Читать книгу Tempted By Her Hot-Shot Doc - Becky Wicks, Becky Wicks - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

THERE WAS SOMETHING about Rio de Janeiro, Madeline decided, that was quite entrancing. The streets were alive with the sound of market stall fruit sellers, and tourists examined cheap patterned sarongs and vibrant paintings of ladies dancing under starry spangled skies. The smell of coconuts and sunscreen permeated the air, and she’d seen more thongs, she mused, in the space of twenty minutes than she’d seen in twenty branches of her favourite high street store back in London.

Madeline had been wandering around in the sunshine for a couple of hours alone, trying to get some last-minute bits and pieces before they were due to catch the plane to Saint Elena at six p.m. The rush of the ocean in her ears as she strolled along the mosaic-riddled promenade, coupled with the whoosh of rollerblades, was like a musical symphony. It was hard to believe that just twenty-four hours ago she’d been climbing out of a black cab in the awful London rain.

Madeline was grateful for this time to herself while Ryan rushed about filming another segment for Medical Extremes.

‘Go enjoy yourself in the sunshine,’ he’d said that morning at breakfast. ‘And don’t forget Sugar Loaf Mountain.’

She wasn’t sure she had the energy for Sugar Loaf. They’d stayed around the table till the early hours last night, discussing the mission they were about to undertake, and perhaps, on reflection, she’d enjoyed a bit too much wine after that incident in the kitchen.

She’d noticed that Ryan had stopped at one glass, and she remembered reading somewhere that Ryan didn’t drink much. Something about never knowing when he might need to help someone. She smiled, remembering the look on his face in the kitchen. He hadn’t realised she was fluent in Portuguese. Then again, how would he have known?

What Ryan had said about her actions being instinctive had been playing on her mind. She’d told herself a million times that her nursing days were over, but he was right. Someone had really needed her and she hadn’t been able to turn those instincts off at all.

‘Mango!’ a fruit seller was calling from her tiny stall.

Madeline shook her head politely. She’d avoided eye contact with Ryan all night after that. She knew without him saying another word that he was planning to demand her nursing skills in the Amazon.

‘Pineapple?’ another fruit seller called out as she turned another corner.

She smiled once again, holding up the plastic bag of fruit skewers she’d bought earlier.

Ryan had escorted her up to her room at around two a.m. By then she’d been almost asleep on her feet. She’d been acutely aware of his hand on her lower back over her dress as they’d left the dining room, and the sound of him clearing his throat in the elevator as he’d pressed himself against the wall opposite her. She’d felt his eyes on her in the mirror.

She’d pondered at the time that he might be trying to stand as far away from her as possible in the enclosed space. She’d been doing exactly the same thing.

‘Try to sleep in if you can in the morning,’ he’d said, stopping with her outside her room. ‘It might be the best sleep you’ll get for a few weeks. The sleeping arrangements won’t be up to this standard in the jungle. But I’m sure you’ve probably figured that out.’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she’d said, trying to sound as if she meant it. ‘Thank you for tonight.’

‘Thank you,’ he’d replied softly.

‘We should pencil in some time for us to talk. I was thinking regular slots, maybe one every day...’

‘Let me see what I can do once we’re out there,’ he’d said, cutting her off quickly. ‘I mean, of course we have to get this memoir written, but things are going to be really hectic for the first few days at least.’

He’d been looking at the doorframe as he’d said that—not once at her.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he’d told her, and with that he’d leaned in and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek.

It had been as soft as a moth landing on a shadow. She’d felt the brush of his stubble on her skin, caught a whiff of his cologne. Then he’d turned on his heel and Madeline had watched his undeniably sculpted butt in his jeans as he’d walked the whole way back down the corridor and turned the corner.

For the first time in months, with questions she wanted to ask this mysterious doctor galloping maddeningly through her thoughts along with jet-lag, Madeline had eventually drifted off to sleep without thinking once about her ex. She was grateful for that at least.

Armed with sunscreen and mosquito repellent, plus a new bright yellow sarong and several colouring books and sets of crayons for the children she’d inevitably meet in the Amazon, Madeline reached the hotel again at four p.m.

She’d just arrived back in her room and was planning on changing, packing and heading down to find the team, when a knock on the door made her jump. She went to open it in bare feet, expecting someone from Housekeeping. Her insides performed an impressive somersault as she came face to face with Ryan.

‘Hi. Everything OK?’ she asked, clutching the doorframe and hoping she didn’t look terrible.

‘We’re still waiting on some of the ultrasound equipment we lost track of yesterday,’ he said.

She ran her eyes quickly over his blue denim shirt. The sleeves were rolled up over his tanned forearms and his practical, multi-pocketed khaki trousers made her smile. It was still a surreal dream, being face to face with this man.

She didn’t miss him looking her up and down in return, in her knee-length, red strapless sundress. She hoped she hadn’t dropped any fruit on it.

‘Some of it’s already halfway here, so unfortunately it means I’ll have to stay another night.’

‘Just you?’

‘It only needs one of us to wait. The rest of the team will leave today and set up camp as planned. I was just wondering if...’

He trailed off for a second, seeming to contemplate his words. She detected the slightest trace of hesitation.

‘I was wondering if you wanted to stay with me? I realise I’ve been a bit...well, aloof about this whole memoir thing, but I do appreciate you have a job to do. Maybe we can get to know each other a bit better over dinner. If you like. Just us this time.’

Just us this time.

Madeline stood up straighter. ‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘I think that would be a good idea—before things get too crazy. Good thinking. I have some questions prepared that will help me get a good head start. I’ll think up some more. What time should I meet you?’

She hoped she was sounding professional in this moment, because even as she spoke she was mentally unpacking her suitcase, looking for the right thing to wear to dinner.

Ryan shifted his weight onto his opposite foot and folded his arms. ‘I was thinking we’d get out of the hotel. I know a restaurant nearby that does great tapas.’

‘My favourite. Huge fan of olives.’

He nodded. ‘Good. Shall we say seven in the lobby?’

‘Seven it is.’

‘Great. Well...’ He paused again, uncrossed his arms and let out a long, almost relieved sigh. ‘I’ll see you then, Maddy.’

She shut the door after him, turning back to her room in a panic. She had precisely three hours to prepare a set of questions that wouldn’t make Ryan Tobias fear talking to her about the details they both knew she needed, and in that little time she had to make herself look worthy enough to be out in a restaurant with the world’s most famous flying doctor.

She rammed her hands through her hair again.

* * *

By the time seven p.m. rolled around Madeline was more or less satisfied that she looked OK. She’d opted for her second-favourite green dress—a casual maxi-dress that plunged at the neck in a V without revealing too much. She’d paired it with a long beaded necklace and left her hair loose around her shoulders. Silver-strapped flat sandals completed the outfit, and a hint of peach lip-gloss made her mouth shimmer in a way she hoped made them look plumper, too.

Gathering her green and silver sequined purse, she put her notebook and pen inside and took one last deep breath before reaching for the door.

Ryan was already waiting for her in the lobby. She felt as if the jet set of the insect world was throwing a party in her stomach as she approached him. She hated being starstruck—if that was what this feeling was. But at least it was taking her mind off her break-up.

‘Green is definitely your colour,’ he said.

His smile reached his eyes and she could tell it was genuine.

‘Thank you.’

Ryan was still wearing his khaki trousers, but had chosen another white button-down shirt that highlighted his broad chest and deep bronze tan. The kind of tan only a travelling man had, she mused in appreciation.

Madeline caught his eyes lingering for a split second on the hint of cleavage she knew she was displaying behind her beads, but instead of feeling self-conscious she realised she was feeling quite empowered.

‘Let’s go,’ Ryan said, patting his flat stomach. ‘I’m famished.’

They walked outside together, through the hotel’s revolving doors and into the balmy night. The breeze picked up her long hair and tousled it about her shoulders as she walked alongside him.

‘Any more news on the supplies arriving?’ she asked.

‘First thing in the morning, so they said. We’ll fly at two p.m.’

They passed a shirtless guitar player on the street—a beaming guy with huge, chunky dreadlocks. Ryan pulled some notes out of his pocket and dropped them into his upturned hat. The guy’s hands stopped moving instantly on the guitar frets and his eyes widened at what was clearly a significant amount of money, but Ryan didn’t stop.

The palm trees swayed rhythmically to their own calypso as they walked along the street. Tourists strolling towards similar reservations were either hand in hand or holding selfie sticks between them, taking photos. She thought back to her friend Emma’s gushing email that morning, posing a million questions and demands of what she wanted Madeline to ask Ryan.

Are you single? seemed to be top of her list.

They were welcomed into the restaurant by a beaming waitress the size of a toothpick, who flicked her long, styled auburn hair over her shoulder as she raked over Ryan with eyes as wide as Bambi’s.

‘I hope this will be OK for you, sir,’ she gushed in a thick Portuguese accent as they were led outside to a table on the terrace. She made a big fuss over arranging Ryan’s napkin on his lap.

‘Fine, thank you,’ he replied, seemingly oblivious to the batting eyelashes an inch from his chest.

Ryan took the wine list. A candle flickered in the middle of the table in a mason jar and Madeline studied his famous face, now bathed in a soft, flattering glow in a way she rarely saw on the television. The surgery lights were always so harsh.

She placed her purse under her feet, careful to keep the strap around her knee. She’d been caught out once by a bag-snatcher in Peru, and these days she was disappointingly quick to suspect passing strangers of crimes they probably had no intention of committing.

All around them people were chatting and laughing amongst themselves and Ryan leaned back in his seat.

‘Drink?’ he asked. ‘You might not get the chance again for a while. They don’t have much in the way of vintage wine in the Amazon. How about a cocktail?’

‘If you’re having one,’ she said. ‘Or maybe just a gin and tonic?’

‘Great idea—make that two, please,’ he told the waitress, handing back the drinks menu.

‘Coming up. I’ll be back to take your food order, Dr Ryan.’

She tottered off on her high heels, and Madeline watched as Ryan took his phone out of his pocket and flipped it to ‘silent’.

‘Is it not weird that everyone knows who you are?’ she asked. ‘We’re in Rio!’

He put his phone back and folded his arms in front of him on the table, unwittingly causing his biceps to bulge in his shirt. ‘It’s less weird than annoying.’

‘I read somewhere that you hardly ever drink,’ she followed up, training her eyes away from his biceps.

‘That’s true. I usually stop at one.’

‘In case somebody needs your help and you need to focus?’

He grinned, thumbing the corner of the menu. ‘Did you read that online?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I don’t really drink because I choose not to. I guess that’s not exciting enough for some people. Anything you don’t eat?’

Madeline liked the way he was talking to her. It was easy, somehow. She wondered what he’d been like before fame...whether he was different now.

She thought about his question. ‘Just coriander. I think you call it cilantro where you’re from.’

He smiled. ‘Can’t stand it either. Tastes like old books.’

‘I think it tastes like metal pipes.’

‘You’ve licked a metal pipe?’

‘Maybe.’

He was laughing now—she could see his shoulders shaking. ‘Well, there’s a way to start the memoir. I don’t like cilantro and I refuse to dine with people who do—especially if they lick metal pipes, too.’

She shook her head, laughing with him. ‘It has bestseller written all over it.’

They ordered a selection of dishes, and as they chatted idly she scribbled a few notes about his childhood, memories of the years he spent in Chicago looking up to his ambitious yet workaholic father.

‘Do you have any siblings?’ she asked.