His Surgeon Under The Southern Lights. Robin Gianna

necessary and how to actually accomplish it wasn’t going to be easy. Did she even have a mirror in here to try to look at it?

      Three loud raps on her door had her turning to stare at the gray metal panel and blink. It also made her realize that one of her earplugs had fallen out, even though she was sure she’d have heard that banging through double sets of the foam things.

      Breathing deeply through her nose again, she tried to compose herself and removed the other plug, too, shakily shoving it into her pocket.

      “Hey! You okay? Let me in.”

      Great. She closed her eyes and slumped back against the cabin wall. She’d bet good money that was her sexy neighbor’s voice. Last thing she wanted was to have him touching her head and making her feel all fluttery, which she had a bad feeling might happen again, considering she’d been thinking of him just moments ago. But of course that was ridiculous. Attractive? Yes. But so were a lot of other men on this ship. And all were men who traveled for their work, and that she didn’t have interest in.

      Jordan opened her mouth to say she was fine, but as the blood trickled on down to her eyebrow, she had to grudgingly face reality. It made a whole lot more sense to let him see what was going on with her head wound than her trying to figure out how to check it herself. In a dark cabin with no mirrors, while the seas threw the boat around like a toy.

      “Okay.” She tried to stand, but realized she felt surprisingly shaky, which wasn’t helped by the pitching of the boat. She ended up crawling to the door, feeling a little foolish as she reached up to unlock the knob, then leaned back against the wall next to it. “Come in.”

      The door crept open only a few inches, which she realized was smart on his part. Easy to accidentally bash someone if you shoved it wide open without first figuring out where they were. She could see him scan the room, then quickly look down, his brows rising and his eyes deep with concern even in the low light of the room.

      “Are you hurt?” He flipped on the light switch, then crouched down next to her, his hand on the doorjamb to keep himself steady as the boat rolled. “I heard a loud thud, then somebody—you—cry out. What happened?”

      “Got thrown from my bunk. Banged up. My head is bleeding, but just a little. Will you take a look and see what’s going on up there?”

      Another violent roll had her sliding sideways several inches on her rear, and his arm shot out to grab hers. “Let’s get you off this floor and onto the lower bunk, since it’s the only thing screwed down to the floor.”

      “No room. I have a bunch of equipment and stuff secured on there.”

      “Now there’s a good idea. Keep the equipment safer on the lower bunk than your body and head.” A disgusted sound left his mouth. “Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

      She leaned her aching head back against the wall, hoping this wasn’t a bad omen to start the trip. Then again, some of the craziest and worst stuff that had happened to her and her parents on their working treks around the world later made for some of the best stories and laughs.

      At the sound of his feet coming up the hall, she turned to see him staggering into the cabin with an armload of bedding while the boat tipped deeply to one side again, and she couldn’t seem to keep from sliding back the other direction. “I’m going to tuck you into this corner over here so you’ll be still while I take a look.”

      “Little Jordan Horner sat in a corner eating her curds and whey,” she muttered.

      “You’re getting your nursery rhymes mixed up. Not to mention that’s a little weird.” He picked her up in his arms like she weighed nothing and gently sat her in the corner, stuffing the bedding on both sides of her hips, instantly making her feel more secure. “You feel nauseated? Confused?”

      “I’m pretty sure I don’t have a concussion,” she said, wincing as she lifted her fingers to touch the tender lump on her head. “And feeling nauseated would be a given, considering the way the ship’s been rolling for the past who knows how many hours.”

      “True.” He shot her that smile that made her feel a little weak in the knees. “I’m Ezekiel Edwards, by the way. Friends call me Zeke.”

      “Jordan Flynn.”

      “I know. Fletcher Station’s doctor.” He nodded. “I’m a marine biologist and climatologist. PhD. Also a trained medic, so you can trust me to take care of your head.”

      “How do you know I’m the station’s doctor?”

      “Saw your name on the roster. And okay, true confessions.” That quick smile again. “Someone on this ship told me the doctor on board was drop-dead gorgeous, and as soon as I saw you in the hall earlier, I knew it had to be you.”

      “Is this your usual chitchat when you meet a woman?” She rolled her eyes, not even close to surprised about that, then regretted it when it made her head hurt worse.

      He chuckled. “It’s just nice to finally meet you.” He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and kneeled in front of her, lifting her chin to look in her eyes.

      “Honestly, I don’t have a concussion.”

      “How do you know? Do you usually recite nursery rhymes just for the hell of it?”

      “Actually, yes. It was something my parents taught me to do when I felt worried about something, or if I was hurt, to distract me.” And right now, she seemed to need a distraction from his chiseled features and sexy lips and the manly way he smelled, way more than from her bruised body and the movement of the boat.

      “Huh. That’s a new one.” He gave her a crooked smile as his thumb moved from her chin and slipped across her cheek before dropping away. “Lean your head down so I can see what’s going on with your injury.”

      His mouth was so close to her face she could feel his warm breath on her skin as his fingers gently moved through her hair. Her heart beat a little faster, and she had a bad feeling it was from his nearness and not her injuries. If she lifted her head back up, her lips would be in the perfect position to come into contact with his and...and...

      Not happening, she reminded herself, scowling at how stupid she was being. She didn’t even know the man. Why was she feeling this serious attraction in the middle of a storm while she had a busted-open head? Maybe she had a concussion, after all. Or brain damage.

      “It’s not too bad,” Zeke said as his fingers touched around the rest of her scalp, obviously looking for more lumps or cuts, his voice a deep rumble against her face. “I have some derma glue, which will fix it right up.”

      “I have some, too. In that blue box on the bed.”

      “Good. I need to get this washed first. Sit tight while I get some stuff.”

      Sitting in the corner with the boat moving side to side made her stomach decide to complain even more. Probably it had something to do with her bruises and bleeding, too, but either way, it was bad. Bad that she felt sick, and bad that it was looking like she just might vomit right in front of the world’s sexiest man.

      Her eyes popped open in horror at the thought. Wildly, she looked around to see if there was something, anything, within reach she could barf into before he got back. Relief filled her chest when she saw a metal trash can sliding a few inches across the floor as the boat rolled again, and she stretched over as far as she could, desperately wiggling her fingers to try to grab the rim. Before she could get her hand on it, Zeke came back into the room and she stared up at him, a full-blown panic starting to fill her chest over the situation.

      “Um... Can you...go away...and...come back in a little bit?”

      That smile she’d already fallen for slowly stretched his mouth until his teeth shone white against his dark skin. “Feeling seasick? In a storm like this, that’s totally normal. Not to mention you’re hurt, which also can make you queasy, as I’m sure you know. Here.”

      He set the stuff he was