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He ran a hand down her body from her throat to her belly, reluctant to release her. 'You don't have to rush off, do you?'

'Not too early.' A slow, lusciously sexy smile curved her mouth. 'Whatever did you have in mind?'

Cameron chuckled. 'You're a wicked temptress. Come and take a shower with me.' He rolled from the bed, holding out his hand to her, leading her through to the bathroom.

It turned into a lingering delight, soaping every inch of her, feeling the slipperiness of the suds as he ran his hands over the fullness of her breasts, down the rounded curve of her belly to the swell of her rear. She was so beautiful, all feminine lushness. His breathing turned ragged as she returned the attention, his body reacting as it always did whenever she touched him. He had to see her again. It couldn't end here and now.

Dressed, shaved and ready to go, he tapped on the door of Ginger's room some while later. 'Hi.' He smiled when she answered, already feeling they had been parted too long.

'Hi.'

'I'll be finished by five,' he told her, hating that he had to go. 'I know you want to head home tonight but will you meet me downstairs before you leave? I want to see you.'

'Cam, I have to be at work tomorrow.'

'I know. Please. Just for a little while.'

'I'll see how things go.'

He tried to be satisfied with that. 'All right.

Ginger, I don't even know where you live, what you do. I want—'

'Don't.' She put her fingers to his lips. 'You'll be late.'

Terrified she wouldn't be there when he came back, he drew her into his arms, finding her mouth willing and sweetly familiar as he kissed her, deep and long and hard, trying to brand her, staking his claim with all the pent-up doubt and desperation churning inside him. She looked as flushed and breathless as he felt when he finally forced himself to let her go.

'Good luck with your presentation.' He ran his thumb over the swell of her lower lip.

'And you in court.'

Despite the urgency of his mission, he still hesitated. 'I'll see you later.'

At least she didn't contradict him. He headed down the corridor, turning at the head of the stairway and looking back, seeing her watching him. His mind in turmoil, he forced himself to walk away.

The good news was that his morning meeting had gone even better than he had hoped, and he then got away early from court in the afternoon. The bad news was that they needed him back to give evidence the next morning, so he couldn't return to Scotland with Ginger that evening. Hurrying to the hotel, he wondered how she had got on that day and whether she was waiting for him or had already left. If she had gone, how was he going to find her again? Because find her he must. No way was one night ever going to be enough with this stupendously exciting, sexy woman. He took the steps to the hotel entrance two at a time, crossing purposefully to the desk.

'Are there any messages for me?' he asked with a hopeful smile for the young receptionist.

'Yes, Dr Kincaid. Dr O'Neill is waiting for you in the salon.'

Dr O'Neill? With a puzzled frown, assuming the girl had muddled their titles, he thanked her and walked away, relieved that Ginger had come back. However, his relief evaporated when he saw the look on her face. She was pale, her eyes haunted, her hands shaking.

'Ginger, what is it? What's happened?' He drew up a chair and reached for her, concerned when she evaded his touch. 'Are you not feeling well?'

She raised bruised turquoise eyes to look at him. 'You're shortlisted for the Ackerman money.'

'What? How did you—' A terrible dread clenched his stomach with the realisation that the receptionist had not been wrong. 'Oh, no. No way. The eating disorder unit. Not you?'

'Me.'

The shock robbed him of breath. 'I had no idea.'

'Neither did I. Not until this afternoon when they let slip that the third candidate had dropped out and my only remaining competition was Dr Cameron Kincaid's self-harm facility.'

He hated the harshness and distance in her voice. 'Ginger—'

'Don't, Cameron. This changes everything.' She rose and gathered her things. 'Excuse me, I have a train to catch.'

Panic gripped him. 'Ginger, please. You can't just dismiss what's happening between us.'

'What happened. Past tense,' she corrected, and he could see the pain in her eyes, feel the answering hurt and disbelief crushing his insides as she physically and emotionally withdrew from him.

He caught her arm, desperate to detain her, disbelief making his brain sluggish, hurt paralysing him. 'It's not going to go away. Sweetheart, we can sort something out. Please.'

'We can't, Cameron. This isn't just about us now.' Ginger shook her head, moving to break the contact between them, fighting to gain the strength she needed to do what had to be done. 'We're on opposite sides now. Enemies. I can't let anything or anyone come between me and the needs of my patients.'

'I can't let my patients down, either.'

'I know. That's what I mean.'

Ginger recognised the steely determination mixed with regret in his voice. His shock had been genuine. She believed that he hadn't known the disaster that had awaited them, but she couldn't allow his arguments, his persuasiveness, her own desire for him to weaken her resolve. Her patients had to come before her own desires.

Any joy she had experienced at the success of her presentation that afternoon had been crushed with the shock of hearing Cameron's name, and the dawning realisation that he was her sole remaining competition for the funding that would mean the success or failure of her project and affect the well-being of the patients who depended on her. How could she take her own pleasure in him when the achievement of one of them would ultimately destroy the other? She had to think of the wider issues at stake, not of herself, her own selfish wants.

'Listen, Ginger—'

'No. I can't. Your victory would mean disaster for my patients and put an end to all my hard work and dreams to fulfil their needs. I'm sorry. We can't do this.' Her voice trembled, threatened to break. 'It's over. Goodbye, Cameron.'

Forcing herself to move while she still could, Ginger turned and headed for the exit, the image of his pain and shock imprinted on her brain. Tears blurred her eyes but she blinked them away, ignoring the hurt confusion in Cameron's despairing voice as he followed her and called her name one last time.

'Ginger...'

Blindly, she stepped into the first taxi on the rank outside the hotel and closed the door with a thud, separating herself for ever from the only man who had ever touched her heart and her soul.

'I
wish
I was dead.'

'I hope you don't mean that, Tess.' Ginger frowned as she observed the tear-stained face of the painfully thin, dark-haired girl opposite her. 'Things seem bleak and lonely at the moment, without hope, but we shall do everything we can to help make those feelings better. If you'll let us and work with us.'

The fifteen-year-old wiped the back of her hand across her face, smudging her already running mascara. 'I don't know.'

Ginger handed her another tissue and watched as the girl shredded it in her lap, her dark eyes awash with misery. She never failed to be moved by the stories of pain and despair the young people who came to her confided. It was up to her to change that, to give them new hope for a brighter future. Not that it was easy. It wasn't. Far from it. The kids were often misunderstood, angry, frightened, reserved, anxious, even rude and aggressive, but they had in common a desperate need to be helped and cared about. Ginger refused to let them down, and her growing list of success stories uplifted her patients and colleagues alike, and kept them going despite the odds.

The sight of the young girl and the knowledge of the importance of the job confirmed once more she had done the right thing by walking away from Cameron in London four days ago. The pieces of her shattered heart twisted painfully. Unable to bear the hurt that threatened to tear out her insides, Ginger tried to thrust him from her mind and focused her attention on the troubled teenager.

'Nobody likes me,' Tess confided.

'What makes you say that?'

'There's nothing to like.'

Ginger steepled her fingers under her chin. 'Why is life so bad right now, Tess?'

'Nothing I do is ever right.' The girl sniffed, unable to meet her gaze. 'I'm never good enough, I don't deserve anything.'

'How do you see the role food plays for you?'

Tess frowned. 'It's the only thing I can control. The only thing my parents can't dictate.'

'And what do you see when you look in the mirror?' Ginger probed.

'Someone useless who isn't worth anything,' she whispered.

Ginger glanced down at Tess's file and read the letter from Dr Nic di Angelis, the GP who had made the referral. This was about self-punishment, Ginger realised. The girl was seriously underweight, not because she had a distorted body image but because she believed she had no control over her life, couldn't fulfil her parents' expectations, and deserved nothing better than to waste away.

There were so many triggers for eating disorders, each as individual as the person involved and the treatment needed to help them. It could be anything from divorce to bullying, trauma to illness, loss of a loved one to family discord, an unending list of reasons why some young people responded to conflict and emotion in dangerously inappropriate ways.

'Have your periods been affected, Tess?' she asked, jotting down some notes. 'Have they stopped altogether?'

'They've stopped,' the girl admitted, her face flushing.

'OK. And can you tell me about your eating?'

'I have regular times and set things,' Tess began slowly, and Ginger nodded, recognising the pattern and the way anorexic patients were often organised and disciplined, exerting control over their eating habits and establishing rituals and regimes. 'In the morning I have half a banana at exactly eight o'clock before school.'

'Do you eat anything during the day?'

Tess shook her head. 'I tell my parents I've eaten at school so I'm not hungry when I get in, but I haven't had anything all day except maybe some water or a diet drink.'

'What do you do then?' Ginger was careful to keep her voice light and non-judgemental. 'Do you eat anything else in the evening?'

'I'll have an apple, or sometimes a tomato, but it has to be at the right time. I sneak it up to my room, cut it into even pieces and have it at exactly eight o'clock when I'm doing my homework.'

It was no wonder she was so pale and thin, Ginger thought. 'What happens if you have to eat at other people's houses or with your family?'

'I try to avoid it as much as possible.' Tess paused, continuing to shred the paper tissue. 'It makes me feel bad if I have to eat.'

'Physically bad? Does it hurt or make you feel sick?'

'A bit. There's a sense of uncomfortable fullness. Mostly it just makes me angry that I've lost control, especially if it is something that I've enjoyed the taste of,' she confessed.

Meeting the shy, dark gaze, Ginger smiled in encouragement, knowing how stressful this first session was when someone faced up to their troubles, often for the first time. 'You're doing really well, Tess. Can you tell me what happens afterwards, if you've had to eat a proper meal?'

'I hate myself.' The admission was delivered in a hoarse whisper. 'I shouldn't have eaten it, I don't deserve something nice, so I make myself sick to punish myself.'

As always, Ginger felt a welling up of sorrow when she heard the pain and loneliness hidden in the words. 'OK, Tess. I think we've done enough for today. I really want to help you—if you're prepared to work at it, too. But you know things are not going to get better overnight?' Ginger warned, knowing this was a two-way partnership between her team and the patient.

Tess nodded, anxiety evident in her voice. 'What will happen?'

'You'll come back and see me on a regular basis. We'll talk more, work through the things you are feeling and why, then decide what we can do to change that and make you feel better about things, including food. And we'll find other ways to cope with problems and regain control over your life and your eating,' she explained. 'You'll also see my colleague, Pip Beaumont, on each visit. She's a nurse and really nice, you'll like her. She'll help you with keeping a diary to record your emotions and what you are eating, she'll monitor your weight and blood pressure, that kind of thing, and help you with any other problems or queries you have. And you'll also see Andrew Hodge, who's a dietician. He's very understanding and he's going to help you plan a better way of managing your food to keep you healthy.'

There was vastly more to it, of course, but Tess didn't need the added pressure at this stage. There would be weeks, months of hard work ahead, with no guarantee of a happy outcome. The statistics for recovery from eating disorders made sorry reading. While a third of patients achieved a healthy recovery and another third succeeded in managing their condition most or part of the time, the final third failed altogether, going on to develop worse problems, even losing their lives.

Just like Dee, her older sister, whose tormented teenage years had made such an impact that Ginger had been determined to devote her life to helping other people with similar problems. Sometimes it felt like she was bashing her head against a brick wall, but no way was she giving up. Every success was a joy and made all the hard work and frustrations worthwhile. She owed it to Dee's memory, to all the patients like Tess who needed her and trusted her, not to give up and to devote all her time and energies to helping them not end up a sad, forgotten statistic.

Aware her schedule was already shot to pieces, Ginger nevertheless refused to stint on the time Tess needed during this first, important appointment. 'I'm sure it all seems very daunting at the moment, but we'll do everything we can to help you, Tess. Will you work with us?'

'I'll try.' The girl gave a tearful attempt at a smile.

Ginger smiled back. 'Excellent! Now, I'll see you again on Friday when our real journey together will begin. We'll have another chat and I'll introduce you to Pip and Andrew so they can start working with you to find a programme you are comfortable with, OK? Good. Let's go and find your parents,' she finished, standing up and showing the waif-like youngster out of her room.