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As she stood before him, showing off all her desirable womanly features for once, Alex could think of several things he wanted—very badly—but she was obviously annoyed at his intrusion. And he knew enough about her to know she just wasn’t the catch-kiss-and-throw-back type.
He cleared his throat. ‘Couple of things, actually. I thought I’d pop in and let you know your presentation was fantastic. You did a great job. Everyone’s talking about it.’
Isobella frowned, finding the knowledge that he had been there after all disturbing. ‘Thank you. I didn’t know you’d caught it.’
He nodded. ‘I was at the back.’
So he had been there, watching her in the darkened room. Her abdominal muscles clenched. She blinked to clear the sudden buzz in her head. ‘There was something else?’
Alex nodded. ‘I’ve just had a call from Cairns General hospital. A box jellyfish patient was admitted to their Intensive Care Unit a couple of hours ago. An eighteen-year-old female, an English tourist here on holiday.’
Isobella had no control over the gasp that escaped her lips, and was grateful that the door handle gave her something to hold on to. The pain that had scorched her body sixteen years ago haunted her in a blinding flash, stealing her breath. ‘Is she okay?’
Alex heard the anguish in Isobella’s voice and noticed the pinkness leech from her cheeks. He took a step towards her, concerned at her unexpected reaction. ‘She’s stable. She didn’t have too much tentacular exposure. It wrapped itself around her thigh. She’s having the antivenin and will go to the ward tomorrow, all going well.’
Isobella felt relief sweep her body at the good news. Still, she was rattled by the rekindled memories. ‘Good,’ she said weakly. ‘That’s good.’
‘I told the consultant we’d call by in the morning and see her, before she’s moved.’
Isobella’s heart banged against her ribs in slow, explosive thuds. ‘In Intensive Care?’
Alex frowned, bothered by the hint of reluctance he heard in her tone. ‘That’s okay, isn’t it? We’re going to be there anyway for the clinic. We can get a case history and take some photos.’
The thought of talking with a young woman who had been through what she’d been through was unsettling. In fact she wasn’t looking forward to the clinic tomorrow at all. Even sixteen years later she wasn’t sure she was ready to face other people’s demons. She’d spent all this time hiding her scars from the world—how did these people voluntarily agree to expose themselves? She felt like a hypocrite. But, frankly, the thought of venturing into Intensive Care again was utterly terrifying.
‘Isobella?’
She shut her eyes as the gravelly timbre of his voice hardened her nipples, causing them to rub erotically against the fabric of her gown. Damn Alexander Zaphirides! Why hadn’t he just left her in the lab? She tightened her grip on the door handle. ‘Sure. No problem.’
‘Pardon me, sir?’
Alex turned to find an impeccably dressed waiter standing behind him, a room service cart complete with starched linen at his side. ‘Your feast.’ He gestured to her as he stood aside to let the waiter pass.
Isobella’s gaze followed the path of the trolley, laden with sophisticated silver domed plates, delicious smells wafting in its wake. She glanced back at Alex, the bearer of bad news.
Suddenly her appetite had completely deserted her.
Great! She was going to starve to death around this man.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALEXand Isobella waited outside the closed swing doors the next morning. She darted a nervous glance towards him and adjusted her glasses. He seemed so calm. Her heart was belting along in her chest like a runaway train, but he looked as poised as ever.
‘Doesn’t this bother you?’ Nausea was roiling through her gut, and she needed to distract herself from it’s vice-like grip.
Alex frowned. Isobella looked as pale this morning as she had last night. ‘What?’
Isobella made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. The man had a trachey scar; he had to have spent some time in an ICU. ‘Being back in Intensive Care. Won’t it bring back some unpleasant memories for you?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t really remember anything of the time I spent in Intensive Care. I was only in it for a few days, and the drugs pretty much made the whole time there a bit of a blur.’
Yes. Her memory was hazy too. But a mish-mash of distorted soundbites and snippets of fog-enshrouded images still occasionally woke her from her sleep at night. ‘Probably just as well,’ she said. ‘Intensive Care’s no Club Med.’
