calm.
She picked up her things and let herself be carried in with the crowd, taking a seat near the aisle in a row close to the back of the auditorium. Within a few minutes the lights dimmed and a professor from one of the national organizations delivered the introductory speech. “Our first speaker is Jack Campbell, Senior Medical Officer in the Royal Army Medical Corps. Dr. Campbell has just finished his second tour of duty. As many of you will know, some of our most widely used medical products were first introduced on the battlefield—and it looks like we’re about to hear about a new revolutionary product that could help save lives across the globe. I give you Dr. Jack Campbell.”
There was a round of applause in the room as a man in uniform walked across the stage to the podium. Amber blinked. Then blinked again.
A medic. He was a medic.
As he started to speak, her skin tingled almost as if his familiar accent were dancing across it. Jack. His name was Jack. The man she’d spent the night wrapped around was delivering one of the keynote speeches of the conference.
Every hair on her body stood on end. Nothing had happened last night. Nothing. But...it could have, if they both hadn’t fallen asleep.
Her stomach did a flip-flop. She’d spent the last ten years avoiding any close relationships with fellow medics. And now she’d just accidentally spent the night wrapped around one. Hardly her most defining moment.
Why hadn’t she asked more questions? The truth was, as soon as she’d realized he was Scottish she’d assumed he must be part of the business and economic conference. The UK had the NHS—a government-run health service. Her brain had automatically told her that it was unlikely the NHS would send a doctor to the other side of the world for a conference. But a private business—they probably sent employees to international conferences on a weekly basis. And she’d just automatically put him into that slot.
She gave a tiny shudder. That was what happened when you made assumptions. She lifted her head and looked at him again, angry with herself.
She’d found him attractive. She’d liked flirting with him. The truth was, more than she’d expected to. And now he was here. Standing right in front of a room full of professionals and addressing the room.
And boy, could he speak. She sat mesmerized along with the rest of the audience as he described his time in Afghanistan and the sometimes limited resources. He showed a new wound dressing he’d developed—a mixture of clay and algae that could stop severe bleeding and form a clot within twenty seconds.
Amber could almost see the ears pricking up in the room and people sitting a little straighter in their seats. Those twenty seconds could be the difference between life and death.
His accent drew the audience in—as did his demeanor. He was a commanding figure, especially in uniform. He spoke with passion about his work, but was also realistic and even a little self-deprecating. All things that had drawn her to him last night. He acknowledged everyone who’d worked alongside him, fellow doctors, surgeons and army medics. He showed pictures of some of the soldiers who had been treated and had their lives saved by this dressing that had been used in the field. Finally he showed cost pricing for the wound dressings along with approximations of lives that could be saved across the world. She could sense the buzz in the air; it was almost infectious.
Then he just stopped.
After a few seconds people started glancing nervously at each other. The presentation had finished and his image was now being shown on the large screen behind him in intimate detail. As she watched she could almost swear she saw a little twitch at his right eye—those brown eyes that had almost seemed to bewitch her last night. She gave herself a shake. Where had that come from?
His eyes seemed to focus and he started talking again. “This product was conceived in a place of war. It was needed. It was essential to save lives—and it will be essential to saving lives in the future. War is never a situation you want to be in. People die. Families are devastated and lives change...forever.”
He took a deep breath. “What makes me sad is that we need something like this. I’m sad that, even though we’re no longer in a time of war, because of gun and knife crime, this product will continue to be needed.”
His words echoed across the room. It was the way he said them, the change in timbre of his voice. She could hear the emotion; she could almost reach out and touch it. Even though the temperature in the room was steady, she could swear that a cool breeze swept over her, prickling the hairs on her arms.
People around her were openmouthed. Then slowly, but surely, applause started throughout the room. Within a few seconds it gathered pace and Amber couldn’t help but smile as she glanced at the nods of approval and the conversations starting around her.
“Do you think we should get it?”
“It would be perfect for paramedics.”
“What an investment opportunity...”
The professor crossed the stage again, shaking Jack’s hand enthusiastically. He then launched into the next introduction. “Our next speaker is a doctor from the Disease Prevention Agency.”
Amber felt a wave of panic.
“Amber Berkeley has been working there for the last five years. She specializes in meningitis and will be presenting some of the latest research into emerging strains. Please welcome Dr. Amber Berkeley.”
Darn it. She stood up quickly. She’d come in looking for distraction and Jack Campbell had certainly met the criteria. Usually she would spend the five minutes before a presentation going over things in her head and taking some time to do controlled breathing. But she hadn’t even thought about the presentation the whole time she’d been in here. Somehow her attention had all been focused on her mystery almost-suitor from last night.
She walked smartly down the auditorium, climbing the steps and shaking the professor’s hand. Her heart was thudding so loudly she almost expected everyone else to hear it.
She glanced at Jack, who was giving her an amused look. Rat fink. Could he sense her panic? “Dr. Berkeley,” he said with a nod of his head as the corners of his lips turned upward.
“Dr. Campbell,” she answered as coolly as she could, trying not to take in how he filled out his army fatigues. She was sure he could have worn his more formal uniform for an event like this, but somehow the fatigues suited him—made him look more like Jack.
Her hands were shaking slightly as she set them on the podium, waiting for the professor and Jack to leave the stage. She tried to still her thoughts and let her professional face slide into place. She’d always been bothered with nerves. It was weird. Put her in a clinical situation—even an epidemic—and she could deal with the pandemonium of that no problem. Put her in a classroom setting, or even an interview setting, and her heart would race at a million miles an hour, making her thoughts incoherent and her words even worse. She’d had to work at this. She’d had to work hard.
She took a few deep and steadying breaths. Truth was, she could do this presentation in her sleep. She knew the information inside out. But could she present with the commitment and compassion that Jack just had? He was a hard act to follow.
A horrible queasiness came over her. That familiar feeling of not being good enough. The way she’d constantly tried to prove herself to her father by getting perfect grades, being the first in her class, qualifying for med school—all just to gain a second of his attention. Those memories ran deep—even though her father was gone. She hated feeling this way. And as she looked out over the sea of expectant faces, she felt her anger spike.
She looked up as Jack descended the stairs to her right. At the last possible second he turned his head, gave her a cheeky grin and winked at her. Winked at her.
A little spurt of adrenaline raced through her body. The cheek. Right now, she could cheerfully punch him. Anything for an outlet to the bubbling frustration she was feeling inside.
She lifted her head and looked out at the still-waiting