An Inescapable Temptation. Scarlet Wilson

      Someone who could, potentially, have died if she hadn’t taken those actions.

      The thought of dealing with a death again horrified her. It didn’t matter that she was a nurse. Her circumstances had changed. Everything had changed.

      Deaths weren’t supposed to happen on cruise ships. Working here was part of her safety net—keeping her away from the aspects of her job she couldn’t deal with any more.

      And now him.

      On top of everything else.

      She leaned back against the wall. There was no two ways about it.

      This ship wasn’t big enough for the two of them.

      CHAPTER THREE

      FRANCESCA’S fingers thumped furiously on the keyboard.

      Hey babe!

      You’ll never believe who I’m working with right now—Gabriel Russo. Yes, the very one. And he’s every bit the conceited billionaire boy that he was six years ago. It took me a few minutes to work out who he was—probably because I had to resuscitate him first—but needless to say, once I’d reminded him I was your flatmate you could cut the atmosphere in here with a knife.

      Cruise ships might look huge in real life but the reality is, when you can’t stand to be around someone, they seem very small.

      Haven’t seen you in a while, so hope you’re doing well.

      In the meantime living in hope he’ll fall overboard,

      Fran xx

      ‘Busy?’

      The voice, cutting through the dark medical centre in the dead of night, made her jump. Couldn’t she get any peace from this man?

      She could barely tolerate being in the same room as him. What’s more, he constantly appeared at her shoulder, checking over what she’d done. And for someone whose confidence was already at rock bottom it was more than a little irritating.

      There were always two crew members on call at night—one for the passengers and one for the crew. One week had passed and this was Gabriel’s first official night on call and Francesca had drawn the short straw of babysitting him.

      She spun around in her chair to face him. He had his black medical bag in his hand. ‘I’m waiting for one of the crew members to meet me,’ she said. ‘She’s complaining of abdominal pain.’

      ‘Need a hand?’

      Francesca bit her tongue to stop her saying the words that were dancing around her head right now. Over my dead body probably wouldn’t go down that well with her boss.

      ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ She pasted a smile on her face and gestured towards his bag. ‘You look busy enough anyway. Lots of passenger callouts?’

      He nodded, rubbing his hand across his eyes. ‘Three in the last hour. All for really ridiculous things. Please tell me this isn’t a normal night.’

      Francesca smiled. If it had been anyone else she would have told him about the ‘cougar list’ currently taped inside one of the cupboard doors in the treatment room.

      The list of well-known passengers—mainly women in their forties and fifties—who developed symptoms requiring a cabin call whenever a new, young doctor came on board. She could bet in the last hour Gabriel had seen a lot of skin and satin negligees.

      Not all the passengers changed every week or every fortnight. A certain select group seemed to spend a large part of their life cruising. It was not unusual to have the same passengers on board for four to six weeks at a time. Sometimes they swapped to another ship for a month and then came back to the Silver Whisper again.

      The ‘cougar list’ had been started by Kevin, one of the nurses, after he’d noticed a sharp rise in callouts whenever a new doctor started. It was really just a warning list to give the person on call the opportunity to decide if they wanted to take the other crew member on duty with them. She would tell him about the list—really, she would—just not yet.

      Francesca was sure that Gabriel could handle a few coy looks. After all, hadn’t he spent his life chasing women, collecting them like trophies and then unceremoniously dumping them? This should be a breeze for him.

      ‘Here, have a look at this.’ She handed him the communiqué she’d been given requesting details about the rescue at Venezia Passegeri. Apparently the media were keen to run a story. ‘They’re a little late but maybe they were short of news.’

      A dark shadow passed over his face as his eyes flew over the page. ‘Absolutely not. No names. I don’t want to talk about last week. Make sure the communications officer understands.’

      She shrugged, a little surprised by his reaction. ‘The cruise line probably wants the publicity,’ she suggested. ‘What’s the problem? You’re used to being in the news.’

      ‘No!’ He looked furious. He crumpled the piece of paper in his hand and threw it deftly into the wastepaper bin. She smirked. Message received, loud and clear.

      Was this man temperamental? Maybe his snappiness after his head injury hadn’t been the result of the accident. His questions to her had been a little blunt. He certainly wasn’t exhibiting all the traits Jill had told her about of the flirtatious, playboy doctor. Gabriel Russo seemed to be a wolf in doctor’s clothing. And the thought intrigued her.

      Katherine had complained bitterly last week that Gabriel wasn’t the best of patients—apparently she’d had to practically pin him to the bed to monitor his neuro obs overnight after his head injury. He’d been furious when Dr Marsh had insisted he be monitored overnight and it had been a relief to them all when he’d been given a clean bill of health the following morning and allowed to take on normal duties.

      His pager sounded again and he sighed, picking up his medical bag and heading for the door. ‘If I’m not back in an hour page me.’ He hesitated for a second, his brown eyes connecting with hers. ‘Please.’

      Francesca couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he was finally catching onto the cougar brigade.

      She turned back to the computer and pulled up the file for the crew member she was about to meet.

      The notes were limited. Elena Portiss, twenty-seven, from Spain, working on board as a bartender, with a declared past medical history of endometriosis.

      She’d phoned ten minutes earlier saying her abdominal pain was worse than usual—bad abdominal pain was not uncommon in a woman with a history of endometriosis.

      There was a noise behind her and Francesca stood up and flicked the switch, lighting up the medical unit.

      ‘Elena?’

      The young woman nodded.

      Francesca was immediately struck by how pale the girl was. Her pale blue eyes were dull and lifeless, her normally tanned skin pallid and slightly waxy.

      ‘Come in here.’ Francesca walked into the nearby room and gestured Elena towards one of the examination trolleys. She worked quickly, checking her temperature, blood pressure and pulse. ‘You have endometriosis?’ Francesca spoke slowly, taking care in case there was any difficulty in language.

      Elena nodded. Francesca noted that her hands were positioned carefully over her stomach, obviously trying to keep her pain in check. ‘It was diagnosed last year after I had very painful periods.’ She lifted her shirt and pointed to a little scar next to her belly button. ‘I had a camera in there.’

      Francesca nodded. If Elena had had a laparoscopy done and the diagnosis confirmed then it was likely that her symptoms were related to her endometriosis.

      ‘Do you normally use painkillers?’ Elena nodded and fumbled in her bag, pulling out a battered box with the name written in Spanish. Francesca took the box, looking at it and writing the name down in