ENTERING THE ARRIVAL hall of Fiji’s Nadi Airport, Della Wilton sighed happily. Despite coming for a working holiday, the minute she’d stepped from the plane’s metal staircase onto the sun-baked tarmac, her problems had dissolved, one by one.
Della hefted her overstuffed suitcase onto the airport luggage trolley, stubbing her toe in the process. She winced in pain, but not even a fractured digit could dispel her buoyant mood. Two whole weeks of sun, seminars and pro bono surgery at Pacific Health Hospital on Fiji’s main island, Viti Levu. Just the boost she needed after the stagnation of the past three and a half years since her divorce.
With her cases secured, Della sought out the exit, already dreaming of snorkelling the coral reefs of the clear, pristine waters and lounging in a hammock strung between two coconut palms. She knew from previous family holidays and, more recently, her ill-fated honeymoon marking the start of her three-year marriage that there was a taxi rank outside. But she’d barely taken two steps in that direction when her laden trolley jammed to a halt, the wheels locking. Della grunted, momentarily winded from her midsection colliding with the handle bar. Trust her to choose the duff trolley. She reversed, hoping to free the sticky wheels, to no avail.
Another jerking halt sent her carry-on case tumbling to the floor with a loud clatter. Della bent to retrieve it. The back of her neck was already clammy from the heat and humidity and the battle with her luggage. Frazzled, she straightened. Came face-to-face with the last person in the world she expected to see in Fiji: Harvey Ward.
‘Della...’ he drawled, an amused smile tugging at his sexy mouth. He eyed her big case suspiciously, as if it was full of sex toys, chocolate and tequila—the sad single woman’s survival kit. ‘Hasn’t anyone ever explained the principle of travelling light?’
Before Della could articulate a single stunned word in reply, Harvey swooped in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Della gaped, disorientated, speechless and instantly and inconveniently turned on by the foreign contact, which zapped her nerve endings as if she’d been pleasantly electrocuted. He’d never done that before. Their usual form of greeting was a reluctant nod of acknowledgement or a terse hello.
‘What on Earth are you doing here?’ she snapped, abandoning the polite indifference she usually produced when addressing this man—not quite a friend, although they’d known each other for years. Not a full-blown enemy, although, as the more experienced trauma surgeon, he had stolen Della’s dream job in Melbourne. And definitely not a lover; apart from that one reckless night after the granting of her divorce order three years ago, when, feeling rejected and embarrassed, she’d drunk too much rosé and had temporarily lost her mind.
On cue, Della’s body helpfully recalled every detail of how it felt to be naked in his strong arms. They’d had sex one time, and she still couldn’t forget.
‘It’s good to see you, too.’ Harvey laughed with infuriating composure, by-passing Della to select a new trolley, one that appeared to have perfectly behaved wheels.
Hateful man was good at everything. How dare he look so cool, relaxed, and indecently arousing in his casual linen shorts and polo shirt which showed off his light tan and lean, athletic build, when Della felt decidedly in need of another shower, preferably a cold one.
‘I’m here to pick you up,’ he stated simply.
Della pushed her damp, frizzy hair back from her flustered face, her skin crawling with head-to-toe prickly heat. ‘Oh, well, that explains everything,’ she muttered, her stomach taking a disappointed dive. The last person she wanted to bump into on her holiday was her professional rival and personal nemesis, Harvey. Especially when he’d obviously come all the way from Australia to goad her and point out her failings, as usual.
‘I heard that,’ he said with an amused shrug, effortlessly transferring her suitcases from her wonky trolley to his better one. ‘What...? Not pleased to see me?’
At his flippancy, Della pressed her lips together stubbornly. That was another thing that got under her skin—just like her older brother, Brody, Harvey’s best friend, the man had a competitive streak a mile wide. Probably why Harvey was so at home with her family, an overachieving clan of medics. Della’s parents were GPs and Brody one of Australia’s top renal surgeons. As the youngest sibling, Della had grown up scared that she’d never quite make the grade, a feeling that only intensified when self-assured, arrogant Harvey had been welcomed into the family as an honorary Wilton.
With both suitcases now perfectly balanced on the replacement trolley, Harvey shot Della a triumphant smile, commandeered the handle bar and began to stroll towards the exit, as if assured that she’d follow.
‘So you’re still bearing a grudge, I see,’ he said, glancing over his broad shoulder, his stare brimming with the hint of challenge that never failed to raise Della’s hackles.
Ever since Brody had first introduced them to Harvey—Della had been eighteen and about to leave for medical school—there’d been something about the newly qualified doctor, a hunger in his eyes, that had left Della mildly threatened. It was as if Harvey knew some big secret she was too stupid to see. She’d fancied him, of course, despite being in a relationship with her engineering student boyfriend. Harvey was a good-looking man. Even then, at twenty-three, before he’d become a surgeon, he’d possessed that air of supreme confidence. But only minutes into their first conversation, it had become glaringly obvious that they would never get along. Their mutual contempt had been instantaneous, their first impressions of each other terrible.
Brody had regaled Della with the tale of some poor woman Harvey had slept with the night before but wasn’t going to call again. Harvey had merely shrugged, saying, “I told her it was nothing serious”. Meanwhile, Della had been upset to leave her boyfriend and do long-distance, and Harvey had joined in with Brody’s teasing, throwing out an insensitive “it probably won’t last”. Still dreamily in love at the time, Della had taken instant umbrage to Harvey’s dismissive attitude to relationships. He’d acted as if the pursuit of love and commitment was beneath him and only for fools.
‘I am not bearing a grudge,’ Della said, hurrying after him, although at six-two he towered over her five-foot-six, his long stride giving him an unfair advantage. ‘But I should point out that you did actually steal my job.’
She hated the bitter whine to her voice. Of course she was bearing a grudge. Technically, the position of head of trauma surgery at Melbourne Medical Centre wasn’t her job. Technically, Harvey had just as much right to it as Della. But having already moved from her native Melbourne to Sydney for her ex-husband a couple of years earlier, and after the humiliation of her divorce, she’d desperately needed the professional win to boost her confidence. To lose a position to Harvey, of all people, especially after she’d slept with him, had been a bitter pill to swallow, leading Della to flee across the ditch to New Zealand for a consultant position in order to get away from Sydney and Ethan.
‘Is it my fault that they wanted the best surgeon for the job?’ he said with a wink. He passed through the automatic exit doors, where a blast of conditioned air bathed Della in his sexy masculine scent.
His casual comment nudged awake her highly evolved competitive streak. ‘No, but it is your fault that you’re an arrogant control freak.’ She didn’t notice he’d come to a halt until she’d collided with him, her breasts brushing his arm. She looked up, her face and her body on fire. He was too close and too tall and too... Harvey.
She stepped back, ignoring the playfulness in his dark eyes, because all she could see was the intense way he’d looked at her that night when he’d made her sob out his name.
‘Come on, Della,’ he cajoled, flashing that dazzlingly confident smile as if already certain of his powers to charm, ‘it’s been three years since the Melbourne job. Don’t you think it’s time to forgive me, to bury the proverbial hatchet, preferably somewhere other than in my skull?’
‘If only...’ Della muttered, fuming. She reached for the trolley, yanking it away from his control. Just because he liked to be in the driving seat didn’t mean he could commandeer her. She caught another waft of his subtle cologne, the fresh laundry scent of his clothes and the warmth of his body, and fought the uninvited and intimate memories of that one night.
Sleeping with him had served to remind her that, despite being in her mid-thirties, she’d still been an attractive woman. Who better than love ’em and leave ’em bachelor Harvey to show her a life-affirming good time free of any strings? Because when it came to sex, he’d had plenty of practice. She’d heard the stories from Brody.
‘Why are you here?’ she demanded, coming to a defiant halt. ‘Not at the airport, manhandling my cases, but here in Fiji?’ More importantly, why had she meekly followed him outside when she’d always done her best to steer clear? From that first disastrous meeting, they’d rarely seen eye to eye, instead bickering like a long-suffering married couple. Harvey liked nothing better than to goad both Della and every boyfriend she’d ever brought to a family event, and Della could never seem to help rolling her eyes at his latest sexploits, affronted by his attitude towards commitment on behalf of all women.
‘I was invited here by Dr Tora,’ he said with a casual shrug, ‘head of surgery at Pacific Health. Didn’t they tell you?’ He took a set of car keys from his pocket and dangled them from one long, elegant and capable finger, his easy smile further fuelling her irritation.
‘Tell me what?’ Della’s blood chilled a few degrees, despite the hot tropical air clinging to her skin. Her voice carried a whiny pleading quality that hurt her eardrums. But whenever Harvey was around, she felt wrong-footed. Unstable. On her guard. But she couldn’t show any weakness.
‘That like you, I’m here to run a few seminars and have offered my surgical skills pro bono.’ He dropped the bombshell and sauntered towards a nearby open-top Jeep with the hospital’s name emblazoned on the door.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Floundering, again, Della hurried after him with her trolley. ‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’ Please let it be a mistake. She couldn’t spend her holiday with Harvey. They might actually kill each other.
‘We’ll be working together for a couple of weeks,’ he said in confirmation, as if in no way concerned. Effortlessly, he lifted her cases into the back of the Jeep, parked the empty trolley and walked to the driver’s side, pulling his sunglasses from where he’d tucked them into the neck of his shirt.
Della wobbled on her feet, disoriented and overheated as if she was spinning inside a tumble dryer. Working together? They’d never done that before. It would be a disaster. She’d have to see him every day at the hospital with no hope of avoiding his arrogant swagger or his potent sex appeal? How was that fair?
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ she muttered, a string of swear words running through her head as she yanked open the passenger door and reluctantly climbed inside the Jeep.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Harvey said, starting the ignition and then leaning close to add, ‘Love me or hate me, you’re kind of stuck with me for a while.’
Oh, how easily they slipped into their respective roles, their game of one-upmanship, even here in beautiful Fiji. But as usual, Della felt one step behind. ‘No, you’re stuck with me,’ she snapped childishly, crossing her arms and staring out of the window as Harvey chuckled and pulled out of the parking space, heading for the airport exit.
Della’s lovely fortnight of sun and surgery, of giving something back to her Fijian counterparts before returning to her job in New Zealand refreshed and reinvigorated, dissolved before her eyes. Oh, she’d stick it out—she’d never allow Harvey Ward, of all people, to chase her off. If he could put up with her, she would put up with him.
But two weeks working with her professional rival? Two weeks trapped on an island with a man she knew intimately? Two weeks reminded of that incredible night in his bed when she hadn’t had so much as a chaste peck on the cheek since...?
It sounded more like a prison sentence than a holiday.