so headily conscious of the lingering scent of cologne that drifted towards her on his body’s warmth. His jaw was inches from her face, and she could see the faint trace of stubble roughening the skin. Her fingers itched to rasp against the slightly coarse texture, to feel the roughness of his jaw graze her skin as he trailed hot, lazy kisses down her throat——
‘Here we are—can you open the door?’
Jet lag! she thought, and wriggled round in his arms to put the key in the lock and turn it.
‘I’m sure I can walk,’ she said belatedly.
‘I’m sure you can, but until I’ve checked your ankle I’ve got a good excuse to hold you!’ he replied with a laugh, setting her down gently on one of the bunks.
‘Take your tights off,’ he told her, and turned away while she self-consciously wriggled out of them and tucked them under her pillow.
‘OK,’ she said, and he turned back and perched on the edge of the bunk, taking her ankle firmly but gently in his hands and rotating it carefully, studying her face as he did so.
She winced, and he nodded and put it down, much to her relief. His hands were cool and firm and very masculine, and she felt suddenly terribly conscious of his presence in her cabin. He was bigger than she had realised, not taller, but more solid, somehow.
He had shed his jacket and was wearing a crisp white shirt and tie, and his shoulders looked broader and very menacing—as menacing, that was, as he could manage to look with that little-boy grin and the wicked twinkle in his eye!
‘You’ll have to take it easy for a day or so—plenty of rest, all right?’
A little imp frolicked in her eyes. ‘I was going to dance till four in the morning, jog round the deck to clear my head, then play deck quoits till lunchtime.’
He smiled, slowly and wickedly. ‘If you don’t promise to be sensible I’ll have to lash you to the bed.’
‘That’ll make it very difficult for you to do as the captain told you and keep me company,’ she said without thinking, and his deep chuckle brought a flush to her cheeks.
‘I don’t know—it sounds as if it has definite possibilities!’ he murmured lazily, and suddenly he seemed menacing in quite another way—a way she found all too appealing.
‘Don’t be unprofessional,’ she said a little huskily. ‘Remember your hypocritic oath, Dr Bradshaw!’
He stood up suddenly, the smile wiped from his face. ‘That’s Hippocratic, and I’m well aware of its ramifications,’ he said harshly, and turned towards the door.
Maggie was astonished. What was wrong with him? ‘Ben?’
‘Take it easy for a day or two, and you’ll be fine. If you need any painkillers or you think it needs support, I’ll be in the medical centre. Goodnight.’
Her whispered ‘goodnight’ bounced off the closed door. What on earth had she said? She was joking. Was the Hippocratic oath in some way involved in the mystery of his past?
With a groan of frustration, she eased herself carefully off the edge of the bunk and prepared for bed, her thoughts full of Ben and his strange and apparently inconsistent behaviour.
What had happened to him?
And what was happening to her? She was in danger of becoming hopelessly involved with him—or she had been, until a thoughtless remark had sent him running for cover. Now she had probably lost her chance—and it was probably just as well.
With a sigh she climbed into bed and fell instantly, dreamlessly asleep.
Maggie woke with a dull ache in her left ankle, and for a while she considered Ben’s advice to take it easy, but with only eight days of the cruise left it seemed too sensible for words.
Throwing back the bedclothes, she swung her legs over the side and stood up. So far so good. Gingerly, she tested her weight on the bad ankle. Uh-uh! Not so smart. She sat down again.
Rats, she thought. I’ll have to take it easy after all.
Hopping carefully, she got herself ready in shorts and T-shirt over her bikini, grabbed a little hold-all with sunscreen, a beach-towel and a good book and set off for the lift at a steady limp.
Emerging on to Malacca Deck, she made her way to the Frangipani Room where she could hear the unmistakable sound of breakfast being served.
The steward asked her her cabin number and escorted her to a table for six with a lovely view out over the water. She was the only person at the table, and was feeling self-conscious when Rhoda appeared at her side.
‘Got any room for me? I have the distinct feeling that the people on my table are going to turn out to be the most crashing bores imaginable—and anyway, I want to ask you all sorts of searching personal questions about that lovely man!’
Maggie laughed. ‘Come and join me—you can have my grandmother’s seat, I’m sure. Actually I was feeling a bit lost.’
Rhoda nodded understandingly. ‘Yes, it was a long time after I was widowed before I felt quite at home in a restaurant on my own. So tell me—how did you get on with him?’
Maggie fiddled with her cutlery. ‘Quite well at first, but I seem to have said something that’s upset him.’
‘He didn’t look upset last night!’
‘No, it was later,’ Maggie explained, and gave Rhoda an edited version.
‘Oh, you poor thing! Darling, how simply rotten for you—is it agony?’
‘Not really,’ Maggie laughed. ‘In fact sitting like this I can hardly feel it. It’s only when I stand or walk—oh, lord, there he is!’
Rhoda swivelled her head and gave Ben the benefit of her ten-megawatt smile as he crossed the room towards them. In normal day-dress of crisp white shorts, short-sleeved open-necked white shirt and white shoes and socks, he looked even better, if possible, than he had in formal evening dress. Rhoda whistled quietly under her breath.
‘Good morning, Doctor,’ she purred as he drew level with them, and Ben gave her a slightly strained smile and pulled out the chair next to Maggie.
‘Good morning,’ he replied, and sat down sideways on the chair, facing Maggie. ‘Hi. How’s the patient today?’
She smiled to ease the tension and tried not to stare. ‘Not too bad. I’m going to take your advice, though.’
‘Good.’
He paused, and Rhoda stood up, her brilliant smile in place. ‘Will you children excuse me? I’ve just seen someone I want a word with—won’t be a mo.’
She flitted across the room, scarf trailing colour-fully, and they watched her go.
Then Maggie turned back to Ben and touched his hand. ‘About last night—I’m sorry I implied you were being unprofessional. It was unforgivable.’
‘You were absolutely
