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To Play With Fire
Tina Beckett








HOT BRAZILIAN DOCS!


The night is theirs …

Brothers Marcos and Lucas escaped the favelas of Sao Paolo at a young age and have risen up in the world to become two top-of-their-class surgeons. Marcos and Lucas may think they can handle any curveball life throws at them, but when they come face to face with two feisty, fiery women suddenly these Brazilian docs are further out of their depth than they’ve ever been before!

Hold on tight and experience sizzling Brazilian nights with the hottest doctors in Latin America!

The Hot Brazilian Docs! duet by Tina Beckett is available from March 2014

Marcos’s story: TO PLAY WITH FIRE

Lucas’s story: THE DANGERS OF DATING DR CARVALHO


Dear Reader

I’m sure all of you have read stories about long-lost relatives somehow finding each other after years apart. Whether that reunion takes place as a result of social media, an ad in the newspaper, or through the efforts of family and friends, that first meeting is often an emotional, heart-wrenching time. Depending on how many years—or decades—have elapsed, those people might even feel like strangers when they finally come together.

This kind of story provided the basis for Marcos’s and Lucas’s books, only their tale has an added twist. The brothers grew up on two separate continents, one having been adopted while the other grew up in an orphanage in his home country. Now adults, with different last names, one thing binds them together: a promise they made many years earlier—one they each fulfilled in his own special way. I freely admit to shedding a tear or two as these characters struggled through some heartbreaking memories and reforged their connections to each other and their past.

Thank you for joining these strong men as they learn about love and loss, and as they work their way towards a happy ending with a couple of very special women. I hope you enjoy their journey as much as I enjoyed writing about it!

Much love!

Tina Beckett


Born to a family that was always on the move, TINA BECKETT learned to pack a suitcase almost before she knew how to tie her shoes. Fortunately she met a man who also loved to travel, and she snapped him right up. Married for over twenty years, Tina has three wonderful children and has lived in gorgeous places such as Portugal and Brazil.

Living where English reading material is difficult to find has its drawbacks, however. Tina had to come up with creative ways to satisfy her love for romance novels, so she picked up her pen and tried writing one. After her tenth book she realised she was hooked. She was officially a writer.

A three-time Golden Heart finalist, and fluent in Portuguese, Tina now divides her time between the United States and Brazil. She loves to use exotic locales as the backdrop for many of her stories. When she’s not writing you can find her either on horseback or soldering stained glass panels for her home.

Tina loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website or ‘friend’ her on Facebook.

Recent titles by Tina Beckett:

HER HARD TO RESIST HUSBAND

THE LONE WOLF’S CRAVING** (#ulink_04c8f489-5278-50b4-afc6-94579a84f096) NYC ANGELS: FLIRTING WITH DANGER** (#ulink_04c8f489-5278-50b4-afc6-94579a84f096) ONE NIGHT THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING THE MAN WHO WOULDN’T MARRY DOCTOR’S MILE-HIGH FLING DOCTOR’S GUIDE TO DATING IN THE JUNGLE

* (#ulink_cc6174d5-3369-58af-87f1-eb4e8eddf8ef)NYC Angels** (#ulink_cc6174d5-3369-58af-87f1-eb4e8eddf8ef)Men of Honour duet with Anne Fraser

These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk




To Play With Fire

Tina Beckett







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Contents

PROLOGUE (#udd7e27f5-7047-5291-981e-59e51e1e6b8b)

CHAPTER ONE (#uf6a6a296-37f1-5907-8316-db5e4843a343)

CHAPTER TWO (#uf2949b1c-a01e-555c-86b2-e20d6ae6834a)

CHAPTER THREE (#u941b9d43-b5c9-5c92-9072-9d8a1a4f3db5)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u594023d4-2728-52d3-a158-03c08a948b39)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ucfde6aa6-6bfb-58b8-87f0-c6582b26e792)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE

MARCOS HADN’T WANTED his father to go. But he’d gone anyway...just like he did every day.

Sitting in the dust outside their house, Marcos carefully sorted through the load his dad had brought home yesterday. Plastics here. Metals here... Careful, don’t get cut. A rusty cabinet he and his brother had to drag over to the pile. Marcos had already snuck the screwdriver out of his father’s backpack, so he could try to take the cabinet apart.

He had to do as much as possible before Papai came home, because it made something in Marcos’s chest hurt to see his dad’s hands shake as he tried to fit the tool into the screws—and the scared look he’d gotten on his face when he hadn’t been able to.

“Watch your brother.” His father’s words had rung in his ears that morning, just as they had every morning since he’d seen his mom in that funny box. His dad had looked real scared that day, too. Marcos had just felt sad and hungry.

So he kept watching Lucas, while moving things from one stack to another. His brother was dragging a stick through the dirt, his feet almost black. Marcos frowned. Where were his flip-flops? There were lots of sharp things out here. But Lucas never listened. No matter how many times Marcos told him. He stomped over to his brother and kicked off his own shoes and pointed at them.

Lucas’s lips got skinny, but he stuck his feet into the shoes. He was mad. Marcos didn’t care. It was his job to make sure Lucas didn’t get hurt.

And now he had to make sure his dad didn’t get hurt, either.

“We have to hurry.” He glanced at the sun, which wasn’t as bright any more. “Papai will be home soon.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. I heard you today. You said the same thing I did.”

“Did not!” Lucas picked up a plastic drink bottle and threw it as hard as he could across the yard.

Marcos didn’t argue with him. But before his dad had left this morning Marcos had told him he was going to be a doctor when he grew up, so he could make him all better.

Lucas’s head had bobbed up and down. “Me, too. I’m going to be the best doctor in the whole world.”

Papai had blinked his eyes several times and then turned away like he didn’t believe them. But he would see. Marcos would make himself smart. Then his dad would stop shaking, and that scared look would go away.

The sound of hands clapping three times outside made them both freeze. Papai never clapped to get in. Only visitors did that.

Marcos snuck over to the tall fence and peeked between the cracks in the boards. It wasn’t Papai. It was a man in a grey uniform. “Polícia,” he whispered.

He started to shake. Just like his dad.

Then the policeman squatted down and peered through the fence, staring right at him...


CHAPTER ONE

HE COULD HAVE heard a pin drop.

Dr. Marcos Pinheiro began the slow, rhythmic countdown in his head as he waited for the patient on the other side of his desk to react.

Her hands slowly tightened on the armrests of the white leather chair.

One...two...three...four...fi—

“N-no more tumor? Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Your latest CT scan came back all clear. No signs of regrowth on your pituitary, graças a Deus. And your hormone levels are back within the normal range.”

He kept his voice low and soothing, knowing she’d braced herself for bad news and was now struggling to process the fact that her worst fears were not going to be realized.

“Graças a Deus,” she repeated, making a quick sign of the cross over her chest.

Fifty-nine years old, with two children and three grandchildren, Graciela Abrigo might have been any number of patients he’d seen over the last several weeks. But she wasn’t. And his little invocation of thanking God wasn’t one he often made—especially not when talking to his patients.

But Graciela was special. She’d worked in the orphanage where Marcos had grown up—had put up with a lot of crap and acting out from him when his brother had been ripped from his side and adopted by some nameless family. He could still see the flash of fear in Lucas’s young eyes.

“Watch your brother.”

Bile rose, and he swallowed hard to rid himself of the taste.

He still didn’t know what had happened to Lucas. No one by that name had shown up on any of Brazil’s registries that he could find—then again, he probably had a new last name now.

But Graciela had assured him that the couple who had come for his brother had been nice. Kind. She’d seen it in their eyes. Lucas would have had a good home. “Graças a Deus,” she’d murmured, in a voice much like the one she’d just used.

As kind as this mysterious couple had supposedly been, they hadn’t wanted Marcos. Hadn’t seemed to care that they’d separated brothers who had still been reeling from their father’s death six months after the fact.

He shook himself free of the anger that still had the power to wind around his gut and jettison him twenty-nine years into the past.

It was over. Those years were long gone.

Forcing a smile, he stood and rounded the desk. Graciela had been there for him when no one else had. And he was glad he’d been able to play a small part in doing something for her in return.

Because Marcos Pinheiro always repaid his debts.

And he always kept his promises.

Graciela stood as well and embraced him, cupping his cheeks and kissing his right one in customary São Paulo fashion.

The click of the door opening behind him sounded just as she said, “I have to get back to the home. Thank you, Markinho. For everything.”

His smile this time was genuine, even as he tried not to wince at her use of his childhood nickname. “I haven’t heard that in ages.”

“Then it is time. You will always be little Markinho to me.”

Turning to walk her to the door, the smile died on his lips when he saw who’d come into his office.

Ah, hell.

His mind blanked out all thoughts of Lucas and the past. Hopefully she hadn’t heard Graciela’s parting shot.

Because Markinho was not the image he wanted to project to those working under him. Especially not to a certain fiery-haired American who’d been “under” him in more ways than one. Actually, she’d been on top, if he wanted to get really technical about it.

Which he didn’t. All he wanted to do was forget it had ever happened.

He saw his patient out and then slowly shut the door, turning to lean against it.

Dr. Maggie Pfeiffer. All long legs, luscious curves...and cool, collected efficiency.

“Posso te ajudar?” Marcos spoke English fluently, having made it a point to drill it ruthlessly into his head as he’d attended med school, knowing it was a necessity in today’s medical fields. But he chose to address Maggie in Portuguese—though she still struggled at times with the language, even after six months at the hospital.

“Oh...um.” After a moment’s hesitation, she worked through her answer. “Yes. I have a question about one of our patients’s treatment.”

Our.

He’d been slowly letting out the reins and giving Maggie more responsibility, especially with international patients. Which served as a blessing, since it gave him some breathing space—time when he wasn’t constantly aware of her scent...of the soft, sexy accent when she spoke his language.

The memory of her straddling his hips in the cramped confines of his car as they’d hammered out all the reasons she should be careful about using certain hand gestures caused a visceral reaction low in his gut. One that came on so fast he had to grit his teeth to fight his way through it. Beads of sweat broke out on his upper lip as the images of that day swept over him.

Get past it, Marcos.

Forcing his thoughts back to the here and now, he focused on a safer subject: her language abilities.

She was doing well, but there were still treatment methods she wasn’t familiar with...words she struggled to translate in her head. And hearing her refer to his patient in a joint sense made something in his stomach shift. His eyes followed suit, moving lower for a split second to where Maggie’s fingers were unconsciously fiddling with one of the buttons on her silky green blouse. Just below the swell of her breasts. Breasts that had filled his hands to perfection.

Hell.

He dragged his gaze back to her face. “Which patient are you referring to?”

“Ana Leandro.”

“What’s the question?” He pushed away from the door and took a step closer, his eyes narrowing when Maggie moved back a pace, her bottom hitting the edge of his desk. She glanced down at the wooden surface in surprise then reached back and gripped it with both hands, sending all kinds of images ricocheting through his skull.

Very bad images. Of him. And her...

And that desk.

“You have her physical therapy scheduled for once a week. But she’s handling it well. Should we bump it up a bit and be a little more aggressive?”

He struggled to remember the patient’s diagnosis, closing his eyes to pull up a physical description of the young woman. Marcos had always been a visual learner, committing things to memory in a way that most people couldn’t. There’d been no books at their house, so he and his brother had both become adept at memorizing images and then trying to outdo the other.

He wondered if Lucas could still...

It didn’t matter. Nothing did, except keeping his mind trained on the task at hand.

“Where’s her chart?” She’d come into the room empty-handed, which was unusual. The woman was nothing if not meticulously efficient. Even the way she’d made love had been a study in efficiency—not a movement wasted. Not a sound made. Only the reflexive closing of her eyes as she’d lowered herself onto him one final time, the tightening of her hands on his shoulders and the sudden soft convulsions of her body telling him that she’d climaxed.

And her frieza, that cool, aloof manner that seemed so at odds with someone who had hair the color of burning embers had made the experience even hotter. Made him want to break through that icy wall and make her lose all control.

His body reacted again, and he took a steadying breath as he waited for her answer.

“Ana is in PT right now. I thought we might go and see her together.”

“Together...” His brow lifted. “Right now?” Why he felt the need to goad her was a mystery. Maybe it was irritation at the reaction she seemed to draw from him every time she was near.

Maggie’s lips parted, her teeth sinking deep into the lower one.

Okay, so maybe his thoughts weren’t the only ones edging toward a very dangerous cliff. Although that might not be a good thing because he might just be tempted to leap over the edge, and take her with him.

“I would like us to go and see her. Together.” Said as if she needed to clarify what she wanted to do with him.

Pity.

“Graciela was my last patient until after lunch, so...” He put a hand on the doorknob and pulled, the normal chaotic sounds of the hospital slipping through the opening and grounding him.

Just like they always did.

Silence was not his friend. Marcos was used to sound. Lots of it. His earliest memories were of his home in the favela, where the thin walls and corrugated metal roof had done nothing to dampen the sounds of life...and death. And afterwards, the orphanage where he’d been raised had been a boiling caldron of activity, the noise levels sometimes rising to the point where his ears had rung.

Which made Maggie’s quiet manner and even quieter lovemaking seem otherworldly...as if a cool marble statue carved by some gifted sculptor had come to life. What would she think of his world? His background?

Not something he wanted to dwell on.

“After you.” He motioned toward the open door.

“Oh. So you’ll see her?”

“That is what you were asking me to do.” He allowed the corners of his mouth to lift as his gaze trailed across her pale skin. “Isn’t it?”

She colored, right on cue. His lips edged higher. At least that was one reaction he could wring from her. There were things that even Maggie Pfeiffer couldn’t hide. The pucker of her nipples as he’d unbuttoned her blouse and let his fingers trail over her skin. The moist heat he’d discovered at the apex of those lean thighs as he’d pushed deep inside her.

“Yes. Of course it was.” She let go of the desk and slid her palms down the fabric of her grey pencil skirt, drawing his attention once again to areas he should avoid. At all costs.

She swished by him, the economy of her steps matching everything else he knew of her. Maggie didn’t waste her time on things that weren’t important.

Like her own wants and needs?

Maybe that’s why she’d fascinated him from the time he’d laid eyes on her all those months ago.

Brazilians were a hot people. And he’d grown up in an atmosphere where that heat had been fanned by the winds of desperation. People in the favelas clawed out happiness wherever they found it and devoured it whole. You didn’t wait to be asked. You took. Eased whatever pain you had...whether it was in your belly or in your loins.

And right now that pain was definitely south of his stomach.

But he’d sworn to himself that Maggie was off-limits from now on. He’d had her once.

And that had been more than enough.

* * *

Maggie’s legs were a quivering mass of nerves, but she forced them to keep moving down the long hospital corridor...to keep her body in motion. If she didn’t stop, he wouldn’t see her shake.

What the hell was it about the man that intimidated her? What was it about those brown eyes that made her insides heat?

Just because he reminded her of the dark knight from her dreams who came to rescue her from those horrible nights that seemed to never end—the ones where she tried so hard to keep quiet—was no excuse. Which was probably why she’d fallen prey to Marcos in the first place.

No. Prey was the wrong term. It had been nothing like that. Nothing like those nights from her past.

How she’d ended up kissing Marcos as they’d discussed a cultural mistake she’d made was still foggy in her head. Maybe it was some strange, unknown effect of embarrassment. One minute they’d been in his car in the staff parking garage, getting ready to drive to the apartment the hospital had secured for her. Nervous, she’d dropped her water bottle, and it had rolled into the well by his feet.

As they’d both leaned down to retrieve it, their cheeks had brushed, and heat had bloomed inside her. Marcos’s head had come up as if he’d sensed her reaction, his brown eyes staring deep into hers. The rest had been a blur of movement. A hot, fast shifting of clothes. His hands on her hips, lifting her up and over him, undoing the buttons of her blouse—she swallowed hard—sliding into her. Her body’s instant response.

The whole thing had probably been over in less than five minutes.

The repercussions, though, were still with her a month later.

The only thing she knew with certainty about that day was that it had been a mistake.

A lapse that could never happen again. He was a doctor. Her boss, for all practical purposes, even though she carried the same title he did.

Why had she been so bewitched by him? She should be used to Brazilians by now. Her hospital in New Jersey had had a high concentration of them, so many that she’d often grown frustrated by the language barrier and had struggled to understand cultural norms so different from her own. When a chance had opened up to come to Brazil to intern under a world-renowned neurosurgeon, she’d fought to be included in the program. And had won the coveted spot.

All she needed was to ruin it by letting the man’s deadly good looks get beneath her skin.

Like she’d already done a month ago?

She quickened her pace, trying to outrun the memories.

That had been a moment of weakness. She’d been insecure in the language and had used a hand gesture with a patient that had sexual connotations. Marcos had shot her a look, eyes narrowed in speculation before swooping in and correcting her faux pas. And later that day, in the darkened interior of his car, he’d shown her exactly what that misused signal meant.

And he’d been loud. So loud.

Heavens!

She swallowed, her stomach quaking at the memory.

But just because she’d made one mistake, that didn’t mean she should follow it up with another. She was a smart woman, not a shrinking, naive teenager—at least, not any more. She’d already seen what Dr. Markinho wanted from her.

And it certainly wasn’t her expertise in the exam room.

Which was why she needed to keep that cold shoulder aimed squarely at the man following behind her. Except, judging from the way her butt was growing warmer by the second, she had a feeling the good doctor was looking anywhere but at her shoulder.

“Here we are.”

Thank God. She turned to face him at the glass door of the physical therapy room. Damn. Maybe she’d been wrong. He looked perfectly in control, just like he always did—not a dark hair out of place, although a few streaks of grey had gathered at his temples, like clouds before a storm. And the man’s gaze was definitely glued to her face, not the slightest twitch of eyes wandering to other places.

Maybe she’d been imagining things.

Or worse...wishing.


CHAPTER TWO

“MARCOS! EARTH TO MARCOS!”

Cool fingers covered his eyes, and someone gave him a quick peck on top of the head, which almost caused him to lose his grip on his first real cup of coffee of the day. For a split second he thought it was Maggie who’d kissed him.

It wasn’t.

He gave a soft curse, then twisted his head sideways to dislodge the person’s hands. “Sophia, this is not the place.”

“Nossa Senhora. You’re so grouchy nowadays.”

His childhood friend dropped into one of the hospital cafeteria’s tan upholstered chairs and crinkled her nose in irritation.

Almost as slender as she’d been during their days at the orphanage, Sophia Limeira had looked Marcos straight in the eye when he’d arrived at the state-run home, plopped her thumb out of her mouth and offered the wet digit up to him. He’d just stood there staring at her, trying not to cry in front of his little brother, who kept asking where Papai was...when they were going home. Marcos had already grasped the truth of their situation from the moment he’d seen the policeman on the other side of the fence: they weren’t going home. Not ever.

Sophia, as if recognizing a lost soul when she saw one—had stuck to his side like glue from that moment on. Had even followed him into the medical field. Marcos, in turn, had protected her when she’d been little—still felt the need to protect her now that she was an adult. And even though she griped about it constantly, he had a feeling she secretly liked the fact that someone cared.

He took a tentative sip of his coffee as he tried to formulate a response to her declaration. “I’m not grouchy. I’m busy.”

With a flourish of her fingers, four rectangular slips of paper appeared, splayed apart like a hand of cards. “Too busy to go with me to the ballet? I won four tickets from a promotion they were having at Printemps.”

“Printemps? What the hell is that?”

“Wow, Marcos. Such language.” She sighed and stuffed the tickets back in her bag. “It’s a department store down on 25 de Março. I know you’ve seen it.”

A bargain-hunter’s paradise, the huge shopping district in the center of São Paulo was a chaotic beehive of activity on the best of days...and the last place Marcos ever ventured, if he could help it. The area could also be dangerous. “You went down there by yourself?”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “I’m not a kid any more, remember? We’ve talked about this.”

“We did. And you agreed to take someone with you when you shopped.”

“I did. I took the American girl you have working for you. She’d never been.” Her brows came together in rebuke. “After six months, can you believe it? You should have at least offered to show it to her.”

Yeah, right. He could just see that happening. Maybe he’d ask her tomorrow, in fact. Marcos pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.

Maggie was the last person he wanted Sophia hanging around with. His friend might take it on herself to do something crazy.

“Anyway,” she continued, “Maggie said she’d go to the ballet with me, but that leaves two tickets. She said she was sure you’d want to go as well.”

Something crazy. Like that.

His hand dropped back to the table, eyes narrowing. Somehow he doubted it had been Maggie’s suggestion that he go. “Sorry. Can’t make it.”

“You don’t even know what the dates are yet.”

It didn’t matter. No way was he going to the ballet with Sophia and her new BFF.

He tried to pry the truth out of her. “Did Dr. Pfeiffer actually mention me by name?”

“She did.” Sophia drew an X across her chest with her index finger. “Juro.”

I swear. Fitting, since he’d like to do a little swearing himself.

“What did she say, exactly?”

“Well, I said I might ask you to go along with us, and Maggie said, ‘Do that.’”

He gave a short laugh, relief washing through him. “It’s called sarcasm, Soph. Americans use it a lot.”

Okay, well, that cleared up that little mystery.

Undaunted by his lack of enthusiasm, she leaned forward. “Did you know Americans also use this...” she made a circle of her thumb and forefinger, shielding the sign with her other hand to keep it hidden from fellow diners “...to mean that something is good? Maggie said she accidentally used it with a patient a while ago.”

“Yes. I know.” Marcos pushed her hand down with a frown and held onto it. “That doesn’t mean you should go around flashing it.”

He remembered exactly when Maggie had used that sign. Seventy-nine-year-old Guilherme Lima had come in to ask about his test results, and before Marcos had realized what her intentions were, out had come the finger circle accompanied by an emphatic shake or two of her hand. He’d thought the poor man—whose test results really had been A-okay—had been going to die of a stroke right there in his office. Marcos had thought he might just follow his patient over the edge. But for an entirely different reason. Maggie’s innocent demeanor, accompanied by that obscene gesture, had set off a firestorm in his belly that had lasted the rest of the day.

When he’d offered to drive her home with the idea of setting her straight in private so she wouldn’t be embarrassed, things hadn’t gone exactly as planned. He’d explained why she shouldn’t use that sign, and her eyes had gone wide as she’d licked her lips. Another deadly combination he hadn’t been able to resist—and hadn’t bothered trying. Then she’d dropped that water bottle and leaned forward...

Something he was better off not thinking about right now.

As if he’d summoned her, a flash of red to the side caught his attention, and he swiveled his head to look. Maggie was in line with a tray, but her eyes were on him, following the line of his arm to where his hand still held Sophia’s. A frown marred her brow, and something about it made Marcos let go of Sophia in a rush.

A second later, he thought better of it. Had his friend even explained their relationship to her? That he’d been Sophia’s sidekick at the orphanage?

Why did it matter? In fact, it might not be a bad thing if Maggie thought there was a little something going on between them.

Which would make him look like a first-class jerk, after those passion-filled moments they’d shared.

As if realizing she was still staring, Maggie yanked her glance back to the tray in her hand and continued through the line, perusing the items behind the glass window at the counter as if they fascinated her.

Unfortunately, Sophia had also spotted her and waved her over.

Meu Deus. Why had he ever thought coffee was a good idea?

With a sense of impending doom, he watched as Maggie made her selection, hunched her shoulders and headed their way, looking very much like she was facing a slow and painful death.

Well, join the club, querida. You’re not the only one.

* * *

Maggie had wanted a simple fruit cup, hoping to make up for the fact that she’d skipped breakfast that morning. What she hadn’t wanted, however, was to witness her boss holding hands with her new friend, Sophia, who was everything Maggie wasn’t: curvy, with flawless tanned skin and silky black hair that shimmered with every movement. The girl also seemed to have cornered the market on flirty smiles, except she did it with a total lack of guile about how that sultry flash of teeth affected the opposite sex. And judging from Marcos’s reaction, he’d definitely been affected.

It might even explain why Sophia had been so quick to mention inviting him to the ballet.

Did she have any idea what he and Maggie had done in the parking garage? No, of course she didn’t. She had the feeling Marcos wasn’t the kind of man to kiss and tell.

But he might be the kind of person who played the field. And there was something between these two. She could tell by the way they leaned into each other as they talked, by their easy smiles and casual manner.

Past lovers?

Present?

That thought made having to sit with them that much worse. Because, if the two of them were involved, the last thing her boss would want was for Sophia to discover what they’d been up to a month ago. From the uneasy look on his face, he was thinking much the same thing.

Before she could veer away to another table, however, Sophia leaped up and took her tray, setting it next to hers and then kissing her cheek. Maggie still hadn’t gotten used to that aspect of their culture: the kissing—whether it was the casual Brazilian kissing that went on between friends and relatives or, worse, the crazy intense style she’d experienced with the Brazilian seated across from her. Yep, that style of kissing was still kind of foreign to her, since the encounters she’d had in her past life had almost never involved mouth-to-mouth contact.

She sucked down a quick breath as an unwanted memory pushed its way in. She shook it off, her fingertips curving and pressing deeply into the sides of her thighs.

He’s dead. The past is dead. Get over it.

Slumping into her seat and wishing she could be anywhere else, she forced a smile. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.” She gave the offhand remark in such a way that neither party would know who she referred to.

“I come here every morning.” The faint amusement that tinged his words made her bristle. She wasn’t stalking him, for heaven’s sake.

“Really? I only come when my boss asks me to show up at a ridiculously early hour,” she retorted.

He glanced at his watch, one side of his mouth quirking. “Six o’clock is hardly early.”

“Hmm.” The vague noise was meant to be noncommittal, but it caused Marcos to lean back, arms crossing over his chest.

Sophia, seemingly unaware of the tension in the air, spoke up. “I was just telling Marcos about the ballet. And that you were going, too.”

Oh, no! She’d hoped any drama involving those tickets would happen out of her earshot.

“When is it again?” Marcos asked, his eyes trained on her face, which was growing hotter by the second.

Sophia glanced at her. “Two weeks from Wednesday.”

Lifting his phone off the tabletop, he used a finger to scroll across the screens, probably looking at his calendar. “We have a medical conference starting this Monday.”

Something she was trying her best to forget. They were supposed to sit together, since part of the conference dealt with advances in neurosurgery. Marcos said he’d probably need to translate portions of it for her.

The last thing she wanted him doing was whispering in her ear. She’d had that experience once already and didn’t need any reminders of what a heady thing it was.

“That’s perfect,” Sophia said. “Those things never go past five in the afternoon, and the ballet doesn’t start until eight.”

Maggie wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that. She’d already promised Sophia that she’d go. But that had been before she’d found out she’d be a third wheel. She wanted to back out more than anything, but didn’t want to offend her friend in the process.

“Will it be at the Municipal Theater?” Marcos asked.

“Of course.”

Now was her chance to try to wriggle out of it. “Maybe I should just let you guys go and enjoy it on your own.”

“What are you talking about? Of course you must go.” Sophia laid her hand on Marcos’s arm. “He wants you to come as well, don’t you, Marcos?”

“Definitely. I want you to come.”

The smooth words were said without the slightest twitch of an eyebrow, but she felt her face flaming back to life. He’d used that phrasing on purpose...knew it would bring up memories of her—with him—as he’d told her he wanted her to do exactly that.

And she had.

She wished she could think of something equally witty and sophisticated to lob back at him, but she couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t be obvious to everyone. Which made her feel like a royal dork.

Besides, how could she refuse to go after her friend had been so excited about winning the tickets in the first place? Nope. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. So she gritted out a smile instead. “Well, I guess that’s settled, then.”

Sophia gave an audible sigh, then leaned back with a grin. “Exactly.”


CHAPTER THREE

“DO THEY HAVE to shave all my hair off?”

Teresa Allen’s big blue eyes looked up at her with a pleading expression. The seven-year-old had come in to have her ventriculoperitoneal shunt checked. She’d been having headaches for the last couple of days, and Marcos wanted her in his office right away to make sure the device was draining off the excess cerebrospinal fluid the way it should.

It wasn’t. And now Maggie’s task was to keep their young American patient and her mother calm while Marcos prepared for the emergency surgery. Once Teresa was anesthetized, however, she’d be able to scrub up and join the surgical team.

Maggie smiled. “No, they won’t shave all your hair, only this little spot right here.” She drew a U-shaped figure with her fingertip behind the little girl’s right ear. “You can comb the rest of your hair so that it covers it once you’re out of surgery. But it’ll all grow back before you know it.”

Her mom, seated beside her daughter, smiled. “Thank you for speaking to us in English. I really need to learn Portuguese, but there are so many ex-pats here I haven’t needed to. Your English is excellent, by the way. Congratulations.”

Maggie grinned back. “That’s because I’m an American, too. And believe me, once I open my mouth, no one would mistake me for a Brazilian, even when I’m speaking Portuguese.”

It felt so good to speak her own language. It was also the reason Marcos had left her here with the mother and daughter. And although she knew she deserved to be in that operating room every bit as much as he did, she didn’t resent being here. She could remember the times her own mother had held her hand when she’d gone to the doctor to have her inoculations...or when she’d been sick. It was important to feel safe.

And Maggie could remember, down to the minute, when she’d no longer felt that way. It had taken her a long, long time to recover. Even now she wondered if she was functioning one hundred percent normally.

Her ex-boyfriend certainly hadn’t given her much reassurance on that front.

But Marcos hadn’t seemed to sense anything weird during their brief interlude. Then again, she hadn’t been paying attention to much outside of how he was making her feel.

One of the nurses came into the room with a pair of hair clippers. “Are we ready?”

“I think so.” Maggie stroked Teresa’s head. “What do you think? Are you ready for those headaches to go away?”

Teresa nodded. “I’m really scared, though.”

Meeting her mother’s eyes, she could see it was taking every ounce of willpower for the woman not to burst into tears in front of her daughter.

Maggie smiled. “I’m going to be with you the whole time. I promise.”

“Even during the operation?”

She nodded. “Even then.”

Her mom’s chin wobbled even more as she mouthed, “Thank you.”

Forty-five minutes later, Maggie stood beside Marcos as he carefully examined the shunt valve he’d removed from Teresa’s head. “The problem’s in here. We’ll need to replace it with a new one.” Setting the device aside, his fingers followed the path of the tubing down the child’s neck and chest, feeling it through her skin. “Everything else seems okay, and she’s got plenty of room left for growth. So let’s get in and get out.”

Maggie busied herself with retrieving the replacement valve and carrying it over to the table.

Marcos took a step back. “Why don’t you connect it?”

Surprised, she glanced at him for a second, before moving closer. Taking hold of the lower section of the catheter tubing, she carefully worked it into the connecting port, and then did the same with the upper end. She checked the seals. Hooking it up took less than ten minutes, but it felt good to be doing actual surgery, instead of feeling like a useless hanger-on.

She also realized that she hadn’t needed to translate Marcos’s words in her head when he’d spoken but had automatically processed and understood them. She gave him a huge smile, only realizing a second later that her mask kept him from seeing it. But evidently he’d seen something in her eyes because he said, “Good job.”

It had taken almost seven months, but maybe she was finally getting the hang of this crazy language.

And maybe even gaining the trust of her fellow neurosurgeon?

They finished up the surgery, each of them moving forward and then back to allow the other person to have a turn securing everything in place and then finally closing the incision. Marcos examined the site with a critical eye. “I think that about does it. Let’s bring her out of anesthesia while I clean her up.”

Marcos gently swabbed the blood from the side of the child’s head as the anesthesiologist began lightening the sedation and removed the tape from her eyelids. Within minutes, Teresa’s eyelids fluttered.

Leaning over her, Maggie smiled and said, “Can you hear me, pumpkin?”

Teresa nodded her head, her gaze still unfocused.

“That’s wonderful.” It suddenly didn’t matter that she was standing in the middle of a team of Brazilian doctors and nurses speaking English. All that mattered was that this child understood her. “See, I promised you I’d be right here with you every step of the way, and here I am. I’ve never left your side.”

She glanced up to see Marcos staring at her with an enigmatic look. “Pumpkin?”

“It’s an endearment.” She couldn’t help raising her brows in challenge. “Kind of like Markinho.”

The whole room went silent for a second or two, and she realized she’d made some kind of serious gaffe.

In a low voice he gritted, “I’d rather you didn’t call me that.”

Oh! She hadn’t meant to insult him, had just been trying to explain why she’d addressed their patient using the name of a vegetable. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Thank you.” With that, he stripped off his gloves and headed out the door without a word to anyone.

What was with him?

She could no more imagine Marcos being embarrassed by her playful comment than she could imagine herself being. Then again, she didn’t know the man at all.

And probably never would.

* * *

No one called him that.

No one except his father and his brother. And Graciela, who’d begun using it after hearing Lucas do so. Once his brother had left with his adoptive family, her use of the diminutive form of his name had made him feel cared for—and a little less lonely.

But hearing Maggie say it had made his gut do a slow burn. He knew she wasn’t trying to be unprofessional, and hadn’t actually been calling him Markinho. But that soft accented voice murmuring his childhood name had made those same sensations go through him that he’d had as a child. Only Maggie wasn’t interested in making him feel cared for.

And he certainly wasn’t lonely. Not with all the noise and activity of the hospital going on around him.

He’d overreacted. Had stormed out of that operating room like a child.

Like Markinho might have done, once upon a time?

No, he wasn’t a child. He was temperamental. He’d heard the nurses use that term to excuse his lack of social interaction.

Because as much as Marcos liked to be surrounded by noise, it was more as an observer than a participant. Except with Maggie, evidently. He found he had to fill the silence that was her with talking...or, worse, groaning.

Like in his car?

The tinted windows had been dark enough to block out everything that happened inside, cocooning them in a private world where anything could happen. And it had. His eyes had been locked on Maggie’s face while her eyelids had fluttered closed the second he’d moved her panties aside and found her wet and ready. Her tight heat had massaged his flesh again and again, his words of encouragement every bit as suggestive as the hand sign she’d used with his patient.

And when she’d come...

Hell, she’d exploded within minutes, the sensation taking his body by storm and forcing an audible reaction from him that had left him shaken.

They’d been lucky none of the security guards had been around.

Maggie, on the other hand, had been totally silent. Because of the fear of discovery?

The urge to find out—to have her under him in more private circumstances—swept through his system like wildfire.

He rolled his eyes as he forced himself back to the present and stepped into the staff washroom. He scrubbed his hands and splashed his face, staring at himself in the mirror—and trying not to see Markinho reflected back at him.

Why had she gotten under his skin? Even during the surgery he’d been aware of her every move. Her every word. And when she’d used his name his senses had churned to life.

He had a feeling it wasn’t her use of his nickname that bothered him so much. It was what she’d said to the little girl in the operating room.

Marcos had a personal rule that pretty much governed everything he did. He never made promises he couldn’t keep. Rarely made them at all, in fact. Not after what had happened with his father. Hearing Maggie toss that word around with such ease—and to a child—without thinking of the repercussions had struck him as irresponsible.

He was being ridiculous. It was only surgery...a period of an hour and a half.

And if his patient had regained consciousness and found Maggie hadn’t kept her word?

He switched off the water and turned away from the mirror. Time to go talk to his patient’s family, although he had no doubt Maggie had already accompanied the girl to the recovery room and made sure she was settled in. If he knew her—which he didn’t, not at all—she’d also spoken with the mother and assured her everything was going to be okay.

Another promise that was impossible to keep.

What was wrong with him today? He didn’t normally brood on the past.

Maybe something about his new colleague brought it out in him—or perhaps it was those flashes of something that appeared behind her blue eyes periodically.

Sadness?

He’d thought it was fear the first time he’d kissed her. The look had taken him aback, made him wonder if he was acting like a brute.

Probably.

It was why he didn’t get involved with staff or any of the nurses. He didn’t want tales of his exploits making the rounds.

In fact, he would have stopped with a kiss that day in the car if Maggie hadn’t accepted his challenge to kiss him back and awoken something raw and primitive inside him. After that, neither of them had seemed able to halt what had happened.

Marcos huffed out a breath and left the restroom, irritated once again. He had to stop thinking about her. It was becoming almost an obsession. And he didn’t obsess about anything...or anyone.

Arriving at the waiting room and finding it empty, he stopped at the nurses’ desk. “My patient. Where is she?”

“Wh-which patient?”

The stuttered words drew him up short, making him think about Maggie’s reaction to him. Did he engender fear in everyone he came across?

Forcing a softer tone to his voice, he clarified, “Teresa Allen.”

The nurse tapped the keys of her computer and said, “Recovery room three.”

He strode away before stopping again with a frown. Turning back to the desk, he said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

There. At least she hadn’t stuttered that time.

Arriving at the recovery room, he found Maggie was indeed there, along with Teresa’s mother. He ignored her for the moment, going over to shake hands with the mom and saying in English, “I’m Dr. Pinheiro.”

“You’re the one who did the surgery?”

He glanced at where Maggie stood, chin elevated as if bracing herself for whatever he might say. He cursed his careless words in the operating room. “Actually, Dr. Pfeiffer and I both had a part in it. She’s already explained what we did?”

“Yes. The new shunt should be okay for a while?”

“For a long while, we hope.” He smiled at his patient, who’d drifted back to sleep. “Teresa has to lie flat for the next twenty-four hours, so she’ll need to stay here for another day or two.”

“Can I stay with her?”

“I don’t see why not. It might make her feel more secure to have you here. I can have a cot brought in.”

“Thank you.” They shook hands once again, and Maggie came over this time.

“You’ll let her know I was here?” she asked the mother.

“Yes. She’ll be happy to know that. Can you visit her tomorrow?”

Maggie reached out and hugged her. “Absolutely. I’ll see you later.”

With that she was out the door without a backwards glance at him.

Dammit.

He went after her, catching up to her within a few strides.

“Hey. Espere.”

Maggie stopped in her tracks, the sudden halt not making the slightest sound on the polished linoleum floor. She stayed put but didn’t look at him. He rounded her still form until he stood in front of her, ignoring everything around him as he stared down at her. When she finally glanced up, the cool indifference in the clear blue depths of her eyes was unmistakable, even to him.

An act? Or was she really not bothered by what he’d said to her? Either way, he owed her an apology.

“I’m sorry.” He touched the line of her jaw with his index finger, forcing it not to linger for more than a second on the softness he found there. “I overreacted a little while ago. Markinho is a childhood name. No one uses it.”

“One of your patients did.” Her soft voice spoke volumes.

He’d forgotten she’d overheard Graciela call him that a few days ago.

“She’s different.” He tried to think of a way to explain it that didn’t involve talking about his past. “I’ve known that particular patient for a very long time.”

She studied him for a second or two, as if trying to decide whether or not she was going to accept his explanation. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I was trying to explain why I called Teresa ‘pumpkin.’”

“No harm done.”

Really, Marcos? Are you certain of that?

He wasn’t sure of anything, when it came to her.

He forced himself to continue. “The medical conference starts Monday. I’d like us to drive over there together, if possible.”

What the hell? Did he really want her back in his car after what had happened? He’d talked about them sitting together during the seminars, nothing more.

She might need help finding the place.

Nothing like having an argument inside your own damn head.

“I think catching a taxi from the hospital might be a safer bet...for everyone.”

He couldn’t hold back a smile. “Point taken. Tell you what. Why don’t we meet here in the lobby at seven and we’ll take the subway instead. It stops close to the convention center and we can walk over there together.” He glanced at her shoes. Swallowed hard. “Wear something comfortable.”

And on that note—trying not to dwell on the fact that her shiny black pumps looked exactly like the pair she’d been wearing that day in his car, or the fact that one of them had fallen off some time during their maneuvering, forcing him to retrieve it from the floor afterwards—he stalked away to get his fifth cup of coffee.

And to hopefully locate his damned sanity.


CHAPTER FOUR

MARCOS MURMURED SOMETHING to the woman seated behind the registration desk at the conference center, but Maggie couldn’t hear what it was.

He hadn’t said anything else about what had happened during the surgery two days ago—when she’d mistakenly used his nickname in front of a roomful of medical staff. In fact, Maggie hadn’t seen much of him since then. But he had left a note at the nurses’ station confirming he’d meet her in the hospital lobby this morning.

Riding on the São Paulo subway had been a new experience for her as she rarely traveled downtown, but it had been a fairly simple trip. They’d even found seats next to each other—which Marcos had indicated wasn’t always an easy feat. Not that it mattered. He’d been glued to the screen of his phone the whole time, evidently checking and responding to emails.

Despite the quick ride over, they were still a few minutes late for the opening of the convention. Marcos didn’t seem overly concerned. These things never started on time, he’d said.

He’d been right. The line behind them grew longer by the second, and she didn’t hear anything coming from behind the closed doors to their right.

Maggie was used to punctuality, so the laid-back atmosphere she’d found in Brazil was another thing that was hard to get used to, but it all seemed to work out in some weird way. And the hospital was top notch, up on the latest treatment methods and as spotless as they came. Teresa Allen’s impeccable surgery was the norm, rather than the exception. As for the doctors... She glanced at Marcos from beneath her lashes, a shiver going over her. Well, that was something she shouldn’t think about right now.

What she did know was how fortunate she was to have gotten this internship.

The receptionist handed Marcos two lanyards, along with a couple of printed name tags, and he paused at the table to slide the paper tags into the holders. They’d put an “a” at the end of her name, instead of an “e”. Marcos sent her a grim smile as she slipped the cord around her neck. “It seems they think you’re magic.”

“I’m sorry?”

He lifted the plastic holder from her chest and nodded at it. “Maggia...or magía, in Portuguese. Magic.”

Another shiver went over her as he let the tag fall back into place and donned his own lanyard. She licked her lips, not sure if she dared joke about it. “Well, at least they didn’t make the same mistake I did by using your nickname. What does it mean, anyway?”

“Markinho? It means little Marcos.” He steered her toward the doorway, which was being pushed open by a couple of dark-suited ushers. “Although I might take exception to being called ‘little’. Do you want to weigh in on that?”

Heat flashed up her neck. Oh! He was in quite a mood today. Maybe because Sophia wasn’t here to witness his antics. She switched to English. “Don’t you think you should be a little more discreet?”

He stopped in front of the doors and turned to face her, ignoring the clipboard-wielding attendant who was tilting his head to try to catch sight of their names.

“Discreet? In what way?”

“Does Sophia know about...what happened?”

Realizing there were people waiting to get in, he held his badge up to the man, who flipped through the sheets and checked something off. Then Marcos moved through the door, leaving her to catch up.

“Do you mean between us?” He narrowed his eyes as he glanced sideways at her, making his way up the tiers of blue-upholstered chairs in the main room of the conference center. “No, and there’s no need to tell her.”

Outrage flashed up her back and made her blink. What kind of man was he? “You often do that sort of thing?”

He gave her a strange look. “It depends on what you mean by ‘that sort of thing’ and your definition of ‘often’. But what does any of this have to do with Sophia?”

No one could be that dense. Unless he truly didn’t care about the other woman’s feelings. “If you two are, um...seeing each other, surely she wouldn’t appreciate—”

“Seeing?” His brows drew together, and he switched back to Portuguese. “As in transar?”

More heat poured into her face, joining the simmering flood that was already at work there. That was one verb she knew. But did he have to be so blunt? She glanced around to make sure no one had heard. “If you want to put it so crudely, yes.”

“Sophia and I aren’t...” His furrows eased, and he actually laughed, taking her elbow and leading her to a seat in the middle of the auditorium. “She’s like a sister to me. We’ve known each other since we were...young children.”

Despite the puzzling pause at the end of his words, a wave of pure relief washed over her, rinsing away the heat that had collected in her cheeks. Okay, so he and Sophia weren’t lovers. Although why she should care one way or the other, she had no idea. Except that she didn’t want to hurt the other woman.

Maggie knew first hand what it felt like to be racked with guilt over the consequences of someone else’s actions. Only her aunt had never found out the truth about her husband—and never would now.

Thank God. It would have killed her to know what he was really like.

Fingers slid across the small of her back, sending a zing of electricity through her. “How about here?”

For a split second she thought he was asking her where she liked to be touched, then realized he was nodding to the chairs in front of them.

Sitting next to him for the next several hours was going to be pure torture if she didn’t get her head on straight. She was going to try very, very hard not to ask him to translate anything during the conference. Which meant she’d have to concentrate. A good thing, in this case.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter where we sit.”

People were now moving through the auditorium in clusters, talking shop as they went by. Why couldn’t she and Marcos be like that? Simply focus on their jobs and leave their personal baggage at home.

Maybe because most coworkers didn’t engage in car sex...a fact that sent a worrying tingle through her fingers every time she thought about it. It was the guilt that was causing it. She’d done something she shouldn’t have. She glanced down at her hands, checking the length of her nails, just in case.

It was normal for things to be awkward. How could they not be?

She dropped into her seat, staring doggedly at her program. Their unexpected kiss that day had been an almost violent encounter. So much so that the suddenness of it—his hand curling around her nape and then the harsh, desperate press of his mouth against hers—had stormed her senses. The momentary sense of shock at her reaction had rendered her immobile, unable to do anything except let the wash of need sweep over her.

He’d pulled away at that second and stared into her eyes. “Meu Deus. You’re frightened.”

She’d shaken her head, realizing she wasn’t. “No.”

“Then kiss me back, querida...”

A hand touched hers, yanking her back to the present with a start. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked which of the seminars you wished to attend. The only one I’d like to sit in on is called ‘Sublabial versus Endonasal Surgical Options for Patients with Pituitary Adenomas.’”

She stared at her program, trying to make sense of the words. Not easy with Marcos looking over her shoulder, his warm, mellow scent carried to her on subtle air currents. “I’m here for the language more than anything so whatever you choose is fine.”

“Are you interested in any of the other specialties?” He fanned through his book to find the directory. “They’ve got endocrinology, plastic surgery, oncology, pediatrics...” Reaching over to flip her program to the right page, his fingers brushed hers, causing her to freeze for a second.

She inched her hand away from his, hoping it wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “I’m good.”

A masculine throat cleared above her, and they both glanced up. Marcos smiled and rose to his feet in response to the newcomer. She tried to shrink into her seat as the two men talked above her, but she was painfully aware that Marcos’s brown leather belt with its elegant silver buckle was right at her eye level. Her fingers tingled again, and she forced her gaze to move higher.

Marcos set a hand on her shoulder. “Maggie, this is Dr. Silvano Mendoso, head of pediatrics at our hospital. Silvano, meet Dr. Maggie Pfeiffer. She’s here from the States to do a year’s internship in my department.”

They must get tired of using a title for every single person they came across.

She craned her neck up to smile at the other doctor. Almost as tall as Marcos and with dark curly hair, he gazed down at her. She squirmed in her seat. Standing was out of the question at this point, as she’d be pancaked between the two men if she tried. She settled for lifting her hand to shake Dr. Mendoso’s. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I haven’t seen you around the hospital,” he said, gripping her fingers for a fraction longer than necessary.

Up went Marcos’s brows. “That’s because I keep her quite busy, learning new things.”

It had to be the language that made everything sound exotic...and slightly suggestive.

The lights dimmed and then came back up. Dr. Mendoso gave her an apologetic smile and then slapped Marcos on the back. “I’d better get back to my seat before someone decides to steal it. Nice to meet you...Maggie, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Thank you. You as well.”

She tried to settle in to listen to the opening speech, not daring to ask Marcos to translate missed words here and there. She caught the gist of the instructions: the explanation of the layout of the building; where to find the refreshment tables between sessions; and who to ask if you got lost.

Lost? She was all that and then some.

Surprisingly, she understood a good deal more than she’d expected to. Several hours later, though, she revised that thought. Her mind felt like Swiss cheese, the gaps in comprehension growing with each change of subject matter. The temptation to lay her head on Marcos’s shoulder and drift off was strong.

Too strong.

She fought the urge by holding herself rigid in her chair as they went from one seminar to another and listened to various speakers lecture on the latest advances in this or that.

“You’re doing well.” Marcos glanced up from the notes he’d been jotting on his program during a lull. “You haven’t asked for my help. Not even once.”

No. Thank God.

“This isn’t life or death like at the hospital. If I don’t understand a word or two, it won’t hurt anything.”

“No. I suppose not.” He tapped the end of his pen against the program. “But the challenge to understand what’s happening around you does make things interesting, yes? What does your family think of you living in another country?”

The sudden change in subject threw her. “They’ve always encouraged me to think for myself.”

The only person who hadn’t was gone now. Her fingers curved reflexively into the tops of her legs before she forced them to relax. To lie absolutely flat.

Not wanting to think about her family, she followed his lead. “What about you? Anyone else in your family go into medicine?”

There was a pause, and Maggie thought for a second that her phrasing was off. But then he answered. “My family is a complicated subject. Best left for another time.”

Wow. So it was okay for him to ask about her family, but not the other way around. Well, great. The man burned hot and cold, and she could never predict which one he might be at any given moment. If she felt this way after almost seven months of working with him, she doubted if the next few would bring any serious changes.

He glanced at his watch and swore softly. “It’s almost five. Do you mind missing the last session? We need to catch the subway—rush hour in São Paulo is best avoided if at all possible.”

“Oh, no, of course not.” In actuality, it was a relief to get away. She wasn’t sure she understood his hurry, though, since they had taken the subway, rather than his car. How would rush hour matter one way or the other if you weren’t actually driving?

She soon found out. People getting off work streamed through the turnstiles at the metro station and swarmed down the escalators to reach the lower levels. A faint sense of claustrophobia began to press in around her, and Marcos stopped to take her hand after five or six people came between them, threatening to make her lose sight of him all together.

“You have to be aggressive,” he murmured, gripping her fingers and towing her along. “It only gets worse from now until about eight at night.”

“Worse?”

He grinned down at her. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? But it’s exhilarating, no? The life, the movement...the noise.”

The noise? No, she found it kind of unsettling. Chaotic. Her instinct was to cling to the railing on the side of the wall and hang on for dear life as the crowds swept around her. She clung to Marcos’s hand instead.

And prayed she’d live to see another day.


CHAPTER FIVE

DAMN. HE’D MEANT to leave the conference earlier.

He knew how crowded the metró could get at rush hour. Despite how calm she’d seemed during the trip this morning, he could tell Maggie was not enjoying how tightly packed the station was now. Looking at it through the eyes of a foreigner, he could see how it might seem frightening—dangerous even.

Keeping a tight hold on her hand, he forced her to keep up, knowing if he didn’t they’d get pushed further and further back, and the conditions behind them would grow worse as rush hour shifted into full swing.

They finally reached the platform, and Marcos eyed the lines, calculating exactly which one would give them the best chance of getting on the next train. Briefcases and purses the size of small suitcases were the norm with passengers. As were boxes and shopping bags. People from all walks of life—and from all socioeconomic levels—relied on public transport, especially on the one day of the week when they were prohibited from driving. His day was Monday. When he’d explained the traffic rotation system to Maggie, she’d stared at him in disbelief. “You mean you’re only allowed to drive downtown on four of the five business days? How do people get to work on their off day?”

You made do. Just like he’d done as a kid, when his family hadn’t had a car at all...or a game console or even a computer. Just a two-roomed shack in the middle of a favela.

And without the license-plate restrictions, what were already snarled traffic conditions in São Paulo would grow even worse.

But it also meant that public transport was busy every single day of the week, because those who couldn’t drive rode the bus and subway.

A train whooshed past them, leaving a warm breeze in its wake before pulling to a stop with a drawn-out screech. Gripping her hand once again, Marcos hauled her after him the second the doors opened. They were six stops from their destination, so he headed for the far side of the car to let others board, not even bothering to look for a seat. There would be none at this hour.

And the commuters kept coming—people jamming in all around them. Marcos saw someone jostle Maggie and push past her. She seemed to cringe into herself, edging closer to him. “Come here,” he said.

He shifted, turning Maggie around until she gripped the metal pole in front of her, then he bracketed her in, his arms going around her to hold on to the same pole. He then widened his stance a bit to shield her legs with his own. He figured between the solid bar in front of her and him at her back, she would be relatively protected, and he could give her a bit more breathing space than some of the other passengers had.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was to feel as if he were holding her in his arms, or the way the back of her head rested against his chest, doing strange things to his insides. She wasn’t doing it on purpose, there just wasn’t anywhere else for her to go. It also meant her rounded bottom was pressed against his upper thighs.

The doors slid closed and things went from merely uncomfortable to nightmare proportions as the sudden motion of the train pulling away from the platform threw Maggie against him, her body snugging to his in a way that had him spiraling down a dark rabbit hole and putting him on high alert.

“Sorry,” she gasped. But every bump and curve in the track had that delectable ass sliding over and into him time and time again.

He’d been trying to protect her. What about protecting himself? Because by the time they got off this train, his situation was going to be very noticeable.

The train began slowing rapidly as it reached its first stop, and Marcos braced one arm on the pole while sliding his other around her waist to keep her anchored against him, and to prevent the people behind him from squeezing Maggie further against the metal bar.

People shifted...some getting off, new passengers crowding closer. Things should get better after the third or fourth stop when they moved further away from the downtown district.

Maggie twisted her head to the side and looked up at him. “Sé Station...isn’t this the shopping district? Where I came with Sophia?”

“It is.”

The train pulled out again, preventing any further talk as he concentrated on keeping his body under control as the sweet assault from hers continued to grind away at his senses. The clean scent of her hair rose around him, cutting through the other less agreeable smells on the subway, and without realizing what he was doing he pulled it deep into his lungs, leaning closer...until all he smelled was Maggie.

And that’s all he felt as well as he leaned into the turns, his arm still wrapped around her, still holding her in place.

Had she just pressed closer?

It had to be his deranged imagination that had her butt nestled between his legs, the small of her back pressing on a very sensitive—and very dangerous—area of his anatomy. And up that area came, right on cue.

Damn.

It was too late to do anything about it now, other than grit his teeth and enjoy the ride.

Except this was one ride that wouldn’t be made to completion but would just leave him hungry for more.

Third stop. Three more to go.

If he survived this, he’d need to do some serious penance afterwards. Because his body was howling at him now, and he couldn’t help using the momentum of the train to his advantage. He could have sworn that Maggie answered every bump and grind with one of her own.

Marcos closed his eyes. Just let me make it through this alive.

Fourth stop.

Maggie’s shuddered breath was not his imagination this time. Neither did she move away from him as more people filtered out and fewer people packed on. This should be their cue to start edging away from each other.

He would, when she did. And the woman hadn’t budged an inch.

No longer was he praying to make it out alive. He was praying to be dragged down to hell and be done with it.

The train exited the station, and Marcos’s hand tightened on her waist once again, his thumb doing an experimental strum down her side. Maggie’s knuckles turned white as they gripped the pole in front of her, but there was no hint of struggle or of wanting to get away.

He was doomed.

Fifth stop.

Maggie’s blouse had edged up during the trip, and when he shifted his hand, his pinky finger met bare skin. His hard-on was now a raging inferno that showed no hint of subsiding any time soon. And that warm, silky sliver of flesh tempted him to move his hand a little lower, to widen that gap between her trousers and shirt.

He didn’t. But his little finger did explore as much as it was able, dragging backwards and then retracing its steps time and time again. He swore he could hear her breath, shallow and rapid above the churning sounds of the train.

Kind of like the churning going on in his gut.

And then the nightmare came to a crashing halt as the train began to slow for the last time...way before he was ready.

He ducked his head low, until his lips almost touched her ear. “This is our stop.”

“Is—is it?”

“Yes.” Her earlobe was close—a tiny diamond glittering in the delicate flesh. All he had to do was open his mouth and draw it in, stroke his tongue across it.

The subway doors opened with an ugly hissing sound.

Marcos blinked back to awareness as folks around them began moving, exiting with quick, jerky steps, in a hurry to reach their destinations. The fire still burning strong in his belly, he forced himself to take a step back, to unwind his arm from Maggie’s waist, pinky making one last desperate pass across her skin before withdrawing completely.

Maggie’s shoulders lifted as she let go of the pole. “Ready?”

Not by any stretch of the imagination. But he would take the steps necessary to get off this train.

Both the physical one...and the mental one.

No matter how much he longed to stay.

Except the second he let Maggie move through the open door and followed her off the train, he couldn’t draw his eyes away from the soft ass in front of him, or banish the memory of it swishing against him time and time again. And a certain throbbing part of his body made sure that memory stayed painfully alive.

They rounded a corner of the station and exited near a darkened stand of trees. He needed to stop for a second and catch his breath, because if he didn’t get control of himself—right now—then the second they reached the parking lot and got into his car, he was going to do something extremely stupid. Like haul her onto his lap, unzip, and put an end to this torture once and for all. He’d done it once before—could remember every second of the time they’d spent doing just that.

Forcing the thoughts back down with a soft curse, he snagged Maggie’s hand, tugging her off the sidewalk. People continued to stream by them, oblivious to anything but getting home.

“What—?”

“Shh.”

He moved deeper into the bushes, stopping behind a large oak tree. The dark shadows played a tantalizing game of hide and seek with her features.

She blinked at him. “Is something wrong?”

Was she serious?

“Yes, Maggie. Something is terribly wrong.” Even as he said it, his back connected with the tree behind him. Taking her other hand in his, he bent his elbows to shift her a few inches closer.

Her tongue came out to dampen her lips, eyes still on his.

She knew. She had to know.

Just to make sure, he slid his hands up either side of her neck until his thumbs rested just beneath her chin, applying the barest amount of pressure to tilt her head up. “Can you guess what it is, querida?”

“I—I don’t...”

“Yes. I think you do.” He stared down at her, a strange sense of resignation sliding through him as he realized no place was safe with her. Not a subway, not a car...not even behind a tree. “Come here.”

There was a pause then she took one step toward him, then two. Something inside him twisted with a mixture of lust and exultation.

“Do you want me to show you what it is?” he continued, his thumbs caressing the edges of her jawline.

She nodded, then seemed to need to back up the gesture with her voice. “Yes.”




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