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The heat inside her flared into a raging inferno. 'Cameron—'

'Gary! No!'

The cry of alarm and commotion cut off Ginger's words. She looked round, shocked to see that the young solicitor from Edinburgh, who had been clowning around, trying to impress a couple of girls, had fallen. He lay worryingly still, partially in the water. Cameron moved first, releasing her and running towards the casualty. Ginger was hot on his heels.

*

'What happened?' Cameron demanded, kneeling down beside the prone young man.

'He was joking around and slipped on the rocks.' Shaken, his friend was pale and scared. 'He hit his head.'

Semi-conscious, Gary was drowsy and disorientated, his words slurred and confused. There was blood oozing profusely from the scalp laceration at the back of his head. Concerned, recognising the signs of a likely fracture and the possibility of a serious head injury, Cameron turned to the guide, who had rushed to the scene with the first-aid kit.

'You're a doctor?' the guide queried.

'Yes. I used to be in trauma. How long will it take an ambulance to get out here?' Cameron frowned in dissatisfaction at the response time suggested. 'We're going to need the air ambulance to take Gary to the nearest neurosurgical unit.'

As the guide moved off to place the emergency call, Ginger knelt down opposite him. 'Is it bad?'

'I'm worried. He likely has a compound depressed fracture and his level of consciousness is deteriorating.'

'It's a long time since I had to do any hands-on medical work, but what can I do to help you?'

He glanced up to smile at her, relieved she was there, calm and reassuring. 'We need to stop the bleeding and get him out of the water. He's cold— and I'm concerned about shock. This first-aid kit is good but it just doesn't have the things I need for a situation like this.'

They planned the best and safest way to move Gary to a better position, Ginger taking charge of keeping his head still while Cameron monitored his condition with the limited supplies available.

'Gary, can you hear me?' Cameron shook his head at the drowsy mumble that followed his question, concerned that the young man was slipping further towards unconsciousness. 'Stay with me, Gary.'

Making sure the casualty was positioned with his head slightly raised to reduce the intracranial pressure he was coming to fear, Cameron wished time would pass more quickly and specialist help would arrive. With Ginger's assistance, he had managed to get the bleeding under control and lightly cover the open wound, but he could do little more than monitor and try to stabilise Gary's condition. A CT scan was needed as soon as possible, with surgical intervention to decompress the brain injury, debride and clear any bone fragments that had entered the intracranial cavity and possibly punctured the dura matter, exposing the brain surface. Infection was a risk, as was haematoma and permanent damage. He tried not to look on the gloomy side—difficult with Gary's BP dropping and his other vital signs unpromising as he lapsed further into unconsciousness.

The guide had been a help, keeping the other members of the group out of the way and calm, relaying messages to his base and interacting with the emergency services. Again Cameron met Ginger's gaze, seeing her concern but also her understanding and unspoken support. They had worked well together in a situation that was much more alien to her than to him, although it had been some time since he had worked in a hospital trauma unit. Attending a patient as an emergency out in the wilds was a different matter entirely. But they had coped. So far. If only that help would arrive. The sooner they transferred Gary to a specialist unit, the better the young man's chances of survival and recovery.

A road ambulance was the first to reach them. The paramedics had more specialist equipment, and were able to be in radio contact with the nearest neurosurgical unit, which was giving advice as to what drugs and fluids to administer. Gary was soon intubated and was almost ready for transfer when the air ambulance was heard. They all breathed a huge sigh of relief when it landed as close to them as it could, a trauma doctor on board. Cameron was thankful to hand over the patient, giving the attending physician a full report on what had happened, what had been done and how much Gary had deteriorated.

'You OK?' Ginger asked, moving up beside him as they watched the air ambulance take off to transport their casualty to the nearest neurosurgical department.

'I'm fine.' He slipped an arm around her shoulders. 'Thanks for your help, you were great.'

'I'm not sure I was that much use, I'm very rusty. You were impressive, though. I had no idea you'd done trauma work,' she added after a pause, evident curiosity in her voice.

This was neither the time nor the place to tell her about the change in his career—or the reason for it. The thoughts caused a familiar spear of pain to lance his gut. 'It's a long story for another day. For now I just hope Gary makes it.'

'He has a vastly better chance, thanks to you, Cam.' Her reassurance eased some of his doubts. 'No one could have done more.'

'Fingers crossed it was enough.'

Her smile gentle, she took his hand and they walked back to the waiting vehicle. 'Come on, let's go home.'

Once back at the outdoor centre, they parted ways to shower and change into their own clothes. A short while later, Cameron met Ginger outside the main door, finding her talking to Craig, one of the owners of the adventure outfit. The man smiled at him and shook his hand.

'I'm sorry your outing ended as it did, but we are very lucky you were here and thankful for all you did, Dr Kincaid.'

'Cameron.' He smiled back. 'I was glad to help. Hopefully Gary will recover.'

Craig nodded, his expression grave. 'I was telling Ginger that you must both come back and have another rafting trip on us.'

'You don't have to do that. Today was my first experience of white-water rafting, but I'm determined it won't be my last. I had a great time,' Cameron assured him.

'That's good to know! And Ginger is one of our most enthusiastic, if infrequent, visitors.'

Cameron met her gaze, sure she would be there every day if circumstances permitted. Not that he blamed her, They took their leave, both of them content to keep off contentious subjects, instead enthusing over the good side of the day during the first part of their journey home. After a while the silences in the car grew longer, a growing tension and awareness making the small space seem oppressive, charged. Cameron was glad when Ginger switched on the radio, the soothing classical music negating the need for small-talk.

He dozed, thinking of the day...thinking of Ginger. Aside from the emergency at the end, this trip had been just what he had needed. The rafting had been a huge surprise, and he had meant what he'd said, he definitely wanted to do it again— often, if possible. That Ginger shared his love of the outdoors and had such an adventurous nature were more boxes ticked in her favour, more examples of how good they were together. There were rather too many of them for his peace of mind. She was becoming all too important to his very existence and, given what seemed to be an insurmountable conflict between them professionally, he knew he was stepping on dangerous ground, opening himself to heartache if he pursued a personal relationship with her.

Dusk was falling by the time they arrived back in Strathlochan, the hospital silhouetted above the town as the sun dipped behind the hill. Ginger parked her car next to his and switched off the engine. He unclipped his seat belt, but couldn't bring himself to move, to leave her, not wanting their time together to end. Telling himself he was all kinds of fool, that he should walk away and not create more problems for either of them, he nevertheless ignored his head and followed his heart. Taking her hand in his, he turned it over, tracing her palm, stroking her fingers, feeling a tremor ripple through her, even as fire licked through him at the feel of her soft skin against his own.

'Come home with me, Ginger,' he tempted, raising her hand so he could whisper his lips across her wrist, noting the hurried beat of her pulse.

'I shouldn't.'

'You should.'

'Cam...'

He knew she was weakening and ruthlessly pressed his advantage. 'Please. The day doesn't have to end here.'

'But we can't forget—'

'We can,' he refuted urgently, desperate to persuade her they could keep professional and personal separate. He teased circles on her palm with the tip of his tongue. 'We can forget all about everything but us. I want to be with you. I need to make love with you.'

Ginger shivered at the blatant sexuality in Cameron's husky voice. Heat curled through her at his touch and she knew her defences were crumbling. She couldn't deny that she needed him, too. But it was crazy. In the dim light of the car their gazes met. He set her hand down on his jeans-clad thigh, his own covering hers, and she swallowed, feeling the firmness of muscle, the heat of him through the denim fabric. She shouldn't be doing this. She knew she would regret it, that it was wrong for both of them, but right at this moment the terrible ache of want was outweighing her doubts and her common sense.

Without further words, Cameron left her car to return to his own, and within moments she was following him out of the car park, down the hill and through the town, before winding along country lanes, their headlights glinting off tall hedgerows and the trunks of trees. She should stop, turn round, go back. But she didn't. She was a fool, but she was in too deep now, wanted him so frantically that the rational part of her was overcome. It was impetuous, reckless, beyond reason. She knew it, but still she continued to follow his taillights down the darkened lanes.

How could she need him with such desperation when they were going to hurt each other? Maybe it was because they both still yearned for what they had been unable to finish in London. Maybe one more night would finally get this incessant craving out of their systems. It had to, she lectured herself, even while a part of her recognised the futility of her thoughts. Because there could only be one inevitable ending. Either Cameron was going to trample on her dreams and deny the patients she cared about the services they needed to survive, or she was going to do the same to him. And if they were any more involved with each other on a personal level, it would be so much more painful. Oh, help. Her hands tightened on the steering-wheel. She should find the strength to say no to this madness.

Before she could talk herself out of what she was doing, she turned into the driveway of his cottage and parked behind his car. An outside security light came on, illuminating the front of the building. She had a glimpse of an attractive stone-built house under a slate roof, then Cameron was opening her door and holding out his hand, as if scared she would change her mind. She knew she should. Knew she ought to run. Her heart beat crazily in her chest and she felt breathless as she gathered up her bag and placed her free hand in his, allowing him to lead her towards the front door.

Once inside, she scarcely noticed anything about the interior of Cameron's home because she couldn't drag her gaze from his. He switched on a light in the hall and locked the door, then hung up his leather jacket before solicitously helping her set her things on a nearby table and taking her coat. Ginger swallowed, every cell of her body tingling with anticipation.

'Can I get you something to eat?'

Cameron's question permeated the haze of desire in her brain. She shook her head, unable to think about food at a time like this. 'No. Thank you. I'm not hungry.'

'I am. Very hungry.' The low rumble of his voice and the heat darkening his eyes left her in no doubt that he wasn't thinking about food, either. She shivered as he raised a hand, his lingers brushing her face, trailing along her neck and lingering at the pulse point of her throat. The fevered ache inside her intensified. 'You make me ravenous.'

She could hear every erratic beat of her heart as he took her hand again and led her up the stairs. They walked along the corridor, every footstep raising her pulse rate and her expectations, her fingers clinging to his as he drew her into his bedroom. He switched on a pair of bedside lights, casting a muted glow throughout the room. Her gaze skimmed over the large, inviting bed before clashing with his again. She couldn't help but remember London. That magical night when they had done pretty much everything with each other but the one thing they had both wanted...knowing each other in the fullest sense of the word. Now she was both excited and nervous.

'Ginger...'

She heard an edge in his voice and frowned, concerned at the look on his face. 'What's the matter?'

'I should tell you I haven't been to the chemist.'

'No!' She stared at him in horrified disappointment and took a few steps backwards.

'I'm sorry.'

Ginger wanted to cry. This couldn't be happening to them again. Then she saw his lips twitch and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'Cameron?'

'Yes, Ginger?'

'If you're teasing me, I'm going to kill you.'

'Yeah?' A chuckle rumbled in his chest. 'You and whose army?'

She put her hands on his midriff, intending to push him back on the bed, but he caught her wrists, pulling her down with him, then rolling so she was under him. Her breath caught as he moved so her hips cradled his, and she could feel his arousal through the barrier of their clothes. She whimpered, trying unsuccessfully to free her hands, needing to touch him, wanting nothing between them. But he held her captive, his mouth taking hers in a searing, consuming, possessive kiss that instantly reignited the dangerous passion and engulfed her in flames once more. He moved against her, simulating what they both most wanted, and she arched her body to his in needy frustration.

Cameron dragged his mouth from hers and she gasped, sucking air into starved lungs as he nibbled a path down her throat. 'Cam, please.

'You drive me insane.' His Voice was a throaty growl against her skin, his words stripping her of any remaining shred of control. 'I want to devour you.'