To Play With Fire

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.