To Play With Fire

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.”

“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.

“Sorry,” she gasped. But every bump and curve in the track had that delectable ass sliding over and into him time and time again.

He’d been trying to protect her. What about protecting himself? Because by the time they got off this train, his situation was going to be very noticeable.

The train began slowing rapidly as it reached its first stop, and Marcos braced one arm on the pole while sliding his other around her waist to keep her anchored against him, and to prevent the people behind him from squeezing Maggie further against the metal bar.

People shifted...some getting off, new passengers crowding closer. Things should get better after the third or fourth stop when they moved further away from the downtown district.

Maggie twisted her head to the side and looked up at him. “Sé Station...isn’t this the shopping district? Where I came with Sophia?”

“It is.”

The train pulled out again, preventing any further talk as he concentrated on keeping his body under control as the sweet assault from hers continued to grind away at his senses. The clean scent of her hair rose around him, cutting through the other less agreeable smells on the subway, and without realizing what he was doing he pulled it deep into his lungs, leaning closer...until all he smelled was Maggie.

And that’s all he felt as well as he leaned into the turns, his arm still wrapped around her, still holding her in place.

Had she just pressed closer?

It had to be his deranged imagination that had her butt nestled between his legs, the small of her back pressing on a very sensitive—and very dangerous—area of his anatomy. And up that area came, right on cue.

Damn.

It was too late to do anything about it now, other than grit his teeth and enjoy the ride.

Except this was one ride that wouldn’t be made to completion but would just leave him hungry for more.

Third stop. Three more to go.

If he survived this, he’d need to do some serious penance afterwards. Because his body was howling at him now, and he couldn’t help using the momentum of the train to his advantage. He could have sworn that Maggie answered every bump and grind with one of her own.

Marcos closed his eyes. Just let me make it through this alive.

Fourth stop.

Maggie’s shuddered breath was not his imagination this time. Neither did she move away from him as more people filtered out and fewer people packed on. This should be their cue to start edging away from each other.

He would, when she did. And the woman hadn’t budged an inch.

No longer was he praying to make it out alive. He was praying to be dragged down to hell and be done with it.

The train exited the station, and Marcos’s hand tightened on her waist once again, his thumb doing an experimental strum down her side. Maggie’s knuckles turned white as they gripped the pole in front of her, but there was no hint of struggle or of wanting to get away.

He was doomed.

Fifth stop.

Maggie’s blouse had edged up during the trip, and when he shifted his hand, his pinky finger met bare skin. His hard-on was now a raging inferno that showed no hint of subsiding any time soon. And that warm, silky sliver of flesh tempted him to move his hand a little lower, to widen that gap between her trousers and shirt.

He didn’t. But his little finger did explore as much as it was able, dragging backwards and then retracing its steps time and time again. He swore he could hear her breath, shallow and rapid above the churning sounds of the train.

Kind of like the churning going on in his gut.

And then the nightmare came to a crashing halt as the train began to slow for the last time...way before he was ready.

He ducked his head low, until his lips almost touched her ear. “This is our stop.”

“Is—is it?”

“Yes.” Her earlobe was close—a tiny diamond glittering in the delicate flesh. All he had to do was open his mouth and draw it in, stroke his tongue across it.

The subway doors opened with an ugly hissing sound.

Marcos blinked back to awareness as folks around them began moving, exiting with quick, jerky steps, in a hurry to reach their destinations. The fire still burning strong in his belly, he forced himself to take a step back, to unwind his arm from Maggie’s waist, pinky making one last desperate pass across her skin before withdrawing completely.

Maggie’s shoulders lifted as she let go of the pole. “Ready?”

Not by any stretch of the imagination. But he would take the steps necessary to get off this train.

Both the physical one...and the mental one.

No matter how much he longed to stay.

Except the second he let Maggie move through the open door and followed her off the train, he couldn’t draw his eyes away from the soft ass in front of him, or banish the memory of it swishing against him time and time again. And a certain throbbing part of his body made sure that memory stayed painfully alive.

They rounded a corner of the station and exited near a darkened stand of trees. He needed to stop for a second and catch his breath, because if he didn’t get control of himself—right now—then the second they reached the parking lot and got into his car, he was going to do something extremely stupid. Like haul her onto his lap, unzip, and put an end to this torture once and for all. He’d done it once before—could remember every second of the time they’d spent doing just that.

Forcing the thoughts back down with a soft curse, he snagged Maggie’s hand, tugging her off the sidewalk. People continued to stream by them, oblivious to anything but getting home.

“What—?”

“Shh.”

He moved deeper into the bushes, stopping behind a large oak tree. The dark shadows played a tantalizing game of hide and seek with her features.

She blinked at him. “Is something wrong?”

Was she serious?

“Yes, Maggie. Something is terribly wrong.” Even as he said it, his back connected with the tree behind him. Taking her other hand in his, he bent his elbows to shift her a few inches closer.