Greek Doctor, Cinderella Bride. Amy Andrews

nodded, searching for a softening in her steady brown gaze. ‘Did you get the Darwin sample yet?’ he asked.

      ‘This morning,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s already catalogued and entered into the database.’

      The database was extensive, comprising not just skin-scrapings from individual victims but actual tentacular material, and digital photos of the different stages of the dermonecrotic lesions caused by the tentacles of the box jellyfish as they adhered to their victims’ skin.

      ‘Was it a Fleckeri?’

      ‘Yes. Would you like to examine it?’ she asked politely.

      He gave her a slow, measured look, as if he was searching for something, and she nervously lowered her eyes from the intensity of his gaze. Her vision was now level with the open neck of his shirt, and she found her eyes inexplicably drawn again to the fascinating scars.

      ‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Alex said, amused at her stilted formality.

      ‘Of course. No trouble at all.’

      Isobella rose stiffly from her high stool, not lifting her gaze, waiting for him to stand aside so she could pass by him to the fridges where the specimens were stored.

      He took a step back, and she dragged in a calming breath as she retrieved the skin-scraping from earlier. She could feel his gaze on her back, and her fingers trembled as they closed over the specimen container.

      She passed it to him wordlessly, taking great care not to make contact with him as she did so. He smiled his thanks and she returned it with a tight smile of her own relieved when he turned his back on her and set about preparing the slide.

      What the hell was the matter with her? Two hours in the company of Alex Zaphirides and she was in a total dither. She didn’t do dithering. Certainly no one she’d met in the laboratory world had been dither material. Mostly they were science geeks or maths nerds.

      And that was what she liked about it. It was safe. Secluded. Nobody recognised her in here. Nobody asked inane questions or fluttered by half-naked, despairing that they’d run out of lipgloss. Nobody cared what label she was wearing, or whether her shoes matched, or what the light reading was. She was part of something much bigger. Worthwhile.

      She watched him as he parked his very nice pin-striped butt on her high stool, and found herself wondering if he wore boxers or jocks.

       Oh, for crying out loud!

      ‘You’ll need to adjust the magnification,’ she said, for something to say to get her mind out of his trousers. ‘I have it specially adjusted for my glasses.’

      Alex twisted on the stool and looked at her. ‘Thanks. I got it,’ he said.

      Idiot! Of course he would know that. Now he was probably wondering why on earth he’d hired a babbling dunce. She’d worked hard to prove that beauty could also come with brains. Worked hard to suppress the beauty part altogether. For God’s sake, she hadn’t worn make-up in sixteen years! She didn’t want to blow all her hard-earned years of study and work because her seriously hot boss had resuscitated her long-dead libido.

      ‘So, tell me about the case,’ Alex murmured, as he adjusted the magnification and the sample came into focus.

      Alex’s softly burred voice barely reached her from where she stood, and she moved reluctantly closer. She took a steadying breath and reeled off the facts as concisely and scientifically as she could.

      ‘Eight-year-old female. Minimal exposure to the tentacles. Didn’t require the antivenin or even hospitalisation.’

      ‘Have we got parental consent to enter the little girl into the dermonecrosis study?’

      Isobella nodded. ‘Trish, our Northern Territory field officer, has arranged it. She’ll follow up and chronicle the progression of the scarring for us. She’s already e-mailed the first lot of photographs.’

      ‘I’ll take a look at them too, if you don’t mind?’ Alex murmured.

      ‘Sure,’ Isobella agreed faintly as she watched him work.

      She went into more detail, grateful to be concentrating on the facts of the case and ignoring the waft of pure male aroma that emanated from Alex’s body in tantalising waves. Every little movement in the chair, every twist of a dial, drifted more in her direction. He smelled of cut grass and wet earth and wild honey, and she had the strangest urge to bury her face in his neck just to see if his skin tasted as sweet.

      His rumbling voice, occasionally interrupting to clarify a point or ask a question, was like hundreds of invisible fingers undulating seductively against her skin. Like the caress of an anemone swaying in tropical waters. She wanted to stretch. Close her eyes. Sigh. Purr.

      ‘What was the weather like at the time of the envenomation?’

      Alex waited a moment, and then looked up from the specimen when Isobella didn’t reply to his question. Her eyes were shut, the heavy fringe of her lashes behind the glass just as fascinating as the rest of her. They fluttered and then opened, her brown gaze showing its first real emotion as it widened in shock. She opened her mouth to say something and a delicate shade of pink fanned her exquisite cheekbones.

      ‘Why aren’t you coming to dinner tonight with everyone else?’

      Isobella shut her mouth and blinked at the rapid change in topic, her embarrassment at being caught with her guard down completely forgotten. Nematocysts, Chironex Fleckeri, statistical data—these were all things she could have answered questions on, had prepared to be questioned on. She hadn’t been prepared for him to pry into her personal life.

      She raised her hand to her throat, reflexively stroking the material covering her neck, strengthened by its presence. ‘I…I don’t…socialise…outside of work hours.’

      It was true. Anyone present would have confirmed it for Alex. She just wished it didn’t sound so…lame.

      He quirked an eyebrow. She didn’t socialise inside of work hours either. ‘You are unhappy here? You don’t like your colleagues?’

      His gaze bored into hers. How was it possible to have eyes that blue? She lowered her gaze. ‘I’m very happy here. I like them fine,’ she dismissed.

      Alex eyed her thoughtfully. Her discomfort was palpable. ‘You have other plans? A date, maybe?’

      Isobella frowned. ‘Certainly not,’ she said primly. Who did he think she was? Did he think she’d blow off a work function for a man?

      Alex chuckled. She was so affronted he had no doubt she was telling the truth. ‘Well, in that case I’m going to have to insist.’

      Alex’s husky laughter, even over a phoneline from a thousand kilometers away, had always managed to turn her insides to mush. But this close she felt sure she was going to melt into a puddle right at his feet. There was no way she could sit at a table and have dinner with him. In fact she planned to avoid him for the rest of the week.

      ‘Dr Zaphirides—’

      ‘Ms Nolan?’

      Isobella saw the slight lifting at the corner of his mouth and a dimple almost took her breath away. Damn him—she would not let him charm her.

      ‘Alex. I’ve worked for you for two years. I’m here early every morning and I don’t clock off till way past my time. Are you displeased with my work?’

      ‘No.’

      She almost sagged. His earlier criticism had left her with a nagging sense of insecurity. ‘Then I believe the time after I leave the lab is my own. To do with as I wish.’

      Alex bowed. ‘But of course. Tonight, however, I’d like you to have dinner with me.’

      Isobella knew he didn’t meant him personally. But his cerulean eyes had a way of making her think she was the only person in the room. And he was so close,