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Doctor's Guide To Dating In The Jungle
Tina Beckett









He gave a slow smile. “I don’t always follow the rules.”

“You don’t?”

His gaze dropped again to her lips. “Not all of them.”

The touch of his fingers sliding across her cheek and burrowing into her hair made her knees turn to water. “Are you about to break one right now?” she whispered.

“Oh, yeah.” His head lowered until he was just a heartbeat away. “Can you guess which one?”

Rules. Who needed rules?

The second he touched his mouth to Stevie’s he was lost. He’d fantasized about this kiss from the moment he saw her sitting on that suitcase looking so forlorn at the airport. Oh, he’d denied it, acting like some macho hulk who could take anything life dished out, but he couldn’t pretend. Not anymore.

He was proving that. Right here. Right now.


Dear Reader

The inspiration for Matt and Stevie’s story came as I read about a dengue fever outbreak in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, about six hours from where I live. As I kind of shrugged and went about my daily business, I realised how different my life had become since moving to this beautiful country. I’m fortunate to live in a large city where healthcare is excellent, but I wondered how nonchalant I would be if I lived in a more remote region—such as portions of the Amazon River. DOCTOR’S GUIDE TO DATING IN THE JUNGLE is the result of those thoughts.

Thank you for joining Matt and Stevie as they experience the joy and heartbreak of working under very difficult conditions. Their dedication to their patients helps them rise to meet each new challenge. Best of all, this special couple finds love along the way. I hope you enjoy reading about their journey as much as I enjoyed writing about it!

Sincerely

Tina Beckett




About the Author


Born to a family that was always on the move, TINA BECKETT learned to pack a suitcase almost before she knew how to tie her shoes. Fortunately she met a man who also loved to travel, and she snapped him right up. Married for over twenty years, Tina has three wonderful children, and has lived in gorgeous places such as Portugal and Brazil.

Living where English reading material is difficult to find has its drawbacks, however. Tina had to come up with creative ways to satisfy her love for romance novels, so she picked up her pen and tried writing one. After her tenth book she realised she was hooked. She was officially a writer.

A three-time Golden Heart finalist, and fluent in Portuguese, Tina now divides her time between the United States and Brazil. She loves to use exotic locales as the backdrop for many of her stories. When she’s not writing, you can find her either on horseback or soldering stained glass panels for her home.

Tina loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, or ‘friend’ her on Facebook.

This is Tina’s debut title for Mills & Boon


Medical


Romance


Doctor’s Guide

to Dating

in the Jungle

Tina Beckett




























www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my amazing husband, who believed I could succeed at anything I put my hand to.

With special thanks to my fabulous critique partners at Write Romance. I owe you ladies so much!

And to the amazing bunch of writers who hang out in Subcare over at Harlequin.com. The hand-holding and support found there is beyond compare.




CHAPTER ONE


‘ALL we’re doing is pasting a bandage over a gaping wound.’

Dr. Matt Palermo, in the middle of resectioning a femoral artery, ignored the exasperated mutter from the doctor beside him, knowing his colleague wasn’t speaking literally. The neighboring gurney housed an injury just as frightening as the one Matt was working on. Except the patient’s foot was long gone, lost somewhere in the depths of the rainforest.

The quick shrug of his shoulders had nothing to do with indifference and everything to do with dabbing a stray bead of perspiration that threatened to contaminate his surgical site. That was, if the sticky heat and buzzing flies hadn’t already coated all the equipment with noxious bacteria.

He fought the frustration that rose in his throat. He knew exactly what the doctor to his left was going through. Hadn’t he experienced the same overwhelming sense of hopelessness when he’d first come to this part of the Amazon? He still felt it at times. But that had had nothing to do with Brazil and everything to do with burying a large chunk of his heart in Tennessee. Even his bout with break-bone fever a couple of years ago couldn’t compare to the agonizing phrase that had changed his life for ever: I’m sorry; we did everything we could.

He shook off the memory and eyed the newly closed artery, checking it manually for leaks. Satisfied with the job, he prepared to close.

‘You need any help?’ he asked, risking a quick glance at the other doctor, who now sat slumped in a chair while his patient slept on, unaware that life as he knew it was over.

Just like Matt’s had been.

‘I’m done.’ Averted eyes and fingers scraping through hair that was stiff with a mixture of sweat and hair gel told Matt those two words would prove prophetic. After the city guy’s two-week stint down the Amazon on the medical boat was over, he’d catch the first flight home to Chicago. He’d go back to his urban medical practice. Back to his pristine surgical suite and soft piped-in music. He wouldn’t be coming back to Brazil.

Ever.

And Matt would again be left to fight the losing battle of man against nature.

Alone.

The blast of heat punched hard and fast as Stevie Wilson stepped from the cocooning shelter of the plane. She had to lock her knees and force herself to remain upright, or she’d end up melting onto the shiny black tarmac that danced and shimmered around her.

Wow. Coari was even hotter than she’d expected.

A quick tap of her hand sent her sunglasses toppling from their perch on her head to the bridge of her nose, where they cut the glare of the sun by half. She gave a sigh of relief and headed toward the worker who was busy tossing suitcases and foot lockers from the underbelly of the ancient aircraft.

‘Oi, Senhor! Cuidado com a mala vermelha, por favor.’

The man smiled and gave her a thumbs-up signal, and then, despite her request to the contrary, dropped her medical bag with a thunk onto the growing mound of luggage.

She winced. ‘Things can only get better from here, right, Stevie?’

Moving a few yards toward the vacant exterior of the airport terminal, she prayed someone was inside to meet her. She’d only dealt with the director of Projeto Vida, and though the woman had been cordial, she’d given a noncommittal ‘Have the applicant e-mail his full résumé, including qualifications and a copy of his medical license. We’ll get back to him.’ She’d rung off before Stevie had a chance to admit the ‘friend’ she’d been calling for was actually herself.

Much to her shock, after sending in the requested information, she’d received an affirmative response, along with a list of necessary vaccinations and visa requirements. A month later, here she was.

Free and clear.

Free from her lying fiancé-cum-hospital-director and the political maelstrom that had arisen in the wake of their broken engagement. Free from the subtly averted eyes of the nursing staff that had torn at her heart and shredded her confidence.

She was free to do what she’d gone into medicine to do: treat those in need. And if traveling down the Amazon on a floating hospital ship was the only way she could meet that goal, so be it.

She tugged her sticky cotton shirt away from her body and fanned it against her ribcage, hoping her deodorant proved to be as Kevlar-strong as the ads claimed. A flatbed cart raced by, heading toward the growing mountain of luggage. Well, at least she didn’t have to worry about unearthing the rest of her bags from that stack. Except that if her medical bag was now on top of the heap, it would soon be …

Turning, she took off at a sprint towards the pile and waved frantically at the two men. They stopped what they were doing, obviously wondering what the crazed foreigner was so upset about this time. She skidded to a stop and motioned to her bag, telling them what she wanted in Portuguese. Well, continental Portuguese, which she’d been told was different than the Brazilian version of the language, but it was all she had.

They evidently understood because the thumbs-up signs were again flashed in her direction before her bag was plucked from the stack and handed down—rather than tossed, this time.

‘Obrigada.’ She pulled a couple of small bills from her wallet and handed them to the men, directing them to her bags and asking if they’d bring them to the terminal for her. They nodded as she righted her case and set it on its wheels so she could tow it behind her.

A minute later, she was inside the main building, where the lack of air-conditioning—or even a fan—made the closed space seem more oppressive than the air outside. A rivulet of sweat ran down her back, lodging in the waistband of her low-rider jeans. Glancing around, she saw no one, other than employees and the fellow passengers who’d boarded the air taxi with her in Manaus. Stevie wondered for the first time if she’d made the right decision in coming. She’d expected—if not a giddy cheer by a pack of overworked doctors—at least one person to meet her at the airport and help her get to the boat.

Making her way to the desk, she asked if anyone had mentioned meeting a doctor here today.

‘Ninguém, Senhora, desculpa.’

Not the answer she’d hoped to hear. She moved away from the counter and stood in the center of the room just as a wave of panic broke over the top of her. Despite her sensible flat sandals, her legs wobbled threateningly. Ignoring the scolding she’d just given the baggage handler over her medical bag, she shoved the telescoping handle into place and plunked herself down on the hard plastic casing. She dropped her handbag onto the cracked concrete floor beside her, wondering if she needed to put her head between her knees. No, then she might miss whoever was coming to pick her up. She settled for propping her elbows on her thighs and sinking her chin into her cupped palms.

Slow, deep breaths. That’s it.

Surely she wasn’t going to be abandoned.

A door on the other side of the building swung open and a man appeared, his gaze sweeping across the interior of the terminal as he strode toward the ticket counter. His height and close-fitting khaki slacks—as opposed to the uber-casual clothing worn by the male workers—marked him as an outsider. She couldn’t quite see his eyes, but Stevie sat up straighter anyway and attempted a smile, praying this was her ride. But his glance merely clipped hers as he went by, a frown now marring the tanned flesh between thick, dark brows. He continued on to the desk and spoke in hushed tones, his black polo shirt pulling taut across powerful shoulders as he leaned over the counter. When the woman’s hand swept in Stevie’s direction, her heart leaped and she waved, stopping in midstream when he looked right past her.

As if she were invisible!

The flicker of hope went out, and she cringed at how desperate her madly waving arm must have appeared.

Desperate with a capital D.

She forced back her thoughts before they took a more destructive path. The man wasn’t rejecting her personally, he was simply here to meet someone else.

‘Onde?’ he asked the woman at the counter, his voice loud enough for Stevie to hear this time.

‘A loira sentada na mala, senhor.’

The blonde sitting on the suitcase? She glanced behind her just to be sure. There was no one sitting on a suitcase, except for …

The words slowly sank in. Oh, no. Surely not.

If her expression was horrified, the man’s was doubly so. Triply so, if the brackets now etching the sides of his mouth were anything to go by.

He stalked toward her, every step appearing a battle of wills, one that he seemed determined to win. Stopping in front of her, he paused. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

‘Excuse me?’ Her neck had to crane back to look up at him, and her sunglasses slid off her head in the process, crashing to the floor. She ignored them, forcing herself to keep meeting those icy blue eyes.

‘I’m here to meet Dr. Stefan Wilson,’ he said, mangling her first name.

Stevie bit her lip, realizing just how tall he actually was, especially from her perch on the suitcase. If she weren’t so worried about the still-shaky condition of her legs, she’d stand up. ‘It’s Stefani, not Stefan. ‘Dr. Stefani Wilson. Most people call me Stevie, though.’

He shoved a hand through his hair and swore, before pulling a folded group of papers from one of his back trouser pockets. He took his time opening them and going over the documents. ‘It says Stefan on the application. I was expecting a man.’

She gulped. Maybe he really was rejecting her.

Taking the papers he handed her, Stevie perused them, frowning over the missing ‘i’ on the application. So that’s why he’d brushed her off earlier. ‘I don’t understand. I filled this out online and sent it to the director of Projeto Vida myself.’

She flipped the pages until she found her license. ‘Here. See? It says Stefani, right here on my medical license. I also included a copy of my passport photo … hmm, which doesn’t seem to be here either.’

‘Great.’ He took the papers and jammed them back into his pocket then looked off into the distance. ‘Looks like the joke’s on me.’

A woman.

Matt couldn’t believe Tracy would have the nerve, when he’d specifically asked for a male doctor. She knew what this job was like. So far, no one—not even the last three men who’d signed up for the position—had been able to endure the tough working conditions. And Tracy thought this little scrap of a person could? That she’d be able to hack off a putrid, rotting leg, if the situation called for it?

He took in her white blouse, which clung to her curves wherever perspiration had gathered, becoming almost sheer in spots. At least it was thin and cool, which was so … Practical was the only word he allowed himself.

Even as the unlikely description bounced around his skull, he noticed a heavy droplet of moisture beside the coil of wheat-colored hair. As he watched, it slid down the side of her neck, gathering speed until it dipped into her collarbone. It hesitated as if unsure where to go next, then found the right path and headed down. Straight down. He swallowed and tore his eyes from the sight.

‘Forget it. You’re not staying.’ He sent her a glare that he hoped would send her fleeing back to whatever cushy hospital job she’d left behind. If she was looking for adventure, she’d come to the wrong place. And he sure didn’t need his mind wandering into areas it didn’t belong.

‘Forget it? You’ve got to be kidding me! I’ve just traveled four thousand miles to get here.’ Her eyes flashed a warning. ‘I’ll have you know I’m a well-qualified vascular surgeon—’

‘For which there’s little use in the jungle.’ He ignored the silent voice that reminded him he could have used her skills on the leg wound he’d treated a month and a half earlier.

‘I’ve also done a year’s residency in the emergency room, which means I’m well versed in the art of triage.’

‘The art of triage?’ He gave a hard laugh. ‘It may be an art form where you come from, but battlefield triage is something completely different.’

Her head came up, and a vein in the damp skin just below her jaw pulsed with what could be either anger or fear. He’d bet fear. Good. That meant she’d soon be running back home, like Craig had done before her. And Mark before that.

And he’d bet his life he’d never once stared at a pulse point in either man’s neck.

A baggage carrier came up behind them and set three giant red bags beside her, color-coordinated matches of the one she was currently sitting on. They were all spotless, evidently purchased just for this trip.

It figured.

He was surprised there weren’t white roses embroidered across the fronts of them, or little save-the-rainforest slogans like the ones Craig had had on several of his T-shirts.

The carrier held up three fingers as if asking if these were all of her bags.

The woman in front of him gave the ubiquitous thumbs-up signal. The carrier nodded and hurried away without even waiting for a tip. Probably knew it was a lost cause.

Matt rolled his eyes. She knew nothing about this culture. ‘I bet you don’t even speak Portuguese.’

‘Well, that’s a bet you’d surely lose. And as far as ‘battlefield triage’ goes, the last time I checked my history books, Brazil was a pacifistic nation.’ She scooped up the sunglasses, which lay broken on the floor, and dumped the remains into the open handbag that sat beside her. Picking up her purse, she stood to her feet, the top of her head barely reaching his chin.

‘You can’t learn everything about a country from a history book.’

‘Ri-ght.’

The sing-song intonation she gave the word only served to tick him off further. Women. When he got hold of Tracy, he was going to give her hell.

But Tracy wasn’t here at the moment, and Dr. Stefani Wilson was. ‘I don’t think you and this job are going to mesh.’

She hitched her handbag higher onto her shoulder, but there was now a hint of wariness in her gaze that made him frown. ‘Is that right? You know … I don’t believe I caught your name.’

‘Matt. Matt Palermo.’

‘Well, Mr. Palermo. Why don’t you let me worry about whether the job and I are going to suit each other? If you’ll just take me to Tracy Hinton—who evidently felt I was adequately qualified for this position—I’ll soon be out of your hair.’

‘Not bloody likely.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Two things. One, if you take this job you won’t be “out of my hair” for a very long time. And, two, Tracy obviously didn’t inform you of the living arrangements.’

‘She spelled it out quite nicely. She and I will be living on a hospital boat, traveling from village to village. We’ll be out for weeks at a time.’

‘You … and Tracy.’ He nodded, a small smile coming to his face when he realized she had no idea who he was. And he wondered if that was a simple mistake, or if Tracy had her hand in that as well.

‘Yes. Why? Don’t you think two women can handle the job?’

‘What I think has no bearing on anything, or Tracy never would have hired you.’

‘What an awful thing to say.’

‘Not really. And Tracy won’t be the one living with you.’

She blinked once, then again, his response evidently surprising her. ‘Okay, so it’ll be another doctor. It doesn’t really matter who it is.’

‘Doesn’t it?’

A hand went to her stomach and she plucked at the hem of her shirt. ‘Not at all.’

‘So it wouldn’t bother you to discover that we—you and I—will be living together, if you take this job.’ He caught sight of a pale sliver of skin beneath her blouse as she fiddled with it. He forced the rest of the words from his suddenly dry mouth. ‘We’ll be under the same roof. For weeks at a time. Possibly months.’

She sucked down an audible breath and held it for a second or two before the muscles of her throat relaxed. ‘I can handle it, if you can. Besides, there’ll be another doctor on board to play chaperone, if you’re worried about me throwing myself at you.’ Her brows arched. ‘Are you the ship’s captain or something? The cook?’

He laughed. ‘Unfortunately for you, it’s neither of the above. And if you get on that boat, you’ll have to put up with me 24-7.’

‘Because?’ Her teeth came down on her lower lip as if she realized something terrible was heading her way.

‘Because I’ll be your traveling companion, not Tracy. And I happen to be the only critical-care doctor within a hundred-mile radius.’




CHAPTER TWO


Stevie perched on the seat of the Land Rover, keeping her body braced against the passenger side door as they navigated around the worst of the potholes. The ones they couldn’t avoid, they plowed straight through.

With her teeth clicking together like castanets, she tried to gather her wits. Okay, so the introduction to her new job wasn’t going quite like she’d expected. No cheering, no gratitude. Just a doctor who acted like he’d rather she drop off the face of the earth.

So what? She wasn’t here to bask in anyone’s praise. She’d come to help people.

The memory of Michael’s laughter when she’d shown him the article on Projeto Vida swept through her mind. ‘Seriously?’ he’d said. ‘What kind of person practices medicine in the jungle?’

Too embarrassed to admit she found the idea fascinating, she’d laughed along with him and had quickly blanked out the computer screen. The truth was, she’d toyed with the idea for the past year. She used to think Michael felt the same way, that he wanted to give back to those in need. Why else would he be at the helm of a public hospital?

Certainly not just to commandeer a private room for his little no-tell rendezvous, like the one she’d caught him having with a female doctor. On her birthday, of all things.

Humiliation and pain washed through her, bringing with it an inner scream of frustration. Why couldn’t she get past this?

She must have made some sound because her new colleague’s head swiveled toward her. She squirmed in her seat before tilting her chin a bit higher.

Just because the good doctor wasn’t thrilled about having her on board it didn’t mean she should tuck her tail and go scurrying back to New York—no matter how much she wanted to right now. She’d agreed to stay for two years, and she intended to see them through, down to the very last day.

‘So, why leave New York and come to our little neck of the rainforest?’

She gave a guilty start. He couldn’t possibly know what she’d been thinking. ‘Why do people normally do these types of things?’

His eyes searched hers before turning back to the road. ‘Sometimes they don’t think through the realities like they should.’

‘And sometimes they just want to help.’

‘Right. The last two doctors who “wanted to help,” ended up leaving before they’d been here a month. It would have been better if they’d just mailed Projeto Vida a check.’

‘Money can take the place of qualified doctors these days?’

His hands tightened on the wheel. ‘No, but it doesn’t help our cause when the faces change each time the boat pulls into a village.’

Interesting.

‘You’re talking about earning people’s trust.’

‘Yep. And it’s mighty hard to come by these days.’

No kidding. She knew that for a fact.

She turned in her seat, her attitude softening a bit as she watched him shove a dark lock of hair off his forehead with an attitude of resignation. ‘Every time someone leaves, you’re the one who has to break the news to the villagers, aren’t you? How long have you been with Projeto Vida?’

‘Long enough.’

‘Maybe it’s time you started thinking about packing it in yourself, Dr. Palermo.’

‘No.’ He glanced back at her. ‘And if you’re going to take a trial run down the river with me, you’ll need to call me Matt.

We try to be as informal as possible. The villagers will use your first name as well.’

She ignored the last part of his speech and concentrated on the first. ‘Trial run? I signed up for two years.’

He grunted. ‘So did the others.’

‘Maybe I’m tougher than they were.’ She smiled at him. ‘Maybe I’m even as tough as you.’

Dark brows winged upward. ‘Doubtful.’

‘That sounds suspiciously like a challenge.’

‘Does it?’

Stevie could swear his lips twitched as he said it and that the grooves where his frown lines sat became a little less pronounced. ‘It does. And you might be sorry later, because I rarely back down from a challenge.’

Unless it came from her cheating ex as she’d hightailed it for the nearest exit. If you leave now, you’ll have a black mark on your record! His shouted warning had cemented her decision to leave the hospital. To leave him.

‘We’ll soon see, won’t we?’ said Matt.

One of his tanned hands dropped from the wheel to the seat between them. There was a fresh cut across the knuckle of his middle finger that looked deep, and several old scars marring the back of his hand. Something about those hurts, old and new, made her stomach twist. This was a man who didn’t play it safe. Who put his all into everything he did. That was something Stevie could relate to. She’d gained a few new scars of her own over the last month or so.

‘You use protection, don’t you?’

He glanced over, eyebrows high. ‘Excuse me?’

Oops. That hadn’t come out right.

‘Surgical gloves,’ she clarified, touching a spot just beneath his cut, not sure where the urge came from. ‘Especially when you have injuries.’

He curled his fingers into a fist, the muscles in his forearm bunching. ‘Of course.’

‘Good.’ She gave a brisk nod as if the heat from his skin hadn’t just singed her. As if she wasn’t scrubbing her fingertips across her thigh in a vain attempt to remove the sensation.

He frowned, and Stevie realized he’d seen her reaction. Heat prickled along her scalp, and she turned her head to look out at the scenery. ‘How long until we get to the boat?’

‘About a half-hour.’ They hit another pothole, and she scrabbled for a handhold to avoid careening off the seat and onto the floorboards.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I keep forgetting you’re not used to roads like this.’

‘It’s okay. At least it’s not one big construction zone, like in New York.’

‘Which is why the roads there don’t swallow small children.’

She blinked. Wow, did the man actually have a sense of humor? Her mouth opened to respond when his cellphone went off.

He braked, fumbling to pull the phone from the holder on his belt. Stevie glanced back to make sure there were no cars heading their way, but the road was deserted, which made it odd that he’d stopped at all. Maybe he was a little more cautious than she’d thought.

‘‘Ello?’ He listened for a few seconds looking straight ahead. ‘Yep, she’s here. Listen, I told you what I wanted. Surely there were other appli—’

He sighed. ‘Just keep looking, will you?’

Her brows went up. So much for his ‘changing faces isn’t good for the cause’ spiel. It didn’t stop him from trying to swap her face for someone else’s post haste. Which meant she’d be out of a job, unless she went crawling back to Michael.

Fat chance of that happening.

‘I don’t know. She had quite a pile of suitcases, but she didn’t say anything about … Hold on.’ Matt pulled the phone away from his ear, glancing her way. ‘Mosquito nets?’

She nodded. ‘A hundred and fifty of them, just like Tracy asked for. I also brought a case of repellent wipes for use on board the boat.’ She frowned. ‘Don’t tell me you actually thought I had clothes in all those suitcases?’

Matt suddenly found himself unable to meet her eyes. Okay, so he’d misjudged her on one count. ‘Yeah, she brought them,’ he said into the phone.

‘Good,’ said Tracy. A few seconds of silence crawled by. ‘Listen, give her a chance, will you? You and I both know you need another doctor on that boat. So don’t say anything stupid.’ A laugh rose in his throat, which he quickly suppressed. Too late. He’d already said several stupid things. And for the past few minutes he’d suddenly realized how lonely his job was. The simple touch of Stefani’s fingers and the concern in her voice when she’d noticed the scratch on his hand had hit him in a dark corner of his mind.

He sent her a quick glance to find her staring out the side window in an obvious attempt not to eavesdrop. A long strand of hair had come loose from her bun and now trailed down her cheek, the tip curling just above her shoulder.

A strange sense of longing swept over him. What had Tracy been thinking, sending a woman? Didn’t she realize how flammable this situation could become? He tried to snuff out the image of Stefani’s long nimble fingers sliding across his skin, her surgeon’s brain dissecting and memorizing his every reaction. Or her long dark lashes fluttering shut as he …

He shook his head, realizing Tracy was waiting for his response. ‘Right. “Don’t say anything stupid.” I’ll do my best.’

She laughed. ‘Don’t make me come down there.’

As much as he wanted Tracy to witness her folly firsthand, he knew he couldn’t afford to hang around the port and do nothing. Waiting for Stefani’s arrival had already put him two days behind schedule, and he had people counting on him. As soon as they got to the boat, they needed to be on their way.

‘Your concern is duly noted, but I’m a big boy, in case you haven’t noticed.’

‘Oh, I have. And I’m counting on you to act like one.’

Paint—long peeling ribbons of white—clung to portions of the boat. Other sections were laid bare, like bones stripped of their flesh. Stevie could have been looking in a mirror at her own reflection.

She was pretty sure this wasn’t what Matt had in mind when he’d mentioned battlefield triage, but the vessel certainly looked like it had been through a warzone.

And come out on the losing end.

This couldn’t be the medical boat. She tugged the doorhandle on the Land Rover and stepped out of the car, while Matt went around and hauled her luggage from the back of the vehicle.

The wall-to-wall grins on the faces of two men who’d disembarked from the ship and now hurried toward them said her premonition was correct. This vessel was indeed going to be her home for the next two weeks. Who was she kidding? Try two years. She shut her eyes and sent up a quick prayer. She’d put her name on a contract, effectively signing away her life. She’d see the far side of thirty before she left Brazil.

Matt smiled at the new arrivals and clapped each of them on the back before introducing them to her. ‘Nilson and Tiago, this is Stefani Wilson, the newest member of our team.’

Everything was said in Portuguese, so she should have understood it easily, but Stevie found herself having to concentrate to make out the words through their thick accents. But they were friendly and welcoming, more than she could say for Matt. The two crew members gathered up her luggage as if it weighed no more than a couple of sacks of groceries and took off toward the ship.

She bit her lip, her hopes of being mistaken fading. Even if the men weren’t already scampering up the gangplank, the raggedy lettering on the back of the boat spelled her fate out in no uncertain terms: Projeto Vida. This was the medical ship, for better or worse.

‘Home, sweet home.’ Low graveled tones slid across her senses like calloused hands moving over soft skin.

Palpable. Dangerous.

Shivering, she glanced up to find his attention fastened on the boat and not on her. Anything that could wring that kind of reaction out of the man couldn’t be all bad. Right?

Maybe she should try to see the ship from his perspective. ‘So this is it, then?’

He nodded, the warm affection in his eyes cooling as he studied her face. ‘Ready to run away yet?’

‘I don’t run.’

‘No?’

The way he said it made her wonder if he knew more about her situation than he was letting on. But so what if he did? She had nothing to hide.

Except for the tattered remnants of her heart. And the disciplinary note in her file.

Her lips tightened. She wasn’t hiding those either. She’d told Tracy that her ‘friend’ had had a run-in with his hospital, but that he’d done nothing wrong. Why, then, had she hidden her identity at first? Though, after receiving her résumé, Tracy had to have realized Stevie had been talking about herself on the phone that day.

‘No, I’m not going to run.’ Not this time. Not even if the boat had the name ‘Typhoid Mary’ inscribed on its side.

She slapped at a mosquito on her arm and immediately wondered if it was a carrier of some deadly ailment. Running didn’t seem like such a bad option all of a sudden.

‘You’ll need to wear repellent. They seem to attack newcomers more than residents. Must have sweeter blood or something.’

‘I bet they don’t attack you at all,’ she said, then realized how childish the words sounded.

A muscle worked in his jaw and one hand went to the back of his neck and rubbed as if trying to ease a knot from the firm muscles. ‘Ready to get to work?’

‘That’s why I’m here.’ The sharp tone made her cringe. ‘Ugh, sorry. Chalk up my bad manners to jet lag, okay?’

‘No problem.’ He lowered his hand and rotated his neck half a turn. Stevie heard several soft pops as the vertebrae along it cracked. He gave a low groan of relief.

‘Do you have back problems?’ No way would she admit she’d begun her education in chiropractic before switching to traditional medicine.

‘Nothing serious. Just getting old.’ But even as he said it, she noticed he slightly twisted his upper body—instead of just his neck—when looking down at her, a classic sign of pain. He’d been fine in the car when glancing over at her, so it was limited to one side. Her brain worked through possible diagnoses before she stopped herself.

It’s none of your business, Stevie. Just leave it be.

‘Shall we go aboard?’ she asked.

‘If you’re sure you’re up for it.’

Something about the way he said it made prickles rise along the nape of her neck. Surely the inside of the boat couldn’t be in worse condition than the outside. She could understand being busy, but lack of hygiene and sterility were things she wouldn’t stand for.

Once she stepped from the rickety dock onto the boat, her heart sank. More peeling paint and the deck’s wooden surface was gouged and pitted. ‘You see patients onboard?’

‘Yes, in the exam-room-slash-surgical-suite.’

Surgical suite. Wow. And maybe they still bored holes in skulls, too. She forced her tongue to the roof of her mouth and held it there, where it couldn’t flap around and say things she would later regret.

Their next stop was the galley. Stevie was relieved to find the food preparation area neat and tidy. ‘Where do you get your drinking water?’

‘The river. The filtration unit on the counter was donated by a relief agency. It’s a three-stage system that filters out particles and then zaps the water with UV rays to kill most bacteria. We can send it through an additional stage that injects a chlorine solution in areas where cholera is endemic.’ A lean finger hooked around the handle of an empty plastic bottle and lifted it. ‘Before the filter, we had to carry clean water aboard in these, which made scrubbing for surgery a complicated affair.’

‘I can imagine.’ She wandered over to the rectangular unit. The metal casing was spotlessly clean. She relaxed a bit. Maybe things wouldn’t be as bad as she’d feared. ‘I knew filters like this existed, but wow. It looks like something NASA would have.’

‘I hear the system used on the space station is similar.’

Matt lounged against a nearby doorframe, one shoulder propped against the wooden surface, observing her. Although lean, his body filled the opening, his dark silky hair brushing the top of the frame. She swallowed, feeling trapped all of a sudden and not sure why. He wasn’t threatening in a scary kind of way.

She rephrased that thought. He was scary, but only because he made her blood rush through her veins simply by looking at her. And that made the man doubly dangerous, since she could no longer trust herself to make wise choices when it came to the opposite sex. Meeting problems head on might work for some people, but for Stevie, avoidance was now the name of the game. And that included avoiding the six-foot-two-inch problem who stood right in front of her.

‘Com licença, Mateus.’ The voice came from behind him, and Matt moved into the room to let the crew members pass.

Mateus, the Portuguese equivalent of Matthew.

So they did go by first names, just like Matt had said. She liked that. Michael would have insisted on formality at all costs. He’d said that to get respect, you had to demand respect. She used to agree, but now she wondered. That kind of respect could be lost in the blink of an eye—or behind the closed doors of an examination room. Besides, she sensed an admiration from these men that wasn’t a result of social standing or titles, but something earned through time and trust.

Would she ever be included in their little circle? Probably not.

‘We’ve put the new doctor’s bags in your room.’

Dull color crept into Matt’s face, and Stevie sensed her scalp heating as well. They’d put her bags in his room? She hovered between saying ‘Thank you’ and squeaking out the protest that scrabbled up her throat, seeking the nearest exit. Before she could do either, Matt wrapped a hand around her upper arm. ‘I’ll show you where your things are.’

As soon as they were through the door, she planted her heels to stop their forward motion, ignoring the way the warmth from his fingers burrowed beneath her skin. Uh-oh. There went that blood-rushing-through-the-veins sensation again.

She tugged free of his hold, furious with herself for having any kind of reaction at all.

‘Why did they put my suitcases in your room? I don’t know what’s going on, but—’

‘Not here. Let’s get out of earshot, okay? They’ve already got enough to gossip about for the next two weeks. We all thought the new doctor was going to be … well, a man. Now you see why it’s so complicated.’

She didn’t. Not at all. ‘Just have them move my bags to another room.’

His brows went up. ‘You’d rather sleep with Nilson and Tiago in the crew’s quarters, then?’

‘What? No, of course not. There must be somewhere else.’

He walked down the narrow aisle, forcing her to follow him. She noted he had to hunch his shoulders to accommodate the low ceiling. ‘There’s not. The space is cramped as it is, there are no extra rooms.’

No wonder he’d flipped out when he’d realized ‘Stefan’ was a woman. Kind of hard to avoid someone when you had to share a bedroom with him. What was she going to do? Lordy, what if he only had one bed in that room?

She’d camp on deck if she had to.

And risk being devoured by mosquitoes?

Maybe.

They came to a doorway, and her heart raced as Matt pushed it open, motioning her through. She squeezed by him, careful not to touch, but all the precautions in the world couldn’t prepare her for the clean masculine scent that followed her into the room. It permeated the space, branding everything in it as his. If she stayed here, would it mark her as well?

She swallowed and forced herself to take shallow breaths as she examined the room. Even with her suitcases piled one on top of the other in the corner, there was barely enough room for two people to stand, much less move about.

She went slack with relief, however, when she spotted two beds, rather than one. Thick woven hammocks, actually, one above the other. A shared mosquito net hung suspended from a hook, tied to the side with a worn bungee cord at the moment. But at night it would be set free, encasing both hammocks in a tight intimate circle. As if they were in their own little world.

Her hard-won composure finally cracked, allowing panic to ooze between the gaps as she stared at the folded blanket and pillow resting on the bottom hammock. A worn paperback—Tom Clancy’s The Sum of All Fears—lay on top of the bedding. How apropos that title was.

Matt had mentioned seeing how tough she really was. They were about to find out.

Her laugh, when it came, was one cackle short of hysterical. ‘Well, I guess this means you want me on top.’




CHAPTER THREE


Her on top? Matt pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to eradicate the image that sprang to mind.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll bunk with the crew,’ he said, his voice coming out as a croak.

She swung around, her green eyes shining with relief. ‘But if their room is as small as this one …’

‘We’ll make do. I’ll hang a third set of hooks above theirs for my hammock.’

She eyed the beds. ‘That will put you almost flush against the ceiling. You’ll have no room to move.’

Yeah, almost like being inside a fabric coffin. His fingers massaged his neck muscles, trying to get rid of the ache that just wouldn’t quit. ‘Whatever it takes.’

‘You are aware that hot air rises, right? I’m already dripping with sweat, and I’m on the floor.’ Her eyes went to the ceiling. ‘It’ll be like being in a slow roaster up there.’

Exasperation washed over him, and he dropped his hand, allowing it to slap against his thigh. ‘Thanks for pointing out all the positive aspects of our situation.’

‘No problem.’ She licked her lips and paused. ‘Listen, we’re both adults, and it’s not like you’ll be able to see … anything once I’m in bed. I can wear gym shorts and a T-shirt rather than my PJs. If we leave the door open at night and restrict our dressing and undressing to the bathroom, we should be fine.’

Good suggestion—except that Matt didn’t normally wear anything to bed. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about looking up at night, knowing those sweet curves were lying just over his head, close enough so that all he had to do was reach up and …

‘Give me a couple hours to think it over.’ He backed out of the room and into the hallway.

She shrugged as if he were the one with the problem, not her. ‘Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t offer.’

It would almost be better if she’d wiggled her hips and implied that the offer went beyond mere sleeping arrangements. Then he could ship her butt back to Manaus with a clean conscience. The last thing anyone needed was a messy two-week fling. And a long-term relationship was out of the question. Vickie had been it for him. Now that she was gone …

He had no doubt Stefani would be going home at the end of those two weeks, if not before. Even if she didn’t turn tail and run, he’d already asked Tracy to keep looking for a replacement. Surely Stefani could understand his concerns now that she’d seen the conditions. It wasn’t just him, he had the crew to think about—and some of the tribes were bound to have a problem with him bringing in an unattached female. If the vessel were bigger, having team members of the opposite sex might be more feasible. Or if he and Stephani were married …

Who was he kidding? Even the thought of marriage made his stomach tighten with dread.

‘How about showing me the rest of the facilities?’ she said, forcing his mind back to the situation at hand.

‘Sure. Let me tell the men to get under way first.’ He paused. ‘Unless you’d like to go back to the airport now that you’ve seen the boat?’

Her shoulders straightened. ‘I knew what I was signing on for.’

‘That would normally be my cue to argue and give you one more chance to change your mind, but we’re already behind schedule. And, as Tracy continually reminds me, I really could use the help. I’ll be right back.’

Once he asked Nilson to cast off, he gave Stefani the tour, stopping by the restrooms first. He suppressed a smile when her nose wrinkled at the mention of river water being pumped in for showers. ‘We do run it through a filter, so you won’t find anything crawling through your hair when you’re done.’

‘Ugh. It’s better not to put images like that in my head.’

When they arrived at the examination room, her eyes widened. ‘This is amazing.’ She glanced up at him. ‘I have to admit, you had me worried for a while.’

He peered at the room, trying to see the space through her eyes. ‘How so?’

‘When I saw the outside of the boat and the … er, restroom … Let’s just say I wondered what I might find in here. But it’s spotless.’ She touched the gleaming chrome handle of the scrub sink. ‘Does this water come from the river as well?’

‘Yes, but it goes through a steam process, then stored in a sterile tank prior to use.’

‘It seems you’ve thought of everything. How are the instruments sterilized?’

‘Same method. Afterwards, they’re shrink-wrapped into kits. It’s time-consuming, but we don’t do many surgeries.’

She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, drawing his attention to her high cheekbones and long dark lashes. There was a china-doll delicacy to her that made him wonder what crazy impulse had led her to sign up for a tour down the Amazon. Was she trying to prove something to herself? To someone else?

Wandering to the center of the room, she paused between the twin stainless-steel exam tables. ‘These are top of the line. This set up must have cost a small fortune.’

‘Yes. Which is why the rest of the boat looks a little worse for wear.’ It was a half-truth, and he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend the ship’s condition, but now that the words were out, he stubbornly expanded on them. ‘We put as much money as possible into caring for our patients. As long as the ship is solid and in good mechanical order, I figure the doctors and crew can afford to scrimp on the little things.’

She laughed. ‘Like real beds.’

‘Actually, no. Hammocks are more practical. No risk of bedbug infestations or other creepy crawlies that can hide inside a mattress. And they’re cooler than traditional beds. I think you’ll be surprised at how comfortable they are.’

He omitted the fact that the beds swung gently with every movement, whether that movement came from the boat or from other, more sensual, activities.

She tilted her head and looked up at him as if she could read his thoughts. ‘I’ll have to re-evaluate some of my opinions.’

Time to put some space between them and the subject of beds. ‘Anyway, as far as this particular room goes, we need to keep the risk of contamination to a minimum. Which means access is limited to doctors and patients.’

‘Understood. Do you ever keep patients overnight?’

‘On occasion. If we’ve had to operate, for example. Or if …’ he forced air into his lungs ‘… one of the team becomes ill and we have to transport them to a major city.’

She paused, her eyes sliding across his face. Her pupils dilated, and compassion flared within their depths. ‘You’ve had to do that, haven’t you? Transport a team member.’

He couldn’t go down this road. Not today. Trying to head off any further questions, he checked his watch, relieved to find it was almost noon. ‘Let’s go see what Tiago has come up with for lunch.’

Lunch turned out to be a one-pot meal called carurú do Pará, featuring dried shrimp and okra. It was unlike anything she’d ever tasted, but delicious just the same.

‘Do you like it?’ Matt asked, forking a piece of shrimp into his mouth.

‘It’s wonderful. I’ve never had okra in anything but jambalaya.’

Tiago, who she’d found out was the team’s cook, nodded. ‘Good, yes?’

Reverting to Portuguese, she asked what other kinds of dishes were popular in the region. Smiling, he rattled off several names, but the words were unfamiliar. It was amazing how two languages could be the same and yet so very different.

Matt must have noticed her confusion as well. Keeping the conversation going in Portuguese, he asked, ‘Your accent is different. Where did you learn the language?’

‘I lived in Portugal for seven years as a child. My father worked at the American Embassy.’

‘That explains it.’

His furrowed brow made her sit a bit taller. ‘Is there something wrong with the way I speak?’

‘Not at all. But you’ll find sentence construction is a little different here.’

‘I’ve noticed.’

Tiago spoke up. ‘I think your accent is very nice, Miss Stefani.’

She smiled her thanks. ‘Stefani is my formal name, but all my friends call me Stevie. Won’t you do the same?’

‘Sh-tée-vee?’ He struggled to get the name out, and she noticed Nilson—busy manning the helm, his plate balanced on the control panel—mouthed the word as well.

‘Perfect,’ she said.

Matt just shook his head. ‘From Stefan, to Stefani, to Stevie. No wonder I was confused about your gender.’

‘And now? Are you still confused?’

‘Confused?’ His lips tilted in a sardonic smile. ‘More than ever.’

With that cryptic statement he stood and walked to the sink, carrying his plate. Since Tiago and Nilson followed his lead, she shoveled one last mouthful of the delicious meal into her mouth and stood as well. ‘Thank you so much for lunch. It was wonderful.’

‘I’m glad you liked it.’ After Matt ducked through the door, Tiago leaned in a bit closer and whispered, ‘I think you will be good for Mateus. He misses his wife very much.’

Wife? Matt was married? Oh, Lordy, and she’d practically insisted on playing share-sies with his bedroom. What was she thinking?

‘Where is she? His wife, I mean.’ The words were out before she could stop them. But she wanted to know. Because other arrangements definitely had to be made. No wonder he’d offered to sleep with the crew. Her face flamed. She’d told him not to worry about her throwing herself at him and yet she’d offered to sleep right above the man’s head. Surely he didn’t think—

‘His wife is … she’s …’ Tiago bowed his head and pointed skyward.

‘What? I don’t understand.’ Her eyes widened as she realized what he was trying to say. ‘Oh. I’m so sorry.’

He waved his hands in front of him. ‘Please don’t speak of it with him. He might not like that I told you.’

‘Of course not.’ She glanced at the empty doorway, hoping Matt wasn’t lurking outside. She wanted to ask some additional questions, like when and how his wife had died, but she didn’t want to get Tiago in trouble. She also didn’t feel right indulging in gossip behind Matt’s back. If he wanted her to know, he’d tell her.

Although why would he? He’d made it pretty obvious he didn’t want her here, and he certainly didn’t expect her to last very long.

She hurried to catch up with him and found him on deck staring out at the dark waters of the Rio Preto. ‘When do we reach our first stop?’

‘Some time tomorrow afternoon.’ He turned toward her, propping a hip against the rail and crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

Thinking of the personal information she’d just learned about his wife, she hesitated, wondering if he was going to ask about her last job—or whether she was involved with someone. ‘I suppose not.’

‘Why did you choose Brazil?’

Relief washed over her. That was easy. ‘I knew the language.’ She crinkled her nose. ‘Well, kind of.’

His lips curved, and she caught a quick flash of teeth. ‘There is that. But that’s not exactly what I mean. As a vascular surgeon you could have gone to any hospital in the world. But this …’ his hand swept to the side, indicating the river ‘… is a little outside your specialty, don’t you think?’

She shrugged, forcing herself to smile back. ‘Maybe I wanted to expand my horizons.’

‘Surely there were other ways you could have done that.’

Her options had been rather limited when she’d called Tracy and inquired about the position, but she was loath to tell him that. At least at the moment. ‘Possibly. Why does it matter?’

His eyes slid over her face, pausing at her lips before coming back up to meet her gaze. ‘Just curious.’

‘What about you? Why did you come here?’ If he could pose the question, then it seemed only fair she should get a chance to do the same. Besides, it would move him away from this particular subject. And a part of her hoped he’d tell her about his wife, and get it out in the open.

‘It was something I’ve wanted to do ever since med school.’

She nodded. ‘Did you specialize?’

‘Nope. Although, looking back, maybe I should have.’

‘I imagine you’ve learned more here than some doctors learn in a lifetime.’

A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Maybe more than I wanted to.’

Something about those words made her heart clench. Was he talking about his wife’s death? Now was probably not the time to ask.

‘So we reach our first stop tomorrow.’

‘Yep. We’ll need to figure out how to introduce you to the villagers, if there are any questions about your presence.’

‘What do you mean?’

He shrugged. ‘Let’s just say some of the tribes are more conservative than others.’

‘They don’t think women should be doctors?’

‘Some of the chiefs might have trouble with us traveling together.’ He studied her. ‘You don’t happen to have a husband stowed in your luggage, do you?’

A shaft of pain went through her, and it took her a second or two to respond. ‘Nope, sorry. You’ve never brought a woman with you?’

‘Not a female doctor, no.’ He uncrossed his arms and straightened. ‘But we can talk more about it later. You must be tired.’

‘A little, but I’m okay. Is there something you want me to do?’

‘Not at the moment. Tiago and Nilson are pretty proprietary about the day-to-day boat chores. If you try to pitch in, they’ll be offended. Let me think …’

He smiled suddenly, his eyes crinkling as he motioned toward one of her bare arms. ‘You could always lie on deck and work on your tan. Try to blend in a little more.’

She laughed, the tension between them defusing. ‘Nice try, Tarzan. With three guys roaming the place? Hardly. Besides, as you can tell by my vampire-like skin tones, the sun and I are sworn enemies. Even if I could tan, baking in this heat doesn’t really appeal to me.’

‘There’s a wall-mounted fan in our … in the bedroom. You can read, then, or relax. Unpack.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Go over the navigational charts with Nilson.’ He tugged at a chain around his neck and retrieved two keys from beneath his shirt. Unhooking one of them, he held it out. ‘This is to the exam room. You’ll need to put it somewhere safe. The door and medicine cabinets are keyed alike, so it works on both. The crew members can be trusted but, because of the drugs we keep on hand, it’s better not to put temptation in anyone’s way. So you and I will have the only copies.’

Her fingers brushed over his palm as she took the key from him, shivering as she noted the metal was still warm from resting against his skin. When he allowed his own key to slide back beneath his polo shirt, the image of steel pressed against a hard wall of flesh caused her to take a quick step back.

‘Do you have a chain to hang it from?’ Matt’s gaze slid to her chest, and then jerked back to her face.

Had he just pictured the key nestled between her breasts? That would actually be a relief considering her response a few seconds ago. How humiliating would it be for her to nearly swoon over the stupid heat of a key and not have him notice her at all?

She glanced at his face, looking for confirmation.

Nothing. There wasn’t a hint of interest behind those cool blue eyes.

The pendulum swung back toward humiliation. What kind of woman broke off her engagement and immediately started checking out every guy in town? Well, technically she was only checking out one guy in this particular area, but still.

She curled her fingers into her palms, allowing her nails to dig into her skin. ‘I have something in one of my bags. I’ll use that.’

‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ he said.

At her nod, he turned and walked away, and she couldn’t help but notice the loose-limbed gait, which spoke of easy confidence, or the way his muscles flexed as he gripped the top of the door-jamb and ducked beneath as he headed down the hall.

As soon as the dark recesses of the boat swallowed him completely, she sagged against the railing and held the key to her chest.

What on earth was wrong with her?

Once they reached the first village, she’d be far too busy to think of anything but her patients. At least she hoped so.

Her mouth twisted. She’d forgotten to ask where Matt and the crew lived between trips down the Amazon. Surely they didn’t stay on the ship year round.

And if they did? Could she live aboard this boat … in the same room with Matt … for the next two years?

Oh, boy. She didn’t think so.

Because if she thought he was attractive now, when her instincts were on high alert, what would happen if she let her guard down even a little?

I don’t run.

The words she’d thrown at him swirled around her, calling her a liar. Because if she couldn’t get her silly libido under control, that’s exactly what she was going to do.

Run.




CHAPTER FOUR


Matt awoke to something nudging his side. He opened one eye and squinted sideways, encountering a worn pair of flip-flops.

Tanned skin, calloused feet.

Not the creamy white toes sporting pale pink polish that had driven him from his hammock in the middle of the night. He’d decided it was safer to remain on deck.

‘Why are you sleeping here, Mateus?’

Ah, yes, the question of the century, and one he’d prefer not to answer at the moment.

He shoved back the mosquito netting that was now tangled around him like a shroud and found Tiago, who stood with one hand scrubbing the top of his head, obviously still half-asleep.

‘It’s cooler,’ Matt muttered.

The young man snorted. ‘Really? On the Amazon, it is not cool anywhere.’

He had a point, but Matt chose to ignore it. ‘It’s still dark. Why are you up so early?’

‘I heard a noise on deck and wanted to make sure everything was secure.’

Hmm … that would have been a better answer than his own response. ‘Everything’s fine.’

‘Why do you not just stay in my quarters?’

Because Matt hadn’t been able to resist answering Stevie’s subtle challenge. She was adult enough to stay in a room with someone of the opposite sex, therefore he was determined to do the same. Only it hadn’t worked out quite like he’d hoped.

He sat up and rubbed his hand over his face, trying to erase the image of that smooth white calf and ankle that had appeared over the side of Stevie’s hammock and dangled close enough to give him nightmares of a different sort. And that damned sparkly polish on her toes hadn’t helped. He’d nearly fallen out of bed in his rush to put some distance between them.

He sighed, trying to disguise the sound. ‘Your quarters are cramped enough as it is.’

‘What about the infirmary?’

‘I’m fine.’

Tiago frowned. ‘I know you want to keep the germs out, but you can’t sleep on the hard deck for two weeks. What about your back? I can see it still bothers you.’

That was something Matt didn’t want to talk about either. ‘I’ll survive.’

‘But if you hurt it again, you might have to—’

‘Go back to bed. We’ll figure something else out in the morning.’

The other man tsked, but nodded. ‘I’ll at least hang the netting, so it does not strangle you in the night. Besides, the mosquitoes can feed right through it.’

The thing was so tangled, it probably provided a pretty good barrier, but he got up and helped Tiago suspend the midpoint from some fishing line and tack it to the wooden railing next to his makeshift pallet. Tiago was right, the netting was better this way.

Saying goodnight, Matt watched as the other man trudged back down the dark passageway to his own comfortable hammock, passing the quarters where Stevie was currently sleeping. Was her leg still on decadent display?

Forget it. He scooted beneath the netting and flopped down onto his blanket. That was another thing. He was used to sleeping in the buff and without the benefit of blankets. The additional coverings made him feel claustrophobic and hot. What had Tracy been thinking?

She hadn’t been. That much was obvious.

But would it have bothered him as much if Tracy herself had come and stayed on the boat? If they’d shared a room?

No, because not only was she Vickie’s sister, she was also a good friend. There was no attraction getting in the way of their work. Unlike with Stevie.

He snorted. Who said Stevie was attracted to him? Maybe it was purely a one-way street.

That wasn’t the only thing bothering him. He still had to figure out what they were going to tell the tribes when they went ashore tomorrow.

Maybe no one would even ask about Stevie. And if they did? What then?

He’d only been half joking when he asked Stevie if she was hiding a husband inside one of her suitcases. Because it would make it so much easier if there was one.

Or if Matt could simply say he’d gotten married again.

He blinked. Maybe he had. Or he could pretend he had.

No one had to know that he wasn’t bringing his new bride—who also happened to be a doctor—with him. Vickie had been a nurse, and they’d traveled together. No one thought a thing of it.

Would Stevie even agree to the ruse? He could tell her it was either that or she could go home. It was the truth, because he sure as hell couldn’t think of another story that would take care of any questions with one fell swoop.

And what about him? Would he be able to pretend to be Stevie’s husband, knowing he’d have to learn more about her to make their tale believable?

Putting his hands behind his head, he tried to go back to sleep and ignore what that would entail.

Matt Palermo, permanently grieving widower, might have to break his one iron-clad rule about women.

Don’t get too close—ever.

Her dad spun her around and around, holding her suspended by one arm and leg, while her other limbs dangled in space. She half giggled, half screamed and then thrashed around when she realized the swaying hadn’t been solely in her dreams. And her wiggling had just caused her to overbalance …

Scrambling, she clawed at the hammock with her hands, succeeding in grabbing the open woven fabric just as the whole contraption inverted itself. She found herself hanging upside down, her legs automatically wrapping around the center of the hammock and locking together at the ankles. She tightened her fingers to avoid dropping onto the hammock below hers.

Oh, no!

She blinked hard and twisted her head to stare at the bottom hammock before shuddering with relief. Abandoned. Matt was evidently already up and dressed.

Thank heavens. At least he hadn’t witnessed her utter and complete humiliation. Now, if she could just …

‘I didn’t realize you were part bat. Although you did mention having an aversion to the sun yesterday.’

Stevie froze. The words, murmured in a low voice that flowed through her like dark fragrant honey, could only come from one man.

She slowly tilted her head further back and, through the veil of her mosquito net, saw Matt. Upside down, but showered and fresh, while she was … well …

‘I had a slight accident.’

One side of his mouth quirked up. Or was it down? She couldn’t tell any more. ‘Yes, I can see that.’

‘Instead of standing there, staring, maybe you could help me figure out how to get down?’

‘I kind of like you the way you are.’

‘Hey!’ Her hair swung below her like a tangled skein of yarn, the lank strands almost brushing the lower hammock. ‘Stop fooling around and get over here. I’m starting to get dizzy. I don’t think you want a puddle of whatever’s left in my stomach all over your bed.’

That did it. In a flash, he’d ducked beneath the netting and was at her side. Two strong arms came out and settled under her shoulders and buttocks. ‘Okay, I’ve got you. Let go.’

‘Are you sure?’

He laughed. ‘Do you want to do this by yourself?’

The hard floor stared at her from a quite a distance away. Nope, she didn’t. She unhooked her legs first and felt the bulge of Matt’s biceps as he took the weight of her lower half. When she was certain he wouldn’t send her careening to the ground, she unfisted her hands.

And wound up right side up, in his arms. With her face way too close to his neck for comfort.

And the scent she’d caught yesterday as she’d passed him in the hallway?

Heavens, it was still there, headier than ever. Against her better judgement, she closed her eyes and leaned just a bit closer, allowing the air around him to fill her senses. Breathe, exhale, repeat … just like the shampoo commercials advised.

‘Better?’

She froze, her lungs ceasing all covert activity. Had she really been sniffing a strange man’s neck?

‘W-what?’

‘Your dizziness. I don’t want to set you down if you’re going to collapse on me.’

‘Oh. Um, no. I think I’m okay.’ Her voice came out shakier than she’d hoped, and she wondered if she might fall in a heap after all.

Seemingly oblivious to her confusion, he craned his head to the side and looked at her, making no move to put her down. ‘I see we should’ve reviewed the hammock safety video. If I had actually been in that bed and you’d dropped on top of me, things could have gotten rather ugly.’

No kidding. Especially since her T-shirt had been hiked to kingdom come as she’d dangled there. She glanced down, horrified to find a huge swath of her belly still exposed.

Keep talking, and he won’t notice. ‘No one mentioned that particular hazard when I applied for the job.’

A muscle twitched in his jaw for a moment or two and she realized how her words must have sounded. Especially when he pivoted away from the pair of hammocks and set her on her feet.

She yanked her Mets T-shirt down over her jogging shorts.

‘Not that I’m saying landing on top of you would be hazardous or anything …’

Oh, yes, it would be. Even saying it out loud did wonky things to her breathing which, in turn, had nothing to do with nearly falling out of her hammock.

Thankfully, Tiago appeared behind her, saving her from having to explain her meaning.

‘Nilson has breakfast ready, if you’re hungry,’ he said in Portuguese.

The man shifted from foot to foot as if embarrassed about something. Stevie wondered if he’d seen Matt holding her. Or if he understood enough English to know what they’d been saying.

‘Obrigada,’ Matt said, taking a step back.

‘Where do you want me to put your blanket and netting from last night?’ Tiago added.

Stevie glanced at the thin barrier surrounding the two hammocks. She would have thought they stayed in place at all times. What if someone wanted to nap? ‘Do you normally store this during the day?’ She moved the netting to the side and secured it with the bungee cord the way she’d seen it yesterday.

‘No.’ Color stained Matt’s neck, and the word came out halfstrangled.

Had she done something worse than hanging upside down from her hammock last night?

Tiago shook his head. ‘No, not this net, the one from the deck, where he slept.’

‘You …’ Stevie’s mind tried to work through what the man was saying. ‘You didn’t sleep here last night?’

‘Mateus said it was too hot.’

The fiery color moved from Matt’s neck to the tips of his ears. ‘What I said was it was cooler out there.’ He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the deck before turning away. ‘Let’s get that breakfast you mentioned.’

As he moved out of the room, Stevie wondered why he’d let her believe that he’d slept below her the whole night when obviously he hadn’t. He’d even talked about what a disaster it would have been if she’d fallen on top of him, all the while knowing it hadn’t been a remote possibility.

Had it all been an act? Or had he simply woken up to a stuffy room and moved his bed onto the deck?

Except Tiago’s shifting seemed to indicate what he’d done wasn’t an everyday occurrence. Which implied he normally stayed in his room.

All night.

Stevie stopped off at the restroom to dress and wash her hands and face the best she could. When she finally made it to the dining area, she’d halfway composed herself.

She filled the plate Nilson gave her and found Matt already sitting at the picnic-style table. Dropping onto the bench across from him, she set the food in front of her. ‘You know, I can sleep on deck if you’re uncomfortable sharing the room with me.’

‘I told you why I moved. Besides, it’s not good for Tiago and Nilson to have to worry about tiptoeing around during the night.’ He glanced down at his plate. ‘Or finding a half-dressed woman on deck. I’d prefer you sleep in the bedroom.’

He had a point. But it didn’t seem fair to have kicked him out of his own bed. She glanced at the small eating space. ‘How about this, then? We can string your hammock up in here before you go to bed and then stow it in the mornings.’

Tiago, who’d evidently been listening in on their conversation—putting paid to her hope that he didn’t understand English—chimed in, ‘This is a good idea, Mateus. I will install some strong hooks in the wall and center beam … and one in the ceiling for the mosquito net you insist on everyone using.’ He paused, fiddling with his fingers. ‘Although I understand now why it is so important.’

Matt nodded, a shadow passing through his eyes before he switched over to Portuguese. ‘Thank you, my friend.’

Turning his attention to Nilson, he asked, ‘How long before we reach the village?’

‘We should arrive sometime before dinner.’

‘Good. I’d like to go over the charts with you and decide our schedule for the next couple of weeks.’ He glanced at Stevie.

‘Can you fend for yourself for a little while? We’ll still need to discuss our … story before we reach the village, though.’

She tensed. Their story. How could she have forgotten about that? She forced a smile to her lips, wondering what he had in mind. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Shall we meet back here in, say, three hours?’

‘That sounds good.’

Three hours. Just enough time to focus some of her nervous energy on something other than the situation at hand.

Stevie ran a forearm over her damp brow, the piece of fine-gauge steel wool gripped between her fingertips.

Okay, boat varnish was a whole lot tougher than the glossy finish on the floors in her apartment in New York.

Which she guessed was a good thing, since the stuff was holding up nicely, despite being pitted and dark with grime. She’d hoped her scrubbing would take off the dirt and leave the finish intact. And that’s exactly what was happening.

And that nervous energy she’d been worried about?

Gone. Washed away by rivers of sweat.

Kneeling on a towel to protect her legs from the scorching surface of the deck, Stevie leaned closer to her work area and rubbed at the one-foot section of planking. She paused to adjust her bikini top, admiring the area she’d just cleaned. It might take for ever, but hidden beneath layers of dirt the wood was a rich, glossy mahogany.

Just like the dark sun-kissed hair of the man she’d be working with. So different than Michael’s blond hair and fair skin. The only thing they had in common were their blue eyes. But while Michael’s were darker and sparkling with intelligence and determination, she hadn’t noticed the flecks of cruelty that lay just below the surface until it had been too late. In one careless blow, he’d destroyed their future together, and then, when she’d dared to call him on it, reached out in a rage and crushed her dreams as well. It had only taken one phone call to a few key board members, and she’d been as good as finished.

She shuddered. Michael’s eyes were definitely not her favorite feature. Not any more.

Matt’s, on the other hand, seemed … She searched for the right word.

Haunted.

She scrubbed harder, forcing her fingers to the task. Why was she even comparing the two men?

A bead of moisture dripped into her eye, and she shook her head, as much to rid herself of any stray thought as to relieve the burning. She settled for blotting it on her bare shoulder, wishing she’d scrounged up a second towel to wipe her face. At this rate, her huge bottle of sunblock wouldn’t even last a full day. She peered at the large area of deck behind her.

Three feet down. Thirty or so more to go.

She groaned aloud and pulled the brim of her baseball cap further down her forehead, thankful for the slight shade it provided, and went back to work. It couldn’t be easy, keeping up a boat while tending to patients—and she had a feeling money was tight on the hospital ship. But surely someone could have tried to do something for the poor thing. It seemed weary of life in general.

It’s not a living thing, Stevie. It’s just a boat.

Maybe Michael was right when he’d poked fun of the Projeto Vida article. Maybe coming here had been crazy on more than one count, but she hadn’t been able to just stay in New York and watch him run her reputation into the—

‘You don’t have to do that.’

The steel wool went spinning out of her hand, and she scrabbled for it, almost doing a face plant onto the deck. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught Matt standing just behind her, a pair of khaki shorts and grey shirt covering his powerful frame. Tanned feet, the lightest smattering of dark hair visible on top, were shoved into a pair of beige flip-flops.

She sat up in a rush, praying her top was still glued to the right spots. ‘I thought we’re agreed to meet in three hours.’

‘Someone tattled on you, and I had to come see for myself.’

His brows went up, his glance trailing over her. ‘So this is what a vascular surgeon looks like when swabbing the decks.’

She stood, all too aware of how grubby she must look in comparison to Matt’s neatly groomed appearance. ‘It takes quite a bit of talent, evidently, since no one here seems to have mastered the technique.’

He laughed and wagged a finger. ‘Not nice.’ Holding up a glass of water, the ice tinkled against the sides before he tilted it and took a long swig of the contents. ‘Too bad, because I was just bringing you something cool to drink.’

She licked her lips, all thoughts of Michael sliding away as she stared at the condensation collecting on the icy surface of the glass. ‘That’s just mean.’

‘And you’re turning pink. I thought vampires hated the sun.’ He blinked, his eyes zeroing in on her midriff region, then a frown appeared.




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