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She hoped her sigh of relief wasn’t as noticeable as it felt. ‘Who takes care of it now?’
He grimaced. ‘No one really. I’ve only been back for a few odd days at a time. I have someone take care of the garden, and I’ve made sure that the services continue to be paid. But at the moment it’s really just collecting dust.’
The tone of his voice had changed. It didn’t have the strength of earlier, or the cheekiness that she’d heard on other occasions. There was something wistful about his tone. Even a little regretful. It was a side of Sullivan Darcy she hadn’t seen before.
This time she made the move. She reached over and put her hand over his. ‘Maybe you needed to let it collect dust for a while. You have to wait until you’re ready to do things. That time might be now.’
For a second she thought he might come back with a usual cheeky quip, but something flashed across his eyes and he stared at her hand covering his.
He gave a slow nod. ‘You could be right.’ Then one eyebrow rose. ‘But I don’t want you to make a habit of it. I get the impression if you think you’re right all the time you could be unbearable.’
She couldn’t help but grin. This was how he wanted to play it. It seemed Dr Darcy could reveal the tiniest element of himself before his shutters came down again.
She could appreciate that. Particularly in an environment like this when things could flare up at any second and you had to be ready for any kind of emergency.
He leaned towards her again, this time so close that his stubble brushed against her cheek. ‘Trouble is,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘what can we possibly do to get through the next week?’
A red-hot flush flooded through her body. She tried not to look at the muscled pecs visibly outlined by his thin T-shirt, or the biceps clearly defined by his folded arms. Sullivan Darcy was one sexy guy. But two could play that game.
She moved, stretching her back out then straightening her shirt, allowing the fabric to tighten over her breasts.
Then she gave him a playful smile. ‘Who knows, Dr Darcy? I guess we’ll just need to think of something.’
CHAPTER THREE
FOR THE LAST few days they’d danced around each other. It was ridiculous. And Sullivan knew it. They were both grown adults and could do whatever they wanted to.
But he got the definite feeling that although Gabrielle was attracted to him as much as he was to her, she wasn’t comfortable about initiating a relationship under the microscopic view of their colleagues.
And she was right. It wouldn’t really be professional. No matter how much his brain told him otherwise in the depths of the pitch-black nights in Narumba.
He’d been furious when he’d seen those men around her. That leader attacking her. Anytime he thought about it for too long he felt his rage re-ignite. As soon as they’d got back to camp he’d contacted Gibbs and filed a report. Another team would replace them as soon as they left. He wanted to make sure precautions were taken to safeguard the staff.
Then he’d written another note, asking the staff to try and check on Alum and Chiari to see how they were coping with the medicine regime, and if they were having any side effects, and yet another about the tribal leader’s wife, asking someone to check on her leg and her antibiotics.
It didn’t matter where they pitched up. The clinics were packed every day and he saw a hundred variations of Alum and Chiari. That, mixed in with a hundred children who’d been orphaned and a hundred parents who’d nursed their children through their last days made him realise it might be time to have a break.
He’d never contemplated one before. Never wanted to. But the desperate situation of some of these families was beginning to get to him.
He wasn’t quite sure why he’d told Gabrielle about the reason he hadn’t signed up yet for another mission. Maybe she’d just asked at the right moment.
Or maybe he was just distracted by the possibility of ten days in Paris with a woman who was slowly but surely driving him crazy. If he didn’t taste those pink lips soon he might just decide to set up his own camp inside her tent.
Every night when they got back, she showered, changed into one of a variety of coloured T-shirts and usually those darn shorts. There should be a licence against them.
The whoosh he’d felt when he’d first seen her was turning into a full-blown tornado. Maybe it was just the blow-out of actually feeling something again. Maybe, after three years, his head was rising above the parapet a bit. He’d met a few women in the last three years but he’d been going through the motions. There had been no emotion involved, just a pure male hormonal response. Gabrielle was different. Gabrielle had an aura around her. A buzz. He smiled to himself. She was like one of those ancient sirens who had lured sailors to their deaths. He’d have to remember not to let her sing. Or talk. Or dance. Or wear those shorts.
It didn’t matter that they were the only five people in the camp. It didn’t matter that he was the only male for miles. As soon as he heard the music start to play in her tent he was drawn like a moth to the flame.
Gabrielle could conduct whole conversations while she sashayed around to the beat of the music. He’d recognised it was her thing. Her down time. So far they’d discussed fourteen special patient cases, numerous plans for the next day’s camps, treatment regimes, transfer times and some testing issues.
It was hard to have a conversation when the best pair of legs he’d ever seen was on display.
And tonight was no different from any other—with the exception of the soul music. She smiled as he appeared at the tent entrance. ‘Lionel and Luther tonight,’ she said as her loose hair bounced around. ‘Decided it was time for a change.’
He nodded as he moved towards her. She’d tied a red T-shirt in a knot at her waist but hadn’t got around to tying her hair up on her head as normal. It was longer than he’d realised, with a natural curl at the ends.
Sullivan wasn’t usually a dancer. It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel the beat of the music, it was just that he’d never felt the urge to rave in a dark disco. And he certainly hadn’t felt the urge to dance at all in the last few years.
But as the music changed to a slower song he sucked in a breath. Slow dancing he could do.
This was private. This was just him and her. No one watching. And he couldn’t watch Gabrielle much longer without touching. He moved more purposely, catching Gabrielle’s hand while she danced and pulling her against him.
‘I think the tempo’s changed.’
He could feel the curves of her breasts pressed against his chest. One of his hands lingered at the bare skin at her waist and it felt entirely natural for his fingers to gently stroke her soft skin.
She hadn’t spoken yet but as he kept his gaze fixed on hers, her pupils dilated, the blackness obliterating the dark chocolate of her irises. She reached one hand up to his shoulder. It was almost like a traditional dance position. The one a million couples dancing at weddings the world over would adopt.
‘You’re right,’ she said huskily, ‘the tempo has changed.’ She started to sway along to the music in his arms. It was easy for their bodies to move as one. What’s more, it seemed completely natural.
He couldn’t help the smile appearing on his face. He’d spent the last few days thinking of how it would feel to be in exactly this position. Her rose scent was winding its way around him. He slid his hand from her waist up the smooth skin on her back. She didn’t object. In fact, she responded, tugging at his T-shirt and moving both her hands onto his skin. He caught his breath at the feel of her soft hands. Gabrielle wasn’t shy. Both hands slid around to the front. She was smiling as she moved them up over his chest. He lowered his head, pressing his forehead on hers.
‘Not long until Paris,’ he whispered.
She glanced towards the opening of the tent. ‘I don’t know if I want
to wait until Paris.’ The huskiness of her voice made the blood rush around his body.
He walked her backwards against the table, pressing her against it as his lips came into contact with hers. She tasted of chocolate. Of coffee. She responded instantly. Lips opening, matching his every move. His hands moved to her firm breasts, slipping under the wire of her bra and filling his hands.
She arched her back and he caught her unspoken message, moving his other hand to unclip her bra at the back and release her breasts more freely for his attention.
She pushed herself back onto the table, opening her legs and pulling him towards her, a little noise escaping from the back of her throat. She made a grab for his T-shirt, pulling it over his head.
He laid her back onto the table, concentrating his lips on the paler skin at her throat then around her ear. The little sigh she gave made his blood race even faster.
Then he felt her hands on his shoulders. She wasn’t pushing him away but her grip was firm. He eased back, connecting with her gaze and rapid breathing. At the base of her throat he could see a little flickering pulse.
‘Gabrielle?’ he groaned.
Her gaze was steady. ‘Four days,’ she whispered. ‘In four days, we can do this in Paris.’ Her head turned towards the tent entrance again, the flaps held back onto the dark night. It really was wide open to the world; any of the other camp members could appear at a moment’s notice.
