The Doctor & the Runaway Heiress. Marion Lennox

promise I have nothing to worry about?’ He smiled again, and his smile … Wow. A girl could wake up to that smile and think it had been worth treading water for a night or more or more to find it. ‘You need to know you’re at risk of that cod liver oil if you break your promise,’ he warned, and his smile became wicked. Teasing.

      But there was seriousness behind his words. She knew she had to respond.

      ‘I wasn’t trying to do anything silly.’ She tried to sound sure but it came out a whisper.

      ‘Pardon?’

      ‘I was not trying to suicide.’ Her second attempt came out loud. Very loud. The noises outside the cubicle stopped abruptly and she felt like hauling her bedclothes up to her nose and disappearing under them.

      ‘Your mother’s frantic. She’s on her way to Heathrow airport right now,’ Dr Chase told her. ‘With someone called Roger. Their plane’s due to leave in two hours unless I call to stop them.’

      Forget hiding under the bedclothes. She dropped her sheet and stared at him in horror. ‘My mother and Roger?’

      ‘They sound appalled. They know you’re safe, but you’ve terrified them.’

      ‘Excellent.’

      ‘That’s not very—’

      ‘Kind? No, it’s not. My mother still wants me to marry Roger.’

      ‘This sounds complicated,’ he said, sounding like he was beginning to enjoy himself. Then someone murmured something out in the corridor and he glanced at his watch and grimaced. ‘Okay, let’s give you the benefit of the doubt, and let Roger and Mum sweat for a bit. What hurts?’

      ‘Nothing.’

      ‘You know, I’m very sure it does.’

      She thought about it. He watched as she thought about it.

      He saw more than she wanted him to see, she decided. His gaze was calm but intent, giving her all the time in the world to answer but getting answers of his own while he waited. She could see exactly what he was doing, but there was no escaping those calm, intelligent eyes.

      ‘My chest,’ she said at last, reluctantly.

      ‘There’s a bit of water in your lungs. We’ve X-rayed. It’s nice clean ocean water and you’re a healthy young woman. It shouldn’t cause problems but we’re giving you antibiotics in case, and you need to stay propped up on pillows and under observation until it clears. Your breathing’s a bit ragged and it’ll cause a bit of discomfort. We’re starting you on diuretics—something to dry you out a bit. There’ll be no long-term issues as long as you obey instructions.’

      ‘My arms …’

      ‘Harness,’ he said ruefully. ‘We try and pad ’em.’

      ‘We?’

      ‘New South Wales North Coast Flight-Aid.’

      There was an echo—the way he said the name. Some time last night those words had been said—maybe even on the way up into the helicopter.

       ‘New South Wales North Coast Flight-Aid, ma’am, at your service.’

      Same voice. Same man?

      ‘Were you the one who pulled me up?’ she asked, astounded.

      ‘I was,’ he said, modestly. ‘You were wet.’

      ‘Wet?’ She felt … disconcerted to say the least.

      ‘Six years in med school,’ he said proudly. ‘Then four years of emergency medicine training, plus more training courses than you can imagine to get the rescue stuff right. Put it all together and I can definitely state that you were wet.’ He took her wrist as he talked, feeling her pulse. Watching her intently. ‘So, arms and chest are sore. Toes?’

      ‘They’re fine. Though I was a bit worried about them last night,’ she admitted.

      ‘You were very cold.’ He turned his attention to the end of the bed, tugged up the coverlet from the bottom and exposed them. Her toes were painted pink, with silver stars. Her pre-bridal gift from one of her bridesmaids.

      Not the bridesmaid she’d caught with Roger. One of the other five.

      ‘Wiggle ’em,’ Riley said, and she hauled her thoughts back to toes. She’d much rather think of toes than Roger. Or bridesmaids.

      So she wiggled then and she admired them wiggling. Last night she’d decided sharks had taken them, and she hadn’t much cared.

      Today … ‘Boy, am I pleased to see you guys again,’ she confessed.

      ‘And I bet they’re pleased to see you. Don’t take them nighttime swimming again. Ever. Can I hear your chest?’

      ‘Yes, Doctor,’ she said, deciding submission was a good way to go. She pushed herself up on her pillows—or she tried. Her body was amazingly heavy.

      She got about six inches up and Riley was right by her, supporting her, adjusting the pillows behind her.

      He felt …

      Well, that was an inappropriate thing to think. He didn’t feel anything. He was a doctor.

      But, doctor or not, he was very male, and very close. And still gorgeous. He was … mid-thirties? Hard to be sure. He was a bit weathered. He hadn’t spent his life behind a desk.

      He wouldn’t have, she decided, if he was a rescue doctor.

      If it wasn’t for this man she’d be very, very dead.

      What do you say to a man who saved your life?

      ‘I need to thank you,’ she said in a small voice, but he finished what he had to do before he replied.

      ‘Cough,’ he ordered.

      She coughed.

      ‘And again? Good,’ he said at last, and she repeated her thank you.

      ‘My pleasure,’ he said, and she expected him to head for the door but instead he went back to his first position. Perched on the backward chair. Seemingly ready to chat.

      ‘Aren’t you needed somewhere else?’ she asked, starting to feel uneasy.

      ‘I’m always needed,’ he said, with a mock modesty that had her wanting to smile. ‘Dr Indispensable.’

      ‘So you save maidens all night and save everyone else during the day.’

      ‘I’m not normally a duty doctor but we’re having staffing issues. Plus I haven’t finished saving this maiden yet. You want to tell me why Roger and Mum told us you were suiciding?’

      ‘I wasn’t.’

      ‘I get the feeling you weren’t. Or at least that you changed your mind.’

      ‘I got caught in an undertow,’ she snapped, and then winced. She sagged back onto her pillows, feeling heavy and tired and very, very stupid. ‘I’m sorry. I accept it looks like suicide, but I just went for a swim.’

      ‘After dark, on an unpatrolled beach.’

      ‘It wasn’t completely dark. I’d been in a plane for twenty-four hours. The sea looked gorgeous, even if it was dusk. There were people everywhere, having picnics, playing cricket, splashing around in the shallows. It was lovely. I’m a strong swimmer and I swam and swam. It felt great, and I guess I let my thoughts drift. Then I realised the current had changed and I couldn’t get back.’

      ‘You must be a strong swimmer,’ he said, ‘to stay afloat for eight hours.’

      ‘Is that how long I was there?’

      ‘At least. We pulled you up at four-thirty. The sea wasn’t exactly calm. I figure you must badly want to live.’

      ‘I