To Play With Fire

“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.