One Hot Night With Dr Cardoza

Except the air where she was sitting.

“So here we are.” Roque stood, not reaching for his cane.

She scrambled to her feet as well. “Yes, we are.”

It’s only six weeks, Amy. You can do this.

The sports medicine doctor introduced herself to the group as Lara Smith. And a man with light brown hair came over and shook Roque’s hand and then hers. “I am Dr. Peter Gunderfeld. You must be Dr. Cardoza and Dr. Woodell?”

Everyone in her group was a doctor. Except for her.

“Just Amy, for me.” Her uneasiness about her decision to come to Brazil grew. These people were all brilliantly talented in their respective fields, from what she was discovering. Maybe she should have just planned a vacation to the country and skipped the summer lecture program.

“You can call me Peter, then.”

“And Lara is fine with me.”

“I am Roque.”

The pronouncement landed like a hammer, although she was sure he hadn’t meant it to.

They went through a few moments of exchanging social pleasantries about where they were from. She already knew Lara was from England. And Peter was from Munich, Germany.

Roque was from Rio de Janeiro, originally. She had noticed a difference in his speech patterns as opposed to her mom’s, who was from São Paulo. Many of his s’s had the “sh” sound characteristic of the famous city.

“Did you know that the name Florida comes from the Portuguese word meaning ‘flowered’?” Roque’s mouth curved slightly. She forced her gaze not to dwell.

“I did.” This would be a perfect time to ask what his name meant, but that might be a little too personal.

Peter had no problems sharing personal information, however. He was married with a two-year-old daughter.

“It had to have been hard to leave them at home,” Lara said.

“Yes. But they’re going to meet me here the last week of our stay, and then we’ll vacation in Iguaçu Falls.”

“Good choice. Foz do Iguaçu is worth the visit.” Roque glanced at Amy. “I hope you and Lara added extra time on to your trip as well.”

She hadn’t really thought about that. She already had her return ticket, in fact. Maybe she should check to see how hard it would be to switch the dates.

“I’ve been to Brazil several times actually. And no husband or kids to bring,” Lara said, smiling at Peter. “So I’m just here for the conference.”

Roque hadn’t commented on his relationship status, and Amy wasn’t about to ask nor share hers. Not only was it not any of her business, she didn’t want him thinking that she was interested in him like that.

She wasn’t.

Those thoughts about flings and the flutters in her belly were strictly animal survival instincts. Nothing more. If she stuck to work topics, it should be easier to view him as a colleague and not as a person whose speech patterns did crazy things to her libido.

Maybe she did need to hook up with a good-looking man and knock some of this stuff out of her system. It had been ages since she’d had sex.

She wasn’t going to number Roque in with the possible candidates for that, though. Her gaze scouted the room, and while she saw several other attractive men, there was no pull toward them.

Well, all that meant was that she wasn’t shallow, right?

Hmm…and yet she’d been glued to almost every word that came out of Roque’s firm, sexy mouth.

She rolled her eyes.

The man picked that moment to glance at his watch. “I have an early day tomorrow. Do you all know your way to the condominium?”

“Yes. The Fonte Cristalina, right?” Amy had already dropped her luggage off at the apartment building the hospital had put them up in. It wasn’t fancy, but it was clean and had a gorgeous view of the city.

“Yes.” Roque looked from one to the other. “It’s within walking distance of Paulista. But it’s better to do that during the day. So, let’s meet in the hospital lobby at eight in the morning?” There was a slight furrow between his brows now, though.

“Very good. I must go call my wife,” Peter said. “See you tomorrow.”

“And I’m meeting a friend for a nightcap,” Lara added a second later.

Amy said her goodbyes. Was she the only one feeling lost at sea?

Maybe Roque sensed some of her thoughts because he stayed where he was. “Would you like me to drop you off at the apartment complex?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I can catch a cab. There are some out front, I’m sure.”

“Very likely.” He moved sideways to let someone through, which put him way too close to her for comfort.

Amy took a quick step back, and a sharp tug at her shoulder was followed by a distinct ripping sound. Then things began a slow slide. Straight down. Including her mind.

Oh! Oh, no!

She grabbed at the bodice of her dress just as the shoulder strap flopped uselessly over the top of her hand.

Roque turned…stared at her shoulder, before glancing down at where his foot was planted on her hem. His face turned a dull red.

“Merde! I am sorry, Amy. I did not realize.”

Her name came rough-edged off his tongue, and she shut her eyes as hot embarrassment rained down on her. She knew she hadn’t stitched the strap enough, but hadn’t given much thought to it. A huge mistake.

Just like this whole damned trip.

“It’s okay, but I’d better find that cab now.”

“I will take you home. It’s only right.”

The thought of running out of the hotel holding up her dress was mortifying, so she decided to accept his offer. “Thank you. Could you stand in front of me for a second, though?”

His head tilted sideways, but he shifted until they were face-to-face, and much, much closer than they had been last time.

Hot flames licked at her innards, and she had a hard time catching her breath. “I—I kind of meant for you to turn the other way. I want to tuck my strap into my dress so it’s not as obvious.”

This time, his eyes did what she’d wanted them to do earlier. Trailed over her bare shoulder and lower before coming back up to meet her gaze. That muscle in his jaw twitched the way it had when he’d handed her the list of names, but he said, “Of course,” before turning away from her, shielding her from prying eyes.

She quickly shoved the strap into the front of her dress, hoping it didn’t cause any awkward bulges, then she clamped her right arm across her chest and picked up her clutch purse. Where were those few lost pounds when you needed them?

“Okay, you can turn around now.”

He did, his glance going back to her shoulders, now bereft of any fabric. “I will pay for the damage I caused.”

No, he wouldn’t. Because the real damage wasn’t anything that could be seen with the naked eye.

“It’s my fault. I tried to alter the length on my own, when I should have bought higher heels. I’m just glad it happened at the end of the evening rather than at the beginning.”

“I know a very good seamstress. It would also be free.”

Oh, God! Maybe he really was married. She could picture him trying to explain to some faceless wife how he’d practically stripped one of his charges naked in front of an entire room of doctors.

Well, not naked. But almost. She didn’t have a bra on, since the dress had one built into it. “I’m sure that’s not—”

“It is my mother. It would take her little time to make it right. She could even arrange for a fitting to adjust the length, if you would like. Her shop is at my parents’ home.”

Somehow the fact that his mom was the seamstress made her relax. “That would be an awkward conversation, wouldn’t it?”

“No. She’s come to expect me to be a little more…clumsy than I used to be.”

Inadvertently, her glance shifted to the cane. “You’re not clumsy. It was an accident.”

He was the most elegant, graceful man she’d met in a long time, whatever the reasons for that cane.

“Yes, well, be that as it may, I do insist on making it right.”

Amy had a feeling he wasn’t going to let it go. “At least ask your mom if she’d mind, first, before just assuming she’ll say yes.”

“I will. But I know she will not mind.” He gave her that slow smile of his. The one that devastated her senses and made it hard to think beyond it. “Let me do this for you, Amy. This one small thing.”

It wasn’t a small thing. Not to her. But if she tried to keep arguing the point, he was eventually going to realize there was something more behind it. Something that made her wary of him—wary of working on his team for the next three months. Wary of shadowing him for half of those three months.

So all she could do was agree and say a fitting wasn’t necessary, and hope that once the dress was returned, she could forget about this incident once and for all. Maybe then she could focus on her real reasons for coming to Brazil. Those had to do with her mom and finding her uncle. And her career, of course.

And none of those things included the man in front of her.

CHAPTER TWO

DAMN, WHAT HAD he done?

The very physical therapist he’d tried to veto having on his team seemed to be a nice person. But she carried an air of fragility that socked him in the gut and made him wish he’d stuck to his guns. But the physical therapy department was running short-staffed at the moment and couldn’t spare anyone to participate in the summer lecture program.

And then he had to go and ruin her dress. And when he’d misunderstood and stood face-to-face with her, almost touching, and definitely close enough to…

Close enough to nothing!

This damned leg. Even as the thought went through his head, a phantom pain shot through his thigh. One that had nothing to do with his reaction to her. Or that dress.

He stepped on the gas as the drive to the apartment seemed to take forever, even though it was less than three blocks away. Part of it was due to navigating in heavy traffic. But also because his peripheral vision kept checking the top of her dress to make sure it hadn’t crept any farther down. If that happened, he might have to do a major reboot of his sanity. Because as he’d gazed at her in that room full of people, he’d found himself wishing it would. Which was ridiculous. Not to mention unprofessional.

They finally arrived, and Roque pressed the code into the security box at the front of the building, waiting as the heavy garage door swung open to allow his Mercedes to slide past. It closed behind them with a sense of finality, trapping him in the space with her.

He forced himself to say something in hopes she wouldn’t guess where his thoughts were straying. “The hospital bought several apartments in this condominium for visiting doctors or VIP patients coming in from other areas of the country. So everyone’s staying at the same place.”

“That makes sense.” Her dress seemed to edge down a millimeter, and his mouth went completely dry.

He found a parking spot. “Would you like me to wait while you take off the dress?”

“Excuse me?”

A flare went off in his head, sending up an alarm that the rest of his body failed to heed. His thoughts about it sliding down were evidently starting to come out in his speech. “I did not mean in the car, of course. I meant in your apartment. You could bring the dress back down to me, unless you prefer to bring it to the hospital.”

Yes, the sooner she was out of sight, the sooner he would be able to get that image out of his head. But he was pretty sure it would reappear—along with a few others—the second he went to sleep tonight.

“Oh, of course.” She hesitated. “I’d rather not bring it to the hospital, if that’s okay with you. Why don’t you come up to the apartment and I can give it to you there? It’s really not necessary to have your mom repair it, though.”

“It is to me. And if you’re okay with it, I’ll come up. It will save you the trip back down.”

Why the hell had he just offered to do that? Hadn’t he just thought how glad he’d be to have her out of sight?

“Okay, great.” Still keeping her arm across her dress, she turned sideways and tried to hit the button on her seat belt, struggling with getting her hand that far back.

Roque reached over to hit the release latch for her, his sleeve brushing her bare arm as he did and catching a light floral scent that seemed to cling to her skin. He swallowed. “Wait there.”

Getting his cane from the back and climbing out of the car, he came around to her side, the tension in his jaw making itself known in his leg. He leaned a little of his weight on the cane’s handle. No wonder he’d stepped on her dress. Maybe this was some elaborate joke perpetrated by karma after his response to his mom’s nudging at dinner last night. She’d asked about him meeting someone special. He’d bluntly told her he wasn’t interested in meeting anyone—special or not so special. Less than twenty-four hours later, he’d stepped on someone’s dress and found his thoughts riveted to all kinds of “what if” scenarios.

Well, he needed to un-rivet them. Now.

He forced his steps to quicken, opening her door and pulling the webbing of the seat belt away from her, taking care not to touch her, this time. “Can you get out on your own?”

Deus do céu, he hoped she could.

She swung her legs out of the car and planted them on the ground, but his low-slung car wasn’t helping her.

“Here. Give me your hand.” He gritted his teeth and forced himself to add the obvious, “The left one.”

You’re a funny, funny guy, Roque. As if she’s going to give you the other one.

She let him pull her up from her seat, her grip on his firm and warm and lingering maybe a second longer than necessary. Then stood in front of him, her head tilted to look at him, the overhead lights shining on cheeks that were slightly pink and far too appealing. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“The least I can do.” And it was. Especially since his thoughts were now having to run some pretty impressive evasive maneuvers, like a footballer trying to stay just out of reach of his opponent. Which in this case happened to be common sense.

She followed him to the elevator. His steps still felt a little off, but he draped his cane over his arm. And he wasn’t quite sure why. He wasn’t ashamed of that hitch in his stride. Was he?

And when he’d stepped on her dress. Was he being prideful by not using it? And if he had used it, could he have avoided this whole damn mess?

“Did you hurt your foot?”

Her question came out of nowhere, seeming to echo his earlier musings as the elevator doors opened. “What floor are you on?” He stalled for a few seconds, trying to collect his thoughts.

“Four.” She licked her lips. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“No, it’s okay.” He pushed the button for her floor, and leaned against the wall to look at her. Her arm was pressed against the neckline of her dress, and he noticed two tiny scars on her hand. Very lickable scars.

Hell, where had that come from?

He forced his attention back to her question. “My injury… It seems I am not only good at tripping over dresses, but my own two feet. It’s an old sports’ injury.”

“Which sport?” Her gaze flicked over his chest, down his abdomen…

He cleared a throat that was suddenly dry. “Futebol.”

Her eyes were now on his thighs and it was as if she could see right through his clothes. And pretty soon, she was going to see something that was visible despite his clothing.

“Have you had physical therapy?”

The shock of her question hit him like a bucket of ice water, scalding him in a way that heat couldn’t touch. If she only knew. Yes, he’d had therapy. And more therapy. All it had done was pile more grief onto an already existing wound. It seemed every female he met thought they could magically fix him and put him back to rights.

His jaw tightened until twin points of pain appeared. “Are you offering me your professional services, Amy?” He made it as clear as he could that she was overstepping her boundaries.

“No. I’m sorry. You’re an orthopedist. Of course you have.”

“It happened a lifetime ago. And it’s permanent. What you see is what you, and everyone else, gets. All the physical therapy in the world won’t change it.”

Diabos. Why had he gone on the attack? She was trying to help. She wasn’t like his ex-therapist or any of those women he’d gone out with who’d shown a morbid interest in his damaged leg.

He moved a step closer, so he could touch her hand. “I’m sorry. That came out badly.”

They arrived on the fourth floor before he could explain further. She got out in a hurry and stuck her key into the lock of the nearest door, only to jiggle it. She took it out and tried again. “That’s weird. It worked earlier. I’m not sure why it’s not this—”

The door opened, and the doctor from the gala appeared.

Amy recoiled a step. “I’m so sorry. I must have the wrong…” She glanced at the key. “Heavens, I do. The key says 402. I’ve only been up here once.”

Lara had a glass of wine in her hand, and when her eyes met his, they widened.

Perfect. She was probably wondering what he was doing coming up to Amy’s apartment straight from the party.

As was he.

Should he tell her why? That he’d almost ripped Amy’s dress off her at the party and had now come here so she could remove it the rest of the way? That sounded pretty damning actually.

“There were no cabs left.” The lie flew off Amy’s tongue with incredible speed. Evidently she wasn’t any more anxious to give the real reason for his visit than he was. But anyone who’d thought about it long enough would realize, there’d been a whole fleet of taxis parked outside the venue. Even if there were no cabs, it didn’t explain why he’d come up in the elevator with her. Or why the strap to her dress had suddenly disappeared. Maybe Lara hadn’t noticed how she was dressed.

Amy’s chest rose as she took a deep breath. “And actually, my dress strap ripped, and Roque’s mother is a professional seamstress, so he offered to have her sew it back together for me.”

He blinked. She’d backtracked. Why?

“Oh, that was nice of you,” Lara murmured.

“Anyway, sorry for disturbing you. See you in the morning.”

The other woman smiled at them and said good night, closing the door and leaving them alone in the corridor.

Roque couldn’t contain a grin. “I’ve never known anyone who can make even the truth sound like a lie.”

But when she swung around to look at him, her face was white as a ghost.

She whispered, “You don’t care that she might think we’ve come up here to…?”

He wasn’t about to admit that he’d entertained a thought or two himself.

“No. I really don’t. I don’t worry about what people think of me.”

At least he hadn’t until a minute ago when he saw the look on her face.

“My mom was like that. It must be pretty freeing.”

“Freeing? I don’t understand.”

“Never mind.” Amy moved to the next door down, double-checking the number, and inserted her key into the lock. This time it turned smoothly, opening to a white-tiled corridor and living room just beyond it. She entered, motioning him in behind her.

Roque followed her into the space, glancing around.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll just go and change. There’s not much in the refrigerator, since I haven’t made it to the grocery yet.”

“It’s okay. I don’t need anything.”

Her suitcases were in the living room and one of them was open wide, a pair of—diabos!—lacy pink briefs hanging over the side of it. His gut immediately tightened and all the thoughts he’d banished came rushing back, followed by a few thousand more.

She hurried over and kicked the offending garment into the case and quickly folded it closed.

What she couldn’t close was the part of his brain that had imprinted itself with that image, making him wonder what other forbidden wonders she had hidden in her luggage.

Which was none of his business.

Setting her bags upright, she wheeled one of them toward a room to her left. “I won’t be a minute.” With that, she shut the door with a thump.

Her panties!

She leaned against the back of the door, shutting her eyes in horror.

Oh, God, they’d been lying there right in front of him! Not minutes after being seen—and recognized—by her neighbor, someone she would have to work with day in and day out. At least for the first month and a half.

But her underwear! Why had she left that case open?

Well, she hadn’t expected to have a man in her apartment on her first night.

Or the second or third nights. And now that she knew who was living next door, probably no other night, either. Any hookups would now have to happen “off campus,” so to speak.

Roque might not care what people thought, but she did. Far too much. And she certainly didn’t want him to hear secondhand that she was entertaining men in one of the hospital’s apartments.

Entertaining men? What was this? The 1920s?

Opening her eyes, she went over to the bed and hefted her suitcase onto it, one-handed. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t see her now. She let go of her dress, and sure enough, the top of her bodice slid past her waist. Quickly finding a pair of yoga pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt, she opened the side zipper on her dress and let it slither the rest of the way down.

There, are you happy now?

She glared at the garment at her feet, stepping out of it and tossing it onto the bed with a little more force than was necessary.

She then dug through her bag, aware of a little time clock ticking in her head as she tried to find her bra. She blinked. She’d worn one on the flight over, so it had to be here somewhere. Or another one. That maybe she’d packed in the other suitcase that was still in the living room. Or not?

Ack. She’d left the bra she’d traveled in in the bathroom when she’d changed for the party, since she hadn’t needed it for the dress. She was not leaving this room to go grab it and waltz her way back to the bedroom with it dangling from her fingertips. That would be almost worse than him seeing her underwear. Although maybe he hadn’t noticed.

Oh, he’d noticed, all right. His eyes had been right on them.

So what to do? She’d always been small up top, wishing as a teenager that she had more oomph in that department. But right now, she was glad she didn’t. She pulled the T-shirt over her head. It was black and loose. Peering into the bedroom mirror, she decided you couldn’t really tell as long as you weren’t staring at her chest.

So hauling her yoga pants up over her hips and sliding her feet into a pair of flip-flops, she took the decorative comb out of her hair, tired of it digging into her scalp.

“I don’t worry about what people think of me.” Wasn’t that what he’d said?

Well, maybe she could practice a little of what he—and her mom—preached. She shook her hair out, trying not to care that it was curling in all kinds of crazy directions. She then folded her dress in as small a ball as possible and shoved it into one of the plastic grocery bags she’d included in case she had any wet clothes to pack on the return flight.

There. She was ready.

Sucking down a quick breath, she opened the door and sauntered into the living room as if she hadn’t a care in the world. As soon as she saw him, she wished she hadn’t agreed to let him take the dress. He was lounging on her sofa, both arms stretched out over the top of it, looking as fresh in his dark suit as the moment she’d laid eyes on him. And she was…

Not caring what people thought, that’s what she was.

His glance trailed over her hair, before arriving at the plastic bag in her hand. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” She handed it to him. “Thanks again.”