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Even now her heart pounded in her chest at the memory of those excruciating seconds when the nematocysts had adhered to her bare midriff, firing their hot, burning poison into her body. The pain alone had nearly killed her. It had certainly driven her screaming from the water in a completely automatic flight-or-fight response, collapsing on the sand seconds later at Paolo’s feet.
She blinked hard to erase the image, and the lingering memory of the pain and encroaching darkness. ‘I just prefer being on land.’
‘We do have to take a boat to Piccolo. You know that, right? It is an island, after all.’
‘Yes. Thank you. I was aware.’ She had been trying to forget about it.
She had argued with Alex that it wouldn’t be necessary for her to go on to Piccolo, that she could leave after presenting her paper at the symposium, but he had insisted. The Piccolo Scientific Station, situated on the northern fringe of the Great Barrier Reef, played an integral part in their research, and Alex had wanted Reg, and therefore now Isobella, to be familiar with its operations.
She flicked a page over with more effort than was required, the harsh snapping sound mirroring her irritation. Red passed by, and Isobella asked her for a set of headphones. Alex might have cornered her into coming to Cairns, but it didn’t mean she had to like it or play footsie with him for a week.
Seconds later Red returned, with her eyes-only-for-Alex smile, dropping the headphones in Isobella’s lap. Isobella plugged them in and pushed them into her ears gratefully, leaving the hostess to her flirting. She chose a hard rock station, roaring the sound up to a level way beyond safe.
Alex took the hint, smiling to himself as the hostess departed.Good! Finally Isobella seemed a little het-up. She’d shut her eyes again, and he was left to ponder why her het-up state should matter so much.
Why, contrary to all her don’t-even-think-about-it signals, Isobella Nolan was becoming more intriguing by the minute.
Isobella woke to a gentle shake, and Mick Jagger screaming about not getting any satisfaction in her ear. Alex smiled at her as he indicated lunch was being served and she thought,Get in line, Mick . Suddenly, with his dark, dimpled good-looks filling her vision, all the lonely years seemed magnified. She removed the headphones.
‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to eat or not.’
‘Oh, thank you. I’m starving.’ Her stomach had been tied in so many knots this morning there’d been no way any food could have found room. Alexander Zaphirides was driving her to anorexia! Something even years modelling hadn’t managed.
‘I can’t believe you can power-nap like that,’ Alex murmured as he investigated the contents of the dish below the sealed foil. ‘I need to be completely horizontal.’
Isobella shrugged as she picked up her knife and fork, trying not to picture Alex horizontal. In bed. Possibly naked. ‘Old nursing skill.’
They ate in virtual silence, apart from the odd comment about the gourmet meal. Isobella devoured her food with gusto. It had been quite a few years since she’d eaten airline food, and she appreciated the fact that she no longer had to think about minding the calories or fat content. Not that she’d ever been especially good at that.
‘Are you going to eat your roll?’ Isobella asked as Alex put his cutlery down, wiped his mouth on the linen napkin and placed it on top of the tray.
He shook his head. ‘It’s yours.’
‘Thanks,’ Isobella said, as she whisked it off his plate and slathered butter on it.
Alex raised an eyebrow. A woman who wasn’t afraid to eat. Now, that was a change. He laughed.
Isobella looked at him, her mouth full of his bread roll. ‘What?’ she managed to get out around the contents of her mouth.
He shook his head. ‘My mother would love you.’
Isobella swallowed. What the hell did she say tothat ?
Alex laughed again at her puzzled look. ‘She’s always telling my sisters and my nieces and nephews they don’t eat enough.’
‘You’re an uncle?’ Isobella asked, swallowing the last of the bread.
Alex frowned. ‘Yes. Seven nieces and five nephews. Why? Don’t I look like an uncle?’
Alex oozed single-man-about-town, in yet another expensive suit. Charcoal, with a deep purple shirt worn, as always, open at the necksans tie. He looked rich and successful, and most definitely not uncle material. She couldn’t imagine him kissing babies or changing nappies. ‘Not really.’
‘Well, I am. And a good one at that.’
