From Passion To Pregnancy

Almost as deeply as his sister’s cancer journey.

And his parents’ simmering anger toward each other. And how he’d always felt the need to shield Natália from it.

He guessed he’d done something right, since she’d fallen in love and gotten married. Too bad he’d been the one to see all the ugliness first-hand. It had soured him on relationships and made him suspicious anytime a woman started wandering a little closer than he wanted.

Like Sara?

Totally different situation.

“I would hope so.” He climbed the metal steps that led into the back of the truck. “We also have a ramp we can use for people who have trouble climbing stairs. Do you want me to slide it out?”

Her pink lips curved, activating a dimple in her right cheek. “I grew up on a ranch, remember? I’m actually a tomboy at heart, so wearing jeans will be a welcome relief. I can manage.”

Okay, so much for wondering if she was going to be upset about not wearing scrubs or skirts. When her dad was being treated at the hospital, she’d always worn sleek tops and fashionable slacks. And at the wedding she’d looked like every man’s dream.

And she’d been his for a single heady night.

As for tomboy, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her in jeans. But now that he thought about it, the description might not be so off the mark. It was there in the loose-limbed way she walked. In the slight twang to her words. Maybe she’d felt she had to dress to match the hospital’s fancy decor.

Sara put her first foot on the bottom step, the narrow skirt tightening and exposing a pale knee. Her skin was fairer than that of most of the women he knew, maybe because Rio Grande do Sul had a large contingent of people with German ancestry. Her hair was dark, though.

“Okay, so a handrail might be useful for women who come for screening wearing skirts or dresses.” She paused.

He got the hint, reaching a hand toward her. Her fingers wrapped around his, and she made short work of the other three steps, coming to stand within inches of him. He released his grip in a hurry. “Point taken. I’ll have one installed.”

Anything to avoid having to touch her each time she went up or down those steps. Something about the way she stood in front of him…

An image flashed through his head of a woman straddling his hips, laughing down into his face at something he’d said, his words slurring slightly due to the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. The sensation of being squeezed. Soft hands with a firm grip, just like hers had been a second ago.

His brain went on hyperdrive.

What was wrong with him?

Then, almost without volition, the words came out. “Why did you leave that night?”

Something in her eyes flashed, and she suddenly grabbed for the metal edge of the ambulance’s door opening.

Afraid she might fall out of the back—or turn and flee—he wrapped an arm around her waist and turned them both ninety degrees, the narrow aisle providing precious little room between their bodies. But it also meant she couldn’t run away.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her face had gone white.

Maybe she didn’t even remember the events of that night. Except something about the way those words had shot out of her mouth said she did. Along with her horrified expression. A stab of regret speared through his gut. He remembered most of it. But her leaving without saying goodbye bothered him somehow. Had he done something awful?

His jaws clamped together for several tense seconds while he tried to figure out what to say to make this right. He came up empty.

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Are you okay?” Realizing his arm was still around her, he let it drop to his side.

Right on cue, her chin went up as if daring him to say anything further. “I’m fine. My father doesn’t know, though, so I’d prefer you not to discuss it with him or anyone else. We both agreed it was one night. No strings. No regrets.”

So why was he feeling a whole lot of that right now?

That warning about not discussing it was completely unnecessary, though. He wasn’t about to go trumpeting it to her father, or to anyone else for that matter. “I would rather keep it that way as well.”

His head was reeling, still trying to blot out the more explicit images from that night. As drunk as he’d been, he should remember a whole lot less than he did.

“You still didn’t answer the question. Why did you leave?”

“Um—because I wanted to. I would just as soon forget it ever happened.”

Maybe he really had done something horrible at the end? Passed out on her? Thrown up? Been unable to perform?

No. He could remember each of those performances in stunning detail. Three encores, to be exact. And nothing horrific in any of those memories.

And could there be a more self-centered list of things to be worried about? He didn’t think so—except for one glaring issue.

“We used…” he forced himself to spit the word out, changing the term at the last second “…protection. So we’re covered, right?”

“You don’t remember?”

He wasn’t sure what she was asking. Merda! He did not want to be having this conversation.

“Yes, but we’d both had a lot to drink. I wanted to make sure.” And if that wasn’t the lamest excuse ever.

“We’re good. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

But he was, for some unfathomable reason. He tried to find the cause—decided to settle for the truth. “I wasn’t that thrilled that my sister was getting married.” He shrugged. “I never saw it coming, actually, and when she fell in love with my best friend, I was… Well, I acted like a jerk.”

“Do tell.” The dryness of the words made him laugh.

“Shocking, I know.”

Her dimple appeared again. “Not so much.”

He took a deep breath, the urge to reach up and touch her sliding through him. He forced it back. “I’m sorry I dragged you along on my little joy ride of misery. Believe it or not, I don’t normally drink. Or seduce wedding guests.”

Mainly because his father had done a lot of that. His parents had battled relentlessly all during his sister’s illness. He’d finally realized they didn’t love each other—his dad’s dalliances proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt. They had simply been staying together for their children—more specifically for Natália, because of her illness. It was one reason Sebastian had basically sworn off marriage and children. What if it didn’t last? Would he follow his parents’ example and stay in a miserable marriage because of any offspring he might have? They’d already been expecting him when they’d got married. He knew that for a fact. Sebastian, like most children, was attuned to whether his parents loved and respected each other—or when they didn’t.

“You didn’t have to seduce me. I wanted to go. Even though, I’ve never…” her smile faded “…spent the night at a motel with someone I barely know.”

A few more curse words tumbled around in his head. Had she been a virgin?

Before he could ask, she shook her head. “No, not because of that. I just don’t normally go to motels. Especially not with a stranger.”

Neither did he.

They knew each other in a superficial way because of her father, but for all intents and purposes she was right.

“Hell, Sara, I’m sorry. I have no idea what—”

She stopped his words with a raised hand. “Don’t. It’s over and done with. Let’s just do our jobs and keep the past where it belongs—in the past.”

Much easier said than done. And if the flashes of memory kept replaying in his head every time they worked together?

Well, he would just do what she’d suggested and put it behind him. Except Sara was standing in front of him looking too beautiful for words. A shaft of sunlight ventured in through the open door and touched the hair over her left shoulder, infusing the strands with gold. The sight tugged at something inside him.

“You’re right. I’ll try not to mention it again. Or even think about it.” Those last words came out rough-edged, and he knew they were a lie. He’d already been thinking about it. And his body was torturing him with whether or not they might be able to do any of those things again.

No. They couldn’t.

“Neither will I.” Her voice was soft. Almost a whisper. As if she sensed the turmoil that was chewing up his gut and was answering it with some of her own.

Not good. Because his gaze slid to her lips. Came back up to her eyes, where he saw it. The slightest shimmer of heat beneath the cool brown irises.

“We’ll put it behind us.”

“Absolutely.”

“Starting right now.”

“Yes.” The tip of her tongue peeked out, moistening her lips before darting back in. He wanted to follow it. Find it.

No, this was not good. Only it had been. Far too good.

He gave a pained groan.

“Sara?” His palms came up and cupped her cheeks, relishing the cool softness of her skin against his.

“Yes.”

There was no question mark after that single word. No “Yes? What do you want?” It was more like she’d breathed, “Kiss me. It’s what we both want.”

It had been what they’d both wanted on that fateful night.

He wanted it to happen again, his body already responding to the stimuli of having her this close. And it was too much.

Tilting her face, he met her halfway, his mouth covering hers in a way that muttered, Home. Finally.

Even though it wasn’t. It was merely a stopping place.

But, damn, the burst of steam that zipped through his veins erased that notion in a split second. He suddenly didn’t care about stopping places or anything else. Instead, he shifted so that the angle was perfect.

And it was. Her lips were warm and giving and the tongue that had played peek-a-boo with his senses a second ago was back, coaxing him to sneak away with her, luring him just like those sirens of old. Without hesitation he ducked inside, finding heat and wetness that shoved his body further down a forbidden road, a growing pressure behind his zipper impossible to ignore.

Sara’s hands went behind his back and slid upward until they curved around his shoulders, her body coming into full contact with his.

Maybe she felt the same sudden urgency that he did.

It was only when one of his hands left her face to pull the door next to him shut, only to have it bounce off something with a loud clang, that he realized how far gone he was. How far gone they both were.

Their lips came apart at exactly the same time, Sara being the first to come to her senses, uncurling her arms and pushing at his chest.

He released her and tried to take a step back, but his butt hit the metal counter behind him, stopping him from retreating any further.

Her mouth was pink and moist, lips still parted as she drew in several breaths.

He glanced to the side to see what had happened with the door and realized the metal steps had stopped it from closing.

Graças a Deus. Because otherwise…

What exactly would he have done? Tossed her onto that counter and made love to her? In the hospital parking garage?

What the hell had he been thinking?

He hadn’t been. That was the problem. Just like the night of the wedding. He’d been operating off pure lust.

Gripping that very same metal counter, he tried to get his bearings. Saying he was sorry was going to be met with angry words. But what else could he do?

“I take it that wasn’t what you meant by ‘putting this behind us’.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

“Not exactly. No.”

“So what do we do? I worked hard to get this estágio, and I’m not going to let a little thing like this make me run home with my tail tucked between my legs.”

A little thing like this? This was pretty damn huge in his book. He never mixed work with personal stuff. Ever. It was just the shock of being alone with her again. But it stopped right here.

“I would never ask you to go home. You’re here, and so am I. This project can’t go forward without both of us, so we are going to have to figure this thing out. Fast.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“By making sure we are alone as little as humanly possible.”

She blinked. “Isn’t that a little unrealistic? We’ll be driving around together in this thing—alone—in order to do our jobs.”

Maybe, but right now it was the only way. Because his head was still wrapped around the taste of her, the scent of her hair, the sounds of her breathing as they’d been fused together. “If you can think of a better option, I’m all ears.”

And mouth. And raging hormones.

She bit her lip. “I can’t.”

Neither could he. He was appalled that his body had responded with an immediacy that had yanked him from that fully-in-control-but-fake-as-hell persona he liked to cloak himself in. It had exposed the true Sebastian Texeira. And he didn’t like it. At all.

“We can still do this. We have to do this. Otherwise I might as well turn this mobile center back over to the hospital and forget I ever asked for the funds to try.”

“Which means there would be no reason for me to stay in São Paulo.” Her eyes sought his. “The hospital wouldn’t keep me on?”

“I could talk to them and ask—”

“No. I want to do this. I need to do this.”

“Why?” He wasn’t quite sure what had driven her to come here. She’d probably made more money in Rio Grande do Sul.

“When my dad was sick, I realized how isolated my little hospital was. Doing things the same way as they’d been doing them for decades. I want to make a difference.”

“I’m sure you already have.”

She shrugged. “Maybe, but I saw the effect you, Natália and Adam had on my father. I want to be a part of something like that. To take back new ideas and ways of doing things.” She motioned around the inside of the truck. “This is exactly what I’ve been looking for. And I’m not going to let an embarrassing lapse in judgment stand in the way of that. Neither one of us should, if you’re as serious as I think you are about doing this.”

“I am.”

“Then let’s focus on that, okay?”

She was right. He knew she was.

The only thing left was to get his body to agree to forget this “lapse in judgment”, as she’d put it, had ever happened.

Only he knew that was going to be almost impossible.

So he was just going to have to pull that cloak tighter and pretend. And hope to God that Sara never saw the truth.

CHAPTER THREE

SIX WEEKS.

That time frame rattled around in her head over and over as she sat in the cab of the truck beside Sebastian.

Stress. A change of jobs.

Working with a man she’d slept with.

Slept. With.

Those two words linked arms with the other two words and began to dance a little jig in her stomach. Right beside the butterflies that had never left.

Six weeks.

She couldn’t be. They’d used protection. All three times.

Oh, God.

“Have you ever visited a favela?”

The question slid past her before turning in a smooth circle and coming back at her. “I’m sorry?”

He glanced at her with a frown. “I asked if you’d ever been to a favela.”

“Yes.” She blinked back the growing fear. “I think all cities have some kind of slum. There was one a few miles from our house. It was fairly safe—run by a group of women who decided to fight back against the image that all favelas are dangerous, drug-infested places. They had to give the okay for anyone new to move in.”

“This one is not like that. It has had—and still does have—a drug presence. You’ll need to be on the lookout for any unusual activity.”

She was. Only that unusual activity wasn’t happening outside the windows of the mobile unit. It was happening deep inside her body. And there was a sense of panic that said the unthinkable could very well be reality.

But it couldn’t. It was—while not impossible, it was highly unlikely.

Except hadn’t she read recently about a spate of condom tamperings across the country? A fad where kids dared each other to go into stores unnoticed and stab pinholes in packages? It had caused an uptick in unwanted pregnancies. And STDs.

Deus. STDs. An even stronger spurt of alarm went through her.

Surely she was safe. The condoms had been provided by the motel. There were quality control checks. There had to be.

At a motel?

Those establishments were gorgeous on the outside with their high walls, beautiful signs and manicured landscapes. But the elegant facade hid what really went on behind the entry gate. Sex. Lots of it. Mostly between people who weren’t married—or who were, but not to each other.

It’s okay. You’re overreacting. It’s an easy thing to check.

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