The Australian's Desire. Marion Lennox

was the wrong way to look at it, Georgie decided as she lay back and watched Alistair work. She shouldn’t be doing this, but there seemed little choice.

      The painkillers Alistair had insisted she take were making her woozy. The panic of the last few hours was settling. Crazy or not, this man seemed a calming influence. ‘Leave it to me, I’ll take care of it,’ he’d said. There was something to be said for big men. There was something to be said for men with gorgeous, prematurely silver hair and tanned skin and smiley eyes and …

      And she’d had too many painkillers. Alistair was running through number after number and she needed to concentrate on what he was saying.

      He made no mention of her. Alistair presented himself as Dr Alistair Carmichael, paediatric consultant at the Centre for Rural Medical Services in North Queensland. He obviously saw no need to mention that he wasn’t actually employed here. He obviously saw no need to mention the name Crocodile Creek which, if her father had shot his mouth off about her, would be instantly recognisable to his mates.

      What he said was truly impressive. Almost scary.

      ‘We have urgent medical concerns regarding seven-year-old Max.’

      That was about her, Georgie thought dreamily. Alistair’s medical concern was that not knowing Max’s whereabouts was interfering with her sleep and therefore medically undesirable.

      ‘We understand Max’s father is not in a position to contact us, but any help you could give us in locating his son would be very much appreciated. Any information will be treated in utmost confidence—doctor-patient confidentiality is sacrosanct. But it’s imperative that this child is located. Can I give you my private number? If there’s any information at all, we’d very much appreciate it. If you can see your way to help us or if you could pass a message to his father to ring me …’

      They’ll think he’s carrying cholera or something, she decided as he worked through the list. It sounded scary.

      As long as it worked.

      It wasn’t working immediately. Time after time Alistair was met with negatives. ‘But they’re not absolute negatives,’ Alistair told her. ‘Lots of the numbers I’m ringing are private numbers and a few wives and girlfriends of your stepfather’s mates have been answering. They sound concerned. They seem to know Max and I’ve got them worried. Most of them have written my number down and have promised to get back to me if they hear anything. Hopefully I might have pushed some of them to ask the right questions.’

      It was the best he could do. Georgie lay back and listened, letting the painkillers take effect, letting her fear for Max recede. Everything that could be done was being done. She didn’t have to stir herself. She was almost asleep …

      ‘Megan,’ she said once, rousing, and Alistair touched her hand in reassurance.

      ‘She’s fine. Gina just came to the door and told me. She’s awake and seems more alert already, and that’s with the effect of the anaesthetic not worn off. We think we’ve won. When this list is finished, I’ll check again.’

      Wonderful. Megan would be OK.

      She was so close to sleep.

      The last phone call was made. She should tell Alistair to go. She didn’t need him there. But …

      But she didn’t tell him to go. The sensation of someone picking up her burden of responsibility was so novel that she couldn’t argue.

      He was there. He was … nice?

      She slept.

      He should go. He’d finished the list. He’d done what he’d set out to do. Hopefully he had people asking questions all over the country, trying to find the whereabouts of one small boy.

      Georgie was asleep. There was no point in him sitting beside her bedside any longer.

      But he sat on. Outside was the chaos of the impending wedding. The wind was gathering strength—hell, he was starting to disbelieve the reports that this cyclone was blowing out to sea. How strong did wind have to get before it was categorised a cyclone?

      He glanced out the window at the grey, storm-tossed sea and the palms bending wildly in the wind. This was amazing.

      He glanced back to Georgie’s bed, and he ceased thinking about the wind.

      She was beautiful.

      She was messing with his head.

      She’d messed with his head six months ago, he thought grimly. He’d been happily settled, engaged to Eloise, paying a brief visit to Gina to make sure things were OK in his cousin’s world. He’d met Cal and approved the match. He’d stayed on so he could make a family speech at their engagement party.

      He’d met Georgie.

      He’d actually met her earlier on the day of the party. She’d been sitting on the veranda of the doctors’ house, drinking beer straight from the bottle. He’d talked to her for a moment. She’d sounded aggressive, angry, but also … frightened? It was a weird combination, he’d thought. He hadn’t realised she was a doctor. He’d thought somehow then that she was a woman in some sort of trouble.

      It had been a weird assumption, based on nothing but the defiant glint in those gorgeous eyes. He’d tried to talk to her but she’d been curt and abrasive, shoving off from the veranda, making it very clear that he’d been intruding in her personal space.

      Then that night … she’d turned up to the party in a tiny red cocktail dress that would have done a streetwalker proud. It had clung so tightly that she surely couldn’t have had anything on under it. She’d worn those gorgeous red stilettos, fabulous hoop earrings and nothing else.

      She was so far from what he thought was desirable in a woman that he shouldn’t have even looked. He liked his women controlled. Elegant. Like … well, like Eloise.

      But he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

      Then as the night wore on she approached him. He’d suggested—tentatively if he recalled it right—that they dance. She’d tugged him onto the floor, put her arms around his neck, started moving that gorgeous body in time to the music, close against him …

      Alistair’s world was carefully controlled. He’d learned the hard way what happened when that control was lost. How many times had he heard his father use that dumb line—‘I just couldn’t help myself.’

      Yeah, well, he could help himself, until he held Georgie in his arms, until he smelt the wild musk smell of her perfume, until he felt her hair brush his cheek …

      He picked her up and carried her out of the hall. That, too, was partly at her instigation. ‘Do you want to take me home, big boy?’

      It had been a really dumb line. A total cliché. But it was an invitation he couldn’t resist. She held him tight around the neck and she let her knees buckle so he had no choice but to sweep her up into her arms. And carry her outside …

      It was just as well Gina saw them go. His cousin moved like lightning, furious with him, concerned for her friend, acting like he was some sort of ghastly sexual predator.

      ‘She’s in trouble,’ Gina told him. ‘She’s not acting normally. She’s vulnerable. Leave her alone.’

      It was like a douche of iced water. Waking him up from a trance.

      He left Georgie to her. He walked away, thinking he’d never see her again. But thinking … vulnerable? How the hell did Gina figure that out?

      The next day, halfway through Gina’s tour of the hospital, they walked into the midwifery ward and there she was. Georgie Turner. Obstetrician.

      He’d assumed she held some sort of menial job at the hospital. But an obstetrician. He was stunned.

      She didn’t speak to him. He walked into the ward and she walked out. Once again he felt belittled. Guilty for a sin he hadn’t had a chance to commit.