From single parent...

To family man?

Struggling to bond with his orphaned nephew, Brady, surgeon Jake Cooper hopes a summer in Brazil will help them connect. And it’s Jake’s chance to meet world-renowned medical researcher Flávia Maura. He just never expects their immediate attraction, or for career-driven Flávia to be a natural with Brady. As she chips away at Jake’s hardened heart, dare he believe she’s just what they need to become a family?

Born and raised on the Wirral Peninsula in England, CHARLOTTE HAWKES is mum to two intrepid boys who love her to play building block games with them and who object loudly to the amount of time she spends on the computer. When she isn’t writing—or building with blocks—she is company director for a small Anglo/French construction firm. Charlotte loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her at her website: charlotte-hawkes.com.

Also by Charlotte Hawkes

Christmas with Her Bodyguard

A Surgeon for the Single Mum

The Army Doc’s Baby Secret

Unwrapping the Neurosurgeon’s Heart

Surprise Baby for the Billionaire

A Summer in São Paulo collection

Awakened by Her Brooding Brazilian by Ann McIntosh

Falling for the Single Dad Surgeon

And look out for the next book

One Hot Night with Dr Cardoza by Tina Beckett

Coming soon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Falling for the Single Dad Surgeon

Charlotte Hawkes

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90242-1

FALLING FOR THE SINGLE DAD SURGEON

© 2020 Charlotte Hawkes

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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To Zena

You keep calling, even when I’ve got lost inside

my own head (or book) and forgotten to call back

for the umpteenth time—I have no idea how

I got lucky enough to have you!

Sing with me now: Thank You For Being A Friend… xx

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

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

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

THIS WOMAN WAS surely going to be his undoing.

The premonition walloped into Jake Cooper as he stared across the throng of well-heeled guests attending the welcome gala dinner for the summer programme at Brazil’s renowned Hospital Universitário Paulista.

He knew it, and still he stared. And despite the colleagues jostling to talk to him, he found he couldn’t draw his gaze from one agitated figure.

Flávia Maura. Or, as she was more colloquially known, the selvagem woman.

Wild. Savage. The jungle woman.

And there was no doubt in Jake’s mind that she posed a setback to his own sanity.

She was standing in a trio of women; yet, for him, the other two had blurred into muted shades of grey around Flávia. Just as everyone else in the vast, elegant room had done, the moment he’d laid eyes on this one woman. He might have thought that there was something abruptly wrong with his vision, but for the fact that he was so focused on the image of her, in glorious high definition.

He was supposed to be here for the training programme. A summer of top medical experts from around the world all meeting in one place both to learn, and also to teach, new cutting-edge skills to each other. Not least demonstrating the clinical trial he himself was part of, where he was using a scorpion-venom-based toxin to highlight cancer cells—effectively showing up as a fluorescent tumour paint when put under near-infrared light, within a patient on the operating table.

And Flávia Maura had been one of the researchers who had worked on the toxin he was using for his particular trial.

Only, it wasn’t her professional skills which currently had his eyes devouring every inch of her, from the top of her rich, glossy hair right down to the sexy high heels in which she appeared to be trying to balance, and everything in between. Not least the long, figure-hugging metallic gown in some deep green, which seemed to shimmer to black as she moved. Everything about it teased him. The way it clung so lovingly to her body, but the shimmers tricked the eye; the way the neckline offered a mouthwatering taste—but no more—of sexy cleavage; the way the side slit, which tantalised glimpses of endlessly long legs, but never once veered into dangerous territory.

Like the merest whisper of a promise of something more.

It was ridiculous that he—who had known plenty of beautiful women during his assuredly bachelor life—should be so easily ensnared. Yet here he was, like a fish dangling helplessly from a fisherman’s hook.

She looked sophisticated yet sexy. Elegant yet slightly devilish. And utterly, and completely, terrified. It wasn’t just the way her eyes were darting about the room however hard she kept trying to look her colleagues in the eye. It wasn’t simply how her hands kept toying with her dress, her earrings, her shoes, as if she felt completely out of her comfort zone. It wasn’t even her confident smile, which froze in place just once or twice.

It was the way she kept subconsciously edging behind the shoulder of one of the other two women, as though they could somehow provide a barrier between her and the colleagues who were clearly edging to talk to her—the woman whose work as a naturalist and researcher were helping to change the face of contemporary cancer treatment.

It should have acted as a warning that he could read her—a relative stranger—so well.

It should have worried him even more that it didn’t.

But then, it wasn’t the first warning he’d had, was it? He’d known it three days ago, in the middle of an operation, with the guy who’d been the closest thing to a best mate for the better part of a decade.

The memory played out in his head, as if reliving that conversation could somehow help to steel him against the pull of the woman standing no more than thirty metres from him right now.

As if it could help him resist this odd lure of striding across the room and claiming her for his own all night.

Like some kind of Neanderthal that he’d never been before. Like the guy he’d sworn only three days ago that he wasn’t.

‘So,’ his mate and neurosurgeon colleague had demanded good-naturedly partway through their joint operation. ‘Who did you sleep with in order to get on to this year’s summer teaching programme at Paulista’s?’

‘Funny, Oz.’ He’d grinned but he hadn’t even bothered looking up from the surgery.

His eyes had been trained on the brain of his patient as his colleague, neurosurgeon Oscar Wright, had worked to reveal a tumour. They’d made the first incision and had been drilling the bone flap as close to the tumour site as possible.

Once they were ready to start the resection, they would wake the patient and begin brain mapping. Normally, Jake wasn’t in on these operations, his area of expertise being vascular oncology, but the tumour paint was his clinical trial. Added to that was the fact that the particular young lad in question had always been particularly jumpy and Jake had been working with him long enough to have built up a rapport that would help during the awake part of the surgery.

But in that moment, the lad was still anaesthetised and the banter he and Oz shared often made critical operations like those seem easier.

‘Besides, that’s more your style than mine, isn’t it?’

‘You think I didn’t try?’ Oz had shaken his head. ‘I pulled out all the stops last year when they were choosing surgeons to go to Brazil, lot of good that did me. Not that it was a hardship, you understand.’

‘I bet it wasn’t,’ Jake had retorted dryly. ‘Though I imagine that high-profile case you have coming might have something to do with it.’

They had both known Oz’s name would have been right up there with his if it hadn’t been for the fact that Oz needed to stay in London this winter, which was summer below the equator in Brazil.

The guy’s reputation as a playboy preceded him, but he was also one of the best neurosurgeons Jake had known. Work hard, play harder—that was Oz’s single rule for life, just as it had been his own up until ten months ago.

Right up until Brady had appeared in his life.

‘When does it start, next week?’ Oz had asked. And then, the killer question. ‘Did you know that Flávia Maura is scheduled to be talking on Paulista’s lecture programme?’

Even then, in that moment, something had kicked, sharp and unexpected, low in Jake’s gut. He’d tried valiantly to ignore it, but now he knew that had been nothing compared the maelstrom tumbling around inside him now.

‘You know who she is, don’t you?’ Oz had continued, oblivious. ‘She worked on the chlorotoxin you’re using in these trials for a while, though I read an article a few months ago that said she’s now switched to working on a venom from some species of bushmaster viper that might be able to break down cancer cells without damaging healthy cells. I’d have thought it would have been right up your street. Isn’t it a step on from this scorpion-venom-based toxin we’re using here?’

‘Yes, I know what it is,’ Jake had bitten out at length.

Just as he’d known who Flávia was.

And yet, he’d stayed silent. Oz had had other ideas.

‘So you’ve heard of this Flávia, then?’

There had been nothing else for it.

‘As it happens, I caught a lecture of hers by accident a little while ago.’

‘Really? Is she as wackadoodle as they say?’

There had been no reason for him to bristle on her behalf. No reason at all. And even now, half a world away from that OR and only metres away from Flávia, he felt...not protectiveness, obviously, but something...even more strongly.

‘She’s...quirky,’ he had admitted reluctantly.

‘Quirky? I guess that’s one word for it.’ Oz had snorted. ‘But then, I suppose you have to have something different about you to want to work with an animal, or whatever, that could kill you in a matter of hours. And that’s after it has induced vomiting and dizziness, severe internal bleeding and organs shutting down.’

‘She loves what she does.’ He had shrugged, remembering the passion in her voice as she’d talked about how important the snakes were, and how it was a shame that the only way she could save them from man was proving to man that the snakes could ultimately provide the key to curing cancer.

‘And she’s highly intelligent.’

‘Right.’

‘She’s hot, too. I’ve seen a photo. Hence hoping I’d be in Brazil for their summer programme.’

He hadn’t liked the way Oz had been eyeing him so astutely. His mate wasn’t stupid, and one wrong answer would have given the game away. Jake had known he needed to watch what he’d said next, especially with the anaesthesiologist pretending to be preoccupied and the scrub nurses hanging off their conversation. At least it was a team he trusted.

But still.

‘Didn’t particularly notice.’

It hadn’t been so much a lie, but more a whole tightening around his chest, as though the air was being squeezed out of his lungs. It was ridiculous, and yet he hadn’t seemed able to stop it; this woman—this stranger—had such an effect on him.

The effect her presence was having on him even now.

Him.

Jake Cooper. Bowled over by a woman he hadn’t even spoken to. Bowled over by any woman, full stop. It just didn’t happen.

‘Really?’ Oz had looked sceptical. ‘I’d have thought she’d have been just your type.’

‘I didn’t know I had a type.’

‘Smart, stunning and single-minded when it comes to career? You’ve got a type, all right.’

‘You mean as opposed to you.’ Jake didn’t know how he had managed to force the light, wry note into his tone. ‘You just go for female, attractive and up for a good time.’

And Oz had laughed. As though it had been just another version of the conversation they’d been having for years.

‘Nothing wrong with that. As long as we’re all consenting adults and all that.’

‘Yeah, well, I just attended her lecture. Don’t really recall anything else.’

And if it was an outright lie, then Jake had consoled himself with the lie that at least he was the only one who had known.

Still, Oz had eyed him critically.

‘Bull. I don’t buy that. You definitely would have noticed her,’ he had countered. ‘Oh, wait, did you sleep with her and never tell me?’

Jake remembered the way the accusation had riled him. Odd, since it never had done in the past. And even then, as he’d scrabbled about for a deflection, he’d known he was in trouble. Even if he hadn’t realised how deeply.

‘Listen, that lecture was a couple of months after Helen’s death. After Brady.’

At least that bit hadn’t been a lie.

‘Ah, say no more.’ Oz had backed off instantly. ‘How is the champ?’

Jake remembered pausing. Exhaling deeply. He hadn’t liked using Brady to change the conversation like that, but at least there was something of a poetic truth to it. Plus, his nephew catapulting into his life as a seven-year-old orphan was when Oz had proved their friendship of almost a decade was built on more than just nights out after hard operations.

Not every best mate would have been thrilled with a seven-year-old kid bursting in on their bachelor lifestyles, but Oz—the oldest of four brothers—had taken it in his stride, able to relate to Brady in a way Jake himself still hadn’t managed.

His nephew was still a complete mystery to him. And it shamed him, angered him and frustrated him, all at once. He wasn’t a man accustomed to failure. He had never failed. At anything.

But he’d failed at being a brother to Helen and now he was failing at being an uncle, and sole guardian, to Brady.

And he hated himself for it.

‘No idea how he’s going to take to Brazil,’ Jake had begun. Then, ‘No idea how he’s going to like it with only me to talk to.’

‘You’ll cope.’

If only he felt half as confident as Oz.

He could deal with tumours, dying patients, grieving families. But he was at a complete loss when it came to talking to one grieving seven-year-old boy.

‘I suggested going to a water park when I have a free weekend,’ he’d told his mate.

‘And?’

‘He agreed.’ Jake grimaced at the memory just as he had done when recounting it to his friend. ‘But he wasn’t exactly jumping up and down like most seven-year-old kids would.’

‘That’s because Brady isn’t most seven-year-olds.’ Oz had shrugged, like it was obvious. ‘Did you offer to take him into the rainforest? That would have him leaping around like a maniac. In fact, you’d probably get home to find he’d packed both your suitcases. They wouldn’t contain anything you needed, of course, but he’d have his test tubes, his sample pots and his magnifying camera for every insect or arachnid you could possibly find.’

‘I considered it. But you really think taking a young kid into the rainforest is a responsible thing to do? I couldn’t guarantee keeping him safe.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ Oz had scoffed. ‘You and I are city guys through and through. But you can get guided tours, some especially geared up for kids.’

‘How the hell do you know that?’

‘Brady told me.’ Oz had sounded surprised. ‘He didn’t tell you?’

No. He hadn’t. Because the fact was that Brady barely exchanged a word with him, if he didn’t have to. Which told him altogether too much about the kind of absent uncle he’d been—and he didn’t like it.

‘Okay, that’s the next step done.’ Oz had confirmed his focus squarely back on the patient—not that it had ever really left—and Jake was grateful for the change of topic. ‘Just one more and you can finally show me this tumour paint close-up. Man, I’d have killed to get this clinical trial of yours.’

‘What can I say? They only choose the best.’

‘You’d think you’d won awards for your research or something...’ Oz had stopped abruptly, his entire demeanour changing in an instant. ‘Ah, wait, is that it?’

He’d moved aside to give Jake room.

‘Kill the lights, please,’ Jake had instructed, all trace of their former banter gone as they’d focused on the task in hand.

The operating room had turned eerily dark, with only the light from the monitors casting out around the area. Then he’d shone a near-infrared light over the patient’s brain and a pink-purplish glow had lit up.

‘That’s it,’ Jake had confirmed with satisfaction. ‘That’s the chlorotoxin we injected last night.’

The chlorotoxin that Flávia Maura had worked on.

The thought had rattled through Jake’s brain before he could stop it, proving that, even before tonight, with the vision of her in front of him, the woman had been positively haunting him. And no matter how many times he told himself it was purely professional interest, a part of him knew there was more to it.

‘It’s lit the tumour up like Christmas lights in a grotto.’ Oz had shaken his head. ‘I’ve seen it on footage but never in person like this. She’s quite the beauty.’

‘Remarkable, isn’t it?’ Jake had concurred, staring at the tumour. ‘The engineered toxin fluoresces every cancer cell, yet leaves every single healthy cell around dark.’

‘My God, it shows me every last bit of the tumour which I’d need to remove without worrying about margins and without fear of leaving anything behind, causing a recurrence. The only question will be whether it also interferes with the centres of the lad’s brain responsible for speech or motor control.’

‘That’s your call.’ Jake had nodded. ‘How about get it out so that my patient can get his life back.’

‘Okay, you’re ready for the brain mapping? Can we go ahead and wake the patient, please?’

For the next hour or so, Jake had worked with the neurologist, using flash cards, asking questions and just generally keeping his patient talking whilst Oz had sent light electrical currents down the nerves to stimulate each part of the brain, then worked on removing the tumour.

And then Oz had given the signal that it was time to anaesthetise the patient again so that they could close up.

‘Okay, mate,’ Jake had told his patient. ‘Next time you wake up, you’ll be out of surgery.’

‘You’ll be with me?’ the lad had managed.

‘I’ll come and see you as soon as I can and we’ll talk you through how it’s all gone,’ Jake had confirmed, moving back to allow the anaesthetist to take over.

‘Want to see?’ Oz had offered when he was confident the lad was out again, but Jake had already been making his way around the table.

‘I don’t see any fluoresced areas.’ He’d frowned in disbelief. ‘You were actually able to get all of it?’

‘Every last bit.’ Triumph had reverberated through his mate’s voice. ‘Your patient might have to relearn his grade-two flute from when he was a kid, but if any tumour recurs in this guy, then it won’t be because of anything I had to leave behind. You need to complete these clinical trials so we can get our hands on this stuff for every patient.’

‘I’m working on it,’ Jake had replied grimly. ‘You know how long these things take.’

‘Yeah, too long, when we’ve got patients to try to save. You’d better ask Ms Maura what else she has up her sleeve. And how long.’

And he’d filed it away as though professional interest was the only reason he was planning on talking to Flávia Maura.

They’d worked carefully, precisely, for a little longer.

‘Now bone flap.’

Using plates and wires, they had secured the segment of skull they had removed in order to access the patient’s brain. And then the surgery had been completed, and Flávia Maura had still been in residence in Jake’s head.

‘Nice,’ Jake had congratulated as he and Oz left the OR together, trying to shake her, though not too hard. ‘Good going.’

‘Yeah, well, when you see the delectable Ms Maura, don’t go doing anything I wouldn’t do.’

‘Apart from the fact that leaves pretty much everything on the table—’ Jake remembered ignoring the jolt of anticipation which shot through him ‘—Brady will be with me. So my interactions will be strictly professional.’

Yet now, only three days later, and watching the woman agitatedly shift her weight from one foot to the other before finally taking her leave from the other women, he realised that his intentions towards Flávia Maura were far from strictly professional.

This he admitted as he strode forward and cut a slick path through the crowd to Isabella Sanchez—the woman running the gala evening’s slick operation.

Three more nights, Flávia Maura chanted silently to herself as she took her leave from her colleagues, Doctors Krysta Simpson and Amy Woodell, and edged her way through the crowded ballroom with something approaching relief.

Three more nights of awkward social hospital events and then she could be out of the city and back to the rainforest, where she felt most at home.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Krysta or Amy—far from it. She admired both women, who were incredibly accomplished in their careers and who seemed as kind as they were successful. She’d simply never been very good with crowds.

Animals were fine, but people...? Not so much. In fact, not only had her six-and nine-year-old nieces spent the previous weekend trying to give her a crash course in superficial conversation, but their mother—her own sister—had spent two hours this afternoon primping and preening her like some fun pet project.

Typical bossy Maria, Flávia thought fondly even as she anxiously tried to keep her balance in the unfamiliar skyscraper heels, and smoothed down her long gown. Her sister had practically bullied her into this dress tonight, and although it would undoubtedly look sleek and sophisticated on any other woman, it was all such a far cry from her usual uniform of trusty hiking boots and sensible, light grey cargo pants with a black tee that she felt like she might as well have been wearing little more than a scantily clad, samba carnival dancer.

Either that or like a little girl trying on her mother’s clothes and high heels and lipstick, as her nieces had taken to doing with Maria’s clothes. Flávia grinned to herself at the image of them playing princesses, even as an uncharacteristically melancholic pang shot through her. She loved the two little girls with all her heart, but sometimes—just occasionally—their lives reminded her of all that she and Maria had missed in their own childhoods. Not least the fact that their own mother had never stuck around long enough to give the sisters time to grow up and start to play dress-up in her clothes.

No. Their beloved papai, Eduardo, had raised them single-handedly, usually under the canopy of the Amazon or Atlantic rainforests, with explorer clothes instead of princess gowns, and animals for company rather than people. And Flávia had never regretted a moment of it.

Except when it came to taking life lessons from her nieces and then walking in on her sister stuffing condoms into her purse just before the taxi had arrived this evening, with an encouraging, If you meet a cute doctor, why not try having a little fun for once in your life, Livvy?

But she didn’t want to have a little fun. She was here because her boss demanded it, not because she had any desire to be; the sooner the night was over, the better.

She’d take a deadly bushmaster viper, a Brazilian wandering spider or a poison dart frog over trying to make conversation with a normal human being any day of the week. So between the hospital’s packed social calendars, it was proving to be a particularly tense week.

Still moving—or rather, teetering—Flávia desperately scanned the ballroom, telling herself that she didn’t need an escape route but searching for one all the same. Before her eyes alighted on the doors at the far end and a sense of consolation poured through her.

The botanical gardens were quite busy during the day, but at this time of evening they would probably be closed. If she could sneak in, it would give her a much-needed chance to regroup, and to quell the unfamiliar sensation of champagne bubbles up her nose from the glass she’d been trying to drink for the past hour.

She turned direction sharply, almost straight into one of her least favourite surgeons.

‘The hospital should be more careful of their reputation,’ the condescending tones of Dr Silvio Delgado—clearly pitched to be heard by as many luminaries as possible, as though by denigrating everyone else he somehow elevated himself—reached her ears. ‘First they hire the crazy selvagem woman, then the gigolo, and to add insult to injury, they then bring some frump in to lecture. This one looks like a street person.’

A better person, a stronger person, would have carried on walking, not letting that interminably pompous man get under their skin. But Flávia froze, shame momentarily rendering her immobile before eventually allowing her to twist herself around uncomfortably, a scowl pulling her features taut despite her best efforts not to react.

Selvagem—jungle woman.

It wasn’t the term itself—she’d been called selvagem plenty of times and it didn’t usually bother her—so much as the utter contempt in this particular man’s tone. The pejorative way he spat out the word—selvagem—as if she was as feral as the animals found in the rainforest. Or was that just because Delgado had said as much to her face, many times in the past?

Perhaps that was why Flávia tried telling herself it was the fact that he was also insulting a new colleague—a visitor to Paulista’s—which rattled her most.

Frump.

As though what Krysta wore mattered more than the fact that the woman was a focused, driven individual, already a leader in the combined fields of otolaryngology and facial reconstruction.

Flávia felt as though she ought to say something. She wished she could. Then again, what was to be gained from drawing attention to something half the crowd mercifully hadn’t understood, anyway, given that Delgado had spoken in Portuguese? Anyway, he’d only laugh her off, and she would probably let him.

All the more reason to get to the gardens and be alone.

Flávia gritted her teeth and gingerly lifted her foot, hoping she wasn’t about to do something as stupid as catching the heel in the hem.

‘Is that guy always such an abhorrent boor?’

Perhaps it was the clear-cut English accent which gave away the fact that the speaker was Dr Jacob Cooper. Or it could have been the rich, utterly masculine timbre, suggesting a barely restrained dynamism. Or maybe it was the fact that she remembered that voice only too well. It had featured in her pitiful dreams several times over the past eight months—and in those it wasn’t just asking that one question after her lecture.

Whatever the truth, sensations skittered this way and that, like interlopers, inside Flávia’s chest. The mere sound of his voice ignited every inch of her nerve endings, leaving her feeling as though her entire body was...itching. On fire.

An effect that no one had ever had on her before. Not even Enrico, the man who she had once called her fiancé.

Holding herself steady, Flávia spun slowly back around to face the speaker.

And promptly wished she hadn’t.

CHAPTER TWO

THE MAN WAS—her brain faltered, flailing to understand what her eyes were seeing—simply extraordinary.

Last time she’d seen him, he’d been one figure in a sea of faces, every one of them clad in work suits, and yet, to her, he’d stood out. Now, he wore the same impeccable tuxedo as every other man. His hair the same, neat style as every other man. He was well groomed, with intelligent eyes the same blue as roughly three hundred million other human beings in the world. And yet...he wasn’t the same as them.

There was nothing the same about Jacob Cooper, whatsoever. Indeed, far from her memory making more of the man than had ever really been, Flávia now realised, to her horror, that her brain hadn’t nearly recalled quite how magnetic he was.

Flávia couldn’t quite put her finger on it and yet it was there, nonetheless. Maybe it was that he seemed infinitely leaner, taller, more powerful, than any other man she’d ever known. Perhaps it was the way those eyes—as blue as a morpho butterfly—rooted her to the wooden dance floor. And yet simultaneously made her feel as though she was floating a good foot or so above it. Or possibly, it was the fact that the air around her seemed to be heating up, as if flowing right from this stranger’s body straight into hers.

Like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

She eyed the empty champagne glass accusingly. Evidently, the alcohol had allowed her sister’s ridiculous have a little fun instruction to get into her head, and now it was running riot, upending the customarily neatly arranged compartments in her brain.

Vaguely, she recalled that he’d levelled a question at her, although for the life of her she couldn’t remember what that question had been.

Her mind spun, the cogs slipping in their haste.

Ah, something to do with Delgado being a boor.

She really ought to speak, but how could her brain form words when it couldn’t even think straight? Flávia slid a discreet tongue over her teeth, unsticking them from her suddenly parched lips, and forced her vocal cords back into operation. And if her tone was a touch huskier than usual, well, was he really to know? From one lecture?

‘You speak Portuguese?’

‘A little.’

‘That’s unusual.’

He didn’t so much as shrug to give the semblance of it.

‘I made it my business to learn the language when I got the invitation to this summer’s teaching programme and I knew that your man over there was head of the oncology department.’

Interesting.

‘Why do that?’ she couldn’t help but ask. ‘There are so many countries attending these annual summer teaching programmes that the common language is generally English, anyway.’

For a moment she wasn’t sure he was going to answer her. His eyes bored into her and she felt something unfurl from her toes right the way up. Then, suddenly, he spoke.

‘Let’s just say that I make it my business to understand the nature of the people with whom I’ll be working closely over the next few months. I like to know their character and I like to know their mettle.’

He smiled. Or, at least, he bared his teeth into something which could equally have been a smile, or a grimace. And Flávia couldn’t have said why it made her think that she pitied anyone who tried to stir things up with this man.

It also made her more open with him than she might otherwise have intended.

‘Dr Silvio Delgado’s grandfather was one of the founding contributors to this hospital.’ As the man was all too fond of telling people at every opportunity. ‘He believes that gives him an inalienable right to insult whoever he pleases.’

Like calling her ‘jungle woman’ and turning it into an insult.

Then again, was it surprising she was sensitive to it? A childhood of being mocked by the other kids—her sister leaping in to fight her battles—had left more of a scar than Flávia would have liked. Yet she suspected, right at this moment, that it was the idea of Jacob Cooper thinking she was a bit...odd that bothered her more than anything that idiot Delgado could ever say.

‘Indeed,’ he offered in a tone so neutral that Flávia couldn’t ascertain anything from it.

It irritated her that she was trying.

Why should she care what this stranger thought?

‘Jacob Cooper,’ he introduced himself, his words like the sweetest caramel moving through her veins.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Of course?’ he echoed, a hint of a smile toying with his altogether too-mesmerising mouth. ‘I didn’t think we’d met.’

Flávia blinked, heat rushing to her cheeks. She could only hope that her colouring, and the light levels, concealed her embarrassment.

‘Well, I mean...of course I know the name. After all, who, with any connection to the oncology world, doesn’t?’ She was babbling, but for the life of herself she couldn’t stop. ‘Dr Jacob Cooper...that is, you...have a reputation for pushing boundaries. Running clinical trials that others were too afraid to touch, like the scorpion-venom-based fluorescent dye which lights up cancer cells like some kind of personal beacon. Making Hail Marys look like a proverbial walk in the park.’

Oh, Lord, now she sounded like she was fangirling. This was why she hated people. She really had no idea how to talk to them without coming across as either aloof, or a bit of a fool. A bobo.

‘Well, I’m flattered.’ His voice sounded all the richer, and more luxurious, and Flávia wasn’t sure she cared for the effect it was having on her.

Turning her into even more of an idiota.

She didn’t want to shake his hand. She feared what that contact might do to her given the effect the mere sight of him had. Yet she watched her arm reach out nonetheless, as if under some form of energy other than her own muscles.

When he enveloped her not-exactly-petite hand in his much bigger one, making it seem more delicate than it ever had before in her life, her heart stopped. Hanging there for a beat, or ten—sensations raining down on her like she’d charged into the ocean splashing spray high into the air and was letting it land on her skin—before pounding back into life like a thousand horses galloping in her chest.

‘Flávia Maura,’ she bit out by way of introduction. And only after what felt like an eternity.

His eyes glinted, but still she couldn’t read them.

‘I know,’ he answered evenly. ‘If we’re going for a mutual love-in, then I feel duty-bound to point out that you’re one of today’s foremost authorities in the field of venom-based medicine. I caught your lecture on the application of a cancer-targeting toxin in Brazilian wasp venom some months ago.’

‘Oh...’ she offered, hoping that her scorching cheeks didn’t give her away. ‘Right.’

She could hardly admit that she recognised him from one question out of the raft of them she’d had that day, could she? Hardly tell him that his face had invaded her dreams ever since, like she was exactly the kind of weirdo Silvio Delgado would love the world to believe. Hardly confess that she’d looked for him after that lecture, wanting to ask him questions of her own.

So, instead, she fell back on her usual safety net. Discussing facts like they were the only conversation she knew how to have.

‘Polybia-MP1. It exploits the unusual make-up of lipids and fats within cancer-cell membranes and essentially creates holes in the latter. These gaps can be wide enough to let molecules like proteins escape, and since the cancer cells can’t function without them, the toxin ultimately acts as an anticancer therapy.’

She stopped abruptly, aware that this time his mouth was more than twitching with amusement.

‘As I said. I caught the whole lecture.’

‘Yes...well...there you go.’

With more effort than she cared to admit, Flávia attempted to propel herself forward again, away from this mesmerising man, needing the quiet respite now more than ever.

‘So what are you working on now?’

She stopped.

‘I... Well... I’m pretty much living my dream. Working as a naturalist and researcher, splitting my time between caring for pit vipers in a sanctuary in the rainforest, and my work at Paulista’s.’

‘I heard you were looking for ways to use venom to halt the metastasising of cancer cells in humans? Amazing to think that what had started as a passion for the wildlife of the Amazon rainforest can now enable you to save human and snake lives, alike.’

Flávia froze, her body practically shaking.

‘You’ve read my recent interview?’ Her voice cracked with shock.

‘Indeed.’

‘In Portuguese,’ she added weakly.

That slow, sexy grin of his was going to be her undoing. She was sure of it.

‘So I noticed.’

It stood to reason that he would know of VenomSci’s work. But the fact that he’d read a piece on her life, and her naturalist goals, and then quoted them back at her...? Well, that was doing insane things to her insides.

She needed to get away. Now. Before she did something as ridiculous as her sister had suggested.

Turning sharply, Flávia lurched off. It was only when she was a metre or so away that she realised he was falling into step beside her.

‘Where are we heading?’

‘We?’ she managed. ‘We are not heading anywhere. I was heading to the gardens.’

He moved with an enviable ease and confidence. A self-awareness as though he expected people—the world—to make way for him. Then again, it probably did, given the way people were hastily repositioning themselves to make way for him.

‘That desperate to escape already, huh?’ His voice actually seemed to rumble through her. ‘Well, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the gardens are locked now.’

‘They are?’ She snapped her head around. ‘How do you know?’

He hesitated. So fleeting that anyone else may not have noticed it. But Flávia wasn’t anybody. She hadn’t avoided being bitten by the fast, deadly vipers she had come to love by failing to miss tiny, telltale signs. It piqued her curiosity in an instant, although Jacob had apparently already shrugged the moment off.

‘I tried earlier,’ he answered smoothly. ‘They told me it was closed for the night.’

‘I see.’

There was something else. Something more. She’d lay a bet on it.

‘May I recommend the bar instead? That far end looks pretty quiet.’

She ought to decline.

Her mind was still racing. Trying to fill in that missing moment. And then she shocked herself again by flashing a dazzling smile, which her sister was always telling her to use more often with people other than merely her beloved nieces.

‘Why not? I’m sure we can have quite the party of our own.’

She ought to tell him she wasn’t interested in a party of their own. She ought to be mingling, the way her boss had told her to do. She ought to draw more people into the conversation—she could see a couple of other medical and surgical oncology team members hovering for a chance to talk to the highly respected Dr Cooper.

Yet she didn’t say any of those things, and by the time she reached the bar, Flávia found herself alone with a man who made her body fizz disconcertingly, and an empty countertop.

Then, with nothing more discernible than a diplomatic hand gesture, two fresh drinks materialised in front of them. A glass of champagne for her and, she hazarded a guess from the deep amber colour of the liquid swirling in the tumbler, a top-drawer whiskey or cognac for him. And suddenly, inexplicably, it all felt slightly too...intimate.

Flávia opened her mouth to refuse the drink and take her leave—not that she really believed her single glass of champagne was to blame for this...thing that hummed between them, but why take any chances? And then he thanked the bartender.

She had no idea what it was about the simple gesture, so understated yet so polite, and so unlike too many of the doctors in this room who thought themselves too good for something as apparently irrelevant as good manners.

She turned her head to look at him again and, once again, her heart slammed into her chest for no apparent reason. Was breath truly seeping from her lungs like a popped balloon or was she just imagining it? And never mind the dress feeling constricting and small, right now it was her very skin which seemed to be too tight for her own body.

Flávia couldn’t help it—her eyes scanned over him. Quickly. Then slowly. Like they didn’t know where to start. Or maybe where to stop. And still she stood there. Still. Ensnared.

No man had ever got under her skin like this. Ever. She told herself it meant nothing. That she must just be feeling out of her depth at this welcome gala, and vulnerable after Delgado’s dig.

‘Dr Cooper—’ she began.

‘Jacob,’ he interjected.

She sucked in a breath. ‘Jacob,’ she began, then paused. As ridiculous as it was, his name sounded altogether too intimate on her tongue. She tried again. ‘Jacob...’

‘But you can call me Jake,’ he interrupted, and this time she knew she didn’t mistake the amused rumble in his tone. ‘And for the record, you really shouldn’t let oafs like Delgado get to you.’

‘I don’t,’ she denied hotly, then cursed herself for sounding so defensive.

‘I beg to differ. It was clear from the way you reacted that he had rattled you. And you have to know that’s only going to encourage him all the more. Bullies like him thrive off making others feel small.’

‘I’m well aware of that.’ She bristled, despite her attempts not to. ‘But it was the doctor he called a frump who I was most concerned about.’

‘Who? Krysta Simpson? I’m running a case with her at the moment... Actually, it would interest you—the patient has oral cancer and I’ll be using the scorpion-venom-based fluorescent contrast agent when I remove the tumour in their jaw. But the point is, there’s no need for you to worry about Krysta. She’s more than secure enough in herself not to let such a comment get to her.’

Yes, that much was clear. Flávia couldn’t help thinking that if she had a fraction of Krysta’s confidence then she, too, could be wearing a dress which—if she had to be entirely honest—might not be the most flattering, but in which Krysta looked entirely comfortable.

What must it be like to be so cool and self-assured when chatting with these people?

Instead here she was, feeling utterly self-conscious in a figure-hugging dress and statement shoes, both of which her far more fashion-forward sister had insisted on foisting on her for tonight’s event. Yet all Flávia could think was that one couldn’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear—and she most definitely felt like a sow’s ear. And no matter the shocked compliments she’d been receiving all night.

Hastily, she told herself that she felt nothing at Jacob’s... Jake’s...apparent appreciation. Assuming that was what this was, of course. And if he did appreciate her, then it was the dress he admired—her sister’s dress—not her, per se.

Only, she wasn’t sure she believed that. Or, more pertinently, wanted to believe it.

Admittedly, she adored the colour—a forest green which shimmered to inky black as she moved, the stunning colour so like another of her beloved snakes—but other than that, she was too plagued with self-doubt to relax. Was the neckline too low? The slit in the skirt too high? Did it cling to her a little too much when she moved?

Her only consolation was that if she had looked as on display as she’d feared, then Silvio Delgado would surely have taken great delight in mocking her clothes, as well as her choice of career.

So maybe it was more that the clothes mirrored her environment and how she felt about her state of mind? Out in the forest, in her bush gear, she felt strong, powerful, in control. She spent practically twenty-three hours out of twenty-four in blissful solitude, with the glorious orchestra of the rainforest pleasing her senses. Here in this ballroom, in this city, harsh sounds assailed her from every side.

Some people loved the city with its shimmering lights, vibrant sounds and bustling life—her sister and brother-in-law being prime examples—but Flávia had never been able to understand its allure. Whether it was the light pollution, the noise pollution, the air pollution, Flávia couldn’t be sure.

She felt out of her depth, like she was suffocating.

At least, she had felt that way, right up until a few minutes ago—ever since Jacob Cooper. Now, the butterflies were still there, but instead of flutterings of fear and discomfort, she could swear they were flutterings of...awareness? Anticipation? Not least because he was looking at her as though he thought she was the only woman in the room.

And then she hated herself, because her goose-bumping body seemed to find that rather too thrilling.

‘Did you want to speak to me about anything in particular?’ The question came out sharper than she’d intended.

‘Frankly, Flávia Maura, I find myself curious about many things right now,’ he answered, and she couldn’t have said why but she wasn’t sure he’d intended it to have quite the huskiness that it did. ‘But how about we start with your antivenom therapy, and how you think your snakes can change the face of cancer treatment today?’

She could see the inherent danger in responding to Jake’s question—the effect he was having on her just from a few minutes in his company. Yet, like a frog attracted to the sweet-scented nectar in a tropical pitcher plant, Flávia couldn’t resist the open invitation to talk about her work—her true passion.

Even as she knew that, like the pitcher plant, a man like Jake would eat her up in a heartbeat.

Worse, the naughtiness of such an idea was almost deliciously thrilling.

She shook her head. It didn’t completely rid her head of the uninvited images, and that made her feel more combative than she knew she should.

‘You say it as though I’m suggesting the awful hoax remedies they call “snake oil.”’

‘On the contrary,’ Jake answered easily. ‘I’m well aware of the difference between “snake oil” and very real medicine. A recent study listed six groups of venom-based drugs which have gained FDA approval in the last thirty-five to forty years.’

Flávia didn’t know whether to be impressed by his knowledge or irritated that it wasn’t helping her to be any less attracted to him. She gritted her teeth.

‘I’m guessing that you also know that captopril, an ACE inhibitor used to treat high blood pressure, some types of congestive heart failure and kidney problems caused by diabetes, is derived from snake venom?’

‘I do know that, given that it’s used by around forty million people worldwide.’ Jake nodded.

‘Well, did you know that it comes from bothrops jararaca, which is another of the Brazilian pit vipers I deal with?’

‘That part I didn’t know,’ he conceded, and Flávia didn’t like that it gave her such a punch of triumph.

Was she really trying to impress this man that much?

‘Plus, clinical testing for venom-based drugs began in 1968 with an anticoagulant derived from a Malayan pit viper venom.’

‘I didn’t know that, either,’ he acknowledged with a grin that revealed straight, white teeth. As though he knew exactly what she was trying to do.

‘So, jungle woman,’ he asked softly in a way that didn’t make the term sound like an insult whatsoever, ‘what makes pit vipers so special?’

‘Because of disintegrins,’ she declared firmly, unable to help herself. ‘Which is a group of proteins found in bushmaster venom. Furthermore...’

The low reverberation of a gong cut her words short, and Flávia spun around as Isabella stepped forward to announce that the dinner was about to be served.

‘Shall we?’

Dropping her eyes, Flávia took in the sight of Jake’s proffered arm and strove unsuccessfully to quash another bout of shimmering nerves.

She bit back the stuttering words which suddenly cluttered up her throat and swallowed once, twice, until she was sure she could answer with confidence, even if she didn’t feel it.

‘I don’t believe we’re sitting at the same table so you should probably ask one of the women at your table. There’s a seating chart by the entrance.’

‘Actually, I believe we are.’ His voice rumbled around her, skimming over her skin and making it prickle like she’d somehow missed a joke she hadn’t realised someone had told.

‘Oh. Right.’ Her voice sounded odd, but she couldn’t help that.

It was the way he was watching her so curiously. So intently. His eyes holding hers and preventing her from dragging her gaze away, however hard she tried. And she did try. Because the longer he held the contact, the more certain she was that he could see into her, far deeper than her mere soul. Right down to that dark, unwelcome pit inside her, and every embarrassing secret that she’d long since buried within.

‘Very well, then.’

Squaring her shoulders, Flávia raised her arm and linked with Jake, but still she couldn’t steel herself enough against the thrill that rippled through her at the contact.

It was only as they moved to the entrance and past the board that she sneaked a glance at the chart; as she’d suspected, Jake—it still felt odd not thinking of him as Dr Jacob Cooper—wasn’t supposed to be at her table. Yet when he walked her to her seat—through the round tables, with their pale damask cloths and stunning flower-covered topiaries—there was his name, at the place setting right next to hers.

And she was far too pleased about it for her own liking. Not that she had to let him see that. She pulled her face into a disapproving frown.

‘Did you sneak in here and change this around?’

‘Are you accusing me of schoolboy tactics?’

Another grin, and another glimpse of that perfect mouth, which she couldn’t stop imagining against her skin. At the hollow of her neck, or trailing down her body. This time, there was no pushing the images away. So, instead, she focused on the rules. The regulations. The things which couldn’t get her into trouble.

‘You can’t just move things around on a whim. How did you even get in here? You realise these doors were locked for a reason?’ She was rattling off too many questions, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. ‘Months and months of planning went into this. Besides, you’re meant to be on one of the VIP tables, with Silvio Delgado. Experts in your field. How do you think he’s going to react to someone from my table being bumped up to take your place at his table?’

Despite her rambling, Jake looked as composed as ever. He flashed her another even smile, and Flávia told herself she didn’t feel it rushing through her, right down to her very toes. The thing was, no matter how Dr Delgado reacted to Jake’s stunt, she couldn’t imagine it intimidating the man standing in front of her right now.

Honestly, she couldn’t imagine anyone intimidating this man.

‘I imagine Silvio will be rather irked.’ Jake shrugged, proving the point. ‘But then, I imagine if it wasn’t me inconveniencing him, then it would be someone else, so that’s no great issue. Besides, do you not think that you’re as much an expert in your field as he is in his, Flávia?’

‘Yes, well...’ Heat flushed her at the compliment. ‘You still can’t go around moving people quer queira ou não.’

‘I don’t see why not.’ He laughed, a deep, rich sound which...did things to her.

‘Dr—’

‘Fine.’ He cut her off with another dazzling smile. ‘Would it settle you to know that I didn’t change the place settings?’

‘Really?’ Flávia raised her eyebrows sceptically. ‘Then who did?’

‘Isabella Sanchez,’ he answered slowly, flicking his arm out to where Isabella was leading another guest—presumably the guest originally intended to sit at their table—to Silvio Delgado’s table—as if playing his trump card.

Then again, he was playing it.

Isabella was ultimately responsible for organising this entire programme. She wasn’t a surgeon, or even a doctor, but she practically ran Hospital Universitário Paulista single-handedly. There wasn’t a single thing which went on within the brick, glass and metal walls that Isabella didn’t know about, and she controlled the floors with an iron fist clad in the most silken, smooth glove. She truly was a woman so formidable that even Silvio Delgado would be taking his life into his hands going up against her.

‘Why would she do that?’ Flávia shook her head.

‘Because I asked her to.’

‘Why?’

It still didn’t seem to make any sense.

‘Because I wanted to meet you properly.’ He lowered his voice until she had to lean in to hear him, so that she was no longer sure if they were talking medicine, or not, and it suddenly felt entirely too intimate.

‘I wanted a chance to talk to you.’

Flávia didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

For the longest time she just watched him, his eyes snagging hers and refusing to let her look away. And she had the oddest sense that she was telling him entirely too much even though she wasn’t saying even a word. That he was reading the truths she preferred to keep securely hidden.

Oh, boy, she really was in so much trouble.

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