Tell Me You Love Me

Book 15: Medical Romances

by Gill Sanderson

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance; Medical Romance; Workplace Romance

Synopsis

A heartwarming medical Romance by best-selling author Gill Sanderson. Abbey Fraser was the new doctor in charge of a team of divers working off the Scottish coast. It was fascinating work, at times dangerous. Perhaps more dangerous was her relationship with John Cameron, the Dive Master. She was attracted to the man and knew he was attracted to her. How could there be a future for them? John was a dedicated wanderer. Then came the most horrific coincidence possible. She discovered it was possible that John had been responsible for the underwater death of her husband! There would be more danger in a storm at sea before the two of them managed to sort out their problems.

Release date: June 18, 2015

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 131

Sample

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Someone was invading Abbey’s space!

So far it had all been marvellous. Her old free-diving skills hadn’t deserted her and the water was just the right temperature. Out of sheer exhilaration she had turned a couple of backflips. She had glided through a forest of waving seaweed, the fronds brushing her body. An easy thrust to the surface, lungful of air and down again.

This time she was relaxed, not moving, arms floating by her sides, about twenty feet from the surface. For a few seconds it was pleasant just to hang there in a world with no gravity. She was supported, gently rocked, by the sea. Then, behind her, she felt the unmistakable eddy that suggested that another diver was close by. But she wanted this lonely cove to herself!

Before she could turn to see who was approaching her, an arm was passed around her chest, crushing her breasts, grasping her under her armpit: She was pulled back against someone’s chest, felt the powerful thrust of legs beating against hers, his spare arm pulling down at the water. Someone was dragging her to the surface! And she wasn’t ready to go.

Well, if he was taking her to the surface, without asking her permission, he could do all the work himself. She wasn’t going to kick to help him. She could have felt angry. But. like all divers. she had learned to control her feelings, to make no sudden movements or decisions, to keep calm. It was the only way to survive underwater.

She was certain it was a man. A woman would have at least swum round to the front to establish eye contact. And the power of the kicks suggested that it was a man.

With a splash they broke the surface. Whoever it was now supported her with just one arm, and reached for her mask. It was time to assert herself a little.

Of course, she had guessed what he had been doing. He must have thought she had passed out underwater, had decided to drag her to the surface. That had been good of him, but he should have checked with her first.

She started to kick now, a slow lazy stroke that, with the added area of her fins, was more than enough to keep her head above water. She raised her arm and made the universal diver’s signal that she was OK – her thumb and forefinger forming a circle.

The arm disappeared from her back. And she was facing her would-be rescuer.

It was a man. As she looked at him he pushed his hair out of his eyes, shook his head so that droplets of water scattered about them. It was difficult to decide what a man looked like when he was wet. He was a little older than her – perhaps in his early thirties. His skin was tanned, his eyes were the darkest blue she had ever seen. And his voice shook with controlled anger.

‘Don’t you know that it’s not safe to dive on your own? You could have been killed.’ His voice was harsh.

Abbey would take lessons on diving safety from no one. She suspected she was just as expert as this man.

She snapped, ‘First, I was free-diving, I didn’t have an air cylinder on my back. Second, I’ve ten years’ experience of this; I know what’s safe and what isn’t. Third, I checked with the locals, they assured me that this cove was safe.’

‘You were down far too long!’

‘I know how long I can stay under. I’ve practised, I’m trained. And I didn’t hyperventilate.’

Too many people who were new to diving thought that before swimming underwater they should breathe in and out deeply, try to draw oxygen into the bloodstream. But hyperventilation was dangerous. It could cause people to lose consciousness without realising it.

The man still wasn’t convinced she was safe. ‘And when I came in after you, you were just hanging there. You looked unconscious.’

Well, yes, she had to admit that could be true.

‘Sometimes I like to relax just for a few seconds let the water do what it wants with me. Don’t you do that?’

‘No. A man should never forget that he does not belong under water.’

‘Neither should a woman,’ said Abbey sharply.

Only now did she notice that the man wasn’t dressed for diving – or swimming. She could see the neck of a white polo shirt and, when she ducked her mask underwater, she saw that he was wearing dark jeans. His feet were bare.

‘You thought I was in trouble and you just dived in after me,’ she said. ‘You did pretty well to pull me up from that depth, without fins.’

‘I train a lot.’

‘Well, I might have needed you, so thanks for the thought. I’m sorry your clothes are wet.’‘

‘They’ll dry,’ he said laconically. ‘Are you going to carry on diving alone?’

She would have liked to, for a few minutes more. But it seemed rather ill-mannered after this man had possibly ruined his clothes for her. ‘I guess I’ve had enough,’ she said. ‘Back to shore?’

He rolled over, set off for the pebbly beach at a speed that Abbey found surprising. She was an experienced swimmer herself, she had the great advantage of fins on her feet, but she couldn’t keep up with him. He had said – mockingly of course – that he trained. He’d been telling the truth.

She reached the shore just after him, stood knee deep in the waves to pull off her fins. Then she took off her mask and went to speak to her would-be rescuer.

As she walked up the beach she saw him cross his arms and pull his wet shirt over his head. He twisted the shirt to wring the surplus water out, and Abbey blinked as she saw the ripple of muscles across his chest, shoulders and arms. She was a doctor, she had seen the bodies of many fit men. But this one was the perfect male animal.

She looked more closely. The large, dark blue eyes gave just a touch of softness to his face. Otherwise the high cheekbones, craggy brow and now thin mouth made him seem more menacing than ever.

‘Dr Abbey Fraser?’

Abbey stared at him. ‘Yes. How did you know my name?’

‘I came here to find you.’

Abbey looked around the lonely cove, and couldn’t help feeling a thrill of apprehension.

Not three hours ago she had turned off the main road to Aberdeen and had headed for the sea, for the little Scots port of Dunlort. She had parked on the top of the hill looking down on the port, stepped out of the car and for the first time had smelt the sea air. It had been good.

She felt hot and sticky. It had been a long drive from London but now it all seemed worthwhile. She needed to be out of the City, away from the hospital, free from the noise and the smell and the pressure. She needed a new life, and perhaps this would be the start.

For the past eighteen months she had worked full-time in A and E at the hospital and had also managed to look after her father, watching his slow but inevitable decline. She had been happy to give up any thought of a social life. Now he was dead and, although she had wept bitterly, Abbey had to admit that his death had been a blessing.

And two years ago her husband had died. That had been another story. Now was to be a new start. She needed a life.

She looked at the port below her. There was the harbour and moored to two buoys was a converted trawler – Abbey guessed it was the Hilda Esme. It looked serviceable, seaworthy. That ship was going to be her workplace and often her home for the next six or eight weeks.

It was two days before she was expected to report for duty. She had booked into a hotel and would spend a while looking around the area, perhaps do some walking. Already she felt that this place would be balm to her soul.

Abbey slid back into her car, drove down to Dunlort to start her new life.

Her hotel room was comfortable. She put out her photographs, of her father and her brother and two nieces. Her brother’s family lived in Florida, but they were a close family and were in constant contact. She connected her laptop, no emails since her early leaving this morning. Then she looked out of the window at the gorgeous blue sea, decided that she just had to have a swim.

‘Walk about a mile south along the beach,’ the hotel proprietor told her. ‘There’s a rocky cove there that’s beautiful for diving. If you see a lobster, bring it back.’

‘And it’s quite safe?’

‘Yes, it’s safe. I used to be a fisherman, I know all the waters round here. But you have been diving before?’ He was obviously concerned.

‘I’m trained. I’m going to be the doctor for the divers on the Hilda Esme,’ Abbey said.

The hotel proprietor nodded. ‘That sounds good enough for me.’

She packed her fins and mask, the rest of her kit, even her dry suit. She was there to work but there might be a chance to get below, to have a real dive. Who could tell? She was starting a new life.

Now, apparently, she was starting her new life by having an argument with an angry and menacing man.

‘How do you know my name?’

He seemed to be aware of her apprehension. He smiled, and suddenly he wasn’t menacing. The smile altered him completely. It made her feel that he was her friend and she wanted to be his friend. He spread his damp shirt on a rock so it could dry, and that simple task made him even less frightening.

‘Don McBeth, the man at the hotel who told you about this place, gave me your name. He thought perhaps I might want to talk to you. And I did. I do.’

‘You want to talk to me?’

He moved towards her, offered her his hand. ‘We’re going to work together. You’re Dr Abbey Fraser, the doctor who will be looking after the divers on the Hilda Esme. I’m John Cameron. I’m dive master on the ship.’

That was unexpected. Still, she took his hand.

‘Good to meet you, John.’

His grip on her hand was firm but not painful. She had met too many men who tried to assert their masculinity by squeezing her fingers. This man didn’t need to.

‘I’m sorry if I was a bit ill-mannered earlier,’ he said, ‘and it must have been a shock for you, being grabbed from behind and dragged up to the surface. Being a dive master, I tend to get a bit paranoid about safety.’

‘It’s a good fault,’ she said.

It struck her that she was having an amiable conversation with a half-naked man, and that she was clad only in a bathing suit. True, they were on a beach, but ... 

She walked to where her clothes were piled on a rock, took the towel and threw it to him.

‘You can dry your hair if you want,’ she said.

He shrugged, tossed the towel back. ‘I’ll drip dry,’ he said. ‘Besides, the sun is warm. But you get dressed and then we can walk back to town together.’

There was a convenient rock for her to change behind, so she wriggled out of her costume, back into shorts and shirt. She’d have a shower as soon as she got back to the hotel. For now, she did what she could with her short hair, even thought of putting on a dab of lipstick. Perhaps not. She stuffed her wet things into the bag she had brought.

She came from behind her rock. John had his back to her and was sitting on another rock, looking out to sea. For a quick moment she admired the powerful latissimus dorsi muscles of his back, curving down to a trim waist. She looked at his profile. He was staring at a ship far out to sea, a half-smiling expression on his face that she recognised but couldn’t quite place. Then she reminded herself that she was to be this man’s doctor. She went and sat beside him – but not too close.

‘Have you worked on the Hilda Esme long?’ she asked.

‘No. I’ve been working for the firm for just a week. An agency got me the job.’

‘And you’re a professional dive master?’

He shrugged again. ‘Diver, dive master. Wherever there’s work, I’ll go there. In fact, at times, as well as the diving, I’ll be working directly for you. I trained as a navy paramedic; I’m supposed to give you a hand if you need it.’

‘You’re not working for me, you’re working with me. I’ve worked with navy-trained paramedics before, their training is brilliant.’ She thought for a minute and then said, ‘At the interview for this job I was told that there was a hyperbaric chamber on board and that there was a technician who could maintain it. Don’t tell me that’s you as well?’

He laughed. ‘That’s me. Jack of all trades. I also maintain the compressor that fills the air tanks.’

It was pleasant to sit there in the sun, she thought, having a leisurely professional conversation. There was none of the frantic hurry of her old job, the sense that if things weren’t done at once, they’d never be done. And she sensed she was going to like working with John.

‘I hope you’re not going to give me any grief about this not being a woman’s job,’ she said.

‘No. If you can do it, then I’m happy with a woman doctor. What’s more – and I don’t think there will be – if there’s any trouble from the men, I’ll sort it.’

S. . .