Greek Doctor, Cinderella Bride. Amy Andrews

man who judges you for the marks on your body isn’t worthy of oxygen.’

      Isobella knew what her sister was saying was right. She’d heard Carla and her parents say it a thousand times. She did have a skewed sense of beauty. She knew that. The international fashion scene was as catty as it was cut throat. It was hard to overcome how much it had screwed with her head.

      ‘I know, I know.’ She sighed. ‘I just wish…I wish it had never happened.’ Another tear squeezed out from beneath her lids and she wiped it away. It had been years since she’d uttered those words. Damn Alexander Zaphirides!

      ‘Me and you both, babe.’ Carla raised herself up on her elbow. ‘Not least of all because those first few weeks you spent in Intensive Care were so harrowing there wasn’t a day that went by when we didn’t think you were going to die. But here you are. Alive. Don’t let it keep robbing you of your life.’

      Yes, Carla was right. She was right. But even though she’d already decided to give up modeling, the whole reverse fairy-tale—the swan turning into the ugly duckling—had been a huge psychological blow. Her self-esteem had taken an even bigger hit than her body. Her physical scars had reduced slightly over time, but she still grappled with her mental ones every day.

      ‘Now up!’ Carla ordered, grabbing Isobella’s arm. ‘Let’s find you something to wear.’

      Isobella followed reluctantly, and stood passively while Carla hunted through her cupboard.

      ‘Aha! This. You bought it and never wore it. It’s perfect.’

      Isobella looked at the dress Carla was brandishing. It was one of many things she’d bought over the years since the accident, despite knowing she’d never wear it. Mainly because she didn’t socialize, but also because it revealed more than it concealed. But the female inside her had been unable to resist. The Fleckeri’s brand might have robbed her of her confidence, but it hadn’t taken away her love for shopping or beautiful clothes.

      It was the colour of a deep merlot, and was made from a fabric that clung in all the right places. Isobella shrank from it. ‘No. It’s too… It’ll show my trachey scar… I can’t possibly…’

      ‘It’s perfect,’ Carla bossed.

      The feminine side of her wanted to reach out and touch the very sexy dress, but Isobella knew if she touched it she’d be a goner. ‘It’s all wrong.’

      ‘Why did you buy it, then?’ Carla demanded.

      Because it was beautiful. ‘It’s not the image I’m trying to project,’ she said primly.

      ‘McHusky is here for a few days, and then you won’t see him again. Don’t you want to at least make him drool a little?’ Carla held up her thumb and index finger with a whisker of space separating them. ‘It’s one night, babe. Just one. Don’t you want to feel like a woman instead of a nerdy, four-eyed lab geek?’

      ‘Hey,’ Isobella protested at her sister’s blunt assessment. But she could hardly refute it. A ‘four-eyed lab geek’ was the image she’d meticulously presented to the world. ‘I do not want to attract Alex.’

      Carla shrugged. ‘So do it for yourself. You just said you wished it had never happened. Put on the dress and pretend for one night that it didn’t. Be Izzy again.’

      Carla held out the dress, and Isobella felt herself reach for it against all her better judgments.

      Alex wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from Isobella tonight. In fact he wouldn’t have been surprised had she not shown at all. But secretly he’d hoped that maybe they’d all get to see a little more of the person beneath the coat and the glasses.

      Unfortunately not.

      He spotted her the second she walked in. She was late, and he’d been eyeing the doorway while making polite conversation with Roland about the project. She paused at the ‘Wait here to be seated’ sign, searching for their table.

      She was wearing horrible baggy trousers and a shapeless shirt that flared down from a mandarin collar in an A-line and left everything to the imagination.

      She looked around, her eyes darting from table to table. She seemed nervous, one hand clutching at her bag the other pushing her god-awful glasses back up her nose. Her left foot tapped, and she flinched as a man at a table near the door let out a booming laugh.

      She was obviously uncomfortable as her gaze continued to flit around the room, and he started to wonder whether Isobella suffered from agoraphobia. She had seemed perfectly at home in the lab, albeit completely alarmed at his suggestion that she come out tonight. But here she looked completely out of place.

      She finally spotted them, and he noticed her hesitation before she squared her shoulders and moved towards them. One thing was certain—Isobella Nolan did not want to be here.

      Without the camouflage of the white coat he could see her legs were long and slender as she strode to the table but the second she stopped the layers of trouser material swallowed their shape.

      Isobella was conscious of her colleagues all watching her as Alex stood and greeted her. His husky rumble rendered her powerless to move. Her nipples hardened as if he had reached out and trailed his fingers across her breasts.

      ‘Sorry I’m late.’ She addressed the table. ‘I was…’ mentally hyperventilating ‘…my sister held me up.’

      ‘You’re here now.’ Alex nodded. ‘We saved a seat for you.’

      Isobella was pleased to see her legs were still obeying impulses from her brain, even if the rest of her body was not. The empty seat was directly opposite Alex, and she cursed Carla for delaying her departure.

      She stroked her throat reflexively as she settled in her chair, reassured by the presence of the high collar. She nervously adjusted her glasses, pleased she had changed out of the dress after Carla had retired to her bed. The dress had looked amazing, and had felt so feminine against her skin, with its clingy fabric and plunging neckline. But she lacked the confidence to wear it. She would have felt exceedingly self-conscious in it, and she was already way out of her depth.

      Luckily the same couldn’t be said for her underwear. Lingerie was a major weakness of hers—always had been— and the feeling of soft satin and the rub of lace was one she freely indulged. Something had to compensate for the blandness of her lab wardrobe and the fact that no one at the table tonight knew the silken wisps that lay beneath her baggy clothes made the wearing of them bearable.

      Conversation resumed at the table, and Isobella feigned interest. Reg was beside her, talking about the presentation, and she nodded and replied and made some suggestions on automatic pilot, while at the same time taking absolutely none of the discussion in.

      She was aware of Alex’s too frequent gaze on her. It felt heavy against her skin, and she wanted to look him straight in the eye and tell him to stop. What did he want from her? She was here, wasn’t she?

      His presence was just too disturbing by far. Every husky word and gravelly chuckle coming from his perfectly sculptured mouth vibrated the air currents around her, causing a feather-light friction all over her body that was as erotic as it was distracting. He was hitting a big ten on her McHusky scale, which only ramped up her nervousness several more notches.

      It didn’t help that he looked amazing tonight. He was wearing a shirt the exact shade of his cerulean blue eyes, which somehow managed to magnify his utter maleness tenfold. He hadn’t shaved before coming out, and the light growth of stubble at his jaw drew her gaze like a helplessly addicted moth craved light.

      When he laughed his face creased into irresistible dimples, and the skin around his eyes crinkled into little lines that she just wanted to reach out and touch. Smooth. Kiss.

      And then there were the scars on his neck, fully displayed again. As Reg talked about Cairns she found herself thinking that if he only wore his shirt buttoned up, and a tie, they’d be completely