Locked Down With The Army Doc. Scarlet Wilson

main base at Chicago, or on one of many expeditions as part of a team, generally to places with few or poor facilities.

      This five-star hotel in Hawaii was like something out of a dream. She’d even been greeted by the traditional colorful leis on check-in. And, corny or not, she’d liked them. The beach outside had perfect golden sand with sumptuous private loungers and straw parasols complete with serving staff. This part of the main island near Kailua Kona was a perfect piece of paradise.

      Her first-floor room had a gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean, which seemed to change color depending on the time of day. So far today it had gone from clear turquoise blue to light green. Shimmering like a tranquil soft blanket stretching to infinity.

      As the doors pinged and slid open, the noise and the aromas of the food surrounded her. The room was full of people talking, a sea of dark tuxedos with a smattering of colored dresses in the mix. She threaded her way through, keeping her chin raised as she glanced from side to side. She had to know someone here. But the sea of faces didn’t reveal anyone familiar. Amber’s nose twitched. She wanted easy company. A chance to share a few drinks, grab a few snacks and get rid of the butterflies in her stomach for tomorrow.

      She stared at a sign on the wall. Ah...there were two conferences on in the hotel—not just the one she was attending. It seemed that a world of business and economic experts were here too.

      Just before she’d left, the director of the Disease Prevention Agency had called her into his office. She’d only seen the inside of his office walls on two previous occasions. Once, on the day she’d started. And second, on the day she’d received her promotion.

      “Dr. Berkeley,” he said solemnly. “I wanted to wish you well for tomorrow. There’s been a lot of interest in our contribution to the conference. Thank you for presenting the meningitis research for us.”

      Amber gave a nod and a smile. “I’ve loved being part of the meningitis work. I’m honored to present on it.”

      The director nodded. “And you’re confident you can answer any questions?”

      Amber held up the list in her hand. “I’ve spent the last few months eating, breathing and sleeping meningitis. I think I’ve got it covered.”

      The director didn’t even blink. “Oh, I’m not worried for you.” His eyebrows rose as she stood from her chair. “I’m worried for them. Let’s hope they’re ready for you, Dr. Berkeley.”

      She’d smiled as she’d left. It seemed that her take-no-crap attitude was getting a reputation of its own. She wasn’t embarrassed by it. Not at all. She’d never seen the point in beating around the bush. She’d always talked straight, to patients and to colleagues. Medics could be notoriously sexist. And Amber could be notoriously blunt.

      Had it cost her a few jobs? Maybe. Had it earned her a few others? Definitely.

      A guy with a paunch belly and gaping shirt approached her, beer sloshing from his glass. “Hello, gorgeous. Where are you going to?”

      She didn’t miss a beat. “Away from you.” She didn’t even glance at the lanyard round his neck. She had no intention of finding out his name.

      She’d always vowed never to go out with a fellow medic. Life experience had taught her it wasn’t a good idea.

      She glanced around the room again. This was probably her worst-case scenario, wall-to-wall fellow medics, with copious amounts of alcohol flowing.

      A few seconds later she met another charmer who refused to let her step around him. “We must stop meeting like this.” He grinned as his hand closed around her forearm and his eyes ran up and down her body.

      She didn’t hesitate. She flipped his arm up and twisted it around his back, catching him completely by surprise and thrusting him in the other direction as the woman next to her laughed out loud. “Yes, we must,” she said sharply.

      The main bar in the center of the room was currently three people deep. Her chances of getting a drink were slipping further and further away.

      Her eyes homed in on another bar on the far side of the room and through a set of doors. It looked much more sedate. She could have a glass of wine, check out the list of bar snacks then head back to her room and enjoy the view.

      She threaded her way through the rest of the crowd. There were a few people who obviously knew one another sitting around tables. Even from here she could recognize the medic talk.

      Right now she couldn’t stomach that. So she headed directly over to the stools at the bar. There was a broad-shouldered guy already sitting there. He looked as if his whiskey was currently sending him into a trance.

      Perfect. Too drunk to be a pest.

      Or if he wasn’t? She could deal with that.

      She smiled as she sat down, crossed her legs and leaned her head on one hand. He might be tired but he was handsome. Actually, he was more than handsome. He was good-looking with an edge of ruggedness. His dark hair was a little rumpled and his suit jacket had been flung carelessly onto the bar stool next to him. She couldn’t get a look at his eyes as his head was leaning forward toward the glass. But she could see the lean muscle definition beneath his pale blue shirt, the slight tan on his skin and the hint of bristle around his jawline. She smiled and just couldn’t help herself. “Well, aren’t you just the original party pooper?”

      * * *

      Jack Campbell blinked and blinked again. Nope. It had definitely happened. Or maybe he was just hallucinating. He stared into the bottom of his whiskey glass again and clinked the ice.

      The warm spicy aroma emanating from the woman sitting next to him started to surround him, just as she crossed her long legs on the high stool, revealing the daring split in her floor-length black dress.

      Even from here, he’d noticed her the second she’d appeared at the entrance to the ballroom. She was taller than most women, but wasn’t afraid to use her height, combining her black sheath dress with a pair of heels and piling her dark hair with pink tips on top of her head. He’d watched her survey the room, ignore a few admiring glances, give short retorts to two men who dared to try and approach her and, now, she’d just crossed those exceptionally long legs and given him a clear view of them. Her black heels had ornate straps and crisscrossed up her calves.

      At least he thought he’d watched her. Maybe he was dreaming. Truth was, he was so tired the only reason he was still awake was that his body was craving food. Food he seemed to have been waiting an eternity for.

      He gave himself a shake. Maybe he needed another whiskey. The first one was putting him in that strange state between fact and fiction. His stomach rumbled loudly, so he lifted his hand to grab some nuts from a bowl on the bar. Quick as lightning, someone gave his hand a light slap.

      For a second he was momentarily stunned. Then he shook his head and gave a smile of disbelief as he turned in his chair.

      She was staring straight at him with a pair of bright blue eyes. He couldn’t help himself. It was as if the fatigue coupled with a dash of whiskey had reduced all his usual politeness and social norms to a scattering of leaves beneath his feet. “Did you really just hit me? For trying to eat a peanut?”

      She gave a shrug. “Yeah, sorry about that. Force of habit.”

      He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t look too sorry.”

      She pulled a face and waved her hand. “Actually, I’ve just saved you.”

      Now he was amused. “Saved me from what?”

      She shook her head and pushed the bowl away. “Probably some kind of horrible death. Best way to catch some kind of disease.” She shuddered. She actually shuddered. “If I sent those to a lab I could horrify you.”

      He deliberately leaned over her, ignoring her orange-scented perfume, and plucked a nut from the bowl, holding it between his fingers. “One tiny little nut is going to fell me?”

      She