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
