To Play With Fire

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** NYC ANGELS: FLIRTING WITH DANGER** ONE NIGHT THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING THE MAN WHO WOULDN’T MARRY DOCTOR’S MILE-HIGH FLING DOCTOR’S GUIDE TO DATING IN THE JUNGLE

*NYC Angels **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

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

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.”