yes, Dr Wells, you’re wanted in Obstetric Theatre Two, please,’ the switchboard operator told her.

Maggie arrived in Theatre to find Alex and Jo just about to deliver the premature baby whose mother had had an antepartum haemorrhage.

‘Do we know the gestational age?’ she asked.

‘Twenty-six weeks,’ Alex said tersely, ‘and he doesn’t look any too large.’

As she was handed the tiny slippery mite, she bit her lip and frowned.

‘It’s going to be touch and go—he looks pretty flat,’ she said to no one in particular. ‘Let’s get him sucked out and get some oxygen into him, and I think he’s going to need surfactant. Could somebody call Peter Travers?’

Behind her she was conscious of Alex’s quiet requests and directions, and Jo’s calm response as they struggled to control the haemorrhage.

‘That’s more like it,’ Alex murmured, and Maggie felt the atmosphere lift a little. ‘How’s the baby?’

She shrugged. ‘Iffy. I’m doing what I can.’

‘It’s all we can do,’ Alex said steadyingly, continuing his fight for the mother.

Peter Travers, the head of Maggie’s firm, came into the room and took one look at the baby before shaking his head.

‘This one’s going to be all uphill,’ he muttered, warming his stethoscope and running it over the baby’s chest. ‘He’s got a murmur—it may settle.’ His voice was devoid of hope. ‘Right, let’s get him into SCBU and wire him up. He’s got this far, you never know.’

But he didn’t make it, and it was Maggie who was with the little boy and his father when he died. His mother had seen him and held him briefly when she came round, but her condition was still very weak and, apart from Maggie, the baby’s father was the only one there when he slipped qietly away.

Mr Grainger lifted his eyes to Maggie’s, and they were dazed with shock and pain. ‘He’s gone …’ he whispered.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Maggie said heavily, and, opening the incubator, she lifted out the tiny body and placed it in the man’s arms, and then she held him and cried with him as he cradled his tiny son.

‘Nicky’ll be heartbroken,’ he said gruffly, and his voice cracked.

‘Yes, she will,’ Maggie told him gently. ‘She’ll need time to come to terms with it. I’ll ask Mr Carter if he thinks she’s strong enough to be told, but on the whole it’s best not to drag out her hopes for long. I expect she’ll want to hold him again while he’s still warm, and we’ll take photographs of him, and keep his clothes for you so you’ll be able to remember him.’

The man looked worried. ‘Is that a good idea? All those reminders?’

Maggie nodded. ‘You won’t need reminders, Mr Grainger. You’ll both think of him often, and he’ll always be real to you. He is real. Memories can be a great comfort, and we try and give you as many memories as we can to take with you.’

‘What will they do with—with him?’

Maggie brushed the tiny baby’s cheek with her knuckle. ‘He’ll be taken to the mortuary, and any time you or your wife want to see him you only have to ask and you can hold him if you want, as many times as you need to, and then, when you’re ready, he’ll have a funeral just like anybody else.’

‘They don’t … incinerate …?’

Maggie shook her head, understanding his fears. ‘No. He’s a person, just like any other person. His death is just as real, just as important as anyone else’s. Remember that. You have a right to your grief, and to proper recognition of his short life. Did he have a name?’

Mr Grainger swallowed hard. ‘Samuel.’

That’s a lovely name. He’s a beautiful baby.’

Samuel’s father cradled the tiny body against his chest. ‘Yes, he is, isn’t he?’ His voice, for all its sadness, was full of wonder. He turned to Maggie. ‘Thank you for explaining——’

She shook her head helplessly. ‘You’re welcome. Do you want to be alone with him for a while?’

He nodded blindly.

‘I’ll phone Mr Carter.’

She walked quickly away, took a second to compose herself and picked up the phone. Alex was on the ward and came up immediately, sparing her a quick squeeze on the shoulder.

‘Sorry—it’s awful, isn’t it?’ he said quietly.

Maggie left him dealing with the man and made her way into Amy’s cubicle. Because of the possibility that she had been contaminated with the HIV virus by her mother, Amy was nursed in isolation, and it gave Maggie the solitude she needed to pull herself together.

At least this was one baby who was beginning to respond to treatment. She had stopped twitching, and now at five weeks old she was breathing independently, beginning to suck for herself and was nearly ready to go home. No doubt once Christmas was over she would be allocated to a foster mother until her adoption was decided. Maggie just hoped that the woman would be flexible and receptive to Jo, because she was going to have a hell of a fight on her hands if she intended to keep them apart!

As if her thoughts had produced her from thin air, Jo appeared behind Maggie and touched her shoulder gently.

‘OK, Maggie?’ she asked softly.

Maggie sniffed. ‘Yes. Just—it’s such a waste.’

Jo nodded. ‘You win some, you lose some. Are you off duty?’

‘Yes—I think I’ll go and tackle my grandmother on the subject of her suddenly precarious health.’

Jo chuckled. ‘Good idea. Give her my love.’

‘Not until I’ve strangled her!’ she replied with a strained laugh. ‘See you tomorrow.’

She drove her little VW Polo back to her flat, the converted middle floor of a Victorian pile in the old part of town, and, running upstairs, she lit the gas fire, kicked off her shoes and let down her long red-gold hair before picking up the phone and settling comfortably in the armchair by the fire.

‘Lucinda? Hi—it’s Maggie. How are you?’

‘Oh, Margaret, darling, how lovely to hear from you. I’ll be all right—just a little weak, that’s all, darling. Don’t worry about me.’

Maggie twiddled the flex of the phone, winding her finger into the coils. ‘I thought I’d come and see you——’

‘Oh, no, goodness, dear! That would never do! I think it’s a touch of flu, actually, and that’s positively the last thing you need with all those tiny babies you come in contact with. No, no, dear, you stay away, do you understand?’

Maggie’s lips twisted into a wry smile.

‘I understand, Grannie, darling.’

‘Don’t call me that, dear—so ageing! Anyway, now, are you all set to go?’

Old fraud, Maggie thought fondly. There wasn’t a trace of a fluey cough or sniff, and she sounded about as weak as a barracuda.

‘Yes, I’m all set, but I don’t think I should go without you——’

‘Nonsense! You need a holiday, darling, more than I do. You must go, otherwise I shall feel obliged to drag myself out of my sick bed and accompany you, and God knows what that’ll do to my precarious health!’

‘God knows!’ Maggie agreed drily. ‘Anyway, I could do with some company later—maybe I will drop in just for a short while—I promise to keep out of your way so I won’t catch anything.’

‘No! No, Margaret, you mustn’t! I simply forbid it!’ her grandmother all but shrieked, then, collecting herself almost audibly, she continued in a noticeably weaker voice, ‘Anyway, darling, I thought I’d have an early night. What was it you wanted to see me about?’

Your interview for RADA, Maggie thought ruefully, and then remembered.

‘Oh, nothing drastic. I just had a rotten day.’

She told her grandmother all about Samuel Grainger, and Lucinda tutted and ooed and oh, deared and made all the right noises.

‘You must have a holiday, darling,’ she ended, ‘otherwise you’ll get dreadfully depressed and you’ll get wrinkles. So ageing. You go.’

‘Yes, Grannie,’ she replied, and cut off the protest with a kiss. ‘I’ll try and pop over on Christmas Day if not before, but anyway I’ll come and see you before I leave,’ she promised.

In fact she didn’t get a chance before Christmas Day, and even then she was working.

Christmas Day on the paediatric wards was hectic from start to finish, the normal routine squeezed into half the time to allow for the obligatory merrymaking, with Peter Travers dressed up as Father Christmas and Maggie forced to play the Fairy Godmother in a little panto they put on in the afternoon.

She finally got away at seven o’clock in the evening for a short while, and, without even stopping to change out of her working clothes, she drove the short distance to the smart side of town and pulled up outside her grandmother’s house. There were lights blazing in all the downstairs rooms, and a very new-looking Mercedes dominated the drive. She squeezed in behind it and, picking up the parcel which contained some very lacy and extremely ungrandmotherly underwear, Maggie slipped out of the car and walked up to the front window. Peering in, she saw her grandmother dancing with a tall, distinguished-looking man in his seventies, at a guess, and remarkably good-looking for his age.

They were obviously alone, and totally absorbed in each other’s company. Mesmerised, Maggie watched her grandmother flirt outrageously with her handsome escort.

Her head was thrown back, and even through the glass Maggie could hear the light ripple of coquettish laughter emanating from Lucinda’s enviably well-preserved throat—a throat Maggie was tempted to wrap her fingers round and squeeze firmly!

The lousy old fraud! she thought crossly, and then hesitated, her hand raised to rap on the glass. Why not go along with her? She might not be ill now, but she was getting on, and plotting the romantic downfall of Maggie’s spinsterhood was one of the greatest pleasures of her old age.

‘Oh, hell, how can it hurt to allow her her fun?’ Maggie muttered. ‘And she’s right—I do need a holiday.’

So she rang the doorbell, cheerfully wished a Merry Christmas to the tall stranger who opened the door, kissed her grandmother solicitously on the cheek, pretended not to notice the slightly heightened colour or the litter of sherry glasses, and perched beside Lucinda on the couch, eyeing her thoughtfully.

‘You do look a little peaky, darling—and a bit breathless. Perhaps you’re right—it’s a long flight.’

‘But you will go without me, won’t you?’

Maggie stifled her smile. ‘Yes, I’ll go. I expect there’ll be a lot of boring old fuddy-duddies, but perhaps there’ll be some nice young officer to cheer me up,’ she said naughtily.

She inadvertently intercepted the look her grandmother and the stranger exchanged, and fiddled with the present to cover her sudden need to laugh. That stage wink! So he was in on it, too, was he?

‘Is that for me?’

‘Yes—saucy undies. Happy Christmas, darling.’

‘Oh, Margaret, how sweet—Gerald, pass me that envelope from the mantelpiece, would you?’ She pressed it into Maggie’s hand. ‘Just a little spending money and your ticket—have a lovely time.’

‘I will. Bless you. I’ll take lots of photos. And Grannie,’ she admonished, ‘you haven’t introduced me to your guest.’

‘How rude of me! Darling, this is Gerald Palmer, an old friend from simply years ago …’ She waved her hand to indicate possibly several decades—or even centuries. ‘Gerald, my granddaughter, Margaret——’

‘Maggie,’ Maggie corrected.

‘Enchanted, my dear,’ Mr Palmer murmured as he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘So like your grandmother at your age—I would have known you anywhere.’

Well, no wonder she looks a little breathless! Maggie thought as she excused herself and left them to continue their merrymaking. The man overflowed with charm. She instantly forgave him his part in the conspiracy—and her grandmother. They were probably helpless to defend themselves against each other! But she did rather wonder about his part in it all …

Dawn was just breaking over the sea as the Singapore Airlines flight touched down in Changi Airport. It was the thirtieth of December, and England was in the grip of a sudden, biting freeze.

As Maggie stepped from the plane and lifted her face to the sun, she was flooded with warmth and a sudden, unexpected surge of excitement.

The last week had been hectic and exhausting, and she was so tired after the previous eighteen months that she had slept right through the flight. Now it seemed as if she had woken to a dream world.

Once in the terminal building, she retrieved her luggage, and, after clearing Customs, referred to her instructions and proceeded to the allocated rendezvous point.

There her party was warmly welcomed by a young ship’s officer, who checked them all off on a list, ensured that they all had their luggage and then shepherded them to a waiting coach.

Then they were whisked in air-conditioned comfort along the East Coast Parkway past the glorious profusion of vast banks of bougainvillaeas, over the harbour bridges under the lee of the towering skyscrapers to the World Trade Centre harbour, and were very soon ensconced aboard the Island Pearl, their home for the next ten days.

Looking around her, Maggie decided that it was certainly sumptuous without being in the least bit tacky, and small enough for a definitely family feel. Her grandmother would have enjoyed it, Maggie thought with a pang, but then reminded herself that it was entirely her own fault she was missing it.

She was shown to her cabin, a surprisingly spacious twin down on the Java deck—by a freak of fate, she thought, on the same deck as the medical centre. There and then she vowed to tell no one that she was a doctor, or she’d be hounded by the malingerers if she so much as emerged from her cabin and caught them in search of the ship’s MO.

The cabin, she noted, was blissfully cool. Even this early the air outside was hot, and given time would soar into the eighties or nineties.

She peered through the porthole and saw a flotilla of little fishing vessels and small yachts milling about in the harbour. Fascinated, she propped her chin on her hand and watched for several minutes, until the public address system ‘ting-tonged’ into life.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ a well-modulated female voice began, ‘welcome aboard the Island Pearl. If you would care to make your way to the Malacca deck in half an hour where a buffet breakfast is awaiting you, the captain and crew will be pleased to meet you and give you details of the entertainments and facilities available for your enjoyment during your cruise with us. A map of the ship is posted by each companionway, and another copy is in each cabin by the door. We look forward to your company.’

Ting-tong.

Maggie realised that she was starving. Investigating the doors in her cabin, she found a little shower-room and a wardrobe. Hot, sticky and travel-weary, she had just stripped and was standing under the shower when there was a tap on the door.

‘Your luggage, madam,’ a voice said, and a suitcase appeared in the cabin.

‘Perfect timing,’ she said with satisfaction, and, towelling herself dry, she opened the case and studied the contents.

Not being spoilt for choice, she pulled out a cotton jersey T-shirt dress in pansy-blue that almost exactly matched her eyes, and slipped her feet into cotton sandals.

Tying back her damp hair into a pony-tail with a big fabric band, she brushed on a lick of lipstick and smiled falsely at herself.

Good grief! she thought. I’m nervous. How ridiculous.

With that she opened her cabin door, locked it behind her and made her way up to the Malacca deck.

She was eyeing the buffet and wishing Lucinda was with her after all when a sprightly woman in her sixties smiled at her.

‘Dazzling choice, isn’t it? I’m Rhoda. How do you do?’

Maggie took the proffered hand. ‘Maggie. I’m pleased to meet you.’ And she was, she realised, relaxing almost visibly. ‘Are you alone too?’

‘Yes—which is understandable. But you should have some gorgeous young thing in tow—how about the first officer? He’s spectacularly handsome if you like the Latin type. Bit short, but then you aren’t tall. Or one of the others—I saw the perfect man a little while ago. I do so love men in uniform, don’t you, dear? So romantic, somehow …’

Maggie laughingly restrained her. ‘Please, Rhoda! I’ve been working very hard and I’m here to rest. The last thing I need is a romance.’

‘Rubbish! Everybody needs romance! It’s the most revitalising thing in the world. Now let me see …’

Maggie eyed her new companion warily. ‘You don’t by any chance know my grandmother, do you? Lucinda Wells.’

‘Lucinda Wells—no, I can’t say I do, darling. Why?’

Maggie shrugged ruefully. ‘Oh, nothing. You just reminded me of her.’

Rhoda threw back her head and let out a rippling tinkle of laughter. ‘Oh, dear, excuse me … Is she trying to marry you off, poppet?’

‘You could say that!’

Rhoda patted her hand. ‘Can’t say I blame her. You’re far too pretty to let loose on the streets alone. I’d want you settled, too.’

But despite the constant roving of Rhoda’s eyes during breakfast in the Frangipani Room and the more formal welcome that followed it in the Penang Lounge, the perfect man remained mercifully invisible.

Shortly after the captain finished his welcoming speech, the ship’s engines thrummed gently to life and she pulled slowly out of harbour and began the lazy cruise down the Java Sea to Bali.

Rhoda went to scout out the sunbeds, and Maggie, glad of a little peace, explored the ship until lunch.

The afternoon found her under a sunshade with a book, enjoying the feel of the light breeze over her skin as the little ship cruised steadily down towards the equator. Despite the lazy day she felt ready for bed, a fact enhanced by the change in the time. Of course, it was in reality long past her normal bedtime, but before she could make her escape there was dinner to get through, and she found to her confusion that there was to be no escape. Her company was requested at the captain’s table.

When the ting-tong of the PA called them for dinner, Maggie looked at the two formal dresses she had brought, eenie-meenie-minie-moed and ended up with the midnight silk jersey.

She piled her hair into a loose heap on her head, teased out a few tendrils and twirled in front of the mirror.

What she saw was enough to send her scurrying back to the wardrobe, but bearing in mind that she would have to wear both dresses in the end there seemed little point in changing. It was just that, in the shop and with Jo and Annie egging her on, it hadn’t seemed quite so … Oh, well. Who was going to see, anyway? After all, she’d already seen the captain, and he was a widower in his late fifties with grey, thinning hair and undoubtedly a wallet full of family snaps he would pull out at the first opportunity! Perhaps she’d misjudged her grandmother after all?

She was the last but one to arrive at the captain’s table, and apologised slightly breathlessly for her lateness.

‘Nonsense, my dear,’ Captain Rodrigues said jovially. ‘We’re still waiting for one member of the party—ah, here he is. Ben, come and join us!’

‘I do apologise for being late,’ a deep, rich voice murmured from behind her. ‘One of the penalties of the medical profession.’

As he slid gracefully into the seat beside her, Maggie caught a glimpse of fair hair, blue eyes and a boyish grin above a crisp white dress uniform with gold braid and a red cross on the breast pocket before she lowered her eyes.

Bingo. The ship’s doctor. And that explained the siting of her cabin next to the medical centre.

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

CHAPTER TWO

‘Now you’re all here, let me introduce you,’ the captain was saying, but the only name Maggie heard was that of the ship’s doctor—and he was called Bradshaw, not Palmer, which blew her newly formed theory that he might be Gerald’s son! Perhaps it was just coincidence that such an eligible man had suddenly appeared at her side?

Her mind fell over laughing at the very idea. Where Lucinda was involved, coincidences simply didn’t happen—they were ruthlessly arranged. And anyway, there was still the question of the strategic positioning of her cabin.

Stifling the urge to laugh, Maggie looked up and encountered a boyish grin under a straight, slightly aquiline nose. She wondered if he was in on the conspiracy. He bowed slightly towards her.

‘Miss Wells,’ he murmured. ‘Welcome to the Island Pearl. What do you think of the old bucket so far?’

Maggie smiled. So what if it was all set up? She might as well have some fun. ‘She’s lovely—I think I’m really going to enjoy it.’

‘We shall see that you do,’ Captain Rodrigues interrupted. ‘I’m sure Dr Bradshaw would be delighted to keep you company—Miss Wells’s grandmother was to have accompanied her, Ben, but at the last minute she became unwell.’

‘How unfortunate,’ the doctor said smoothly. ‘I’ll have to see if I can’t step into her shoes, at least for part of the time.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ Maggie told him with a laugh. ‘She’s forever trying to marry me off!’

One eyebrow quirked above his extraordinary grey-blue eyes. ‘Really? I wouldn’t have thought that would be very difficult.’ His eyes travelled lazily over the contours of Maggie’s figure, lovingly revealed by the sensuous drape of the midnight-blue silk jersey.

She shifted uncomfortably, forced a bright smile and met his eyes challengingly. ‘I’m extremely picky,’ she told him frankly.

A slow smile lit his eyes. ‘You can afford to be. After all, you’ve got plenty of time—how old are you? Twenty-one? Twenty-two, maybe?’

‘I’m twenty-eight—not that it’s any of your business,’ she retorted, irritated that she should feel flattered by his implication of immaturity. Perhaps Lucinda’s constant exhortation not to do or think anything ageing was rubbing off on her?

‘You must move in exclusively female circles,’ he said, and his lids lowered as he reappraised her.

She decided to turn the tables on him, and, leaning back in her chair, she turned half towards him and studied him openly.

‘How old are you, Dr Bradshaw?’

‘Ben. I’m thirty-one.’

‘Single?’

‘So far.’

‘Any—er—commitments?’

His lips twitched. ‘Not at the moment.’

She let her eyes trail slowly over his body. ‘You must move in exclusively male circles,’ she murmured.

He gave a short, appreciative laugh.

‘Touché.’ He raised his glass to her in a silent toast, and sipped the smooth red wine before setting the glass down and turning his attention back to her. ‘So, Miss Wells——’

‘Maggie.’

‘Maggie. What do you do to occupy your time when you aren’t gallivanting around the world with or without your matchmaking grandparent?’

She chuckled. ‘I work with children,’ she told him, half truthfully.

‘A teacher?’

‘No—I work in a hospital, actually.’

‘A nurse?’

‘No—I——’

‘Occupational therapist? Physio?’

She thought of the endless hours on duty, sometimes as many as a hundred and twenty hours a week. ‘Dogsbody, really,’ she replied with a tinge of bitter irony.

‘I’m sure they love you,’ he said, and she was surprised at the sincerity in his voice. ‘You have an openness, a frank honesty; kids like that.’

She thought of some of the painful procedures it was often her duty to perform, and shook her head. ‘I don’t know if they love me, but I do my best for them. It isn’t always enough.’

She glanced up and surprised a look of pain that twisted his features briefly.

‘No,’ he replied quietly. ‘It isn’t always enough, and sometimes it’s too much.’

She was saved from an inane reply by the arrival of the first course, a delicious hors-d’oeuvre.

She made her selection and nibbled the smoked salmon trout thoughtfully. So, her lightweight, playboy doctor had hidden depths, did he? Even more important, then, that she should keep a distance from him, because, while she could easily talk herself out of falling for an emotional lightweight, she had the uneasy feeling that for all his flirting Ben Bradshaw was anything but, and if they found too much common ground—well, it could be a disaster. She speared a king prawn with more force than was strictly necessary.

Maggie was no fool. She knew she was ripe for picking, but, having escaped the somewhat fumbled clutches of her generation of medical students, she was in no hurry now to hurl herself at the first half-decent man who came along—especially not one who was apparently in hiding from some demon in his past.

A hundred years ago, she mused, he might have joined the Foreign Legion. Now he was condemned to dishing out Kwells to pampered old ladies and bandaging the occasional twisted ankle resulting from an over-enthusiastic game of deck quoits!

And yet, despite her determination to keep her distance, as the food came and went and conversation ebbed and flowed around her, she found her glance straying to his face, and her thoughts straying to his words. She wondered what might have happened when his best had obviously been too much, and thought again of little Samuel Grainger whose fight had been so brief, and for whom her best had fallen a long way short of the mark.

‘Penny for them?’

She glanced quickly up, and saw that, above his smile, his eyes were concerned, as if her face had revealed too much. She shook her head. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. So tell me, Ben, what do I have to look forward to in the next few days?’

He laughed and eased back in his chair. ‘Almost anything. What would you like to do tonight—a quiet drink in the bar, flirting with Lady Luck in the casino, a film, or something romantic—dancing on deck in the moonlight, with the wind in your hair and the bright gleam of the phosphorescence leaving a sparkling trail in our wake?’

His voice had softened and deepened, and she was caught in the magnetic snare of his eyes, unable to look away.

‘That sounds almost too good to be true,’ she found herself saying, and then everyone was rising from the table and she was taking Ben’s arm, aware with every cell in her body of the sinuous strength of his muscles under the fine, soft wool of his white dress uniform.

They collected a drink from the bar and made their way out on deck. All around them people were talking softly and the air was filled with the tinkle of laughter and ice in glasses, murmured voices and sighs of delight.

They found a gap at the rail and stood together, and, due either to the slight motion of the ship or the unaccustomed alcohol, Maggie found herself swaying gently against his tall, hard body.

Ben took her empty glass and put it down, then grinned at her. ‘Come on,’ he whispered. ‘Perk of the job—I know somewhere quiet!’

They threaded their way through the laughing crowd, up a companionway and through a little gate marked ‘Authorised Personnel Only’, then they were out on the bows, watching the phosphorus turn the water a ghostly green as the ship sliced through the sea.

The hum of the engines and the splash of water drowned out the music and laughter they had left behind, and Ben moved up beside Maggie, wrapping his arm around her waist and easing her up against his side. The heat of the day was gone, and in the cooling breeze she was glad of the warmth of his body. The weight of his arm seemed so natural, so right, somehow. She relaxed against him and breathed deeply of the tropic night.

The air was rich with the salt tang of the sea and the smell of fresh paint, and every now and again she caught a glimpse of a flying fish leaping from the water, the phosphorescence trailing behind it like a tiny comet.

‘What a beautiful night,’ she sighed, and Ben’s arm tightened as he turned her into his embrace.

His face was sharply etched in the moonlight, and she watched the emotions play across it as he slowly pulled out her hairpins and shook her hair loose.

‘Absolutely beautiful,’ he murmured in response, and she knew in that second that he was going to kiss her.

I ought to run! she thought, but instead she tipped back her head to make it easier for him, and waited, fascinated, as his firm, full lips lowered and brushed against hers, teasing her with tiny, sipping kisses until her trembling sigh broke through his control and he threaded his fingers through her hair and steadied her against the onslaught of his mouth.

After what seemed like forever and yet wasn’t nearly long enough, he lifted his head and folded her against his chest, her head tucked neatly under his chin against the wild beating of his heart.

He held her there until his heart had slowed, and then he let her go, moving away to stand by the guard rail, his hands braced on the teak top rail, his head bowed.

‘We shouldn’t have done that,’ she said breathlessly, wondering if her legs would collapse without his support, and he lifted his head and met her eyes with a rueful grin.

‘You’re undoubtedly right, but I’m not going to apologise. You’re beautiful, Maggie, with your mermaid’s hair flowing round your shoulders and your eyes wide and innocent—they’re the colour of crushed pansies, did you know that? And your clear, pale skin—you’ll have to be careful not to burn.’ His finger trailed slowly over her bare shoulder and down her arm. ‘It would be a tragedy to mark that exquisite perfection.’

‘Has anybody ever told you you’ve got the smooth tongue of an Irishman?’ Maggie asked drily, to cover the wild leap of her heart.

Ben chuckled. ‘Just a natural ladies’ man,’ he said easily. ‘Come on, let me escort you back to the happy throng, then I must go and hand out more seasick pills. I saw a wave a moment ago—no doubt I’ll be the most popular man on board before long.’

His voice was tinged with irony, and Maggie looked up at him, catching a flash of discontent on his face.

‘Don’t you ever long to be involved in mainstream medicine again?’ she asked, and wasn’t surprised when his face went carefully blank.

‘Not often. It’s a wonderful life here, you know. Sun, sea, sand—even the occasional mermaid thrown in for good measure!’

She wasn’t fooled. ‘It sounds wonderful for a holiday, but I would have thought after a while it would be extremely boring.’

He gave a funny, twisted little laugh. ‘It has its moments. Come on, I’m afraid I really do have to go and see to my patients.’

As they made their way back across the sun-bleached deck that gleamed strangely white in the moonlight, Maggie felt suddenly very tired.

‘I think, actually, I’ll turn in now if you don’t mind. I’ve got rather a headache.’

‘It’s jet lag,’ he told her. ‘You’ll be all right in the morning.’

On the way back through the Penang Lounge, Rhoda spotted them and winked broadly. Oh, good grief, whatever would she think? And it would be worse if she watched them disappear together! Maggie, blushing slightly, turned to Ben and stopped him with a hand on his arm.

‘There’s someone I must have a word with. Thank you for—this evening.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he murmured, a smile playing in the corners of his eyes. ‘Can you find your way back to your cabin?’

‘I’m sure I will. Goodnight, Ben.’

‘Goodnight, my little mermaid. See you tomorrow.’

He turned away, and Maggie looked up to see Rhoda weaving her way across the room.

That’s him—the perfect man—absolutely splendid! How did you find him?’

Maggie shrugged and laughed. ‘I was sitting next to him for dinner. He’s the ship’s doctor. He’s been very—charming.’

Rhoda eyed her quizzically. ‘And did his charm smudge your lipstick and tumble your hair down over your shoulders and leave you looking so alive?’

Maggie flushed and lowered her eyes, and Rhoda laughed softly and patted her hand.

‘You enjoy it,’ she advised. ‘A little romance will do you the power of good.’

‘Yes, well, just now I feel like ten hours’ sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She made her way down to her cabin on Java Deck, taking the stairs as the lifts were all busy. Her mind on the magic of Ben’s kiss and the lingering feel of his hands in her hair, she lost her footing and tumbled inelegantly to the deck, landing with a soft cry.

‘You didn’t have to throw yourself at my feet,’ a familiar voice murmured. ‘A word would have been enough.’

‘Ouch,’ she muttered crossly. ‘Don’t fool around, Ben, I’ve hurt my ankle.’

‘Let me see,’ he said in a soothing voice, and carefully eased her leg straight. ‘It doesn’t seem too bad—let’s get you on to your bed and have a closer look. Where’s your cabin?’

She showed him the key, and he hoisted her effortlessly into his arms and carried her down the corridor.

‘Good job it’s not far,’ she joked, ‘I’d hate to put your back out!’

He laughed. ‘You weigh practically nothing,’ he told her. ‘We’ll have to see if we can’t get some flesh on your bones in the next few days.’

Oh, hell, she thought, that’s all it is. A few days. She wished she weren’t so headily conscious of the lingering scent of cologne that drifted towards her on his body’s warmth. His jaw was inches from her face, and she could see the faint trace of stubble roughening the skin. Her fingers itched to rasp against the slightly coarse texture, to feel the roughness of his jaw graze her skin as he trailed hot, lazy kisses down her throat——

‘Here we are—can you open the door?’

Jet lag! she thought, and wriggled round in his arms to put the key in the lock and turn it.

‘I’m sure I can walk,’ she said belatedly.

‘I’m sure you can, but until I’ve checked your ankle I’ve got a good excuse to hold you!’ he replied with a laugh, setting her down gently on one of the bunks.

‘Take your tights off,’ he told her, and turned away while she self-consciously wriggled out of them and tucked them under her pillow.

‘OK,’ she said, and he turned back and perched on the edge of the bunk, taking her ankle firmly but gently in his hands and rotating it carefully, studying her face as he did so.

She winced, and he nodded and put it down, much to her relief. His hands were cool and firm and very masculine, and she felt suddenly terribly conscious of his presence in her cabin. He was bigger than she had realised, not taller, but more solid, somehow.

He had shed his jacket and was wearing a crisp white shirt and tie, and his shoulders looked broader and very menacing—as menacing, that was, as he could manage to look with that little-boy grin and the wicked twinkle in his eye!

‘You’ll have to take it easy for a day or so—plenty of rest, all right?’

A little imp frolicked in her eyes. ‘I was going to dance till four in the morning, jog round the deck to clear my head, then play deck quoits till lunchtime.’

He smiled, slowly and wickedly. ‘If you don’t promise to be sensible I’ll have to lash you to the bed.’

‘That’ll make it very difficult for you to do as the captain told you and keep me company,’ she said without thinking, and his deep chuckle brought a flush to her cheeks.

‘I don’t know—it sounds as if it has definite possibilities!’ he murmured lazily, and suddenly he seemed menacing in quite another way—a way she found all too appealing.

‘Don’t be unprofessional,’ she said a little huskily. ‘Remember your hypocritic oath, Dr Bradshaw!’

He stood up suddenly, the smile wiped from his face. ‘That’s Hippocratic, and I’m well aware of its ramifications,’ he said harshly, and turned towards the door.

Maggie was astonished. What was wrong with him? ‘Ben?’

‘Take it easy for a day or two, and you’ll be fine. If you need any painkillers or you think it needs support, I’ll be in the medical centre. Goodnight.’

Her whispered ‘goodnight’ bounced off the closed door. What on earth had she said? She was joking. Was the Hippocratic oath in some way involved in the mystery of his past?

With a groan of frustration, she eased herself carefully off the edge of the bunk and prepared for bed, her thoughts full of Ben and his strange and apparently inconsistent behaviour.

What had happened to him?

And what was happening to her? She was in danger of becoming hopelessly involved with him—or she had been, until a thoughtless remark had sent him running for cover. Now she had probably lost her chance—and it was probably just as well.

With a sigh she climbed into bed and fell instantly, dreamlessly asleep.

Maggie woke with a dull ache in her left ankle, and for a while she considered Ben’s advice to take it easy, but with only eight days of the cruise left it seemed too sensible for words.

Throwing back the bedclothes, she swung her legs over the side and stood up. So far so good. Gingerly, she tested her weight on the bad ankle. Uh-uh! Not so smart. She sat down again.

Rats, she thought. I’ll have to take it easy after all.

Hopping carefully, she got herself ready in shorts and T-shirt over her bikini, grabbed a little hold-all with sunscreen, a beach-towel and a good book and set off for the lift at a steady limp.

Emerging on to Malacca Deck, she made her way to the Frangipani Room where she could hear the unmistakable sound of breakfast being served.

The steward asked her her cabin number and escorted her to a table for six with a lovely view out over the water. She was the only person at the table, and was feeling self-conscious when Rhoda appeared at her side.

‘Got any room for me? I have the distinct feeling that the people on my table are going to turn out to be the most crashing bores imaginable—and anyway, I want to ask you all sorts of searching personal questions about that lovely man!’

Maggie laughed. ‘Come and join me—you can have my grandmother’s seat, I’m sure. Actually I was feeling a bit lost.’

Rhoda nodded understandingly. ‘Yes, it was a long time after I was widowed before I felt quite at home in a restaurant on my own. So tell me—how did you get on with him?’

Maggie fiddled with her cutlery. ‘Quite well at first, but I seem to have said something that’s upset him.’

‘He didn’t look upset last night!’

‘No, it was later,’ Maggie explained, and gave Rhoda an edited version.

‘Oh, you poor thing! Darling, how simply rotten for you—is it agony?’

‘Not really,’ Maggie laughed. ‘In fact sitting like this I can hardly feel it. It’s only when I stand or walk—oh, lord, there he is!’

Rhoda swivelled her head and gave Ben the benefit of her ten-megawatt smile as he crossed the room towards them. In normal day-dress of crisp white shorts, short-sleeved open-necked white shirt and white shoes and socks, he looked even better, if possible, than he had in formal evening dress. Rhoda whistled quietly under her breath.

‘Good morning, Doctor,’ she purred as he drew level with them, and Ben gave her a slightly strained smile and pulled out the chair next to Maggie.

‘Good morning,’ he replied, and sat down sideways on the chair, facing Maggie. ‘Hi. How’s the patient today?’

She smiled to ease the tension and tried not to stare. ‘Not too bad. I’m going to take your advice, though.’

‘Good.’

He paused, and Rhoda stood up, her brilliant smile in place. ‘Will you children excuse me? I’ve just seen someone I want a word with—won’t be a mo.’

She flitted across the room, scarf trailing colour-fully, and they watched her go.

Then Maggie turned back to Ben and touched his hand. ‘About last night—I’m sorry I implied you were being unprofessional. It was unforgivable.’

‘You were absolutely right——’

‘No, I wasn’t! After all that had gone before, you were acting as a friend with medical knowledge giving first aid, rather than the ship’s doctor giving a formal consultation. I was only teasing. I’m sorry you took me seriously.’

He was silent for a moment, and then he looked up with a rueful smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, too. I’m inclined to over-react. You just hit a nerve. Anyway, I’m the ship’s doctor before I’m anything else, and it wouldn’t hurt to remember it. With my entertainment duties it’s a fine line that’s often blurred—but never more so than with you.’ He sighed. ‘Where are you spending the day?’

‘I thought I’d find a shady spot on deck and read—maybe swim?’

‘Mind you don’t burn.’

She hefted her hold-all. ‘I’ve got some factor twenty-five sunscreen in here.’

‘You’ll need it. Have a lovely day. I’ll see you later.’

He stood up, waved to Rhoda and left the room.

Rhoda excused herself and came straight back.

‘Well? Did you sort out your little disagreement?’

Maggie had to smile. ‘I think we may have done. Ah, here’s the steward—shall we order?’

It was a long, lazy day, and Ben drifted in and out of it with a smile and a wave, pausing sometimes to top up Maggie’s sunscreen cream or check on the progress of her ankle.

It made it very difficult to keep him at a distance, because, while she hadn’t wanted to leave matters so there was bad feeling between them, on the other hand she didn’t want to encourage his attentions to the point where he would think an affair was inevitable—because it wasn’t.

At least she told herself that, but when he perched on the end of her sunbed and grasped her ankle firmly in his large, warm hands, smoothing the skin with his thumbs while his hair-roughened thigh brushed against her calf and his eyes sent wicked messages to her fevered imagination, it was hard to believe that she would have the strength to turn away from him if he ever really tried to seduce her.

At four o’clock she went back down to her cabin for a rest before dinner, and then dressed with extra care, refusing to admit to herself that it had anything to do with a certain tall, blond doctor who had insinuated himself into her life.

It was New Year’s Eve, and in five hours they would be crossing the Equator. The promised party would undoubtedly be riotous and trail on until the morning, and she just hoped her ankle would stand up to it. Not that it mattered. No one would be affected if she slipped quietly away just after midnight.

Except maybe Ben.

Ignoring the sudden thudding of her heart, Maggie fastened the single tiny pearl button at the neck of the cream crêpe de Chine gown and stood back to inspect her handiwork.

Oh, dear. It’s another of those dresses, she thought wearily. I really must stop taking Jo and Annie shopping with me.

There was a tap at the door, and Ben’s voice curled around her senses.

‘Maggie? Are you ready?’

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

He stood looking at her for endless moments, which gave her the perfect opportunity to study him in turn. And he looked gorgeous. Tall, broad, devastatingly masculine, the little-boy look banished in favour of an appraisal that was elemental in its intensity.

‘My God,’ he breathed, and closed his eyes, opening them again slowly. ‘Turn round,’ he instructed, and she noticed with rather nervous amusement that his voice was slightly rasping.

She twirled slowly, and then came to rest facing him again.

‘Losing your voice?’ she teased.

‘Losing my grip, I think,’ he replied gruffly, and with a deep sigh he offered her his arm. ‘I think we need to be among people before I give in to the urge to tumble you on to your bunk and ravish you before dinner.’

Maggie laughed, but as she looked up and met his eyes she realised he was only half joking.

Thank goodness he was a gentleman!

Dinner was wonderful, each course outdoing the one before, and by the time Maggie had fought her way through the French onion soup, the lobster tails in an exquisite sauce and the beef Wellington, she was ready to give in.

Then the dessert trolley arrived, and she simply had to succumb to the crêpes with a flambéd dark cherry filling, drenched with thick, delicious double cream.

‘My arteries will never forgive me,’ she said laughingly, and Ben beside her smiled and stole a cherry dripping with cream.

‘Just testing,’ he murmured, and declined his own portion, choosing instead a cup of rich black coffee.

She couldn’t finish, and Ben picked up her fork and speared the last few cherries. She watched, fascinated, as his lips closed on the fork and he withdrew it, a sensuous smile on his face. He licked his lips and sighed.

‘I don’t think I’m going to be able to move,’ Maggie confided, somewhat distracted by the look in his eyes.

‘You need a walk on deck. Come on. Excuse us, please, ladies and gentlemen. A little fresh air!’

They left a polite murmur behind them which rapidly changed into idle speculation, and made their way out on to the deck.

Already passengers were beginning to drift out, and they leant on the rail and watched the flying fish leaping out of the water.

‘What’s the programme for this evening?’ Maggie asked lazily, not at all interested in moving from her comfortable position against Ben’s side.

‘Dancing and cabaret until nearly midnight in the Penang Lounge, and then crossing the Equator at midnight with the captain dressed as Neptune. It’s quite a laugh, I gather. Then more dancing and disco and drinking and what you will until dawn. The casino’s open for those who think their luck might have changed with the advent of the New Year, and then breakfast is served for those who can tolerate it pretty much as required until midday.’

‘What happens then?’

‘They change the menu!’

Maggie chuckled. ‘It sounds as if you’ll have quite a few patients!’

He laughed. ‘Inevitably. I have a large supply of hangover and indigestion remedies available for the over-indulged—talking of which, how are you feeling?’

‘Over-indulged! I’ll survive—it’s entirely my own fault!’

He chuckled. ‘How’s the ankle?’

She flexed it thoughtfully. ‘It seems better.’

‘Better enough to dance?’

‘Disco?’ she asked doubtfully.

He turned towards her with a lazy smile. ‘Actually, I had in mind something rather slower and more romantic. I’ve eaten far too much myself to jiggle about, and anyway it seems like a good idea.’

Maggie thought it seemed like a crazy idea, but her wretchedly willing head nodded of its own accord and she found herself going with him to the Penang Lounge where couples were moving slowly to the music.

Too crowded,’ he decided, and led her out on deck. The sunbeds had been cleared away to make room for the night’s revelry, and apart from a few couples similarly engaged they had the deck to themselves.

He held out his hand. ‘May I have the honour of this dance?’ he murmured, and she stepped into his arms with a tiny sigh of resignation.

He held her lightly and very properly, until she turned unwarily and jarred her ankle. Then he pulled her more firmly against him and offered her the support of his arms. ‘Better?’ he said softly, his breath teasing her hair, and she nodded, sliding her arms round his waist and leaning into him.

‘Much.’

They clung together in the moonlight, swaying gently to the soft music that washed over them under the star-spangled tropic sky, and Maggie wondered what on earth she was thinking about to allow herself so close to an absolute stranger.

Except that he didn’t seem like a stranger, and after twenty-eight years her body had evidently decided that her mind had had quite long enough and needed a helping hand.

Perhaps it had been easy to walk away before because she had never met anyone sufficiently tempting? As she had told Ben, she was extremely picky about her boyfriends—to the extent that she hadn’t had one for the past two years, and the ones before that had merely been convenient escorts. Undoubtedly there had been those who had felt cheated when she refused to express her gratitude for their company in the accepted fashion, but it wasn’t a fashion she had any intention of adopting for herself.

Until tonight.

Idly, she wondered whether they would end up in bed after all the revelry was over. Somehow she wouldn’t be surprised.

‘Time for the cabaret,’ he murmured, and she dragged herself back to earth—or deck, or whatever—and allowed Ben to ease her gently away from him.

A small, unbidden whimper of distress rose in her throat, and he brushed her lips with his. ‘Shh,’ he whispered. ‘I know. Later. Don’t worry, I’m not letting you go.’

Firmly at his side, she allowed him to lead her back into the Penang Lounge for the cabaret.

Apparently it was hysterically funny, because the passengers were all clutching their sides and laughing until the tears ran down their cheeks, but Maggie had eyes and ears only for Ben, and when he turned and winked at her she knew he was feeling the same way.

When the cabaret was over they made their way out on deck again, gathering round the pool, and shortly before midnight their portly captain appeared, scantily clad in a few strands of strategically placed artificial seaweed, brandishing a trident and singing sea-shanties with great gusto and only slightly off-key.

At the stroke of twelve his trident was removed and he was thrown into the pool, amid great cheers, and emerged dripping and smiling broadly to kiss all the women passengers.

And he wasn’t the only one in demand. As he reached Maggie and clutched her arms with slightly damp hands before bestowing a smacking kiss on her cheek, she saw a tarty blonde with legs that went on forever and arms like an octopus envelope Ben and press her lips firmly to his in an unmistakable invitation.

‘Happy New Year,’ she crooned, and seized him again.

Maggie turned away and allowed herself to be kissed by variously over-enthusiastic male passengers until she felt a hand on her arm and shook it off, heartily sick of the whole business.

Damn it, she was jealous! Serious stuff, being in lust, she confessed disgustedly to herself, and felt the hand return to her arm, shackling her wrist in strong fingers.

She turned to quell the enthusiastic Lothario and found herself looking into Ben’s furious eyes.

‘Did you have to let them all kiss you?’

‘Huh!’ She was enraged. ‘Me? What about you and that—that——?’

‘Barbie-doll?’ he offered, and she suddenly saw the funny side. A bubble of laughter rose in her throat, and Ben’s lips twitched.

‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

He led her round the corner, up the ladder and through the little gate that led to their very own private sanctuary, and there he drew her into his arms.

‘Happy New Year,’ he murmured against her lips, and then he was kissing her with all the pent-up feeling of the last few hours, holding her as she had wanted him to hold her since she had opened her cabin door to him at seven o’clock.

She sagged against him, her legs unable to support her, and he groaned low in his throat and turned her so that she was propped up against a bulkhead, then his hands dropped to her waist and slid slowly upwards.

Because of the cut of the dress she had been unable to wear a bra, and she had a moment’s pang that he would be disappointed in the small size of her breasts, but, as his hands cupped them, his breath hissed out between his teeth and she felt a deep shudder run through him.

‘I want to look at you,’ he whispered, and deftly dispatched the single pearl button that held the back of the neck. The gown was slashed from nape to waist, and as he eased it over her shoulders the bodice fell softly to her hips and left her open to his gaze.

His face was in shadow, but the moonlight gleamed brightly on her pale skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. She moved to cover herself, but he caught her hands, trapping them as he stared at her hungrily.

‘You’re perfect,’ he rasped, ‘a moonlit goddess. Maggie, I want you. Now. Tonight.’

Her throat was dry from need, and the only word she could manage was his name. It was enough.

Tugging the shoulders roughly back into place, his trembling fingers refastened the button.

‘Come on,’ he said gruffly. ‘Let’s go somewhere where we won’t be disturbed.’

Mindlessly she followed him, her defences in tatters. Her legs were trembling so badly that they were almost out of control, and if they had been alone in the lift she had the distinct feeling it would have been all over there and then.

But they weren’t alone, and somehow managed to survive the endless descent without reaching for each other.

He was inserting the key in her cabin door when a steward called him and came hurrying towards them.

‘Dr Ben, excuse me, there is a man urgently needing your attention.’

Ben groaned quietly under his breath.

‘OK, Ah Seng, thank you. I’ll be with you in a moment.’

He pushed open the door, followed Maggie in and folded her against his chest with a ragged sigh.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. his voice rich with frustration and apology. ‘Duty calls. I won’t be long. Wait for me.’

With a brief kiss, he was gone.

CHAPTER THREE

MAGGIE waited, as instructed, and as the minutes ticked by and turned into hours so her heart slowed and common sense returned.

Whatever was she thinking about? He was an inveterate flirt, a rootless, itinerant playboy with some nameless hang-up about his past—no, she was better off without him.

Ignoring the tug of disappointment in the region of her heart, she hung up her dress, climbed into bed and then got up again to lock her door.

In fact she needn’t have bothered, because Ben didn’t come back that night and she didn’t see him again at all the following day, although she did see the Barbie-doll from the poolside leaving the medical centre still dressed—if you could call it that—in the scrap of tinsel she had been draped in the night before.

By dinner that night he still hadn’t appeared, and, feeling rather miffed, she squandered some of her grandmother’s more-than-generous spending money in the casino.

So he had thought better of it—well, so had she. He was obviously not worth wasting her energy on—especially not if he was prepared to settle for that ghastly tart! She was going to make a New Year’s resolution to avoid him for the remainder of the cruise. It shouldn’t be difficult.

Her ankle was much better, and she decided to take a stroll on deck. It was too crowded for her taste, and, slipping quietly away, she took the route she had followed with Ben and went through the gate marked ‘Authorised Personnel Only’.

Perhaps it was instinct that led her to him, but she was unsurprised to find him standing there alone in the moonlight, his arms propped on the teak rail, staring out over the night sea. So much for her resolution!

‘You didn’t come back,’ she said accusingly before she could stop herself.

He straightened and turned towards her, and she was shocked to see how tired he looked.

‘Maggie,’ he murmured absently, and, lifting a hand, he caught the stray lock of hair blowing across her face and tucked it behind her ear.

‘I thought you’d fallen overboard,’ she said brightly, trying to make light of the wild tumult his touch had caused.

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