Читать книгу The Playboy Firefighter's Proposal - Emily Forbes, Emily Forbes - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

SARAH stood to one side of the stage as the master of ceremonies gave his introductory spiel. Straightening her dress, she wished again she’d worn her fail-safe LBD instead of this uncharacteristic purchase. But somehow, when she’d gone shopping for shoes with her sister, she’d ended up buying the very bright ruby-red dress she was now wearing. Not for her sister’s wedding, not for anything in particular and not even with this evening in mind.

Tori had convinced her to buy it. The task had been easy once Sarah had started to imagine what Ned would think if he ever saw her in this dress. A ridiculous reason and now she was paying the price.

Shot through with gold, the red silk shone in the lights, placing it in a different league to the sedate dresses she usually wore on such nights. From the audience’s perspective she looked demure; the dress had long sleeves and a high, rounded neckline, but it was virtually backless and she was now feeling exposed. She had no problem being in the spotlight for her work or for her public speaking skills—it was what she did all day, every day and it came as naturally as breathing after all these years. But in this dress she suddenly felt like she would be stepping onto the stage as a woman with desires and sensuality, a woman who just happened to be a doctor, as opposed to a respected professional who just happened to be a woman.

It was only as a woman that she ever felt vulnerable.

She was the second of three speakers at the gala dinner for National Organ Donor Awareness Week. Representatives from two families were speaking. A donor family had preceded her and a recipient family was to follow. Her speech was from a medical perspective and she was intent on keeping any personal twist out of it. She had different speeches depending on the basis on which she’d been invited. Tonight she was here as a doctor, not as someone with a personal story.

She was here to deliver the facts and her speech was being videotaped and snippets would be shown on TV news programmes for the rest of the week. A less than perfect delivery was not an option.

With the MC’s introduction over, Sarah stepped up to the microphone, checking the autocue was showing her speech and not somebody else’s. She knew her speech by heart but wanted the autocue to hand, just in case.

She scanned the room, picking out a few spots in the crowd where she could focus her attention. The au dience was attentive, watching her with anticipation. It was a group of the converted faithful after all, here because they were interested. There were some high-profile sports stars and media personalities in the audience who’d given their time and presence to promote awareness of the need for organ donations. Silently clearing her throat, she took a deep breath, found a few friendly faces and began, finding her natural rhythm as she progressed through her speech.

‘This year alone there are over 1700 people waiting for donated organs. Without transplants, these people will continue to live restricted lives, lives ruled by medical appointments, medications and machines. That’s assuming they are able to stay alive, because the harsh reality is, without organ donation, a number of these people won’t make it at all. Every day is critical.

‘There are over five million registered donors in Australia, almost a quarter of our population, but our current donor rate is point-zero-zero-one per cent.’ She paused to let the figures register. ‘So only one out of every one hundred thousand Australians actually becomes an organ donor. We have one of the lowest donor rates in the Western world.

‘I know you are here tonight either because organ donation has affected you personally or because it is a cause you believe in. But our message this year is, please, do more than believe, make sure you register as a donor. And, please, encourage your family members to register too, talk about it together. If you can’t bring yourself to register, discuss your feelings with your family so they are aware of your wishes.’

She went on to talk about a few specific, anonymous cases and saw plenty of people, men and women, with tears in their eyes. She’d managed to move them with her words and now hopefully, if they weren’t donors already, they’d seriously consider registering.

‘Confronting your own mortality is not easy and most of us do anything to avoid it. But we never know what is waiting for us around the corner. Take a moment now to look at the people around you.’ Again, she waited while the room buzzed briefly, wondering where she was going.

‘In a moment, in the not-too-distant future, one of you could find yourself depending for your very life on the incredible and brave gift of a perfect stranger. Or it might be your child’s life that hangs in the balance as you watch the clock ticking inexorably on, praying and hoping against time for a miracle. The reverse side of that is that every one of you also has the power, through registering yourself as an organ donor, to be the maker of miracles.

‘In this room tonight I know there are a number of people who wouldn’t be alive if not for a successful transplant. You might well be sitting next to someone whose life has been saved in this way.’ The room was perfectly still and quiet, but people were flicking glances about them, wondering if they were, in fact, sitting next to a transplant recipient. She knew she was bordering on being sensationalist, but getting the audience to commit emotionally to her topic was the very best guarantee they would change their behaviour once they left here tonight. She leant towards the microphone a touch. ‘Those people are most likely only with us now because of the gift of a perfect stranger. Because of that gift, they have a whole life to live. And each time this happens, that gift gives entire families their lives back to them whole, too.’

Wrapping up her speech with an entreaty to take the information that had been placed on their tables and take action to register, Sarah left the stage to resounding applause, wishing her sister Tori was with her tonight. Sometimes they came together, sometimes Tori spoke instead of Sarah, sometimes they both did, but Tori was better at delivering the personal story and Sarah the medical perspective. Either way, it was always nice to have a familiar face to share the adrenalin rush of public speaking with afterwards.

Hovering out of sight at the side of the stage, Sarah stood in the shadows to watch the next speaker, not yet ready to slip back to her seat.

As her heart rate settled she became aware she was under scrutiny. Shrugging off the idea as nothing more than some guy ogling her because of her skin-tight red dress, she stayed focused on the speaker, choosing to ignore the sensation and hoping they’d grow tired of the view. But when the speaker had finished Sarah could still feel someone’s eyes on her.

She turned. The ‘gentleman’ in question was seated at a nearby table and, judging by the stains on his teeth, it looked as though he had a few too many glasses of red wine under his belt. Sarah watched, horrified, as their gazes met and the man lurched from his chair and began to weave a path towards her.

Once he reached her she’d be trapped between the stage stairs and the back wall and, while she was well able to get rid of unwanted attention, she’d really rather not have to deal with it. He was intruding on her high, the high she got from delivering a good speech, the high she got when she was reminded that, thanks to organ donation, her family was intact.

Could she dash up the steps and across the stage? It only took a glance to see that wasn’t an option—the band was returning to their instruments and she’d be in their way.

She swept her gaze back across the tables.

And then she saw him.

Leaning against the bar at the side of the room, impeccable in a perfectly tailored dark suit, was Ned.

Correction. Leaning against the bar, looking immaculate and watching her with an appreciative look in his green eyes. Was that a sparkle of amusement as well as he watched her predicament?

She sent a half-smile his way before checking on the lecherous diner’s progress—how much time did she have left to escape? Her chances of avoiding him were increasing as more people were moving about, heading for the dance floor. Perhaps she’d be able to melt into the crowd. Perhaps she’d be able to reappear by Ned’s side.

Mr Lecherous had been waylaid but he was still looking her way.

She glanced back at Ned.

He was gone.

Enough was enough.

He’d watched her being targeted by the old drunk guy. OK, not that old, and maybe not even that drunk, but definitely undesirable. Initially he’d found it interesting, curious to see how Sarah would handle it. She wasn’t in any danger and he didn’t imagine she’d lack the confidence to tell the bloke to take a hike. In fact, he was looking forward to witnessing that. He’d derive great satisfaction from watching another guy crash and burn before he tested his own style of charm on her.

But now she’d seen him.

She’d seen him and smiled.

Now he didn’t want to sit back and wait. He wanted to get what he’d come for, and that was her.

He wanted to get to know her better.

He wanted to see what she was like away from work.

And if his luck was in, he wanted to see if she tasted as good as she looked in that red dress.

A dress like that should be illegal. A dress like that was just asking to be taken off. By him.

He made short work of the distance between them. Then he was by her side, a second before the competition arrived at a stumble. Satisfaction swelled through him when Sarah didn’t even appear to notice his competitor’s unsteady arrival. As soon as she saw Ned, her face lit up with a smile that was all for him.

And when he held out his hand, she didn’t hesitate before stepping into the circle of his arm. She was tucked against him as she asked, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘You wanted to know what was under this fireman’s uniform.’ He bent his head to speak softly in her ear, and was rewarded as a small sigh escaped her full lips, painted to match her dress. ‘I thought it best to show you.’

She looked down the length of him, slowly, almost like a caress, and the movement caused an involuntary clenching in his groin before she brought her gaze back to meet his. ‘A tuxedo?’ There was amusement in her eyes but there was also appreciation. It was appreciation that he returned in full.