Magic of the Drums (Lovers in Paradise Series, Book 3)

By Gael Morrison

After failing to save her risk-taking father's life, Dr. Lise Dawson hangs up her stethoscope and seeks refuge with her aunt, a Catholic nun working in the highlands of Papua New Guinea.

Met at the airport by coffee-plantation owner Simon McDowell, a University educated Aussie, Lise is reminded why she hung up her heart, too.

Which suits Simon just fine. His ex-wife, also a medical doctor, couldn't hack it in Papua New Guinea, either. Then Simon helps Lise deliver a plantation-worker's breech baby, and shortly afterwards flies her through a mountain storm in his two-seater plane to aid a village man gored by a boar.

Yet, despite Lise's newly-found white-knuckled bravery, nothing can convince her to risk her heart on Simon—a dare-devil just like her father.

Until she discovers the magical allure of the drums.

LOVERS IN PARADISE, in order
A Woman's Heart
Meet Me at Midnight
Magic of the Drums
Athenian Wish

OTHER TITLES by Gael Morrison
Lovers Never Lie
Take Me, I'm Yours
A Little Loving

• Language: English
• Publisher: ePublishing Works
• Release date: May 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781614175995

Book preview

Magic of the Drums

Lovers in Paradise Series

Book Three

by

Gael Morrison

Published by ePublishing Works!

www.epublishingworks.com

ISBN: 978-1-61417-599-5

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Copyright © 2014 by Gael Morrison. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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Dedication

For Ron, with Love, Magic, and the Spirit of Adventure, Always

Chapter 1

Just a minute! Lise Dawson exclaimed, grabbing for the handle of her carry-on bag. Dry, warm fingers met her grip instead, the touch of the man's skin adding fire to her heat.

His eyes weren't on fire. They were as dark and cold as the black ice on the roads back home. It was incredible they didn't melt in a climate like Papua New Guinea's.

Listen, lady—

His voice sent icy shivers skittering along her shoulder blades and down her arms. Slowly, she withdrew her fingers.

—we don't have time for this.

She took a step backward, bumping up hard against a woman squatting on the airport floor nursing her baby. Mouthing an apology, Lise drew herself up to her full height and turned back to Simon McDowell. She was tall, but not tall enough to reach past his chin.

I'm not going anywhere without the rest of my luggage, she said.

If you're coming with me, you're going to have to. I'm not waiting. He tugged his wide-brimmed hat lower over his eyes and turned away.

As he turned, an angry scar became visible. It streaked down and across his left cheek, toward the black hair curling around the edges of his angular face.

What had he done to get a scar like that?

Perspiration trickled down Lise's neck and rolled between her breasts before seeping damply into her cotton dress. She plucked the wet fabric away from her body. She'd flown halfway around the world to Papua New Guinea to avoid thinking about things medical. Had she made a mistake?

It felt as though she had.

Mr. McDowell—

Simon. He turned back to face her. Your Aunt Cecile and I are friends. She's the only damn reason I'm still standing here talking when we should be in the air.

Simon, Lise amended, clinging fiercely to her temper. What's the rush? Surely we can wait!

Mount Hagen has no night runway lights.

Lise stared at him, his words making no sense.

When the sun goes down this close to the equator it sinks like a stone in water.

Eyes as dark as his should not be filled with so much light.

Unless we get to Mount Hagen before night falls, he added, we can't land.

Then I'll spend the night in Port Moresby and you can get going. Lise swept her heavy hair back from her damp forehead. One black curl escaped, cascading in front of her eyes. Her hair had always behaved as though it possessed a will of its own. She snatched the curl between two fingers and dragged it back with the rest. Time to cut it, perhaps. Change her hair also. She had already changed everything else.

Look, Miss Dawson—

Lise.

Lise, he growled. Forget about your luggage. It'll follow you to the highlands tomorrow. I promised your aunt I'd deliver you safely today and that's what I intend to do!

Fatigue washed over Lise. She didn't have the energy to fight the man. All she really wanted was a warm hug from Aunt Cecile, a long soak in a tub full of cool water, and at least twenty hours sleep in a soft bed. A night in a strange hotel in Port Moresby was not on her list.

All right, she capitulated. Since you've come all this way to get me, I'll go with you.

I didn't come to get you. You were on my way. Simon turned and strode toward the airport door, moving so quickly Lise had to run to catch up. Your aunt phoned me last night in Sydney.

About me?

No. About my nephew. He's sick.

Were you visiting him in Australia?

No, Simon said. He lives with me, in the highlands.

Where are his parents?

They're dead.

Dead. Even the word was final.

Connor's been my ward since he was a baby, Simon said.

Did my aunt say why he was sick? Lise's head began to spin as fast as the fans whirling overhead. Coward, she thought, her throat tightening with shame that the simplest talk about medical matters now had that effect on her.

Malaria, Simon replied.

Is he in the hospital? Visions of long white hallways and excruciating decisions haunted her. Always wondering whether she'd made the right diagnosis, but never being sure until she was already committed to a course of action. Lise swallowed hard. Never knowing whether her patient would live or die.

Hospital! Simon's eyes flashed. We don't have a hospital in the Waghi Valley. He flung open the door in front of him, revealing runways beyond. And if we did, there would be no doctors to run it.

Lise caught her breath. Simon's eyebrows were drawn together in a straight line above his eyes. Like storm clouds above a volcano. She edged through the doorway past him, afraid even one small movement would cause him to explode.

But standing here won't change anything, any more than my trip down to Sydney did. He took hold of her elbow and pushed her ahead of him. Something like electricity shafted from his fingers to her arm, then on through to her chest, stunning her.

Then a blast of heat slammed into her as she moved through the door, drying up the question forming on her lips, and sucking out her body's moisture through every pore. This heat was so different from the humidity created inside by countless perspiring passengers.

The tarmac stuck to the soles of Lise's sandals, pulling at her, slowing her. Simon cast a swift glance in her direction and reduced his pace, leading her off to the side of the terminal building away from the main runway. Within minutes, he halted in front of a fragile-looking two-seater Cessna.

Lise's stomach lurched.

What's the matter? Simon demanded, his gaze boring into hers.

It's awfully small, Lise said.

Were you expecting a commercial jet?

Maybe not a jet, but something bigger, more substantial. Something safer. Even when she'd flown in to her father's remote Montana ranch the planes had always been larger than this.

Simon jerked open the door and flung his jacket and their carry-on bags behind the passenger seat. Time to go, he said, then, without warning, he took Lise by the elbow and propelled her up the metal steps into the plane.

She watched through the window as Simon ducked past the nose and climbed in the other side. She'd been right. The plane was too small. There was scarcely an inch between them. Simon's leg muscles corded, pushing against the corduroy of his pants. If she put out her hand, she could touch those muscles, smooth them.

She jerked her gaze away and stared out her window instead. Suddenly, his arm was around her, strong and compelling. With a cry of protest, she pushed it away.

Seat belt, he explained, his eyes now amused. Get it on.

Heat climbed her throat and spread across her cheeks. Would he guess she'd been thinking of touching him?

Don't worry, he continued, his lips too close. I wasn't trying to seduce you.

Lise's hand stole up her neck to where her opal hung from a gold chain. The stone had been her mother's. The touch of its polished surface usually gave her strength. This time it didn't work.

With what seemed deliberate slowness, Simon turned to the controls and flicked some switches. The engine roared to life and they taxied onto the runway. Gradually, they gathered speed, the plane churning along the paved surface until it rose into the air.

Lise forced her hands to her lap, not allowing them to clutch at anything, determined not to let him see her fear. There was nothing to hold onto anyway, except for a stubby leather strap hanging from the ceiling. Was it there for emergencies, or everyday use?

The engine's roar softened as Simon pulled the plane out of its climb and circled the hot, dry hills of Port Moresby. Then they headed out over the greenest trees Lise had ever seen, away from the ocean and up toward the highlands.

She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the jagged rocks poking through the blanket of trees below. Home suddenly seemed a long way away.

Her throat thickened.

She didn't have a home.

Are you asleep?

She opened her eyes.

For a tourist, you're not showing much interest in the countryside.

I'm not here as a tourist.

What then?

I've come to visit my aunt. Hopefully, Cecile could help soothe the pain in her heart.

But you can't fly over the most primitive country in the world and not even look!

Lise forced herself to glance out the window, fighting back a rush of panic.

Right, she said, turning swiftly back towards him. I looked.

He chuckled.

A heat burst through Lise, as sudden and as inexplicable as her desire to hear him laugh again. The window beside her was tiny, but the afternoon sun still poured in. Perhaps that was what was making her hot. Not Simon McDowell at all. Lise raised her arms above her head and forced her curls into a cooler knot.

Then she glanced out the window again, resolutely keeping her gaze away from McDowell. With any luck, they would soon be safely to their destination.

There seemed nothing safe about this man her aunt had sent. With that scar, he appeared... dangerous.

She pursed her lips. There was probably some simple explanation as to how he had got it, nothing dangerous at all.

How did you hurt your face? she asked, the question escaping her lips before she could stop it.

She knew better than to ask personal questions, especially of men. They didn't like talking about their injuries, particularly visible ones.

McDowell shrugged, his hands never leaving the controls. I had a run-in with a bad driver, he explained.

A car accident?

I was in a race. He looked at her, his gaze leaving the control panel for only an instant. The Banz Motorcross.

You were racing a motorcycle?

Why not? It's exciting.

So he was another man willing to risk his life for a bit of excitement. Just like her father had. Lise swallowed hard. Simon McDowell was obviously not someone she could afford to know better. She didn't need, or want, the kind of pain a man like him could bring.

She glanced at her lap, saw her fingers clenched into a tight ball. Slowly, she flexed them, at the same time drawing in a breath. She held the air a few seconds before releasing it, praying the tension in her body would dissipate.

She could feel it working. Then Simon leaned toward her again. Involuntarily, she raised her hand, desperate to put something, anything, between them.

Bad weather coming, was all he said, reaching across her body and pointing out her window. A dark cloud was forming against the mountains to the west, spreading in their direction.

Is it dangerous?

He shook his head, but his denial did nothing to quell her apprehension. She had only just met Simon, but if she were right about the sort of man he was, a storm would be just the sort of challenge he would enjoy.

Why was he frowning? What's the matter? she demanded.

He swept his hand through his hair.

Sympathy pushed aside her fear. Are you worrying about Connor?

He'll be fine, Simon said, but a muscle on his jaw jumped.

Has he had malaria before? Her questions were automatic. She'd been good at this once.

Twice. Simon's face darkened. He's one of the reasons we need a hospital.

She didn't want to talk about hospitals.

People in developed nations haven't got a clue, Simon went on. They take everything for granted; education, health services. Everything's there for the asking. But in a country like New Guinea a bout of malaria can kill you.

If the valley needs a hospital, surely the government will provide it.

He shook his head. "The government has enough on its plate. They say they'll help,