Mistaken Engagement Page 4

  She shared her terror for Saul with everyone waiting at the SES centre for news of their friends and family members.

  And she cheered and cried with them as the news came through.

  “No fatalities,” the rescue crew reported over the crackling radio. “Repeat. Everyone’s alive.”

  The bad news was broken bones and burns. A helicopter couldn’t land in the middle of the inferno, but the rescue crew and the surviving truck crew were ferrying everyone else out.

  In one of the ironies of nature, the wind swung to the life- and property- saving westerly sea breeze as the rescue expedition limped in. Ambulances met them to carry the most badly injured to hospital. Cars waited to transport those who could walk.

  Saul jumped down from the driver’s seat of the surviving fire truck.

  Grace ran up and hugged him. She was crying too hard to say anything coherent. They stood there for minutes, not saying anything, just holding each other tight. Then she wiped her eyes on his dirty uniform and punched him. “Don’t you ever, ever do that again.”

  “Do what?” He didn’t even pretend to flinch at her blow. His thumb smeared the tears along her cheekbone.

  “Make me think I’d lost you.”

  This time his hug nearly cracked her ribs. He smelled of smoke and sweat and she didn’t care. She didn’t care that she was snuffly with tears. She kissed him as if he was life itself, and he kissed her back.

  An hour later Saul had finished his de-briefing and Grace had handed over to two other first aid officers. The fire wasn’t under control, but thanks to the change in wind direction, it was getting there. Grace had her stepfather’s car keys. Saul took them from her and opened the passenger door.

  She was shy with him. Her red-rimmed eyes avoided looking in his direction.

  He caught her chin. “I love you.” He closed the car door and walked around to the driver’s side.

  Her wide-eyed gaze snagged on him as he got in.

  “I’m sweaty and stinky and I need a shower in the worst way. This isn’t how I ever thought I’d tell a woman I love her. But I do, Grace. I love you.”

  Since she seemed incapable of a response, he started the car, edged out of the crowded parking area and headed for home. Her response could wait because he knew how she felt. She’d admitted it with her desperate hug and tears.

  They reached his house before she said anything, and then her voice was overly calm, almost detached. “You’re ready to settle down. You said so yourself. You want marriage and kids and everything. You think I’m the sensible sort of woman who —”

  He stopped her with a kiss. “No, Grace, I fell in love with you, and then I had to work out what the weird feeling meant.”

  She turned away from him, getting out of the car, then walked with him to the back door.

  He opened it and stooped to unlace his boots. He kicked them off and stepped out of the scorched overalls. His cotton t shirt and shorts clung to him.

  “Does being in love mean being scared and euphoric and not being able to imagine smiling without you?” She watched him with eyes that ate him up.

  “Yes. And it also means wanting to romance you, but knowing that being with you, here, now, in unromantic reality is far more important.”

  Her lovely smile dawned. “It’s real between us, isn’t it?”

  “Real and forever.”

  Grace felt the muscles on his back shift and strain as he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist. “Where are we going? Bed?”

  “Ultimately.” He kissed her deeply. “Shower first.”

  “Mmmhmm.” His mouth did impossible things to her self control. She loved the flavour of him. “Did I say, I love you?”

  “No.” He bit her lower lip. “I thought I’d make you scream it.”

  She shuddered at the sensual threat.

  In the bathroom, he let her slide down his body, then stepped back to strip off his shirt and shorts.

  She fumbled with her own clothes, more concerned with what he was revealing.

  He was already aroused and grinned as he saw her looking. “I want you.”

  Naked, they stepped into the shower. The water pounded down on them, sliding into their kiss and over their skin.

  “Let me just scrub off quickly,” he said.

  The soap slid over him, tracing a pattern she wanted to follow with her hands and mouth.

  He watched her watch him, and tossed the soap away. “Come here.”

  The water ought to have steamed. Everywhere he touched her came to screaming sensitivity. His mouth was torment and promise.

  “Please, please, please.”

  Only his arm held her up as his free hand teased her to orgasm.

  “You’re beautiful.” He slammed shut the water as she panted for breath.

  “Saul!” Her eyes opened in protest.

  “Condom. Bed.” The monosyllables and flush across his cheekbones proclaimed his arousal. He held her hands away from him. “No! Don’t touch me. Otherwise it’ll be over too soon. I want you so much.”

  He carried her into his room and dropped her onto the bed, following her down for a hard kiss before rolling on a condom. A moment later he was inside her.

  Her whole body arched at the ecstasy of the rhythm he set. When they came, together, nothing had ever felt that good. Nothing ever would. “I love you.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled, arrogant, macho, gorgeous — and hers. “I heard your scream.”

  Escape

  About the Author

  Jenny Schwartz is a Western Australian author. Her high school yearbook predicted she’d be a writer — something about always having her nose in a book. When not living up to others’ expectations, she enjoys lazy days in the suburbs and is working on a collection of life-saving recipes, “Simple Meals for Forgetful Cooks”.

  Her website is http://authorjennyschwartz.com/

  ISBN: 978-0-85799-017-4

  Title: Mistaken Engagement

  Copyright © 2012 by Jenny Schwartz

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises (Australia) Limited, Locked Bag 7002, Chatswood D.C. NSW, Australia, 2067.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of Harlequin Enterprises Limited and are used under license to the Publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in Australia, New Zealand, the United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Excerpt from Rescue Heat by Nina Hamilton

  First days on any job were terrible, but in this job, other people’s first days were even worse.

  Dr. Brigid Adair looked out the door of the swaying helicopter to the small sea platform below. The white caps of the waves and the rush of wind against her face said this rescue could turn into a special type of hell. For the patient and the dive master below, hell had obviously already arrived. The patient had gone from having the dive of a lifetime in North Queensland’s usually sparkling waters, to coughing up blood while a helicopter circled overhead.

  The tension in the close confines of the helicopter was running higher than usual and it wasn’t just the uncertain conditions that had everyone on edge. They had a new crewmember onboard. Unfortunately, for Brigid’s peace of mind, she was going to be strapped to him while being lowered on a wire. Their destinatio
n was the wildly rocking sea platform below.

  All rescue teams hated the first week for new team members. The training regime was fierce and no incompetence would ever be allowed into a team as elite as helicopter rescue but, when your life depended on each other, trust was not automatic. A helicopter crew only attended the most serious of medical situations. They worked against the clock and learned to anticipate each other’s actions.

  Brigid did a secondary check on the contents of her medical bag as she waited for the pilot’s confirmation that the rescue was actually going ahead. Dave, their pilot, always had the final say on any rescue attempt. While she was responsible for the life of the patient on the platform below, Dave’s first responsibility was to the lives of everyone on board the helicopter. Today, those lives numbered herself, Chris the aircrew winch operator and Matt, their new rescue paramedic.

  As they waited for Dave’s final call, Brigid looked over to Matt, sitting in the jump seat opposite her. At least his eyes were calm and there were no obvious first-day jitters. In fact, she couldn’t see any emotion whatsoever in those fathomless dark eyes. He was strapping the harness around him, keeping his gaze on the conditions below.

  His demeanour had a constant watchfulness that was the mark of a professional. Awareness was crucial as any change in the weather conditions could endanger their lives and the life of the patient they were here to save.

  Thinking of that patient Brigid couldn’t help the warning that popped out of her mouth. “Once we get on the platform we immediately need to get the oxygen on the patient if his breathing is as compromised as reported.”

  “That’s protocol. So yes, I’ll be able to do it,” he answered.

  From the bite in his tone, her attempt to keep the doubt out of her voice wasn’t entirely successful. Well, he would have to lump it. Out here, no-one’s abilities were taken for granted; no matter how highly decorated a medic they had been in combat.

  The final check came through the intercom.

  “Rescue Doctor ready,” confirmed Brigid.

  “Rescue Crew Member One ready,” said Matt.

  It was still slightly jarring to hear Matt’s American accent, coming through her headphones on the helicopter’s intercom. She couldn’t help but note it was an extremely masculine sound, deep, with just a touch of Texan drawl. The confidence she could hear must be a remnant of his US Army background.

  At six foot two, Matt pushed the height restrictions of the rescue crew and his body, while obviously strong, was sleekly muscled rather than bulky. Brigid was not sure how comfortable she was with the appeal she found in his square jaw and closely cropped dark hair. It was a strict policy of Brigid’s not to date men she worked with. She had grown up watching her surgeon father create hurt and havoc by treating the nurses he worked with as disposable sexual playthings. That experience made her policy non-negotiable. Anyway, as she had to remind herself, she was not into overly confident men.

  “We’re a go,” said pilot Dave, finally. “I’ll drop Brigid and Matt on the corner opposite the patient. That way we won’t hit the guys on the platform with too much updraft.”

  Matt stood against the doorframe and clipped Brigid’s harness onto his own. She stepped out of the door after him and allowed the harness to take her full weight. No matter how many times she did this she couldn’t help feeling that, with the two of them on the winch, they were breaking the laws of physics.

  Chris, the wire operator, slowly released Matt and Brigid down, face to face, with only the heavy medical bag between them. Suspended on the wire, they were totally buffeted by the wind and considerable updraft. This was often the most perilous part of any air rescue operation.

  Not many people had to get this physically intimate with their co-workers. Then again, not many people had to trust their co-workers not to drop them into the sea from a height of twenty metres.

  “Right?” Matt had to put his mouth almost on her ear in order to ask the question. She nodded her agreement.

  Matt’s feet touched down on the platform first and he guided Brigid to stand beside him. At once, she couldn’t help but be grateful for the protection his supple strength offered.

  When Brigid’s feet touched the deck she knew the success of the next part of the mission depended on her. She was now in charge of this rodeo.

  Brigid walked across the unsteady dive platform with unfailing balance. Who would have thought a talent for gymnastics would have become so useful in her practice of medicine?

  She glanced across to Matt. He too was moving without hesitation, carrying all the equipment they were going to need in the next few minutes. The waves crashed onto the platform and the resulting sea mist stung at Brigid’s eyes.

  When they got to the patient and the man standing over him, Brigid was glad the dive master was someone she recognised. Trent was from a reputable, safety conscious local dive company and was well trained enough to have oxygen already on her patient.

  Of immediate concern was that the patient’s scuba suit was still on. It was now twenty-five minutes since the dive boat had called for help. He was still clad in wet rubber, which meant his condition had certainly not improved.

  “What happened?” Brigid asked Trent, as she knelt to get a closer look at the patient. The patient was around fifty and she suspected he normally looked fit when he wasn’t pale, blue-lipped and in obvious pain.

  “Joe was having a normal dive when he started looking panicked and began ascending way too quickly. Once he got to the surface he was gasping for air and soon after he was complaining of chest pains and coughing blood,” said Trent, his voice was matter of fact.

  “Did you see any of his bubbles on the way up?”

  “No,” was Trent’s definitive answer. The grave look on his face reflected Brigid’s fears. A scuba diver who ascends too quickly and doesn’t breathe on the way up encounters a potentially fatal hazard that even the best safety practices can’t protect against.

  Brigid looked over to Matt. He’d already retrieved the spinal board that the crew had lowered and signalled the pilot to put the helicopter into a holding pattern. The movement of the helicopter gave the platform some distance from the sound of the engine’s roar.

  She leaned down to the patient. “Hey Joe,” she said. “We’re going to make you feel better soon, so I want you to relax and try not to talk.”

  “One, two, three.” On Brigid’s call, they rolled Joe onto his side. With difficultly, Brigid managed to get the zipper of Joe’s scuba suit halfway down. However, it was clear that without their patient able to help, they were going to have to cut him out of the suit.

  Matt was even now pulling scissors out of the bag, knowing she would need to access the man’s chest for the most basic of assessments.

  Matt’s ability to judge the actions needed in this situation relieved Brigid. Going by the bluish tinge to Joe’s lips, they needed to get him to the hospital, fast.

  Brigid pulled back the suit as Matt made swift cuts. Within seconds they had Joe’s chest exposed, and the suit cut down to his waist.

  Brigid used her stethoscope to listen to Joe’s chest.

  “Decreased breath sounds on his right hand side,” she recorded to Matt.

  Matt had quickly attached equipment that allowed them to measure both blood pressure and oxygen stats.

  The results were borderline. In a hospital environment, she would probably perform an emergency procedure. Here, out at sea, she was glad that action was not going to be forced upon her.

  On a three-by-three metre, rocking platform that was attached by a chain to the deep seabed she was less than inclined to stick a large bore needle into this man’s chest cavity. Knowing the patient would be able to wait until they reached the sterile and better-equipped environment of a major hospital was a relief. “Probable pneumothorax. It’s a scope and run,” Brigid said to Matt.

  She communicated the same information to the helicopter, via the two-way radio attached to her flight suit. />
  She gestured for Trent to move away as she and Matt strapped their patient tightly to the spinal board stretcher. She discarded the dive boat supplied oxygen mask, and put on the one from her kit. She hoped to push up Joe’s oxygen stats, making him more comfortable for the ride back to the hospital.

  The helicopter moved back into position, this time directly above their heads. The crew dropped the wire, complete with patient transport hooks, to where Matt could easily catch it. They secured the stretcher to the hooks and Matt to the stretcher board. It was his job to be winched with the patient. He needed to make sure the difficult manoeuvre of the stretcher through the helicopter doors came off as smoothly as possible. Matt would then come back down and collect Brigid and the medical equipment.

  As Matt got their patient safely to the chopper, Brigid made sure all the equipment was secure. Medical equipment was far too expensive for them to drop it into the sea. When Matt swung himself back to the platform, she could see the quick and sadly familiar look of surprise that she already had the heavy bags in her arms.

  You didn’t last long in this job if you couldn’t pull your weight. Since her first day as flight doctor, Brigid had very deliberately put five kilos of muscle onto her slim five foot eleven frame. She helped Matt with the backpack and then stood passively as he latched them together again.

  The wind had picked up, so the wire swung as the winch took them skyward. With a casual move that underplayed the sheer physical strength needed, Matt locked his leg around hers and twisted. This action ensured that if they crashed into the side of the helicopter, because of an unfortunate gust of wind, his body would bear the brunt of any impact.

  The action caught Brigid by surprise. For a long moment, she was distracted by a simple appreciation for the hard thigh against her own. Another hard jolt of the dangling wire quickly brought her brain back to life. She was not sure how she felt about this act of almost casual chivalry. While it was Matt’s job to maintain the safety of all crew and patients on down wire operations, it was not his job to put himself between her and danger.