Awakened By Her Brooding Brazilian / Falling For The Single Dad Surgeon

Francisco asked, “Could you expound on that a little, Dr. Simpson? I’m interested in how that decision was made.”

She’d found herself reluctant to look directly at him, so she let her gaze roam the rest of the people in the room.

“Every patient is different,” she began, gathering her thoughts carefully. “In situations such as the one Mr. Dos Santos found himself in, each person has their own concerns and fears. Some just want the cancer removed, no matter what that entails, not thinking past surviving. Others fear the surgery almost as much, if not more, than the disease. In this particular case, on speaking to the patient, I realized he wasn’t particularly worried about his prognosis. He truly believed his strength of will would make his recovery all but inevitable. But there was one thing he was deeply worried about, and that was his postoperative appearance and facial functionality.”

There was a murmur through the room, and Krysta held up her hand to silence it.

“Mr. Dos Santos isn’t just a wealthy businessman, but the face of his company, and of his futebol team, Chutegol. Much of his success has come from being ‘Senhor Chutegol,’ recognized by everyone, parlaying that recognition into bigger and better successes.”

At the mention of the well-known soccer team, which was in the prestigious Brasileirão league, the assembled team nodded, and Krysta could see understanding dawning in most of their expressions.

“Once I realized how important the aesthetic result was to him, I then spoke to him about timelines. I explained that if I were to do the reconstruction secondary to the mandibulectomy, I’d want to wait until he’d also finished his radiation treatments, and his recovery time would be extended. He didn’t care about that. As most of you know, he’d announced his diagnosis to the media, and was willing to take as long as necessary to recover, as long as he looked almost the same when he finally reemerged. That was when I suggested the CT mapping, and 3-D printing approach.

“And there was one final deciding factor,” she continued. “I explained to him that I was committed to coming here for three months, and so would have just a short window prior to my visit to do the surgery. That was when he requested, if possible, that the surgery be done here, in his home country, and be used as a training opportunity.”

Once more, murmurs broke out around the room, but there was a decidedly appreciative cadence to them.

“While you all are familiar with the standard fibular free-flap reconstruction, introducing you to some of the newer techniques in presurgical planning, along with the 3-D planned plates and templates, will serve you well in the years to come. It’s an exciting and fast-evolving technique in our line of work.”

They’d gone on to discuss the operation in detail, but through it all Krysta was supremely aware of Francisco next to her, whether he was contributing to the conversation or not.

Now, as she finished her twenty-fourth lap, she had to admit to herself the patently obvious truth.

She was attracted to him.

That in itself was unusual enough to throw her off her stride. Not that it was the first time she’d found a man attractive, but unlike the other times, there was a stronger pull, a growing need for his company she didn’t understand.

Worse was this sense of wanting to do something about it, take it further to see where it might lead. That was very different from the times before, when she’d been content to look and do nothing about her feelings.

Not that she’d know how to go about getting from point A to point B with a man like Francisco Carvalho.

She’d succumbed to curiosity and looked him up on the internet. Francisco Carvalho had lived an exciting life as a model prior to becoming a surgeon. Back then, he was known as Cisco, and there were myriad pictures of him in ads and on catwalks around the world. He’d even been the face of a cologne produced by a designer whose name even Krysta recognized.

And then there were the shots of him at parties and galas, and in many of them he had a gorgeous blonde woman on his arm, described in some of the captions as Mariella Guzman, his fiancée. That wide-eyed beauty had seemed the perfect complement to Francisco’s dark, brooding handsomeness. Recalling Dr. Delgado’s comments on the night of the reception, she’d been tempted to see if there were any articles saying what happened, but decided against it. She’d seen enough to tell her everything she needed to know.

Francisco Carvalho may be her contemporary in the medical world, but in every other way, he was light-years beyond her.

All her life she’d been an outsider, far younger than any of her classmates or work contemporaries. When her mental contemporaries had been experimenting with love and sex, she’d been focused on her studies or career. And before she’d gotten to the point where perhaps she’d have been open to exploring her own sexuality, she’d been traumatized by an assault.

That wasn’t something she’d thought or talked about in years, pushing it away and minimizing it in her head. After all, she told herself, it wasn’t as though she’d been raped. There were other young girls who’d been hurt far more severely than she had.

It wasn’t until she’d started seeing Dr. Hellman that she’d begun to see the ramifications. At fourteen, Krysta had learned to repress her sexuality and minimize any outward signs of femininity. Then, safe in the bastion of her denial, she’d decided relationships, even casual ones, weren’t in the cards.

Yet, for all the talking and analyzing, she wasn’t ready to let go of her disguise, or venture out of the safety zone. Her work still was her be-all and end-all, and she couldn’t afford distractions.

Case in point, she thought as she got to the wall in the deep end and hung on, instead of doing a racing turn and continuing. Thinking about Francisco Carvalho had made her lose count of her laps, when usually she could keep track of them effortlessly, even while thinking about other things. If he could so easily shut down a function of her brain, one she considered automatic, what could he do to the rest of it, if she let him?

Yet, she knew he wouldn’t be as easy to dismiss from her mind as the other men she’d been attracted to. There was definitely something different about Francisco, something compelling. It wasn’t his looks, although she thought him handsome. Looks alone would never be enough to pique her interest.

Treading water, she considered exactly what it was about him that gave her goose bumps, and made her heart race, but couldn’t pinpoint any one thing.

That, in itself, was additionally frustrating. Krysta was used to being able to work though almost any puzzle and find a logical solution.

Perhaps you’re looking for the answer to the wrong question.

Her therapist’s voice sounded in her head, making her wrinkle her nose. It was one of Dr. Hellman’s more annoying sayings, especially when she never seemed willing to let on what the right question was. The only statement more annoying was, “You need to step out of your comfort zone.”

Well, she had, hadn’t she? Agreeing to come to Brazil and lecture. Dr. Hellman had seemed pleased when Krysta had told her about the trip. Of course, she’d also told her to take the opportunity to stretch herself even more. There were, according to the psychologist, so many things Krysta had missed out on growing up. Not because her parents had pushed her, but because Krysta had pushed herself.

Realizing she’d done it not just because she wanted to succeed, but because it was a great way to isolate herself socially and feel safe, had been revelatory.

Shoving back from the wall, she floated into the middle of the pool, looking up at the ceiling, drifting lazily in the water, rather than cleaving through the way she usually did.

She’d thought she was fine the way she was, but she’d had to reevaluate that supposition. After all, no one had forced her to make that first appointment with Dr. Hellman. It clearly had been something inside her telling her it was time to get things right in her head. Perhaps telling her a full, successful career wasn’t all there was in life. Warning that if she didn’t make some changes soon, she may be leaving it too late.

“You’re a forward-thinking innovator at work,” Dr. Hellman had said, her eyes glinting behind her glasses. “Someone who develops new techniques and isn’t afraid to move forward boldly into the future. Why not do that in the rest of your life? Isolating yourself, thinking only about work, isn’t healthy.”

Hearing those words at first made Krysta feel powerful, in control of whatever might happen. But later, alone at home, they’d come back to mind and scared her almost silly. Why they filled her with such trepidation, she hadn’t wanted to contemplate.

Perhaps it was because to go down that road would be to have to acknowledge exactly how much she had missed out on.

The friendships, like those she’d seen her brothers develop with others, and her parents had nurtured, even when distance divided them from those closest to them.

The family ties, which she’d neglected so badly in the pursuit of excellence, using work as an excuse to avoid the functions and get-togethers others took for granted.

Meaningful relationships, such as the one her parents shared with each other.

Just now, though, it was the putting aside of her sexuality that felt most important.

Apparently, her body thought giving it free rein was long overdue. Just being around Francisco Carvalho brought all her senses to life, arousing sensations she’d never experienced before.

What she was going to do about any of it, she had no idea. But even if she did get brave enough to try to act on these feelings, it would have to wait until after Enzo Dos Santos’s surgery.

She wouldn’t allow anything, neither Francisco Carvalho nor her own carnal urges, to interfere with her concentration.

Francisco stood under the shower, trying to get the streams of warm water to unravel his knotted muscles. It wasn’t that the day had been terribly stressful. Yes, he’d been called out early in the morning, and had another emergency come into the hospital just as he was getting ready to leave, but he was used to that.

What he wasn’t used to was Krysta Simpson.

There was an ineffable aura about her that fascinated him intensely. The more time he spent with her, the more captivated he became—with her confidence, precision, razor-sharp mind and the easy way she spoke to everyone, even while maintaining a certain mysterious distance.

Yet, although all those things would be more than enough, Francisco knew himself to be attracted to her physically as well.

More than once, when she was lecturing and in the presurgery meeting, he’d lost track of what she was saying. Not because he wasn’t interested, or enthralled by the subject matter, but because he’d caught himself staring at her lips as she spoke, or at the movement of her hands.

Those hands were both capable and surprisingly graceful, and he’d drifted off into a fantasy of what they would feel like on his skin.

Even now, as he was reiterating to himself just how bad that was, his body reacted to the memory, tightening and hardening against his will.

And it truly wasn’t at all a good idea to even entertain any fantasies about Dr. Krysta Simpson, for a number of reasons.

Trying to ignore his burgeoning erection, he silently listed them again.

Krysta Simpson had not, by look or word, expressed the slightest interest in him. She was friendly and professional and, in his estimation, they had a great rapport. But beyond that, he saw nothing to indicate she had any other feelings toward him, and he certainly wasn’t the type to push.

Besides, having a months-long affair with someone, who would then quickly disappear, did not appeal to him.

Or certainly shouldn’t.

Then there was the fact she was a visitor to his country, here to do a job. A colleague whose reputation was stellar, and far above his own. Krysta was a star, world renowned, while Francisco was simply a competent plastic and reconstructive surgeon, good at his job but nothing special. To even spend too much time with her was to court disaster, in the same way being engaged to Mari had caused him untold pain and embarrassment.

All too well could he imagine the whispers, not to mention those, like Delgado, who would say aloud for everyone to hear that he was, once again, trying to sleep his way to success. Using looks and charm to advance into a world where he didn’t belong.

He knew the gossip that swirled around him in the hospital, and it made him leery of doing anything to stir the pot. Getting too close to Krysta Simpson definitely would do that.

The thought chilled him, and thankfully his ardor waned. Turning off the water, he stepped out of the shower to grab a towel.

He’d been burned by others’ cruelty and lies before, and had no intention of doing anything to precipitate that again.

Instead, he needed to remind himself of how far he’d come, how hard he’d worked to get to where he was. Others could say modeling was easy, or believe the lies told about him—that he’d used his association with Mari to further himself—but he knew the truth. It had been a long, backbreaking and often lonely road he’d taken, and there’d been times he’d wanted to quit, to go home to his family and childhood friends. Only his dream of becoming a doctor had kept him there, working and studying in equal measure.

When he’d met Mari and fallen for her, he’d thought life could get no better. By then he was almost finished medical school, and hadn’t cared that she came from a wealthy family. Foolishly, he’d thought it didn’t matter. He knew he’d be able to support them, between what he’d had saved and what he would earn as a surgeon. What he hadn’t taken into consideration was the different rules by which the privileged lived, where they would steamroll over anyone to get what they wanted, or to get out of trouble.

But he’d learned it the hard way, and discovered it was best not to give yourself too freely, because it opened you up to having what you’d said, done or felt used against you. He’d paid dearly for allowing Mari into his heart, and it wasn’t an experience he wanted to go through again.

CHAPTER FOUR

HER DAYS FELL into a routine, which normally would have pleased her, but Krysta grew increasingly restive. It wasn’t just that she was used to being far busier, since there was actually quite a bit of research she could, and did, do via computer. Even with the upcoming operation, slated for the following week, there just wasn’t enough to fill her time, or quell her almost constant disquiet.

It didn’t help that, when at the hospital, she was in almost constant contact with Francisco.

His friendly demeanor had cooled somewhat, though. They still had lunch together, and she did afternoon rounds with him, as well as meeting with the surgical team often, but the connection they’d developed in the first few days seemed to wane. There were no questions now about her family or anything else, other than work.

She should have been happy about that, since it afforded her an opportunity to put her own silly attraction into perspective. Instead, it just made her wonder what had happened to cause his withdrawal. If she had more courage, she’d ask, but while she was willing to do or ask anything in a medical setting to get the answers she needed, in social situations she hadn’t a clue.

Sometimes, when he wasn’t expecting it, she’d glance his way, only to find him concentrating intently on her face. In those moments, as their gazes collided, the gleam in his eyes threw her usually focused brain into disarray, and the warmth flooding her system made her want to squirm.

It was disturbing on so many levels, she thought as she was on her way to the director’s office. Stabbing the elevator button with unnecessary force brought her no relief.

“Hey. What did that button ever do to you?”

The question, laden with amusement, had Krysta turning, a smile already in place.

“Flávia, don’t you see the sheer cheek of it? Its perfection aggravates me.”

Flávia laughed with her, but there was a little edge to it. “Yes,” she replied, and now there was no mistaking the acerbic tone. “Perfection is definitely annoying. How are things going?”

“Very well,” Krysta replied, perhaps not completely honestly. “I know how silly it sounds, but I’m surprised at how fast paced everything is here.”

Flávia shrugged. “Hospitals and cities are mostly the same everywhere, aren’t they? Way too many people for my liking.”

Krysta chuckled, glancing around and seeing Amy Woodell coming in through the front doors. She waved to get the approaching woman’s attention, curious to hear how the other woman was getting on. They’d met on arrival in Brazil, in the immigration line at the airport, and spent some time chatting at the welcome reception. But because of being in different departments, they hadn’t seen each other since.

As Amy came up, Krysta thought she looked weary. Maybe even frazzled.

“I think I’m having a case of déjà vu,” Amy said as she got to where they were standing. “Only, I wasn’t this tired at the welcome party.”

“We were just talking about how fast paced everything is here in São Paulo,” Krysta replied.

Amy nodded, then asked, “Did you already do your seminars? I haven’t even looked at the lineup yet.”

“No,” Flávia replied.

“I’ve done the first of mine,” Krysta said. “One down, two to go.”

She glanced at the elevator panel, seeing that the one she wanted was still on the top floor, while another was approaching.

“Which floor are you headed to?”

“Fourth. I’m meeting Roque Cardoza,” Amy answered, with a little scowl.

“Is he the one you were sitting by at the party?”

“Yep. He’s in charge of me for the next couple of weeks. I have to do anything he says, evidently.”

Flávia’s head swiveled toward Amy while Krysta raised her eyebrows, fighting the smile she could feel tugging at her lips.

“I mean related to the job,” Amy interjected quickly, making Krysta chuckle.

“Com certeza. Só o trabalho.”

Flávia’s voice had a touch of mirth in it too, letting Krysta know she wasn’t the only one who’d found Amy’s choice of words amusing.

“It’s not like he’s hard to look at. If that’s your thing.”

A rush of rosy color flowed up Amy’s face until her cheeks glowed. “You guys... I don’t think of him like that at all. Besides, he’s really not all that good-looking.”

As the two elevators Amy and Flávia were waiting for arrived, and the three women took their leave of each other, Krysta saw the man in question step into the car behind Amy.

Had he heard their conversation? She rather hoped not. But as she stepped into the elevator going up to the executive floor she turned her thoughts back to her own dilemma.

What to do about Francisco Carvalho...?

The director welcomed Krysta into his office and fussed about for a few minutes, offering coffee, tea or water, making sure she was comfortably situated in one of the cushioned visitor’s chairs. Then he sat forward, placing his crossed arms on his desk, and smiled.

“I hope everything at the hospital is to your specifications, Dr. Simpson?”

Despite the pleasant expression on his face, she thought his eyes seemed watchful, and she knew he was worried she’d come to complain about something, or someone. She smiled back at him.

“Paulista’s is wonderful, Dr. Andrade. You know it is. State-of-the-art equipment, and wonderfully trained, professional staff. What could I possibly find lacking?”

He sat back, clearly pleased with her little outpouring of sugar, and his smile widened. “So, what can I do for you, then?”

“I heard one of your residents talking about a planned surgical clinic, and wanted to offer my services. It is slated for my final month here, isn’t it?”

Hearing about the clinic hadn’t been the only draw. She’d also gotten a peek at the roster, and realized Francisco’s name wasn’t on it.

Dr. Andrade’s brow furrowed slightly, even as he nodded. “Yes, but it will not be held here in the hospital, but in Aparecida, which is about two hours northeast.”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind traveling to participate. It will give me a chance to get to see a bit more of your beautiful country.”

Still, he looked concerned. “I doubt there will be anything on the surgical roster that falls in with your specialty, Dr. Simpson.”

“Oh, I’m not expecting facial transplants, or anything like that, but it was my understanding that there would be a number of cleft lip and palate repairs. I’m quite capable of handling those, or assisting with the operations, if there are already surgeons assigned to the cases.”

The director’s gaze was searching, and there was a small silence before he slowly said, “If you’re quite sure...”

“I am,” she replied, making her tone decisive.

“Well, then, I will make the arrangements.”

Rising, she gave him one last smile. “Thank you. Let me know went you have it sorted out.”

After the usual courtesies, she left him, pleased with herself for having the idea.

This trip would, if nothing else, take her away from Francisco Carvalho. At least for a little while.

Just a couple more days until the Dos Santos operation, and the meeting room was filled with tension.

Or, Francisco thought, was it just the tension in himself he was projecting onto the rest of the team?

All, of course, except Krysta, who was exhibiting her usual cool demeanor, fielding questions and soothing nerves while going through the plan one more time.

“The doctors in London have assured us that the infection Mr. Dos Santos had developed has been dealt with,” Jake Cooper was saying. “He’s flying in tonight, and I’ll be examining him in the morning to confirm their findings. The reconstruction should be able to proceed on the new schedule.”

“Nothing has changed, for us,” Krysta said. “I will begin with the nerve splice, while Dr. Carvalho prepares the fibula flap for implantation.”

There was nothing in the plan Francisco hadn’t done before, except in the past he’d had to judge the shape of the bone needed, oftentimes with less than stellar results. Now he would be provided with a template, allowing him to shape the bone properly and achieve the proper fit and height.

He’d also been used to bending the plate that would hold the bone in place on-site, shaping and reshaping until it was correct. According to Krysta, with the 3-D printing, using the patient’s undamaged mandible as a guide, and the precision mapping of the injury site, that was no longer a concern.

The plates should fit to exact specifications, and the kit supplied by the company who’d produced them even included the screws needed to fit it. No more hunting for the right screws midoperation.

Yet, the nagging strain twisting his stomach wouldn’t abate. Thankfully, he was a master at concealing his emotions. No one liked going into an operating theater with a surgeon who looked as though he were on tenterhooks.

Was it the operation he was worried about, or having to do it with Krysta Simpson, a woman he was fast becoming almost obsessed with?

Suddenly his life, which had appeared so orderly and boring, had become a mass of questions and unwanted sensations. It had been years since his equilibrium had been shaken this badly. And all because of a woman who seemed completely, utterly unaware of him in any way other than as a colleague.