Greek Doctor, Cinderella Bride. Amy Andrews
ng>She wanted to devour him on the spot.
Years of celibacy and an ugly duckling complex had made her ripe for this moment. Alex Zaphirides wanted her. Alex Zaphirides, who could have anyone. It just didn’t make sense.
‘Are you sure this isn’t an any-port-in-a-storm thing?’
He heard the genuine bewilderment in her voice. She sounded small and impossibly young in the big, dark night. ‘Maybe because I can see beneath all that camouflage? Behind the big glasses, baggy clothes and white coat. You are a beautiful woman, Isobella Nolan.’
How many years had it been since she’d been told that? She’d heard it so often in her younger years she’d never really appreciated it. Until now. Alex Zaphirides thought she was beautiful.
Her hand was on his bare chest, resting near his shoulder, and he was warm and solid. And he wanted her. He thought she was beautiful. Was he spinning her some pretty lies? No. She believed him. She’d heard enough false platitudes during her modelling years to know sincerity when she heard it…
Praise for Amy Andrews’s previous titles
‘There wasn’t one part in this book where I wanted
to stop. Once I’d started it was hard to even read the ending but once I did it made everything seem right. I am an avid fan of Ms Andrews, and once any reader peruses this book they will be too.’ —Cataromance on TOP-NOTCH SURGEON, PREGNANT NURSE, Medical™ Romance
‘Amy Andrews’ luxurious Italian backdrop is so
beguiling that readers will believe they’re walking along the craggy Mediterranean coastline and smelling the garlic and onions wafting from Mamma Medici’s homey Italian kitchen.’ —Cataromance on THE ITALIAN COUNT’S BABY, Medical™ Romance
Amy Andrews has always loved writing, and still can’t quite believe that she gets to do it for a living. Creating wonderful heroines and gorgeous heroes and telling their stories is an amazing way to pass the day. Sometimes they don’t always act as she’d like them to—but then neither do her kids, so she’s kind of used to it. Amy lives in the very beautiful Samford Valley, with her husband and aforementioned children, along with six brown chooks and two black dogs. She loves to hear from her readers. Drop her a line at www.amyandrews.com.au
Recent titles by the same author:
THE SINGLE DAD’S NEW-YEAR BRIDE*
DR ROMANO’S CHRISTMAS BABY* TOP-NOTCH SURGEON, PREGNANT NURSE* THE OUTBACK DOCTOR’S SURPRISE BRIDE
*Brisbane General Hospital
GREEK DOCTOR,
CINDERELLA BRIDE
BY
AMY ANDREWS
For my father. For everything.
CHAPTER ONE
ISOBELLA NOLAN peered through her microscope at the latest skin scraping they’d been sent. The envenomation had occurred a few days ago off Darwin. The nematocysts were definitely those belonging to Chironex Fleckeri, more commonly known as the box jellyfish, and she gave an involuntary shudder.
A phone started to ring, breaking her concentration. Most days she could block out the background noise of the lab and its twenty research assistants, completely absorbed in her work. But today she couldn’t settle. Meeting the big boss for the first time since she’d begun working for Dr Alexander Zaphirides two years ago was going to be nerve-racking.
Not least because she had a massive crush on him. Or on his voice anyway.
Isobella looked up from her microscope, identifying the offending noise as belonging to laboratory director Reg Barry’s phone. Her immediate boss wasn’t at his station, and she scowled at the insistent pealing, pushing her glasses back up her nose as she snatched up her own phone and stabbed her finger at the flashing light indicating Reg’s extension.
‘Hello? Trop Med Research, this is Isobella.’ She peered back through the scope as she rattled off the standard greeting.
‘Oh? Isobella? I thought I dialled Reg’s extension?’
Isobella pulled away abruptly from the eyepieces and gripped the phone hard as the gravelled tones of Dr Alexander Zaphirides’ voice rasped along her nerve-endings, raising the hairs on her arms and instantly tightening her nipples. She shut her eyes, letting it wreak its usual havoc on her central nervous system. God, the man had a voice you could drown in!
It was just louder than a whisper, its pitch husky, with a slight roughness to it that came and went. He seemed to have as little control over the pitch changes as a teenage boy, but there was nothing juvenile about it. It was smoother, softer, sexier. Mature. The slightly discernible accent hinting at his Greek heritage added an illicit edge. It was blatantly sinful. It was a voice that Lucifer would covet.
‘Isobella? Are you still there?’
His voice whispered its treachery into her ear and she gripped the phone harder as her whole body responded to the rasp of his words. There was endless speculation around the lab as to the origins of his husky voice, ranging from growths on his vocal cords to a tragic accident. She preferred to think it the result of a misspent youth. Screaming rock songs into microphones, smoking a pack a day, and drinking way too much bourbon.
‘Isobella?’
The pitch was louder this time, more insistent, less indulgent, and she sat up straight, blinking at the shocking direction of her thoughts. ‘Sorry, Dr Zaphirides… I was…’ What? Fantasising about you in tight jeans and an earring? Isobella cleared her throat. ‘Reg isn’t at his desk at the moment.’
‘Oh, right. Well, I was just ringing to say that my flight’s been delayed. Airport’s fogged in. Crazy Melbourne weather. I’m going to be later than I thought. Probably won’t be landing in Brisbane till late this afternoon.’
‘Er, right. Okay. I’ll let him know.’
‘Thanks. See you later, Isobella.’
Isobella shivered as the husky note in his voice lengthened the vowel at the end of her name and dragged it out deliciously. His silky promise brushed along her skin as if he’d reached through the phone and physically caressed her.
Stop it!
This was stupid. He was her boss. And it was dimwitted in the extreme to fantasise about the man who had hired her and could just as easily fire her. For God’s sake, she was going to be meeting him for the first time in a few hours. The last thing she needed was to blush furiously the minute he opened his mouth. Or swoon into a puddle at his feet the second he purred Isobellaaaaaaa.
Which she just might, if his looks were anywhere near as impressive as his voice. His voice said masculine. Movie-star. Just-come-down-from-Mount-Olympus-Greek-sex-god. And according to gossip—which Isobella abhorred, but which was unfortunately rife in the cloistered environment of a lab—he was the original tall, dark and handsome. Gossip also said he was autocratic, intelligent, intensely private and didn’t suffer fools gladly.
Good. She’d hate to be working for an easily distracted, laissez-faire pretty boy, content to appeal only to the lowest common denominator. The dermonecrosis project she was heading up was too important for that.
Way more important than his appearance. And if his reputation was anything to go by he would resent the hell out of being gossiped about as if he was a prime piece of meat at a market. She better than anyone knew how insulting it was to be judged on physical appearance. The man was utterly brilliant, owning a string of highly successful