“What about cell phones? I noticed mine kept losing its signal the closer I got to the mountains.”
“There’s a cell tower somewhere around here, but my phone rarely gets a signal either. Last night the signal lasted for almost an hour, and the midwife we have on staff actually got to talk to her grandson for more than five minutes.” She flashed another one of those dry grins. “I swear, we throw a party every time someone sees one bar on their phone display. It’s like frickin’ Halley’s Comet just flew overhead.”
He chuckled, and for a moment, he totally forgot he was supposed to interview her. He was enjoying simply talking to Julia Davenport. It had been so long since he’d had a conversation with someone other than Tate or Nick, about something other than the damn targets painted on their backs.
“Anyway, off-topic again,” she said with a chuckle of her own. “Interview away, Mr. Stone.”
“Sebastian.”
“Sebastian,” she echoed.
“All right, well, why don’t you start by telling me a bit about the setup you folks have going here.”
With a nod, she leaned back in her chair and gave him a quick rundown of the Doctors International organization. She described their goals, the way the organization was structured, the equipment they had on hand. Every now and then, Sebastian interrupted with a question to give credibility to the whole interview thing, but in his head, he was trying to figure out the best way to broach the dying patients in the next room.
“So you do have an MRI,” he cut in, pretending to be fascinated.
She nodded, her dainty fingers toying with the end of her long brown braid, which fell over one shoulder. “We do, but we don’t have an on-site expert to handle the results. The scans are sent to the central lab in Merido, and the diagnoses and results are emailed back to us.”
He asked a few more questions without really caring about the answers, except he found himself incredibly fascinated the more he listened to Julia Davenport talk. She wasn’t like any doctor he’d ever met. She actually spoke English, for one, and not that complicated medical jargon that made people’s heads spin like merry-go-rounds.
And he liked the sound of her voice—it was soft but controlled, husky enough to be sexy but still professional. A rush of heat skated up his spine as his gaze moved to her mouth, those pouty lips that pursed each time she paused to organize her next thought.
Damn, he was getting all sorts of turned on courtesy of Dr. Julia Davenport. He definitely needed to nip this strange attraction in the bud. Now.
“So what you’re saying,” he said with another laugh, “is that you’re overcrowded, understaffed, short on equipment and pretty much doing the best you can by the skin of your teeth.”
Her answering laughter summoned another jolt of heat. “Pretty much,” she confirmed.
He studied the random questions he’d scribbled down in his notebook, pretending to think about his next line of inquiry. “What about the rebels?” he asked. “Are you getting any resistance from the ULF soldiers in the area?”
“Actually, no.”
Sebastian was surprised. It was no secret that the United Liberty Fighters resented the alliance between San Marquez and America. For the past ten years, San Marquez had seen nothing but strife and turmoil thanks to the ULF. What started out as an admirable movement to fight a genuinely oppressive government had transformed into violence, unrest and borderline terrorism.
“I’ve been here for six months and so far the rebels have left us alone,” she went on. “They might not appreciate American interference in their political affairs, but I believe that many of these rebels truly care about the country’s citizens. They won’t achieve anything by causing trouble for the medical workers who are attempting to help the people the ULF claims to be fighting for.”
“That’s a good point.” Readjusting in his unbelievably uncomfortable chair, he carelessly crossed his ankles together. “Let’s shift gears for a moment. Tell me about the inpatient care you offer. Simone said you have several AIDS patients staying here in the clinic...” He feigned ignorance. “And something about malaria?”
Julia nodded. “We do treat a handful of AIDS and HIV patients, but as you probably discovered in your research, this area isn’t heavily afflicted by either one. We tend to see more outbreaks of cholera and malaria.”
“So at the moment you’re dealing with a malaria outbreak?” he asked casually.
To his frustration, she smiled and shook her head. “No. We’re keeping about a dozen or so patients for observation, but only until their blood test results come back. It’s a precaution to test for malaria if the patients exhibit any of the symptoms, but I’m fairly certain none of the folks here have the parasite.”
“But a few patients did recently have it, right?”
“Yes, but those were just isolated incidents and not indicative of a major outbreak.”
“Can you tell me more about the cases? Without revealing names or private details, of course.”
Julia twirled the end of her braid around her finger. “They were all from the same family, which is why I don’t believe we have a malaria problem on our hands. It’s been cooler here in the north, so the mosquitoes haven’t been too brutal. The family in question neglected to take the preventive measures we encourage the locals to employ.”
“Mosquito netting, repellents?” he prompted.
“Exactly.” Her tone became soft, regretful. “They didn’t protect themselves and unfortunately, they didn’t come in for treatment right away either. By the time they did, it was too late.”
The pain in her hazel eyes told Sebastian that she was the kind of doctor who actually gave a damn about her patients. Then again, that shouldn’t surprise him. If she’d gotten into medicine for the money, she would be back in the States, running a cushy practice and counting her pile of cash. Instead, she’d chosen to work for peanuts in isolated, needy areas of South America and Africa.
He found himself curious about that, and had to fight the impulse to ask her why she’d gotten into foreign aid in the first place. But he couldn’t get off-topic, not when they were on the very subject he’d come here to talk about.
“How many dead?” he asked gruffly.
“The mother, all five of the children and the grandparents who were living with the family. The father didn’t get sick.” Another flicker of pain crossed those big eyes. “He’s devastated, to say the least. Lost his entire family in less than a week.”
Something hot and unwelcome squeezed Sebastian’s chest. He knew all about loss, didn’t he? Seemed like he’d been losing people his entire damn life.
But now wasn’t the time to dwell on painful, unwanted memories. He’d come here to figure out if those malaria deaths were connected to the virus Harrison had been testing in Corazón, but it looked like this was nothing but a false alarm.
Unless... Was Julia Davenport in cahoots with the people hunting him? Was she continuing Harrison’s secret project by killing her own patients?
He let the possibility simmer for a moment, then dismissed it. Nah, he seriously doubted that. He prided himself on being a good judge of character, and it had taken only a few minutes in Julia’s company to decide that the woman didn’t have a malicious bone in her body.
“I wish there was more we could do for these people,” she said, a wistful note entering her voice. “But it’s tough. The organization gets most of its funding from private donors, and with the recession, we’re not seeing as many donations as we used to. Less money means fewer supplies, fewer staff to hire, less everything.”
“But it’s better than nothing,” he pointed out. “You’re doing what you can, Doc, which is more than what other people are doing.”
“You’re doing something, too,” she said with a warm smile. “You’re shedding light on the issues, forcing the people back home to open their eyes to the conflicts and inequality and inferior health care others are struggling with.”
An arrow of
guilt pricked his chest, and for a moment he wished he was writing an article, just so he could put another one of those beautiful smiles on Julia’s face.
This was damn perplexing. When it came to women, he didn’t have a type, per se, not unless temporary counted as a type. He didn’t do serious or long-term, and Julia Davenport had serious and long-term written all over her. She was a doctor, for chrissake. Doctors were notoriously serious.
And why was he even thinking about this, anyway? He’d come here to interview the woman, not to sleep with her.
His body, however, clearly hadn’t received the memo. His cock was semihard beneath the zipper of his cargo pants, and his palms tingled with the urge to undo Julia’s braid so his fingers could dive into all those silky brown tresses.
“Sebastian?”
Her amused voice jerked him out of his tasteless thoughts, and he nearly dropped his notebook on the linoleum floor. He made a mad grab for it, only to end up with a paper cut as the notepaper sliced into his thumb.
“Damn,” he mumbled, lifting his thumb to his mouth and swiping his tongue over the line of blood forming there.
Julia’s hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. “Paper cut?”
Something about her teasing voice snapped him into flirt mode again. “Yup. Wanna patch me up?”
She laughed, but he noticed a light flush rising on her cheeks. “Really? A big tough guy like you is worried about a measly little paper cut?”
“Deathly worried.” He slanted his head. “So what do you say, Doc? Will you kiss it and make it better?”
Chapter 2
Julia’s heart actually did a somersault. She’d thought that once you turned thirty, your heart didn’t do silly schoolgirl things like somersaults, but sure enough, it was flipping around in her chest like an excited dolphin.
Of course, how could her heart not turn into a dolphin when the sexiest man she’d ever met was flashing that gorgeous smile at her?
Sebastian Stone was not at all what she’d expected him to be. First of all, he was much more fit than she’d pictured, his long, lean body clad in green cargo pants and a thin gray T-shirt that couldn’t hide the tight six-pack of his abdomen. He wasn’t pretty-boy attractive, but ruggedly handsome, hard lines and angles creating a stark, masculine face that was more Marlboro Man than movie star.
Everything about him teased her senses. His playful gray eyes, the dark blond stubble coating his strong jaw, the woodsy scent of him.
“Cat got your tongue, Doc?”
Jeez, even his voice was sexy. Deep, with a slight rasp to it.
Blinking out of her stupor, Julia glanced at the thumb he’d been holding to his lips. “Sorry, but kissing boo-boos is not part of my job description,” she said, making an attempt to keep her tone dry. “But I should probably clean that up for you.”
He let out a low laugh. “That’s not necessary. It’s just a paper cut.”
She was already heading for the small cabinet next to the door. “We’re in Valero,” she replied. “Even paper cuts get infected, and around these parts, infection can lead to some pretty nasty stuff.”
She appreciated that Sebastian didn’t argue, not even when she rummaged in the cabinet and pulled out a small bottle of antiseptic, a piece of gauze and a bandage.
Heading back to the desk, she hopped up on the edge and gestured at his hand. His dark blond eyebrows quirked for a moment, and then he willingly gave her his hand.
“I know it seems extreme,” she admitted as she poured some antiseptic on the gauze and wiped the thin cut on the pad of Sebastian’s thumb. “But just suck it up and say thank you.”
His eyes twinkled. “Thank you.”
A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Huh, I didn’t think it would be that easy.”
“What?”
“You dropping the macho man protests and just accepting my authority.”
The grin he flashed her made her heart skip a beat. “I know when to pick my battles.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you strike me as the type of woman who likes calling the shots and who gets ornery as hell when she’s challenged.”
“I am,” she confessed with a sheepish laugh.
“Like being in control, huh?”
“Of course.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Who wants to feel out of control?”
A seductive glint lit his gray eyes. “Lots of people like relinquishing control every now and then.” He arched one brow. “Especially in the bedroom...”
Heat scorched her cheeks. God, had he really just said that?
Averting her eyes, Julia swiped the gauze over his thumb one final time before unwrapping the bandage and sticking it on him. In an unnaturally high voice, she squeaked, “All done,” and practically vaulted off the desk like she was competing in the Olympics.
His soft laughter tickled her back, which she kept turned as she shoved the supplies into the cabinet. Her heartbeat was going haywire again, and she had to take a moment to collect herself.
What was up with the sexual awareness rippling over every inch of her skin? And she could swear she felt that same awareness being radiated from him. Which made no sense.
Sebastian Stone was sexy as all get-out, and a man as blatantly sensual as him would never be attracted to someone like her. She didn’t suffer from low self-esteem—she was perfectly content with the way she looked—but she also wasn’t delusional enough to think she was a supermodel or anything. Average features, frizzy hair, small breasts. And after six months of working herself ragged in Valero, she was now officially ten pounds underweight. It was hard to find the time to eat when you worked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
Gorgeous and glamorous she wasn’t. Nor was she overly feminine. She didn’t wear a lick of makeup, kept her hair braided most of the time, and she only donned the professional white coat for patients; the rest of the time, she wore faded jeans, tank tops and beat-up sneakers.
So why was Sebastian looking at her like he wanted to eat her up?
“Sorry, Doc, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
His rueful voice stilled some of the butterflies floating around in her stomach. “You didn’t,” she assured him, finding the courage to meet his eyes.
The second their gazes locked, that hiss of attraction coursed through the air again.
Holy cow. What was going on? She’d never experienced this kind of instant, visceral chemistry with a man before, and though she wasn’t the type of woman who fell into bed with complete strangers, she honestly couldn’t see herself protesting if this man made a move on her.
God, if he marched over and kissed her right now?
She’d probably let him.
Swallowing, she broke eye contact and fiddled with the end of her braid. “Anyway, do you have any more questions? Because, er, I should check on my patients.”
With a knowing smile, Sebastian stood up. He rolled his shoulders for a moment, as if being stuck in that tiny chair had done a number on his back. Hell, it probably had, seeing as the man was built like a linebacker.
“I think we’re all good.” He reached for the tape recorder he’d left on the desk. He clicked it off, then shoved it in his canvas shoulder bag, along with the notebook he’d been scribbling in during the interview.
“So when’s the article coming out?” Julia asked, trying for some casual conversation.
“Not sure yet. I don’t work for a specific publication, remember? So I’ll need to shop the piece around first. I still have your email address, though, so I’ll keep you updated.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”
They slid out the door and fell into step with each other in the corridor. When they passed two of the volunteers on staff, Julia quickly introduced them to Sebastian, noting how both women cranked their flirt meters up a notch or two in his presence. Apparently she wasn’t the only one affected by the waves of magnetism rolling off that big, strong body of his. And he reeked of co
nfidence, walking in a measured gait that was almost a swagger, offering that charming smile to everyone they encountered on the way out of the clinic.
When they finally stepped onto the pillared porch, Julia stifled a sigh of relief. The clinic wasn’t tiny by any means, but Sebastian seemed larger than life, and it had been getting hard to breathe walking side by side with him in that narrow hallway.
She inhaled the humid, late-afternoon air, her gaze sweeping over the dusty courtyard that housed a few rust-covered pickup trucks, the two vans they used for transporting supplies, and the crappy old moped she rode when she visited the more remote settlements to see patients who were too old or sick to travel, or who refused to come into town.
For the past six months, this had been her life. Waking up in the canvas tent she shared with three other female staff members. Treating the patients who came to the clinic and visiting those who couldn’t. Sitting inside the mosquito tent with her colleagues every evening, listening to Simone’s father strum his guitar, or Kevin Carlisle, the British physician, tell dirty jokes.
At the thought of Kevin, a frown marred her lips, reminding her that the Brit still hadn’t returned from his visit to the north. He’d been gone for several days and was due to return sometime this morning, but he’d yet to make an appearance.
“Everything all right?” Sebastian asked, evidently noticing her frown.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” she said absently. “I’m just making a mental note to radio one of our doctors. He was seeing patients in some neighboring villages, and he was supposed to be back by now.”
“Is there reason to worry?”
“Not yet. Kev notoriously loses track of time, so we usually adjust for his tardiness—we take the time he says he’ll be somewhere, add five hours, and if he exceeds that, then we’re allowed to worry.”
Sebastian chuckled. “Sounds like you Doctors International folks are pretty close.”
“We are. It’s bound to happen when you spend every waking hour with the same group of people. We’re like a family now.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” He paused for a beat. “In my line of work, you tend to run into the same journalists and media folks and a sense of camaraderie develops.”