From Fling to Forever

AVRIL TREMAYNE read Jane Eyre as a teenager and has been hooked on tales of passion and romance ever since. An opportunistic insomniac, she has been a lifelong crazy-mad reader, but she took the scenic route to becoming a writer—via gigs as diverse as shoe salesgirl, hot cross bun packer, teacher, and public relations executive. She has spent a good chunk of her life travelling, and has more favourite destinations than should be strictly allowable.

Avril is happily settled in her hometown of Sydney, Australia, where her husband and daughter try to keep her out of trouble—not always successfully. When she’s not writing or reading she can generally be found eating—although she does not cook!

Check out her website: www.avriltremayne.com or follow her on Twitter: @AvrilTremayne and Facebook: www.facebook.com/avril.tremayne

FROM FLING TO FOREVER is Avril Tremayne’s debut book for Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader

As a diehard romantic, I like the idea of a love so strong it feels as if it’s written in the stars. And that’s a concept I’ve enjoyed exploring in FROM FLING TO FOREVER.

Aaron and Ella have known enough heartbreak to have them setting very specific life paths for themselves. But when they meet at a wedding in Australia those paths are destined for the scrapheap—they just don’t know it yet.

It takes a second encounter—in Cambodia—to ignite a scorching but unwanted passion between them as they work side by side at a children’s hospital.

And a third—in England—for them to realise that the passion isn’t going away, so they’d better get it out of their systems with a quick, hard fling before sailing into their separate futures.

But it seems fate isn’t so crazy about the ‘fling’ part.

I hope you enjoy the ride as Ella and Aaron face some tense situations and the occasional emergency as they re-set their life paths from fling to forever.

Avril Tremayne

This book is dedicated to my fellow writer PTG Man and Dr John Sammut with many, many thanks for the generous medical advice. Thanks also to Dr John Lander and Dr Hynek Prochazka. Any errors that snuck in despite their best efforts are mine, all mine!

I would also like to acknowledge the amazing Angkor Hospital for Children (AHC)—a non-profit pediatric teaching hospital that provides free quality care to impoverished children in Siem Reap, Cambodia. All the characters, settings and situations in FROM FLING TO FOREVER are fictional—however, during the course of my research, I learned so much from AHC, which has provided over one million medical treatments, education to thousands of Cambodian health workers, and prevention training to thousands of families since it opened in 1999. You can find out more about the hospital at www.angkorhospital.org

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

WEDDINGS.

Ella Reynolds had nothing against them, but she certainly didn’t belong at one. Not even this one.

But her sister, Tina, had insisted she not only attend but trick herself out as maid of honour in this damned uncomfortable satin gown in which there was no stretch. Add in the ridiculous high heels and hair twisted into a silly bun that was pinned so tightly against her scalp she could practically feel the headache negotiating where to lunge first.

And then there was the stalker. Just to top everything off.

She’d first felt his stare boring into her as she’d glided up the aisle ahead of her sister. And then throughout the wedding service, when all eyes should have been on the bride and groom. And ever since she’d walked into the reception.

Disconcerting. And definitely unwanted.

Especially since he had a little boy with him. Gorgeous, sparkly, darling little boy. Asian. Three or four years old. Exactly the type of child to mess with her already messed-up head.

Ella looked into her empty champagne glass, debating whether to slide over the legal limit. Not that she was driving, but she was always so careful when she was with her family. Still … Tina, pregnant, glowing, deliriously happy, was on the dance floor with her new husband Brand—and not paying her any attention. Her parents were on the other side of the room, catching up with Brand’s family on this rare visit to Sydney—and not paying her any attention. She was alone at the bridal table, with no one paying her any attention. Which was just fine with her. It was much easier to hold it all together when you were left to yourself. To not let anyone see the horrible, unworthy envy of Tina’s pregnancy, Tina’s life.

And—she swivelled around to look for a waiter—it made it much easier to snag that extra champagne.

But a sound put paid to the champagne quest. A cleared throat.

She twisted back in her chair. Looked up.

The stalker. Uh-oh.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘Hello.’ Warily.

‘So … you’re Ella,’ he said.

Oh, dear. Inane stalker. ‘Yep. Sister of the bride.’

‘Oh.’ He looked surprised. And then, ‘Sorry, the accent. I didn’t realise …’

‘I speak American, Tina speaks Australian. It does throw people. Comes of having a parent from each country and getting to choose where you live. I live in LA. Tina lives in Sydney. But it’s still all English, you know.’ Good Lord—this was conversation?

He laughed. ‘I’m not sure the British see it that way.’

Okay—so now what? Ella wondered.

If he thought she was going to be charmed by him, he had another think coming. She wasn’t going to be charmed. And she was not in the market for a pick-up tonight. Not that he wasn’t attractive in a rough sort of way—the surferblond hair, golden tan and bursting muscles that looked completely out of place in a suit was a sexy combination. But she’d crossed the pick-up off her to-do list last night—and that had been a debacle, as usual. And even if she hadn’t crossed it off the list, and it hadn’t been a debacle, her sister’s wedding was not the place for another attempt. Nowhere within a thousand miles of any of her relatives was the place.

‘Do you mind if I sit and talk to you for a few minutes?’ he asked, and smiled at her.

Yes, I do. ‘Of course you can sit,’ she said. Infinitesimal pause. ‘And talk to me.’

‘Great.’ He pulled out a chair and sat. ‘I think Brand warned you I wanted to pick your brains tonight.’

She frowned slightly. ‘Brand?’

He smiled again. ‘Um … your brother-in-law?’

‘No-o-o, I don’t think so.’ Ella glanced over at Brand, who was carefully twirling her sister. ‘I think he’s had a few things on his mind. Marriage. Baby. Imminent move to London. New movie to make.’

Another smile. ‘Right, let’s start again and I’ll introduce myself properly.’

Ella had to give the guy points for determination. Because he had to realise by now that if she really wanted to talk to him, she would have already tried to get his name out of him.

‘I’m Aaron James,’ he said.

Ella went blank for a moment, before the vague memory surfaced. ‘Oh. Of course. The actor. Tina emailed me about a … a film?’ She frowned slightly. ‘Sorry, I remember now. About malaria.’

‘Yes. A documentary. About the global struggle to eradicate the disease. Something I am very passionate about, because my son … Well, too much information, I guess. Not that documentaries are my usual line of work.’ Smile, but looking a little frayed. ‘Maybe you’ve heard of a television show called Triage? It’s a medical drama. I’m in that.’

‘So …’ She frowned again. ‘Is it the documentary or the TV show you want to talk to me about? If it’s the TV show, I don’t think I can help you—my experience in city hospital emergency rooms is limited. And I’m a nurse—you don’t look like you’d be playing a nurse. You’re playing a doctor, right?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘I’m flying home tomorrow, but I know a few doctors here in Sydney and I’m sure they’d be happy to talk to you.’

‘No, that’s not—’

‘The numbers are in my phone,’ Ella said, reaching for her purse. ‘Do you have a pen? Or can you—?’

Aaron reached out and put his hand over hers on the tiny bronze purse. ‘Ella.’

Her fingers flexed, once, before she could stop them.

‘It’s not about the show,’ he said, releasing her hand. ‘It’s the documentary. We’re looking at treatments, mosquito control measures, drug resistance, and what’s being done to develop a vaccine. We’ll be shooting in Cambodia primarily—in some of the hospitals where I believe you’ve worked. We’re not starting for a month, but I thought I should take the chance to talk to you while you’re in Sydney. I’d love to get your impression of the place.’

She said nothing. Noted that he was starting to look impatient—and annoyed.

‘Brand told me you worked for Frontline Medical Aid,’ he prompted.

She controlled the hitch in her breath. ‘Yes, I’ve worked for them, and other medical aid agencies, in various countries, including Cambodia. But I’m not working with any agency at the moment. And I’ll be based in Los Angeles for the next year or so.’

‘And what’s it like? I mean, not Los Angeles—I know what—Um. I mean, the aid work.’

Ella shifted in her seat. He was just not getting it. ‘It has its highs and lows. Like any job.’

He was trying that charming smile again. ‘Stupid question?’

‘Look, it’s just a job,’ she said shortly. ‘I do what every nurse does. Look after people when they’re sick or hurt. Try to educate them about health. That’s all there is to it.’

‘Come on—you’re doing a little more than that. The conditions. The diseases that we just don’t see here. The refugee camps. The landmines. Kidnappings, even.’

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Bang-bang-bang. She looked down at her hands, saw the whitened knuckles and dropped them to her lap, out of Aaron’s sight. She struggled for a moment, getting herself under control. Then forced herself to look straight back up and right at him.

‘Yes, the conditions are not what most medical personnel are used to,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve seen the damage landmines can do. Had children with AIDS, with malnutrition, die in my arms. There have been kidnappings involving my colleagues, murders even. This is rare, but …’ She stopped, raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that the sort of detail you’re looking for?’ She forced herself to keep looking directly into his eyes. ‘But I imagine you’ll be insulated from the worst of it. They won’t let anything happen to you.’

‘I’m not worried about that,’ Aaron said, with a quick shake of his head. Then, suddenly, he relaxed back in his chair. ‘And you don’t want to talk about it.’

Eureka! ‘It’s fine, really,’ she said, but her voice dripped with insincerity.

The little boy Ella had seen earlier exploded onto the scene, throwing himself against Aaron’s leg, before the conversation could proceed.

‘Dad, look what Tina gave me.’

Dad. So, did he have an Asian wife? Or was the little boy adopted?

Aaron bent close to smell the small rose being offered to him.

‘It’s from her bunch of flowers,’ the little boy said, blinking adorably.

‘Beautiful.’ Aaron turned laughing eyes to Ella. ‘Ella, let me introduce my son, Kiri. Kiri, this is Tina’s sister, Ella.’

Kiri. He was Cambodian, then. And he’d had malaria—that was Aaron’s TMI moment. ‘Nice to meet you Kiri,’ Ella said, with a broad smile, then picked up her purse. ‘Speaking of Tina and flowers, it must be time to throw the bouquet. I’d better go.’

She got to her feet. ‘Goodbye Aaron. Good luck with the documentary. Goodbye Kiri.’

Well, that had been uncomfortable, Ella thought as she left the table, forcing herself to walk slowly. Calm, controlled, measured—the way she’d trained herself to walk in moments of stress.

Clearly, she had to start reading her sister’s emails more carefully. She recalled, too late, that Tina’s email had said Aaron was divorced; that he had an adopted son—although not that the boy was Cambodian, because that she would have remembered. She’d made a reference to the documentary. And there probably had been a mention of talking to him as a favour to Brand, although she really couldn’t swear to it.

She just hadn’t put all the pieces together and equated them with the wedding, or she would have been better prepared for the confrontation.

Confrontation. Since when did a few innocent questions constitute a confrontation?

Ella couldn’t stop a little squirm of shame. Aaron wasn’t to know that the exact thing he wanted to talk about was the exact thing she couldn’t bring herself to discuss with anyone. Nobody knew about Sann, the beautiful little Cambodian boy who’d died of malaria before she’d even been able to start the adoption process. Nobody knew about her relationship with Javier—her colleague and lover, kidnapped in Somalia and still missing. Nobody knew because she hadn’t wanted anyone to know, or to worry about her. Hadn’t wanted anyone to push her to talk about things, relive what she couldn’t bear to relive.

So, no, Aaron wasn’t to be blamed for asking what he thought were standard questions.

But he’d clearly sensed something was wrong with her. Because he’d gone from admiration—oh, yes, she could read admiration—to something akin to dislike, in almost record time. Something in those almost sleepy, silver-grey eyes had told her she just wasn’t his kind of person.

Ella’s head had started to throb. The damned pins.

Ah, well, one bouquet-toss and last group hug with her family and she could disappear. Back to her hotel. Throw down some aspirin. And raid the mini-bar, given she never had got that extra glass of champagne.

Yeah, like raiding the mini-bar has ever helped, her subconscious chimed in.

‘Oh, shut up,’ she muttered.

Well, that had been uncomfortable, Aaron thought as Ella Reynolds all but bolted from the table. Actually, she’d been walking slowly. Too slowly. Unnaturally slowly.

Or maybe he was just cross because of ego-dent. Because one woman in the room had no idea who he was. And didn’t care who he was when she’d found out. Well, she was American—why would she know him? He wasn’t a star over there.

Which wasn’t the point anyway.

Because since when did he expect people to recognise him and drool?

Never!

But celebrity aside, to be looked at with such blank disinterest … it wasn’t a look he was used to from women. Ella Reynolds hadn’t been overwhelmed. Or deliberately underwhelmed, as sometimes happened. She was just … hmm, was ‘whelmed’ a word? Whelmed. Depressing.

Ego, Aaron—so not like you.

Aaron swallowed a sigh as the guests started positioning themselves for the great bouquet toss. Ella was in the thick of it, smiling. Not looking in his direction—on purpose, or he’d eat the roses.

She was as beautiful as Tina had said. More so. Staggeringly so. With her honey-gold hair that even the uptight bun couldn’t take the gloss off. The luminous, gold-toned skin. Smooth, wide forehead. Finely arched dusky gold eyebrows and wide-spaced purple-blue eyes with ridiculously thick dark lashes. Lush, wide, pouty mouth. No visible freckles. No blemishes. The body beneath the figure-hugging bronze satin she’d been poured into for the wedding was a miracle of perfect curves. Fabulous breasts—and silicone-free, if he were any judge. Which he was, after so many years in the business.

And the icing on the cake—the scent of her. Dark and musky and delicious.

Yep. Stunner.

But Tina had said that as well as being gorgeous her sister was the best role model for women she could think of. Smart, dedicated to her work, committed to helping those less fortunate regardless of the personal danger she put herself in regularly.

Well, sorry, but on the basis of their conversation tonight he begged to differ. Ella Reynolds was no role model. There was something wrong with her. Something that seemed almost … dead. Her smile—that dazzling, white smile—didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes had been beautifully empty. It had been almost painful to sit near her.

Aaron felt a shiver snake down his spine.

On the bright side, he didn’t feel that hot surge of desire—that bolt that had hit him square in the groin the moment she’d slid into the church—any more. Which was good. He didn’t want to lust after her. He didn’t have the time or energy or emotional availability to lust after anyone.

He turned to his beautiful son. ‘Come on, Kiri—this part is fun to watch. But leave the bouquet-catching to the girls, huh?’

We’re not going down that road again, bouquet or not, he added silently to himself.

CHAPTER TWO

ELLA HAD BEEN determined to spend a full year in Los Angeles.

But within a few weeks of touching down at LAX she’d been back at the airport and heading for Cambodia. There had been an outbreak of dengue fever, and someone had asked her to think about helping out, and she’d thought, Why not?

Because she just hadn’t been feeling it at home. Whatever ‘it’ was. She hadn’t felt right since Tina’s wedding. Sort of restless and on edge. So she figured she needed more distraction. More work. More … something.

And volunteering at a children’s hospital in mosquito heaven is just the sort of masochism that’s right up your alley, isn’t it, Ella?

So, here she was, on her least favourite day of the year—her birthday—in northwest Cambodia—and because it was her birthday she was in the bar of one of the best hotels in town instead of her usual cheap dive.

Her parents had called this morning to wish her happy birthday. Their present was an airfare to London and an order to use it the moment her time in Cambodia was up. It was framed in part as a favour to Tina: stay with her pregnant sister in her new home city and look after her health while Brand concentrated on the movie. But she knew Tina would have been given her own set of orders: get Ella to rest and for goodness’ sake fatten her up—because her mother always freaked when she saw how thin and bedraggled Ella was after a stint in the developing world.

Tina’s present to Ella was a goat. Or rather a goat in Ella’s name, to be given to an impoverished community in India. Not every just-turned-twenty-seven-year-old’s cup of tea, but so totally perfect for this one.

And in with the goat certificate had been a parcel with a note: ‘Humour me and wear this.’ ‘This’ was sinfully expensive French lingerie in gorgeous mint-green silk, which Ella could never have afforded. It felt like a crime wearing it under her flea-market gypsy skirt and bargain-basement singlet top. But it did kind of cheer her up. Maybe she’d have to develop an underwear fetish—although somehow she didn’t think she’d find this kind of stuff digging around in the discount bins the way she usually shopped.

A small group of doctors and nurses had dragged her out tonight. They’d knocked back a few drinks, told tales about their life experiences and then eventually—inevitably—drifted off, one by one, intent on getting some rest ahead of another busy day.

But Ella wasn’t due at the hospital until the afternoon, so she could sleep in. Which meant she could stay out. And she had met someone—as she always seemed to do in bars. So she’d waved the last of her friends off with a cheerful guarantee that she could look after herself.

Yes, she had met someone. Someone who might help make her feel alive for an hour or two. Keep the nightmares at bay, if she could bring herself to get past the come-on stage for once and end up in bed with him.

She felt a hand on her backside as she leaned across the pool table and took her shot. She missed the ball completely but looked back and smiled. Tom. British. Expat. An … engineer, maybe? Was he an engineer? Well, who cared? Really, who cared?

He pulled her against him, her back against his chest. Arms circled her waist. Squeezed.

She laughed as he nipped at her earlobe, even though she couldn’t quite stop a slight shudder of distaste. His breath was too hot, too … moist. He bit gently at her ear again.

Ella wasn’t sure what made her look over at the entrance to the bar at that particular moment. But pool cue in one hand, caught against Tom’s chest, with—she realised in one awful moment—one of the straps of her top hanging off her shoulder to reveal the beacon-green silk of her bra strap, she looked.

Aaron James.

He was standing still, looking immaculately clean in blue jeans and a tight white T-shirt, which suited him way more than the get-up he’d been wearing at the wedding. Very tough-guy gorgeous, with the impressive muscles and fallen-angel hair with those tousled, surfer-white streaks she remembered very well.

Actually, she was surprised she remembered so much!

He gave her one long, cool, head-to-toe inspection. One nod.

Ah, so he obviously remembered her too. She was pretty sure that was not a good thing.

Then he walked to the bar, ignoring her. Hmm. Definitely not a good thing.

Ella, who’d thought she’d given up blushing, blushed. Hastily she yanked the misbehaving strap back onto her shoulder.

With a wicked laugh, Tom the engineer nudged it back off.

‘Don’t,’ she said, automatically reaching for it again.

Tom shrugged good-humouredly. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it.’

For good measure, Ella pulled on the long-sleeved, light cotton cardigan she’d worn between her guesthouse accommodation and the hotel. She always dressed for modesty outside Western establishments, and that meant covering up.

And there were mosquitoes to ward off in any case.

And okay, yes, the sight of Aaron James had unnerved her. She admitted it! She was wearing a cardigan because Aaron James had looked at her in that way.

She tried to appear normal as the game progressed, but every now and then she would catch Aaron’s gaze on her and she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the game or on Tom. Whenever she laughed, or when Tom let out a whoop of triumph at a well-played shot, she would feel Aaron looking at her. Just for a moment. His eyes on her, then off. When Tom went to the bar to buy a round. When she tripped over a chair, reaching for her drink. When Tom enveloped her from behind to give her help she didn’t need with a shot.

It made her feel … dirty. Ashamed. Which was just not fair. She was single, adult, independent. So she wanted a few mindless hours of fun on her lonely birthday to take her mind off sickness and death—what was wrong with that?