To Play With Fire

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.”