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Tempted By Her Hot-Shot Doc
Becky Wicks
Three weeks with a gorgeous TV doc…How long can she resist?Madeline Savoia is thrilled to be writing sexy, infamous Ryan Tobias’s biography—and to be accompanying him to the Amazon to film his TV show! She won’t be tempted. She’s just suffered a break-up and Ryan’s only interest is in saving lives—perfect! But their passion sizzles even before they reach the rainforest! Is three weeks up-close-and-personal enough to become for ever?


Three weeks with a gorgeous TV doc...
How long can she resist?
Madeline Savoia is thrilled to be writing sexy, infamous Ryan Tobias’s biography—and to accompany him to the Amazon to film his TV show! She won’t be tempted. She’s just suffered a breakup and Ryan’s only interest is saving lives—perfect! Only, their passion sizzles before they reach the rain forest! But is three weeks up-close-and-personal enough to become forever?
Born in the UK, BECKY WICKS has suffered interminable wanderlust from an early age. She’s lived and worked all over the world, from London to Dubai, Sydney, Bali, NYC and Amsterdam. She’s written for the likes of GQ, Hello!, Fabulous and Time Out, a host of YA romance, plus three travel memoirs—Burqalicious, Balilicious and Latinalicious (HarperCollins, Australia). Now she blends travel with romance for Mills & Boon and loves every minute! Tweet her @bex_wicks and subscribe at beckywicks.com (http://www.beckywicks.com).
Tempted by Her Hot-Shot Doc is Becky Wicks’s debut title
Look out for more books from Becky Wicks Coming soon
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Tempted by Her Hot-Shot Doc
Becky Wicks


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07498-8
TEMPTED BY HER HOT-SHOT DOC
© 2018 Becky Wicks
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my mum. Sorry about the sex scenes. Don’t tell Dad.
Contents
Cover (#u37328a88-8fc4-53a0-9b41-baa73d894ff7)
Back Cover Text (#ub12e42aa-6ee5-5d1b-95cc-ef194ab25708)
About the Author (#uea098728-c935-5eef-af37-de2dbbe8ceae)
Booklist (#ufbef54d7-82a7-57d2-a70a-a756a2577e42)
Title Page (#u24b6772c-c675-568c-a2c7-0a56f5f52790)
Copyright (#u874cf940-8205-5379-97f3-fbabbe8dab55)
Dedication (#uacfeb68a-872a-5fac-9ae0-71f6058aa119)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue645acd7-5143-5811-bc2d-6e44389ded62)
CHAPTER TWO (#u942556b6-b659-574b-a63b-43f14ae42eb8)
CHAPTER THREE (#u0760c152-46a9-5858-9e44-d07730f9a229)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u8e87def1-6671-5f29-aac2-11e8e11a65e8)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#uf50b1f41-d8e8-59d0-8c87-85462b43624f)
THE RAIN WAS coming down harder than she’d ever felt it. Sharp, wet pricks to her bare arms sent mini-lightning bolts through Madeline’s flesh and deep into her bones as she hurried along the London cobblestones, holding her umbrella over her as best she could.
The bolts, of course, were mostly due to the man her agent had arranged for her to meet—America’s wealthiest and most inspiring flying doctor and a man most women would surely kill to meet—Ryan Tobias.
His name, now rolling around in her brain, sent further spikes of adrenaline through her body, along with the goosebumps now settling in with the cold. She’d left in such a hurry she’d forgotten her jacket.
‘Don’t be late,’ Samantha had told her. ‘He doesn’t like it when people are late.’
But Madeline had been so caught up in her internet research that she’d gone and made herself late anyway. She’d been determined to have as much background information on him as possible before their meeting, and it had been near impossible to tear her eyes away once she’d started.
The internet seemed to have its own busy corner of photos, articles, videos and GIFs made from Medical Extremes footage—the show Ryan Tobias starred in along with his team of GPs and surgeons. She’d watched a clip of him walking across the glacier in Alaska to reach a stranded explorer at least five times, pausing on the moment when the camera had gone in for a close-up of his bearded, rugged face in front of the whirring helicopter blades.
She had no idea at all about what Samantha had in mind for her to do with this man, but she couldn’t deny it was exciting. And terrifying.
Madeline’s phone beeped, making her jump. She almost tripped over the cobblestones. Damn, she had to pull herself together.
‘I’m nearly there,’ she blurted hurriedly into it, just as she rounded the corner into Trinity Buoy Wharf.
Samantha was standing there in the doorway, waiting. She was in high heels, too, Madeline noticed. Were they both dressed to impress a man they knew almost never looked impressed?
‘He’s already here,’ Samantha said in a low voice, taking the umbrella and ushering Madeline’s wet body through huge green doors into the sandy-coloured building.
A flurry of filming activity assaulted her eyes as she swiped at the raindrops on her skin. Men were everywhere: lifting crates, unscrewing lighting equipment, packing things into cases. It was a studio, as she’d expected, but the hectic feel of the place, plus the knowledge that a good few pairs of eyes were now on her, threw a spanner into her already frazzled works.
‘Over here first,’ Samantha said, putting a firm hand to Madeline’s soaked white shirt and starting off across the room.
She was a little too quick for her to keep up, however, and before she could stop herself her heel was catching on a cable stretched out across the floor. She almost went flying.
‘Are you trying to kill yourself?’
The deep voice sounded out in front of her, just as she put her hand to the wall to steady herself.
‘I’m so sorry. I’m...’ Madeline trailed off, realising it wasn’t actually a wall she was touching.
It was hard, undoubtedly, but it was breathing.
‘Dr Ryan,’ she blurted, straightening up instantly.
She removed her flattened palms from his broad chest, scanned his face up close and felt her cheeks flare from pink to beetroot as her heart started pounding in her ribcage. For a strange moment she felt just as if she’d fallen asleep at her kitchen table and woken up on the YouTube channel.
Ryan Tobias wasn’t in his trademark Medical Extremes white shirt and jacket. He was wearing a black waterproof coat and jeans. His hair, just as it always was on television, was wild and windswept—as though the breeze over London’s River Thames had as little respect for him as the wind in a Patagonian hurricane.
She’d watched those clips twice or more. Somehow they’d airlifted a pregnant, sick lady to safety, even though Ryan and the brave pilot had been the only ones willing to risk a flight in the storm.
He was taller than she’d expected, somehow, towering over her with a look of amusement mixed with something she couldn’t quite read in his familiar grey eyes.
Madeline realised with horror that he must be taking in her rain-drenched hair and the small but noticeable coffee stain on her shirt. A woman had splashed her latte on her on the tube. What must he be thinking?
She glanced around her. Samantha had been ushered off to another corner and was now apparently deep in what looked like an angst-ridden conversation with a guy waving a flowerpot.
Ryan was still appraising her, she realised.
He coughed and crossed his arms. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’
‘Madeline,’ she said, flustered.
‘Where did you come from, Madeline?’
‘From a much less embarrassing situation,’ she replied without thinking.
Surprise flickered in his eyes before he uncrossed his arms and laughed. A proper laugh that revealed his teeth, as white as snow-capped mountains—a laugh she was pretty sure she’d heard only two or three times on the television.
‘Well, they do insist on blocking the walkways like this,’ he said, motioning to their feet. ‘Good thing you didn’t twist your ankle in those shoes. I don’t know which box my emergency supplies are in.’
‘Guess I got lucky.’
He threw her a surreptitious half-smile. ‘I prefer to live life on the edge of danger, too.’
‘I’ve never seen you in high heels.’
She adjusted her handbag on her shoulder as he laughed again. A part of her couldn’t quite believe she was making Dr Ryan Tobias laugh.
‘Anyway, my agent Samantha, over there, kind of surprised me with all this, so...’
‘Your agent?’ Ryan’s expression shifted before her. ‘What do you mean?’
Shards of ice were stuck in his eyes now, and it was as if Madeline was alone with him on the peak of a snowy mountain, or maybe trekking over that glacier to reach another lost adventurer who’d been injured and needed his help. Either way, she was suddenly much colder.
‘Agent for what?’ His arms were crossed again.
‘My writing career.’
His forehead creased into a frown.
‘Sorry—sorry.’ Samantha bustled up behind her, breaking their locked gazes apart. ‘I see you’ve met Madeline Savoia,’ she said, putting a hand to Madeline’s shoulder. ‘She’s almost set to be your new ghost-writer, joining you in the Amazon. What did you think of her portfolio?’
Madeline spun her head around to face Samantha. Ghost-writer? Amazon? It was the first she’d heard of it.
Samantha had called her to the TV set at the last minute, saying she had the perfect opportunity for her with none other than the selfless, compassionate and dazzlingly good-looking Ryan Tobias, but she’d assumed she’d be assisting in an interview with him—maybe sending some tweets for the travel and entertainment website Samantha sometimes had her freelance for.
Ryan was unreadable now, standing solid as a rock.
‘I see. How much experience do you have with malaria and spider bites, Miss Madeline?’
He didn’t sound as friendly as before.
Samantha squeezed her shoulder. ‘Madeline is a phenomenal writer, Ryan. You might have read her geopolitical romantic thriller—the one set in Madagascar?’
‘Can’t say I have,’ he said. ‘I don’t get a lot of time to read.’
He was reading her. Madeline knew it. Scrutinising her like a beetle under a microscope. She felt the urge to cover herself, but realised it was pointless.
‘She’s a keen traveller and explorer, like you, and she’s a medical professional,’ Samantha carried on as Madeline’s cheeks flamed. ‘I thought she’d be the perfect fit.’
‘What kind of medical professional?’
‘I used to be a nurse, but I’m not any more...’ Madeline let her words taper off. She didn’t particularly feel like explaining why she’d quit nursing. The thought of it still shamed her, but she doubted the time she’d spent on the wards of St David’s Hospital would help anyone who’d been mauled by a jaguar or hugged by an anaconda in the Amazon.
‘Is this necessary, Samantha?’ Ryan said, after a moment.
His tone was irritated. His arms were still crossed, tighter than ever.
Something in his icy tone made Madeline recall with a flash the other articles she’d uncovered on the internet. Ryan had lost one of his team members five years ago on a sponsored expedition. He’d been twenty-seven at the time. She remembered thinking that she and Ryan were the same age—both thirty-two now.
No one knew the finer details of how or why the young physician Josephine McCarthy had died suddenly out in the jungle. Ryan had clammed up—never shared it with the media. And the medical team with him at the time had also never divulged what had happened—if they even knew.
The rumour mill had been spinning ever since.
Most of what had been printed was hearsay, of course, but Ryan had spent a lot more time in the wild since then, setting up an HIV awareness programme in Africa, arranging vaccinations at schools in Nepal.
Apparently he hadn’t particularly wanted the camera crew to follow him when the concept of Medical Extremes had first been discussed, but the money they paid him helped thousands of villages get the medication they needed. And besides, the world needed to see the importance of doctors operating without borders.
That was what had been announced in the press release, at least.
‘I’m sorry, Ryan,’ Samantha said, interrupting Madeline’s thoughts. ‘A contract is a contract.’
‘I know... I know.’
His jaw twitched in annoyance as Madeline stood awkwardly between them.
‘If you don’t take Madeline with you we’ll only have to send someone else you haven’t even met, and we’re running out of time.’
‘Time has a habit of running out,’ he replied, somewhat mysteriously.
He’s incredibly moody—that was what she’d read. Those rumours must be true at least. Ryan Tobias spent his life touching the lives of many in the world’s most remote locations, but he himself was untouchable. And now Samantha was somehow asking her to accompany him on his next televised medical mission to the jungle?
She wondered whether her telling Samantha that she was now single had anything to do with this. She suddenly regretted telling her agent how Jason had decided to pursue his burgeoning relationship with a young zoologist called Adeline.
‘How can he want an Adeline when he has a perfectly good Madeline?’ she’d said at the time, enraged.
‘Ryan!’
Someone was calling him back towards a camera. He didn’t move. Instead he shot Madeline a narrow look that rattled every nerve-ending in her body. She fixed her eyes on his, determined not to let him know she had a lump in her throat the size of a cricket ball. He didn’t break his gaze—not that she was about to break hers either. She was damned if she’d let another moody man walk all over her, even if he was rich and famous.
‘Well, as you say, a contract is a contract,’ he muttered after a moment, sucking in a breath and letting it out so heavily that Madeline felt her damp hair ruffle.
‘It’ll be great for your profile,’ Samantha told him matter-of-factly, and Madeline caught him rolling his eyes.
‘We’ll see about that. Good to meet you, Madeline.’ He thrust his hand out at her suddenly. ‘We can always do with another nurse around, I suppose.’
‘Oh, like I said, I’m not a—’
‘Ryan! We need you over here, please.’ That voice again.
His face was expressionless as he engulfed Madeline’s hand with his own, and for some reason another episode of Medical Extremes was flashing in her mind. Cambodia. The one where he’d eaten a fried tarantula. It had been a gift from the family of a man he’d helped to save.
Ryan Tobias was fearless—that was what everyone said. Well. She was damned if she’d let him scare her.
‘I’m looking forward to working with you,’ she said calmly.
‘Ryan!’
‘I’m coming, damn it!’
He dropped her hand, turned and strolled across the studio, and Samantha took Madeline’s elbow, leading her to a sofa and coffee table in the corner of the chaos. Both were covered in sheets of paper.
‘You did good. I’m so sorry to spring this on you.’ She poured them both a cup of coffee. ‘But this opportunity wouldn’t have waited. I suggested you the moment I heard what happened to the last ghost-writer...’
‘What happened?’ Madeline realised just how dry her throat was.
‘Fell down some stairs—cracked three ribs, broke one arm. Ironic isn’t the word. Would you like a biscuit?’
She shook her head, glancing to her right. Ryan was walking towards a guy packing a camera into a very large black box on wheels, talking about some supplies he needed but hadn’t seen yet. His voice still sent chills...or was it thrills?...straight through her.
Was she really going to the Amazon?
‘He seems...nice,’ she ventured, sipping her coffee.
‘He’s very nice, when everything goes to plan. So, Madeline, the long and short of it is that Ryan’s contract states that he needs to deliver a memoir and his publishers want it released for Christmas. Only as yet he’s been too busy to write it.’
‘OK...’
Madeline gripped more tightly onto her cup and bit into her cheek. Ghost-writing wasn’t exactly something she was thrilled about doing. Her last book—written under her own name—hadn’t gone too well, though, due to her publisher having no marketing budget, mostly. Her sales had suffered horribly while she’d been out writing the next one in the middle of nowhere in Zimbabwe.
Apparently bad things happened to books if you couldn’t spend twenty-four hours a day on Twitter, telling everyone about them.
Bad things happened to relationships, too, if you stupidly left your boyfriend alone for two months...
Madeline pushed thoughts of Adeline from her head.
Samantha sipped her coffee, then put the cup down on the messy table.
‘Ryan is about to go and shoot the third season of Medical Extremes, as you know, and what with all his appointments he hasn’t got time for the memoir, too. We need someone to help him write the book at the same time as he’s filming—gather quotes, insights, interviews, you know? Am I right in thinking you’re still free to take a week or two, probably three, out of London at the moment?’
Madeline nodded blankly. Ryan was so tall and so commanding without even trying. Everyone seemed to be in awe of him. And although she was a little loath to admit it, after the way he’d just acted towards her, it wasn’t hard to see why.
As well as being the sexiest doctor since George Clooney, Ryan was a millionaire who gave selflessly to charities all over the world. He didn’t have a lot else to spend his riches on, apparently. His father was a heart surgeon, famed for working with those less fortunate in the US. Ryan had taken things one step further by setting up his own non-profit organisation and flying all over the world with his team, crossing borders to reach people who’d never get help otherwise.
Samantha lowered her voice. ‘Ryan doesn’t write. Obviously his skills lie in other areas. But with you on board, plus his celebrity status, this book could be a bestseller. Easy. The publishers have a very impressive budget.’
‘And Twitter?’ Madeline said. ‘How many followers?’
‘Over four hundred thousand. He never tweets a damn thing, of course, but we have Amy from Middlesex University who’s his biggest fan. She won the competition to be his Twitter manager. He just got done with a news team covering the story... BBC, I think. How are you at being on camera? You’ve got great cheekbones—I bet it loves you. And you speak several languages, I recall? Always useful.’
Madeline’s stomach lurched. This was turning out to be a lot more than she’d bargained for. But it wasn’t as if she had anything else on the cards.
She mused over the offer as Samantha kept on talking. She vaguely registered her agent mentioning Rio, a remote tribe—‘none of those weird neck rings or anything’—parasites, anaemia... But after a minute she was only half listening, because she could feel Ryan looking at her again from across the room.
She straightened her back again, so that he could see he wasn’t intimidating her in any way, and tried to look enthusiastic and excited. She had to play her cards right. This chance was too good to pass up and maybe Samantha was right. It could be a bestseller by Christmas.
We can both get something out of this, she thought, sending the thought across the void and straight into Ryan’s cool, iceberg eyes.
CHAPTER TWO (#uf50b1f41-d8e8-59d0-8c87-85462b43624f)
‘DID YOU KNOW that CAN’s first pilots were called the flag-bearers of the skies? That was in the early nineteen-forties.’
‘I don’t know much about CAN at the moment,’ Madeline said. ‘This was all a bit short notice, as you know. Maybe you could explain?’
She was trying her hardest not to let turbulence affect the way she was talking to Ryan. This plane was far too shaky for her peace of mind, but of course this man flew everywhere for a living and didn’t even look as if he’d noticed they were bumping up and down in what felt like God’s hugest tantrum since the last giant tornado.
‘Correio Aéreo Nacional,’ he said, picking up a packet of peanuts and running a tanned thumb over the seal without opening it. ‘Their mission was to help integrate the most remote Amazon outposts with the rest of the country.’
‘How did they do that?’
Madeline pulled out her notebook, wishing she’d put her laptop under her seat instead of up in the overhead locker. She could type much faster than she could write these days, but there was no way on earth she was climbing past Ryan. She’d rather not risk feeling his eyes on her again as she tripped, or did something else stupid as a result of her nerves.
There was something in his stare, she mused. It stayed with her even with her eyes closed. She’d seen it a thousand times in camera close-ups, of course, and it was part of what drew people in their thousands to watch him in action. It had the power to make you feel like you were the only person on earth. It also had the power to make you feel like an idiot.
Ryan smiled, apparently scrutinising her handwriting from his seat on the aisle. ‘CAN transported isolated residents from riverside communities to places where they could be helped—usually the city. They had dozens of planes flying over the Amazon—more than they do now anyway.’
Madeline scribbled as fast as she could to get his words down, feeling thankful that she’d brought a Dictaphone for later.
When she looked up his grey eyes were fixed on her, and she found herself annoyingly self-conscious. At least she wasn’t wet and covered in coffee this time—she’d put on a very respectable knee-length blue dress for the flight, one that accentuated her small waist, and she’d left her long hair down around her shoulders. Also, he seemed to be making a concerted effort to be friendly, for which she was more than grateful.
‘The flying doctors were known as the Angels of the Amazon, is that right?’ she asked him, reaching for her necklace.
‘Correct,’ he said, watching her fiddling with the silver chain as she slid the small crystal apple up and down on it. ‘They were angels, Madeline. Still are. They deliver medical aid by aircraft. If they didn’t these people would only get help after weeks of travelling on foot through the jungle, or by boat.’
‘So, would you consider yourself an angel now, too?’
Ryan frowned, drumming his fingers on his tray table. ‘I just do what’s necessary—like they do,’ he said. ‘These people live and breathe the Amazon—a place most of us know little about, except that it’s a living pharmacy essential to billions of lives on earth, right? They’re the caretakers of the jungle and everything in it. By helping them and looking after their health we’re helping the environment.’
The plane jostled them again and Madeline’s tray table jumped.
‘Do you know where we’re going?’ he asked, catching her notepad before it slid off.
‘Caramambatai,’ she replied quickly, hoping she was pronouncing it right. ‘Your producer says it’s an indigenous settlement...’
‘The Ingariko tribe, yes. They’re spread all over South America, but this camp is pretty much hidden on the border between Brazil, Venezuela and Guyana. It’s about as remote as you’re going to get. Legend has it people have been swallowed whole by thick morning mists in these parts. They’re more likely to have been finished off by surucucu snakes, if you ask me. Highly poisonous, by the way. If you see one it will probably be the last thing you see.’
She realised, now that he was so close, that he had lines around his eyes—proof of laughter, perhaps, more than age. He’d been happy once. Happier than the media made him out to be now anyway. He looked sexier in person, too, she decided.
Then she caught herself.
Sexier? There was no way she was letting herself think that again. She was here to do a job—and besides, as if anyone would go near her, let alone this guy. Her friend Emma had said she reeked of heartbreak, which wasn’t particularly nice but was definitely true. Hardly surprising after what Jason had done.
Madeline could still recite every line of that love-struck email to Adeline she’d read by mistake after he’d left his laptop open.
I’m just trying to find the right time to tell her, baby. You know it’s not her I’m in love with any more.
‘So, how do we reach these people once we get to Brazil?’ she asked, trying and failing to cross her legs properly under her tray table.
They’d been on the plane for four hours already, and she’d already counted at least nine things in her head that she’d forgotten to pack or research. She was hoping she’d have time to sort a few things out in Rio—where they were stopping for supplies before taking another flight to Saint Elena.
‘We’ll take a Cessna,’ Ryan said. ‘Either that or a Black Hawk—whatever the team have booked. Both are pretty good on the runways.’
‘There are runways in the rainforest?’
‘Well, they’re mud strips, really.’
Ryan opened the peanuts and offered her one. She shook her head, trying her hardest to write without scribbling on the tray table instead. They were still bouncing up and down, as if the plane itself was on some sort of trampoline.
‘The runways were carved out by the gold miners initially,’ he told her. ‘Illegally, of course, but they help us do our jobs so I suppose the real value of that gold just keeps on increasing—wherever it is. You can write that down.’
She realised her pen was hovering and that she was lost in thoughts of Jason again. But this time Jason was standing next to Ryan Tobias in the jungle, and being somewhat dwarfed by him.
She blinked to get rid of them both. ‘Right, yes. Good idea.’ She started to scribble, flustered.
‘Whatever you do, stay close to us,’ Ryan said suddenly, in a tone that pulled her eyes to his again like a magnet. ‘People go missing out there all the time.’
Her breath caught as she saw an emotion she didn’t recognise cross his face.
He continued without looking at her. ‘Last time we found a burnt-out helicopter which must have crashed twenty years ago. No skeletons inside...who knows what happened to them? The jungle has a way of luring people in and keeping them.’
Madeline tried not to shudder. For some reason she knew he was thinking of Josephine McCarthy. What had happened to her, exactly?
‘When were you here last?’ she asked.
‘Eight months ago. Five-day CAN mission. No cameras. We treated six hundred patients for minor infections, brought some ultrasound machines. We felt bad we couldn’t help the guy who got shot, though.’
‘Shot?’
‘He did it to himself—his gun got all twisted. By the time we found him his leg had more larvae in it than a dead horse. We cleaned him out, worked on him a long time, but he didn’t make it. So, like I said, don’t go wandering off on your own, please.’ He met her eyes, concern shining around his pupils. ‘And watch what you do with your gun.’
Madeline realised she felt quite ill. ‘Ryan, I wouldn’t be comfortable with a gun, and I really don’t think...’
She trailed off as she caught the smile creeping onto his face and felt her cheeks flush crimson. He was joking.
‘Don’t worry—you’re safe with us,’ he chuckled, nudging her gently with an elbow.
But just as quickly as it had appeared his smile was retracted, as if a memory had snatched it back again. Something stopped Madeline asking any more questions, though a million were fizzing on her tongue.
‘I feel safe with you,’ she said instead, meaning it. ‘How could anyone not?’
Ryan leaned back against the seat, and looked past her, out of the window again. ‘You’ll be safe with me as long as you’re smart. It’s no one’s job but your own to protect yourself out here, Maddy. Can I call you Maddy?’
‘Sure.’
‘The Brazilian military uses these trips to gather intelligence sometimes, so if we have any guests you’ll know they’re on to something and it’s a sign to be on high alert.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Cocaine trafficking, illegal gold mining—it’s all going on in these parts. There were reports of drug runners in the area not so long ago.’
‘Drug runners?’ Madeline whispered quietly. ‘They wouldn’t touch you, though, those sorts of people—would they? Especially not with a TV crew... That would just be drawing attention to themselves.’
Ryan shrugged, pouring a handful of peanuts into his big hand as the clouds fluttered past their window. ‘You never know what they’ll do, but let’s just say our carefully made runways are as good for transporting illegal drugs as they are for shifting real medicine. You wouldn’t want to see the wrong thing by mistake.’
‘Do you ever get scared?’
He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, popping the nuts into his mouth, running a hand over his dark stubble. She studied his lips as he chewed. She’d bet he had a million women after him. She wondered if he’d ever asked anyone out who wasn’t some sort of celebrity...
‘I wouldn’t say I never get anxious,’ he replied eventually. ‘But if we don’t take these risks, Madeline... Maddy...we risk a lot worse. We risk thousands of people dying unnecessarily. Sick people take risks when they hear about us. They walk for days, even weeks, to get our help in these places. If we suddenly decide we’re too afraid we’re failing them and we’re failing ourselves. You can write that down, too.’
Madeline put her pen back on her notepad, realising with dismay that her handwriting was worse than a child’s.
‘So, is there anyone you need to stay in touch with while we’re away?’ Ryan asked her. ‘You know there’s no signal in the Amazon? Rio might be your last chance to check in for a while.’
‘I’m single. My boyfriend and I broke up,’ she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and trying not to let the anger register in her voice.
She’d bypassed the emotional phase a couple of weeks ago and transitioned smoothly into fury—an emotion that reared its head like a lion whenever she thought of Adeline’s face. She wished she hadn’t checked out the other woman’s Facebook page now. It was worse being able to picture her.
‘He started seeing someone else while I was away working on my last book. He didn’t exactly stop once I got back.’
Ryan was silent. When she looked up he appeared to be fighting a smile.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said, straightening his face quickly. ‘But I actually meant for this book—do you need to send things to your editor while you’re away?’
‘Oh.’ Madeline’s cheeks were on fire. She kicked herself internally. ‘Not for a while,’ she managed. ‘I just have to make sure we get our interviews in—and I’ll shadow you, if that’s OK.’
‘However you think it would work best,’ he said, resting his arm on the armrest and brushing hers accidentally. She moved as far away from him as she could, crossing her legs away from him.
‘I really am sorry about your boyfriend,’ he said quietly. ‘It hurts to lose someone you’re close with, however you come to part ways.’
Madeline closed her eyes. Something in his voice spoke volumes of his own loss.
‘These things happen for a reason,’ she said, as firmly as she could manage. She picked up her pen again. ‘It’ll be interesting to see your work with my own eyes. I’ve watched most of your shows—you really do amazing things for people.’
‘Thanks...we try.’ He nodded appreciatively. ‘You’re a trained nurse, as I recall?’
Her heart sped up. ‘Yes, well remembered.’
‘Why did you quit?’
She opened her mouth to reply, but shut it again quickly. She found it hard to vocalise exactly what had happened. She’d thrown herself into her writing instead; it was what her counsellor had told her to do.
‘It’s OK—you don’t have to tell me.’ Ryan put a hand on top of hers for a moment.
Two seconds, maybe three, of skin-on-skin contact and her heart was a kangaroo. She yanked her hand back—maybe too quickly. What had happened in the hospital almost poured out of her, but she bit her tongue. He was a relative stranger. And she was in no mood to go into the details of her past life—that was what it felt like sometimes anyway.
For the next few hours Ryan plugged himself into an action movie and left her to read her book. She couldn’t help the odd glance in his direction, just to confirm she wasn’t dreaming. And she was almost entirely certain he was sneaking a few at her. The next few weeks accompanying him and his Medical Extremes team were going to be ‘extreme’, to say the least.
CHAPTER THREE (#uf50b1f41-d8e8-59d0-8c87-85462b43624f)
RYAN STUDIED HIS face in the mirror. He liked to think he didn’t really suffer with jet lag any more, but the truth was he probably threw himself head-first into every new time zone without giving his body the chance to react. This mission was going to be a particularly tough one—not least because he’d have Madeline Savoia on his trail.
He rested his hands on the sink, leaned closer to the glass and frowned at his reflection. His eyes looked tired. Madeline had distracted him from sleeping on the plane.
She looked a lot like her. The first time she’d all but ploughed into him in the studio he’d almost jumped out of his skin. His reaction had been poor, he knew. Angry... The way he always acted when confronted with something he really had no clue how to handle. He’d felt as if he’d seen a ghost.
Josephine.
The name popped into his head like a gunshot. He swallowed hard, jerked the cold tap on and ran his hand under it. Then he said it out loud, straight into the mirror, watching his lips make their way over the word in a way they hadn’t for a long time.’
‘Josephine.’
He rarely let her name past his lips. Every time he so much as thought of her the guilt crashed over him like a tsunami. It had smothered him and almost made him tumble when Madeline’s hands had pressed against him to steady herself. She hadn’t realised, of course, but she’d kind of been holding him up at the same time.
Ryan splashed his face with cold water. The more he tried not to think about this, the more he did. It was something about Madeline’s eyes. And her pursed lips. And the way she’d crossed her arms defiantly over that coffee stain she’d clearly been so embarrassed about. The way she’d lowered her head just slightly when she’d asserted herself, indicating her vulnerability.
A knock on the hotel room door made him jump again. Dammit.
‘I’m coming,’ he called, wiping his face on the towel and running a hand through his hair. It was getting long at the front again. He frowned at the few stubborn greys now making a permanent home in his stubbled chin.
Nothing he could do about it.
Salt and pepper looks better on you than on my French fries.
#DrRyanTobias
A fan of his had tweeted that the other day. He mentally rolled his eyes—such gushing usually went straight over his head. He had quite enjoyed that French fries reference, though. He liked to think years of torment hadn’t marked him physically...at least not as much as they had on the inside.
He threw on a white button-down shirt and pulled on his smartest jeans as the knock sounded out again. ‘Give me one second!’
He hopped across the patterned carpet, still doing his belt up, and pulled the door open.
‘What’s the emergency?’
‘No emergency.’ Madeline smiled. Her hand was still hovering in the air, as if she was about to knock on his face. ‘Sorry to interrupt. You said to knock before I went downstairs.’
‘What time is it?’ he asked, flustered.
He was totally thrown now. She looked entirely different somehow in this light, with her round, beguiling eyes lined with kohl and a hint of green eyeshadow. His hand found his hair again, at the same time as the other started buttoning up his shirt.
‘Almost five thirty,’ she told him, with her gaze now fixed on his exposed chest. ‘Doesn’t the drinks thing start now?’
‘Yes, yes—sorry, I got caught up. There was an issue with the supplies being delivered to Saint Elena, and I’ve been on the phone trying to fix it.’
‘Is it sorted out?’
‘Almost. I did all I could.’
‘OK. Well, don’t worry, I’m sure we can sneak you in late without anyone noticing. It’s not like you’re a VIP or anything.’
Laughter burst from his mouth as he hurried back into the room to pull his shoes out of his suitcase. The dryness in her tone tickled him. He’d always found the British sense of humour quite fascinating.
He grabbed his key card and wallet, turned the bathroom light out and let his eyes travel over Madeline’s petite yet curvy figure as he walked towards the door again. She was wearing another dress, an emerald-green one this time, tied around her waist with a paler green belt. Her hair was up now, in a French braid draped over one shoulder, and her lips were glistening in a shade of burgundy.
‘Were you writing?’ he asked, for want of something to fill the silence.
‘In my room? A bit.’
He nodded. He’d fought the urge, on the journey, to ask her more about her books, aware that he’d perhaps been a little rude about her passion before. It was just that when Samantha had first mentioned a ghost-writer he’d imagined for some reason someone older, greyer, crinklier. Perhaps an avid cat-lover or crochet aficionado. He definitely hadn’t imagined...well. This.
He cleared his throat. ‘You look nice,’ he said.
‘Thank you—so do you.’
‘So, you recognise me OK without the Medical Extremes outfit?’ He smiled now.
‘You’re kind of hard to miss.’
‘Is that right? I thought I’d been watching my weight.’
It was Madeline’s turn to laugh now. ‘As if you need to. I meant you have presence.’
Ryan realised that her cheeks were redder than they had been five seconds ago. He hadn’t exactly intended to get himself dressed in front of her...but, then again, they were headed into the jungle. Tribal villages in the Amazon rainforest weren’t exactly renowned for their privacy.
He stepped past her, closing the door behind him, then put a hand to the small of her back as they walked towards the elevators, noting her shoes—summer wedges with green straps.
‘You’re a little better at walking in those,’ he said without thinking, pushing the button.
‘That tripping over in public thing? That was a one-off—don’t worry.’
‘I’d only be worried in the Amazon,’ he replied as the doors pinged and slid open. ‘Big black cables on the floor of the jungle have a nasty habit of not being cables.’
She raised an eyebrow questioningly.
‘Snakes,’ he explained, and she pulled a face that made him chuckle.
In the elevator, Ryan fixed his eyes on their reflections in the full-length mirror. She was at least a foot shorter than him; that was shorter than—He clenched his fist. This was ridiculous. Madeline was not her.
He was determined to count the differences.
Some of her expressions were similar, sure, but Madeline had bigger eyes, wide and unnervingly quizzical—even more so now, framed with make-up. Her hair, long and dark and shiny, was the same...but she was slimmer, perhaps. He didn’t know much about women’s sizes, but he knew when he could hold a waist with both hands without leaving too much room between his fingers.
The elevator doors swung open. The music in the hotel foyer took the edge off his discomfort slightly as he guided Madeline towards the restaurant, past a crowd of tourists in matching floral shorts, speaking hurried German.
‘I’m sure you’ve been briefed about this,’ he said, trying to regain an air of authority if only for his own peace of mind.
‘Not really.’
He frowned, looking down into her sea-green eyes, then cleared his throat again. ‘Well, this is basically a getting-to-know-you event for the new people joining us and the suppliers. We also have a new cameraman from here in Rio, and a local paramedic. It’s about building trust as a team before we get out there, you know? That’s when the real work starts.’
‘It’s a good idea,’ Madeline said. ‘So I’ll introduce myself as your ghost-writer?’
Ryan felt his brow crease. How had he forgotten her mission? He felt that tsunami again at the thoughts of having to regurgitate any of those moments he’d been trying his hardest to bury for so long—of seeing them laid bare on the pages of a book...a book he’d eventually see someday in a bargain bin, with the forgotten demons that would surely plague him for ever tossed aside by a reader who’d lapped them up and promptly let them go, in a way he never could.
His hand found his hair, swept it from his forehead. ‘About this memoir... We need everyone to feel secure in the fact that our attention is fully on the patients. Our work always takes priority.’
‘I know that.’
‘You’re there to write the memoir, of course, but we might need you to help out as a nurse from time to time—’
‘I’d really rather not be a nurse while I’m here,’ Madeline interrupted.
She paused halfway to the table, where he could see the team already waiting, chatting away. She looked nervous again now.
‘Ryan, with all due respect, I didn’t come here to—’
‘Madeline, I get your current role, believe me, but people will be needing you out there. Do you really think, after everything you’ve trained for, that you could actually walk away from someone in pain?’
She opened her mouth to respond, but shut it again quickly. Annoyance was flickering in her eyes. He was concerned that this wasn’t looking very professional; people were looking at them.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ he whispered in her ear, getting a whiff of her floral perfume as he did so. Dear God, she smelled good.
‘Ryan, my man! Good to see you—and who’s this?’
The tall, sandy-blond-haired guy approaching them in smart black trousers and a purple shirt was Evan Walker—a trusted friend and doctor from Wisconsin, and a firm voice of reason on the Medical Extremes team. Viewers loved him for his sense of humour and equally for his ability to take charge at a moment’s notice. He had his own online fan club and was also popular because of his award-winning wife’s efforts in setting up a domestic abuse helpline.
‘Madeline Savoia is my ghost-writer...for the memoir,’ Ryan said calmly as Madeline dutifully held out her hand. ‘But she’s a nurse, too. I’ve explained that it’s all hands on deck at times.’
He felt her eyes burning his cheek as he spoke, but he didn’t turn his head.
‘Excellent,’ Evan enthused, throwing him a look Ryan knew only he could read. Evan knew everything about Josephine. And he hadn’t said a word.
‘I’m a huge fan of your work, Dr Walker,’ Madeline said.
‘Thank you very much. So, have you been out to these parts before?’
A waiter approached and guided them all to their seats.
‘No, I can’t say I have,’ she replied.
Ryan pulled a chair out for her and motioned for her to sit down beside him. He’d noticed the way Evan was looking at her now.
‘You know, you really look a lot like...’
‘What is there to drink?’ Ryan put a hand up for the waiter and signalled for a menu.
Evan seemed to take the hint. He took his seat and started pouring the three of them water from a jug full of ice and lemon.
‘You’re in for a treat, Madeline,’ he continued, ‘these are some of the nicest people on the planet. Always so grateful and patient. It’s harsh out there, you know?’
Madeline pulled her glass towards her. Ryan noticed her nails were drumming slightly on the glass. ‘So I hear.’
‘And they live pretty differently to how we do. Most have no idea that all this is even here, and even if they did they’d probably hate it.’ He gestured around him now at the opulent restaurant, with Rio de Janeiro’s Ipanema in their direct line of vision through the windows.
Ryan gazed out with Madeline at the swirling cormorants and emerald hills in the distance. The beautiful side of the jungle, he thought to himself, feeling a sudden twinge of familiar guilt.
He forced himself to think of something else.
He couldn’t help but wonder yet again what the story was with Madeline quitting nursing. Whenever anyone brought it up she looked as though she might run for the hills. He kind of understood how that felt, though. He’d been running for years.
He’d hidden behind deadlines and responsibilities, creating more work for himself than one man should probably have to deal with in a lifetime. But now it had caught up with him in the form of this woman—sent to spill his secrets to the world.
He motioned to the waiter approaching with the wine. ‘White, please,’ he said. He turned to Madeline. ‘You?’
‘Red,’ she said. ‘Just a bit, though, I don’t want to fall asleep at the table. I’m trying to outsmart my jet-lag.’
He smiled.
Evan was still talking. ‘Last time we were here we helped a little baby—just nine months old, I think. She had a temperature of one hundred and two and climbing...and she wasn’t getting enough oxygen. She had pneumonia...she was malnourished. If we hadn’t been there...if Ryan hadn’t been there...she would have been dead in two days.’
Madeline turned to him as a starter of fresh fruit was placed before her on the table, and he was surprised to notice the glistening of tears in her eyes at the mention of the baby.
Casual conversation about supply checks and sleeping arrangements at the camp kept them going as their starters were consumed and everyone’s glasses were refilled, and then, just as the waiters hovered on the periphery with their main courses, Ryan tapped his fork on his glass to silence the table.
He rose to his feet, dropping his napkin.
‘Ladies and gents,’ he said, smoothing down his white shirt and holding up his glass. ‘I’d like to thank you all for coming on this brand-new mission with Medical Extremes. Let’s welcome Pablo, our new cameraman from right here in Rio, who’ll be joining us where thousands wouldn’t and hopefully not capturing everything on camera. No one looks their best after living on bananas and tropical rain for a few weeks.’
He paused for laughter, which flittered around the table as he’d known it would.
‘I’d also like to introduce Madeline, here. She’ll be working on some writing and lending a hand wherever possible, so I’d like you all to give her the Medical Extremes welcome we give everyone and make her feel like one of the family.’
He raised his glass higher, but before she or anyone could say another word, a noise from the kitchen made the entire room jump in their chairs.
‘Fogo! Fogo! Fogo!’
The voice was female.
‘Help!’
Ryan just had time to see Evan grab his medical bag before they were both off their chairs in a flash, running for the kitchen. He made it to the back of the restaurant just in time to see the blaze of orange fire running up a woman’s sleeve—just before he plunged her arm into a nearby sink, under a gushing tap. She was sobbing.
‘What happened?’ he asked, and was flooded with a stream of Portuguese. The fire was gone, but a crowd of people in white coats and chef’s hats were all talking at once.
Evan was behind him, pulling out a sterile bandage from his bag as Ryan moved closer to keep the woman’s arm under the water. It was blistered and red, but he could already tell she wasn’t going to need hospital treatment—thank God.
‘I’ll go tell everyone not to panic—you got this?’ Evan said.
‘All good,’ Ryan told him, and watched him shoot back through the door.
‘She was pouring pecans into the chocolate mix when her sleeve caught on fire. That’s why they’re all over the floor.’
Madeline.
Ryan had only just realised she was there, too. She was holding the bandage Evan had given her and translating every word. He took the bandage from her, noticing the pecan nuts under his feet for the first time.
‘She says she’s worried the dessert is ruined. It’s been cooking too long now without being stirred.’
Ryan listened as Madeline spoke in Portuguese to the crowd and someone moved to stir the pot she was pointing at. She reached for a clean dishcloth, soaked it under another tap and handed it to him. On autopilot Ryan placed it over the woman’s arm for a moment, before wrapping the bandage around it and fastening it behind her wrist. Her tears were subsiding already and she really did seem more concerned about her dessert.
‘Can you tell her I’ll give her some ibuprofen, and that she should go home and get some rest?’ he asked Madeline, who promptly did as she was asked.
Back at the table, when the ibuprofen had been dispatched and the drama was all but forgotten, the party resumed its happy chatter while the glorious Rio sunset made way for a sky full of stars.
‘You were pretty impressive in there, Nurse Madeline,’ he whispered, when he couldn’t keep it in any more.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it—the way she’d sprung into action and known what to do, and say. His Portuguese was limited, as was his Spanish. He got by—but mostly on charm and miming, he had to admit.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ she said quickly.
He frowned. ‘Yes, you did. It was instinctive.’
She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with his eyes on her. Her jaw started pulsing and he knew not to say anything else.
He also knew without question that keeping away from Madeline Savoia was going to be impossible. Not only was she impossibly intoxicating—whether she liked it or not—she wasn’t just a writer.
If he had his way she’d be helping him with medical duties so frequently that the details she really needed for the memoir to be a hit would be the last thing on her mind.
CHAPTER FOUR (#uf50b1f41-d8e8-59d0-8c87-85462b43624f)
THERE WAS SOMETHING about Rio de Janeiro, Madeline decided, that was quite entrancing. The streets were alive with the sound of market stall fruit sellers, and tourists examined cheap patterned sarongs and vibrant paintings of ladies dancing under starry spangled skies. The smell of coconuts and sunscreen permeated the air, and she’d seen more thongs, she mused, in the space of twenty minutes than she’d seen in twenty branches of her favourite high street store back in London.
Madeline had been wandering around in the sunshine for a couple of hours alone, trying to get some last-minute bits and pieces before they were due to catch the plane to Saint Elena at six p.m. The rush of the ocean in her ears as she strolled along the mosaic-riddled promenade, coupled with the whoosh of rollerblades, was like a musical symphony. It was hard to believe that just twenty-four hours ago she’d been climbing out of a black cab in the awful London rain.
Madeline was grateful for this time to herself while Ryan rushed about filming another segment for Medical Extremes.
‘Go enjoy yourself in the sunshine,’ he’d said that morning at breakfast. ‘And don’t forget Sugar Loaf Mountain.’
She wasn’t sure she had the energy for Sugar Loaf. They’d stayed around the table till the early hours last night, discussing the mission they were about to undertake, and perhaps, on reflection, she’d enjoyed a bit too much wine after that incident in the kitchen.
She’d noticed that Ryan had stopped at one glass, and she remembered reading somewhere that Ryan didn’t drink much. Something about never knowing when he might need to help someone. She smiled, remembering the look on his face in the kitchen. He hadn’t realised she was fluent in Portuguese. Then again, how would he have known?
What Ryan had said about her actions being instinctive had been playing on her mind. She’d told herself a million times that her nursing days were over, but he was right. Someone had really needed her and she hadn’t been able to turn those instincts off at all.
‘Mango!’ a fruit seller was calling from her tiny stall.
Madeline shook her head politely. She’d avoided eye contact with Ryan all night after that. She knew without him saying another word that he was planning to demand her nursing skills in the Amazon.
‘Pineapple?’ another fruit seller called out as she turned another corner.
She smiled once again, holding up the plastic bag of fruit skewers she’d bought earlier.
Ryan had escorted her up to her room at around two a.m. By then she’d been almost asleep on her feet. She’d been acutely aware of his hand on her lower back over her dress as they’d left the dining room, and the sound of him clearing his throat in the elevator as he’d pressed himself against the wall opposite her. She’d felt his eyes on her in the mirror.
She’d pondered at the time that he might be trying to stand as far away from her as possible in the enclosed space. She’d been doing exactly the same thing.
‘Try to sleep in if you can in the morning,’ he’d said, stopping with her outside her room. ‘It might be the best sleep you’ll get for a few weeks. The sleeping arrangements won’t be up to this standard in the jungle. But I’m sure you’ve probably figured that out.’
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she’d said, trying to sound as if she meant it. ‘Thank you for tonight.’
‘Thank you,’ he’d replied softly.
‘We should pencil in some time for us to talk. I was thinking regular slots, maybe one every day...’
‘Let me see what I can do once we’re out there,’ he’d said, cutting her off quickly. ‘I mean, of course we have to get this memoir written, but things are going to be really hectic for the first few days at least.’
He’d been looking at the doorframe as he’d said that—not once at her.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he’d told her, and with that he’d leaned in and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek.
It had been as soft as a moth landing on a shadow. She’d felt the brush of his stubble on her skin, caught a whiff of his cologne. Then he’d turned on his heel and Madeline had watched his undeniably sculpted butt in his jeans as he’d walked the whole way back down the corridor and turned the corner.
For the first time in months, with questions she wanted to ask this mysterious doctor galloping maddeningly through her thoughts along with jet-lag, Madeline had eventually drifted off to sleep without thinking once about her ex. She was grateful for that at least.
Armed with sunscreen and mosquito repellent, plus a new bright yellow sarong and several colouring books and sets of crayons for the children she’d inevitably meet in the Amazon, Madeline reached the hotel again at four p.m.
She’d just arrived back in her room and was planning on changing, packing and heading down to find the team, when a knock on the door made her jump. She went to open it in bare feet, expecting someone from Housekeeping. Her insides performed an impressive somersault as she came face to face with Ryan.
‘Hi. Everything OK?’ she asked, clutching the doorframe and hoping she didn’t look terrible.
‘We’re still waiting on some of the ultrasound equipment we lost track of yesterday,’ he said.
She ran her eyes quickly over his blue denim shirt. The sleeves were rolled up over his tanned forearms and his practical, multi-pocketed khaki trousers made her smile. It was still a surreal dream, being face to face with this man.
She didn’t miss him looking her up and down in return, in her knee-length, red strapless sundress. She hoped she hadn’t dropped any fruit on it.
‘Some of it’s already halfway here, so unfortunately it means I’ll have to stay another night.’
‘Just you?’
‘It only needs one of us to wait. The rest of the team will leave today and set up camp as planned. I was just wondering if...’
He trailed off for a second, seeming to contemplate his words. She detected the slightest trace of hesitation.
‘I was wondering if you wanted to stay with me? I realise I’ve been a bit...well, aloof about this whole memoir thing, but I do appreciate you have a job to do. Maybe we can get to know each other a bit better over dinner. If you like. Just us this time.’
Just us this time.
Madeline stood up straighter. ‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘I think that would be a good idea—before things get too crazy. Good thinking. I have some questions prepared that will help me get a good head start. I’ll think up some more. What time should I meet you?’
She hoped she was sounding professional in this moment, because even as she spoke she was mentally unpacking her suitcase, looking for the right thing to wear to dinner.
Ryan shifted his weight onto his opposite foot and folded his arms. ‘I was thinking we’d get out of the hotel. I know a restaurant nearby that does great tapas.’
‘My favourite. Huge fan of olives.’
He nodded. ‘Good. Shall we say seven in the lobby?’
‘Seven it is.’
‘Great. Well...’ He paused again, uncrossed his arms and let out a long, almost relieved sigh. ‘I’ll see you then, Maddy.’
She shut the door after him, turning back to her room in a panic. She had precisely three hours to prepare a set of questions that wouldn’t make Ryan Tobias fear talking to her about the details they both knew she needed, and in that little time she had to make herself look worthy enough to be out in a restaurant with the world’s most famous flying doctor.
She rammed her hands through her hair again.
* * *
By the time seven p.m. rolled around Madeline was more or less satisfied that she looked OK. She’d opted for her second-favourite green dress—a casual maxi-dress that plunged at the neck in a V without revealing too much. She’d paired it with a long beaded necklace and left her hair loose around her shoulders. Silver-strapped flat sandals completed the outfit, and a hint of peach lip-gloss made her mouth shimmer in a way she hoped made them look plumper, too.
Gathering her green and silver sequined purse, she put her notebook and pen inside and took one last deep breath before reaching for the door.
Ryan was already waiting for her in the lobby. She felt as if the jet set of the insect world was throwing a party in her stomach as she approached him. She hated being starstruck—if that was what this feeling was. But at least it was taking her mind off her break-up.
‘Green is definitely your colour,’ he said.
His smile reached his eyes and she could tell it was genuine.
‘Thank you.’
Ryan was still wearing his khaki trousers, but had chosen another white button-down shirt that highlighted his broad chest and deep bronze tan. The kind of tan only a travelling man had, she mused in appreciation.
Madeline caught his eyes lingering for a split second on the hint of cleavage she knew she was displaying behind her beads, but instead of feeling self-conscious she realised she was feeling quite empowered.
‘Let’s go,’ Ryan said, patting his flat stomach. ‘I’m famished.’
They walked outside together, through the hotel’s revolving doors and into the balmy night. The breeze picked up her long hair and tousled it about her shoulders as she walked alongside him.
‘Any more news on the supplies arriving?’ she asked.
‘First thing in the morning, so they said. We’ll fly at two p.m.’
They passed a shirtless guitar player on the street—a beaming guy with huge, chunky dreadlocks. Ryan pulled some notes out of his pocket and dropped them into his upturned hat. The guy’s hands stopped moving instantly on the guitar frets and his eyes widened at what was clearly a significant amount of money, but Ryan didn’t stop.
The palm trees swayed rhythmically to their own calypso as they walked along the street. Tourists strolling towards similar reservations were either hand in hand or holding selfie sticks between them, taking photos. She thought back to her friend Emma’s gushing email that morning, posing a million questions and demands of what she wanted Madeline to ask Ryan.
Are you single? seemed to be top of her list.
They were welcomed into the restaurant by a beaming waitress the size of a toothpick, who flicked her long, styled auburn hair over her shoulder as she raked over Ryan with eyes as wide as Bambi’s.
‘I hope this will be OK for you, sir,’ she gushed in a thick Portuguese accent as they were led outside to a table on the terrace. She made a big fuss over arranging Ryan’s napkin on his lap.
‘Fine, thank you,’ he replied, seemingly oblivious to the batting eyelashes an inch from his chest.
Ryan took the wine list. A candle flickered in the middle of the table in a mason jar and Madeline studied his famous face, now bathed in a soft, flattering glow in a way she rarely saw on the television. The surgery lights were always so harsh.
She placed her purse under her feet, careful to keep the strap around her knee. She’d been caught out once by a bag-snatcher in Peru, and these days she was disappointingly quick to suspect passing strangers of crimes they probably had no intention of committing.
All around them people were chatting and laughing amongst themselves and Ryan leaned back in his seat.
‘Drink?’ he asked. ‘You might not get the chance again for a while. They don’t have much in the way of vintage wine in the Amazon. How about a cocktail?’
‘If you’re having one,’ she said. ‘Or maybe just a gin and tonic?’
‘Great idea—make that two, please,’ he told the waitress, handing back the drinks menu.
‘Coming up. I’ll be back to take your food order, Dr Ryan.’
She tottered off on her high heels, and Madeline watched as Ryan took his phone out of his pocket and flipped it to ‘silent’.
‘Is it not weird that everyone knows who you are?’ she asked. ‘We’re in Rio!’
He put his phone back and folded his arms in front of him on the table, unwittingly causing his biceps to bulge in his shirt. ‘It’s less weird than annoying.’
‘I read somewhere that you hardly ever drink,’ she followed up, training her eyes away from his biceps.
‘That’s true. I usually stop at one.’
‘In case somebody needs your help and you need to focus?’
He grinned, thumbing the corner of the menu. ‘Did you read that online?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I don’t really drink because I choose not to. I guess that’s not exciting enough for some people. Anything you don’t eat?’
Madeline liked the way he was talking to her. It was easy, somehow. She wondered what he’d been like before fame...whether he was different now.
She thought about his question. ‘Just coriander. I think you call it cilantro where you’re from.’
He smiled. ‘Can’t stand it either. Tastes like old books.’
‘I think it tastes like metal pipes.’
‘You’ve licked a metal pipe?’
‘Maybe.’
He was laughing now—she could see his shoulders shaking. ‘Well, there’s a way to start the memoir. I don’t like cilantro and I refuse to dine with people who do—especially if they lick metal pipes, too.’
She shook her head, laughing with him. ‘It has bestseller written all over it.’
They ordered a selection of dishes, and as they chatted idly she scribbled a few notes about his childhood, memories of the years he spent in Chicago looking up to his ambitious yet workaholic father.
‘Do you have any siblings?’ she asked.

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