Can one steamy night…

…take them to paradise?

Physiotherapist Amy Woodell is going to use her time in Brazil to embrace her heritage. She might even let loose while she’s there! Who better to indulge in than her new colleague, sexy ex-footballer turned orthopedic surgeon Roque Cardoza… Only, once she uncovers the passionate man behind the determined bachelor, Amy knows one night—no matter how hot—is never going to be enough!

Three-times Golden Heart® Award finalist TINA BECKETT learned to pack her suitcases almost before she learned to read. Born to a military family, she has lived in the United States, Puerto Rico, Portugal and Brazil. In addition to travelling, Tina loves to cuddle with her pug, Alex, spend time with her family and hit the trails on her horse. Learn more about Tina from her website, or ‘friend’ her on Facebook.

Also by Tina Beckett

One Night to Change Their Lives

The Surgeon’s Surprise Baby

A Family to Heal His Heart

A Christmas Kiss with Her Ex-Army Doc

Miracle Baby for the Midwife

A Summer in São Paulo collection

Awakened by Her Brooding Brazilian by Ann McIntosh

Falling for the Single Dad Surgeon by Charlotte Hawkes

One Hot Night with Dr Cardoza

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

One Hot Night with Dr Cardoza

Tina Beckett

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90250-6

ONE HOT NIGHT WITH DR CARDOZA

© 2020 Tina Beckett

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.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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To John, as always.

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

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

AMY WOODELL ADJUSTED the single strap of her teal gown one last time as she entered the swanky hotel. She’d ripped out the stitches and resewn it in an attempt to pull up the hemline just a bit. But it hadn’t quite solved the problem.

In her rush to pack for her trip to Brazil, she’d brought the wrong shoes. The heels on her silver slingbacks were about an inch shorter than the black stilettos she normally would have worn. But she’d been a last-minute addition to the people who’d be attending the summer lecture program at the fabulous Hospital Universitário Paulista. And between a rushed itinerary followed by flight delays, there’d been no time to go shopping. She’d added a silver-linked belt to her waistline as an additional way to keep her dress from dragging the floor.

Glancing through the palm trees and lush tropical decor, she spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Krysta, wasn’t that her name? The customs and immigration line had been long, but fortunately she’d met Krysta, who was also part of the group of visiting doctors—a specialist in otolaryngology and facial reconstruction. They’d hit it off almost immediately, the other woman’s friendly nature helping put her nerves at ease.

Amy’s mom’s sudden death six months ago had put her life into a tailspin, making her realize how little firsthand knowledge she’d had about her mother’s heritage. Being in Brazil—her mom’s home country—made her feel connected to her in a way that defied logic. And she had an uncle she’d never even met, who supposedly lived on the outskirts of São Paulo, according to an address in her mom’s things.

Well, she was going to make the most of these three months! And if she could adopt a little bit of her mother’s philosophy of living in the moment, even better.

Heading toward Krysta and hoping against hope that the other woman remembered her from the immigration line, she surveyed the room. Round tables were topped with silk damask tablecloths and huge flower-strewn topiaries. The colors and lush tropical theme were like something out of a pricey travel magazine. It was gorgeous.

So were the people.

And Amy had never felt more out of place.

Her eyes met those of a man across the room, his lean physique and good looks making her steps falter for a minute. He stood straight and tall, his black hair melding with his equally black clothing; everything from his suit to his tie to the tips of his polished shoes were dark.

She shivered. He could have been the angel of death or a grim reaper—albeit a gorgeous one—here to mete out swift justice. All he lacked was a scythe. He did have something in his hand, although she couldn’t quite tell what it… When she realized she was rooted in place…and that she was staring—staring!—she forced her feet back into motion.

Oh, Lord.

Maybe he hadn’t noticed. She chanced another quick peek and was thankful to see him talking to some cute blonde, his mouth curving to reveal a flash of white teeth. Her insides gave a deep shiver.

Probably his wife, Amy.

Who thankfully hadn’t noticed a strange woman ogling her husband.

She made it to Krysta and forced a smile, although she was suddenly feeling even less sure of her place here. And her reaction to a complete stranger? Ridiculous.

Although if she had been her vibrant, larger than life mother, she would have marched right over and introduced herself to him. Laughed at his jokes. Fluttered her lashes at him a time or two. Cecília Rodrigo Woodell had never met a stranger. Something that used to embarrass Amy. But not anymore.

“Wow, this is quite a welcoming party. I don’t know if you remember me. Amy Woodell?”

Krysta nodded. “Of course I do. You’re a physical therapist, right?” She got the attention of the woman next to her. “Amy, this is Flávia Maura. She actually works in the Atlantic Forest with venomous snakes and spiders. She’s here to give a lecture.”

“Nice to meet you. I hate to admit it, but snakes kind of terrify me.” She held up her palm, where two small scars were still visible. “Pygmy rattlers are pretty common in Florida. So are pools. And the two of them seem to find each other. A lot.”

Flávia shifted her attention from something in the crowd back to Amy and Krysta, smoothing her palms down the front of her dress as if suddenly ill at ease in it.

“Yes, I’m familiar with rattlesnakes. But I’ll admit the only snakes that disgust me are the ones that strut around on two legs, brag about their avô’s contributions to this hospital and spend much of their time insulting others.”

She sent a glare back into the crowd. “But that’s neither here nor there. And hopefully neither of you will have to deal with that particular cobra.” The bits and pieces of Portuguese mixed with her English made the statement sound slightly sinister.

The image of Tall, Dark and Reaperish popped up in her head. Was Flávia talking about him? She’d kind of been looking off in that general direction. If so, Amy should be doubly glad she wouldn’t have to work with him. Or flutter her lashes at him.

Although that smile hadn’t made him look like a snake. Or even a jerk. But then again, looks could be deceiving. As she’d found out from her job. And her last boyfriend, who’d appeared to be totally into her. Until he wasn’t. She’d learned the hard way that “ghosting” was actually a real phenomenon.

From now on she was going to keep things between her and men light and simple. Maybe somewhere in the neighborhood of “fling” territory. And the Reaper? That glance he’d given her had been anything but light or simple.

Flávia smiled. “I see movement by the podium. I think they’re getting ready to give the welcomes. Até logo.”

“Nice to meet you, Flávia.” Amy smiled back before turning to Krysta. “See you soon, too, I hope,” she said with a light touch of Krysta’s arm. She then began to circle the tables, waiting for further instructions. She almost tripped over the hem of her dress before yanking it up again. Ugh!

The wait was longer than she expected it to be, but just as she was trying to decide whether or not to find Krysta again, someone at the front of the room tapped the microphone. “We want to take a moment to welcome our visiting doctors and lecturers. We’re very excited about this year’s summer lecture program.”

She shifted her weight. She wasn’t a doctor. Furthering her education had been on the back burner for a long time, but recently she’d started giving it serious thought and had included that fact on her application.

The speaker’s English was excellent. Since there were people here from all over the world, it made sense that they’d address the group in that language. Despite having a mother who was Brazilian, Amy unfortunately hadn’t taken advantage of practicing her Portuguese. So, she’d pretty much stuck to short simple phrasings since she’d arrived, although she could understand most of what was said.

“If you haven’t already done so, please consult the seating chart at the entrance to find your place. Dinner will be served shortly, so if you could take your seats as soon as possible, that would be appreciated.”

Amy took a deep breath and headed over to the seating chart just as someone else was getting there. Sensing someone to her left, she turned with a smile to introduce herself. It quickly faded. It was the Reaper. And up close, those flaws she expected to see were nonexistent. Also nonexistent was the blonde he’d been with moments earlier. She forced herself to speak.

“Hello. I’m Amy Woodell.”

“Ah, so you are our physical therapist? I have been wondering about you.”

The way he said “our” in that gruff, accented English gave the words a sense of intimacy that made her swallow. It served to reinforce her weird initial reaction to him. She forced her lashes to stay put until her eyes burned with the effort.

Stupid, Amy. Probably married. Remember?

“Yes, I guess I am. And am I the only one?” She slid a thumb under her the strap of her dress, afraid it might slide down.

“You are indeed. I’m Roque Cardoza, the head of orthopedics. We’ll be working together, it seems.” He glanced at the seating chart. “And sitting together. Shall we go?”

Working? And sitting? Together? Oh, no!

She blinked a couple of times in rapid succession, her composure beginning to crumble as they made their way to the table. He had a cane in his left hand. Had he injured himself? Not that she was going to ask. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m anxious to get started.”

Actually, she was anxious to be anywhere but here, suddenly.

“Yes. As am I.”

She shivered. It had to be the language that gave everything that smooth seductive air. She could get addicted to listening to him. And the way his eyes remained fastened to her face the whole time he’d addressed her… But not in a creepy way. Not like how she’d sized him up earlier.

Her thumb dipped out from under her strap, almost wishing it would slip, just so they could be on equal footing as far as staring went. Her eyes dropped to his ring finger, but it was empty. Not even a hint that one had been recently removed, although that meant nothing. Lots of people chose not to wear their wedding bands. And it didn’t look like staff members had brought their significant others to the soiree, since they didn’t seem to be paired up that way.

Roque indicated her seat and waited for her to take it before sliding into his own, propping his cane against the table. He hadn’t used the cane to walk and there was no orthopedic boot on his foot, and he’d certainly had no problem maneuvering into his chair. In fact, he was…

Nothing. He was nothing. And he definitely wasn’t light. Or simple. Her two new requirements in a man.

Time to squash those fling thoughts that kept circling her head like vultures looking for any sign of weakness.

She turned her attention to the person in the seat to her right. The woman was another visiting doctor from London who specialized in sports medicine.

“The doctor you were speaking with also specializes in sports medicine, I hear, so it’ll be interesting to hear things from his perspective.”

Was he listening?

“Some of my early physical therapy work was at a center specializing in sports injuries. Those are hard, since most athletes need the affected area of the body in order to perform adequately. Sometimes they never completely recover.”

“Yes. Sometimes that is the case. No matter how much physical therapy they may receive.” The comment came from Roque. So he was listening. And his words had a strange, almost angry quality to them.

Anything she might have said in response was halted as dinner plates were brought around to the tables.

She knew this dish. “This looks like shrimp in coconut milk, like my mom used to make.”

“Your mother is Brazilian?”

Amy glanced at him. “Yes. I think she called this camarão no leite de coco.”

“Very good. So you speak Portuguese as well?”

“I understand a lot. But I’m sorry to say I only have survival-skill fluency as far as speaking goes. My tongue gets tripped up.”

His fingers came to rest on the table. “If you understand the mechanics, then it’s only a matter of practice for the tongue. Soon it remembers exactly how to move.”

She gulped as those vultures continued to circle. Everything he said carried a double-edged whammy that made her senses reel. She’d gotten all kinds of sly innuendos while working on male patients over the years. Both married and unmarried. But she wasn’t getting those vibes from Roque. At all. He wasn’t doing it on purpose.

And yet she found her body reacting to them—to him!—and that horrified her.

“I don’t think I’ll be here long enough to get in that kind of practice.” She decided to rope those vultures and jerk them out of the sky. He was one of the first men she’d actually sat down to talk to in Brazil, so it made sense that she might notice him more than she normally would.

After her mom died, she’d realized how much life the woman had exuded. How many chances she’d taken in the living of it, and how little of herself she’d held back. When Amy was a kid, she’d struggled with having a mother who was so open, so friendly. But only now was she wishing she had a little more of her mom’s joie de vivre. Fully embracing any and all opportunities. Including in the area of love.

And Roque?

Not one of those opportunities. Especially if he was involved with someone.

And if he wasn’t?

She was only here for three months. If she met someone else, someone other than a man she’d be working with, why not have a little fun? And this time, she’d have no expectations. Unlike her last relationship.

Her mom had met Amy’s father while he was in Brazil on business. They’d fallen in love instantly. Before they knew it, they were married, and Amy’s mom had uprooted herself from everything she’d known to be with the man she loved. He’d died five years later, and her mom had stayed in Florida to be close to his grave. And now she was buried next to him.

Not something Amy could imagine herself doing. Florida was one of the last links she had with her parents. She actually worked at the hospital she’d been born in.

“If the hospital administration finds out that you understand the language, I can guarantee they will use that to their advantage.”

“And if they don’t know?”

“Vão descobrir, com certeza.”

She took a bite of shrimp, the rich luscious flavors rolling around in her mouth. Swallowing, she said, “They won’t find out. Not unless you tell them.” Too late she realized that he’d spoken to her in Portuguese.

“I think I will not have to tell them… Amy.” Her name came out sounding like “Ahh-Mee,” all musical and so horrifyingly attractive.

She licked her lips, trying to maintain her grip on what little composure she had left.

He was right. There was no way she could keep her knowledge of the language a secret. But the truth was, she was embarrassed to speak. She hated making mistakes of any kind. And yet Roque’s English wasn’t perfect, and he was still willing to try in order to be understood. And at a hospital like Paulista he was probably called on to speak English fairly often. “You’re right. I’ll give myself away, won’t I?”

“Yes. Most assuredly.”

She smiled at him, feeling silly all of a sudden. What would her mom have done in this situation? She would have tackled that language barrier and conquered it, just like she’d done when she’d married her father. While her mom had always maintained her accent, she’d spoken English very well. “Well, I won’t try to hide it, then.”

One side of his mouth kicked up. Not quite as big as the smile he’d lavished on the blonde, but it transformed the rugged lines of his face in ways that made warmth pool in her stomach.

She took a deep breath and dug into her food, hoping to take her attention off the man beside her. Just in time, too. Because the next speaker was at the podium giving instructions on how the scheduling would work. She forced herself to listen, since she didn’t want to be lost tomorrow, when things got under way. It seemed those who were not giving lectures would shadow a staff member for the first half of their stay in order to learn the ropes. Then they would be given more latitude and allowed to have input in patient care.

That was exciting. From the information she’d seen online, Paulista would rival any hospital she’d visited in the US.

“For those of you who have just arrived, there is an envelope on the table listing who you’ll be paired with. There will be two or three visiting medical professionals shadowing the same staff member. Who knows, you might even be sitting at the same table with them.”

There were a few chuckles at that comment, but Amy didn’t share in the mirth. Her hands suddenly turned to ice, her fork stopping halfway to her mouth.

She spotted the envelope the woman had mentioned. Cream-colored and tipped with gold, it shouldn’t look ominous, but it did. Knowing she couldn’t simply drop the fork and dive for the list, she forced herself to pop the shrimp into her mouth and chew as the person to Roque’s left drew the sheet from the envelope and glanced at it. The man then passed the paper to Roque, while Amy struggled to swallow her food.

The orthopedist didn’t even glance at the names. Instead, a muscle in his jaw flickered and one brow edged up, and he handed the sheet to her, eyes meeting hers and lingering.

Oh, God! Why? Her and…the Reaper?

That’s why he’d mentioned working together. She hadn’t thought he’d meant so closely together. Amy forced herself to look at the paper in her hands…to find her name. But it was all a pretense. And there it was in black and white: Roque Cardoza, Amy Woodell and two other names.

She didn’t know how she’d expected this thing to work but had assumed there’d be some kind of short orientation as a group before listening to the various lecturers and participating in treatment as opportunities arose. But to work closely with someone she was already uneasy with? For half of the three-month stint? That was a whole month and a half. Of watching every move the man made.

She passed the sheet to the woman next to her. Why couldn’t she be with Flávia and Krysta?

Because they were both lecturing.

The woman she’d spoken to a few minutes earlier smiled. “It looks like I’m in your group, and I’ve met the other man on the list as well. He’s on the far side of the table.”

Okay, so at least that was something. “That’s great.” But there was no conviction in her voice.

The speaker addressed them again. “So once you’ve finished dinner, find your group and set a meeting time and place for tomorrow, if you would.”

Roque leaned over. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for a little longer. But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone your little secret.”

Little secret?

The words made her heart skip a beat. Then another. Had he guessed what he did to her? Her face became a scorching inferno. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“That you understand Portuguese.” He frowned. “Is there some other secret I should know about?”

Her shoulders sagged and her strap actually started to slide down her shoulder. She shrugged it back into place.

“No. No other secrets.” Liar. “And since we both agreed it would be impossible to keep my Portuguese under wraps, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Somehow she got through the rest of the meal, which was followed by a luscious crème brûléé for dessert. Then people were getting to their feet, and groups formed all over the room, the sounds of excitement building in the air.

Except the air where she was sitting.

“So here we are.” Roque stood, not reaching for his cane.

She scrambled to her feet as well. “Yes, we are.”

It’s only six weeks, Amy. You can do this.

The sports medicine doctor introduced herself to the group as Lara Smith. And a man with light brown hair came over and shook Roque’s hand and then hers. “I am Dr. Peter Gunderfeld. You must be Dr. Cardoza and Dr. Woodell?”

Everyone in her group was a doctor. Except for her.

“Just Amy, for me.” Her uneasiness about her decision to come to Brazil grew. These people were all brilliantly talented in their respective fields, from what she was discovering. Maybe she should have just planned a vacation to the country and skipped the summer lecture program.

“You can call me Peter, then.”

“And Lara is fine with me.”

“I am Roque.”

The pronouncement landed like a hammer, although she was sure he hadn’t meant it to.

They went through a few moments of exchanging social pleasantries about where they were from. She already knew Lara was from England. And Peter was from Munich, Germany.

Roque was from Rio de Janeiro, originally. She had noticed a difference in his speech patterns as opposed to her mom’s, who was from São Paulo. Many of his s’s had the “sh” sound characteristic of the famous city.

“Did you know that the name Florida comes from the Portuguese word meaning ‘flowered’?” Roque’s mouth curved slightly. She forced her gaze not to dwell.

“I did.” This would be a perfect time to ask what his name meant, but that might be a little too personal.

Peter had no problems sharing personal information, however. He was married with a two-year-old daughter.

“It had to have been hard to leave them at home,” Lara said.

“Yes. But they’re going to meet me here the last week of our stay, and then we’ll vacation in Iguaçu Falls.”

“Good choice. Foz do Iguaçu is worth the visit.” Roque glanced at Amy. “I hope you and Lara added extra time on to your trip as well.”

She hadn’t really thought about that. She already had her return ticket, in fact. Maybe she should check to see how hard it would be to switch the dates.

“I’ve been to Brazil several times actually. And no husband or kids to bring,” Lara said, smiling at Peter. “So I’m just here for the conference.”

Roque hadn’t commented on his relationship status, and Amy wasn’t about to ask nor share hers. Not only was it not any of her business, she didn’t want him thinking that she was interested in him like that.

She wasn’t.

Those thoughts about flings and the flutters in her belly were strictly animal survival instincts. Nothing more. If she stuck to work topics, it should be easier to view him as a colleague and not as a person whose speech patterns did crazy things to her libido.

Maybe she did need to hook up with a good-looking man and knock some of this stuff out of her system. It had been ages since she’d had sex.

She wasn’t going to number Roque in with the possible candidates for that, though. Her gaze scouted the room, and while she saw several other attractive men, there was no pull toward them.

Well, all that meant was that she wasn’t shallow, right?

Hmm…and yet she’d been glued to almost every word that came out of Roque’s firm, sexy mouth.

She rolled her eyes.

The man picked that moment to glance at his watch. “I have an early day tomorrow. Do you all know your way to the condominium?”

“Yes. The Fonte Cristalina, right?” Amy had already dropped her luggage off at the apartment building the hospital had put them up in. It wasn’t fancy, but it was clean and had a gorgeous view of the city.

“Yes.” Roque looked from one to the other. “It’s within walking distance of Paulista. But it’s better to do that during the day. So, let’s meet in the hospital lobby at eight in the morning?” There was a slight furrow between his brows now, though.

“Very good. I must go call my wife,” Peter said. “See you tomorrow.”

“And I’m meeting a friend for a nightcap,” Lara added a second later.

Amy said her goodbyes. Was she the only one feeling lost at sea?

Maybe Roque sensed some of her thoughts because he stayed where he was. “Would you like me to drop you off at the apartment complex?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I can catch a cab. There are some out front, I’m sure.”

“Very likely.” He moved sideways to let someone through, which put him way too close to her for comfort.

Amy took a quick step back, and a sharp tug at her shoulder was followed by a distinct ripping sound. Then things began a slow slide. Straight down. Including her mind.

Oh! Oh, no!

She grabbed at the bodice of her dress just as the shoulder strap flopped uselessly over the top of her hand.

Roque turned…stared at her shoulder, before glancing down at where his foot was planted on her hem. His face turned a dull red.

“Merde! I am sorry, Amy. I did not realize.”

Her name came rough-edged off his tongue, and she shut her eyes as hot embarrassment rained down on her. She knew she hadn’t stitched the strap enough, but hadn’t given much thought to it. A huge mistake.

Just like this whole damned trip.

“It’s okay, but I’d better find that cab now.”

“I will take you home. It’s only right.”

The thought of running out of the hotel holding up her dress was mortifying, so she decided to accept his offer. “Thank you. Could you stand in front of me for a second, though?”

His head tilted sideways, but he shifted until they were face-to-face, and much, much closer than they had been last time.

Hot flames licked at her innards, and she had a hard time catching her breath. “I—I kind of meant for you to turn the other way. I want to tuck my strap into my dress so it’s not as obvious.”

This time, his eyes did what she’d wanted them to do earlier. Trailed over her bare shoulder and lower before coming back up to meet her gaze. That muscle in his jaw twitched the way it had when he’d handed her the list of names, but he said, “Of course,” before turning away from her, shielding her from prying eyes.

She quickly shoved the strap into the front of her dress, hoping it didn’t cause any awkward bulges, then she clamped her right arm across her chest and picked up her clutch purse. Where were those few lost pounds when you needed them?

“Okay, you can turn around now.”

He did, his glance going back to her shoulders, now bereft of any fabric. “I will pay for the damage I caused.”

No, he wouldn’t. Because the real damage wasn’t anything that could be seen with the naked eye.

“It’s my fault. I tried to alter the length on my own, when I should have bought higher heels. I’m just glad it happened at the end of the evening rather than at the beginning.”

“I know a very good seamstress. It would also be free.”

Oh, God! Maybe he really was married. She could picture him trying to explain to some faceless wife how he’d practically stripped one of his charges naked in front of an entire room of doctors.

Well, not naked. But almost. She didn’t have a bra on, since the dress had one built into it. “I’m sure that’s not—”

“It is my mother. It would take her little time to make it right. She could even arrange for a fitting to adjust the length, if you would like. Her shop is at my parents’ home.”

Somehow the fact that his mom was the seamstress made her relax. “That would be an awkward conversation, wouldn’t it?”

“No. She’s come to expect me to be a little more…clumsy than I used to be.”

Inadvertently, her glance shifted to the cane. “You’re not clumsy. It was an accident.”

He was the most elegant, graceful man she’d met in a long time, whatever the reasons for that cane.

“Yes, well, be that as it may, I do insist on making it right.”

Amy had a feeling he wasn’t going to let it go. “At least ask your mom if she’d mind, first, before just assuming she’ll say yes.”

“I will. But I know she will not mind.” He gave her that slow smile of his. The one that devastated her senses and made it hard to think beyond it. “Let me do this for you, Amy. This one small thing.”

It wasn’t a small thing. Not to her. But if she tried to keep arguing the point, he was eventually going to realize there was something more behind it. Something that made her wary of him—wary of working on his team for the next three months. Wary of shadowing him for half of those three months.

So all she could do was agree and say a fitting wasn’t necessary, and hope that once the dress was returned, she could forget about this incident once and for all. Maybe then she could focus on her real reasons for coming to Brazil. Those had to do with her mom and finding her uncle. And her career, of course.

And none of those things included the man in front of her.

CHAPTER TWO

DAMN, WHAT HAD he done?

The very physical therapist he’d tried to veto having on his team seemed to be a nice person. But she carried an air of fragility that socked him in the gut and made him wish he’d stuck to his guns. But the physical therapy department was running short-staffed at the moment and couldn’t spare anyone to participate in the summer lecture program.

And then he had to go and ruin her dress. And when he’d misunderstood and stood face-to-face with her, almost touching, and definitely close enough to…

Close enough to nothing!

This damned leg. Even as the thought went through his head, a phantom pain shot through his thigh. One that had nothing to do with his reaction to her. Or that dress.

He stepped on the gas as the drive to the apartment seemed to take forever, even though it was less than three blocks away. Part of it was due to navigating in heavy traffic. But also because his peripheral vision kept checking the top of her dress to make sure it hadn’t crept any farther down. If that happened, he might have to do a major reboot of his sanity. Because as he’d gazed at her in that room full of people, he’d found himself wishing it would. Which was ridiculous. Not to mention unprofessional.

They finally arrived, and Roque pressed the code into the security box at the front of the building, waiting as the heavy garage door swung open to allow his Mercedes to slide past. It closed behind them with a sense of finality, trapping him in the space with her.

He forced himself to say something in hopes she wouldn’t guess where his thoughts were straying. “The hospital bought several apartments in this condominium for visiting doctors or VIP patients coming in from other areas of the country. So everyone’s staying at the same place.”

“That makes sense.” Her dress seemed to edge down a millimeter, and his mouth went completely dry.

He found a parking spot. “Would you like me to wait while you take off the dress?”

“Excuse me?”

A flare went off in his head, sending up an alarm that the rest of his body failed to heed. His thoughts about it sliding down were evidently starting to come out in his speech. “I did not mean in the car, of course. I meant in your apartment. You could bring the dress back down to me, unless you prefer to bring it to the hospital.”

Yes, the sooner she was out of sight, the sooner he would be able to get that image out of his head. But he was pretty sure it would reappear—along with a few others—the second he went to sleep tonight.

“Oh, of course.” She hesitated. “I’d rather not bring it to the hospital, if that’s okay with you. Why don’t you come up to the apartment and I can give it to you there? It’s really not necessary to have your mom repair it, though.”

“It is to me. And if you’re okay with it, I’ll come up. It will save you the trip back down.”

Why the hell had he just offered to do that? Hadn’t he just thought how glad he’d be to have her out of sight?

“Okay, great.” Still keeping her arm across her dress, she turned sideways and tried to hit the button on her seat belt, struggling with getting her hand that far back.

Roque reached over to hit the release latch for her, his sleeve brushing her bare arm as he did and catching a light floral scent that seemed to cling to her skin. He swallowed. “Wait there.”

Getting his cane from the back and climbing out of the car, he came around to her side, the tension in his jaw making itself known in his leg. He leaned a little of his weight on the cane’s handle. No wonder he’d stepped on her dress. Maybe this was some elaborate joke perpetrated by karma after his response to his mom’s nudging at dinner last night. She’d asked about him meeting someone special. He’d bluntly told her he wasn’t interested in meeting anyone—special or not so special. Less than twenty-four hours later, he’d stepped on someone’s dress and found his thoughts riveted to all kinds of “what if” scenarios.

Well, he needed to un-rivet them. Now.

He forced his steps to quicken, opening her door and pulling the webbing of the seat belt away from her, taking care not to touch her, this time. “Can you get out on your own?”

Deus do céu, he hoped she could.

She swung her legs out of the car and planted them on the ground, but his low-slung car wasn’t helping her.

“Here. Give me your hand.” He gritted his teeth and forced himself to add the obvious, “The left one.”

You’re a funny, funny guy, Roque. As if she’s going to give you the other one.

She let him pull her up from her seat, her grip on his firm and warm and lingering maybe a second longer than necessary. Then stood in front of him, her head tilted to look at him, the overhead lights shining on cheeks that were slightly pink and far too appealing. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“The least I can do.” And it was. Especially since his thoughts were now having to run some pretty impressive evasive maneuvers, like a footballer trying to stay just out of reach of his opponent. Which in this case happened to be common sense.

She followed him to the elevator. His steps still felt a little off, but he draped his cane over his arm. And he wasn’t quite sure why. He wasn’t ashamed of that hitch in his stride. Was he?

And when he’d stepped on her dress. Was he being prideful by not using it? And if he had used it, could he have avoided this whole damn mess?

“Did you hurt your foot?”

Her question came out of nowhere, seeming to echo his earlier musings as the elevator doors opened. “What floor are you on?” He stalled for a few seconds, trying to collect his thoughts.

“Four.” She licked her lips. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“No, it’s okay.” He pushed the button for her floor, and leaned against the wall to look at her. Her arm was pressed against the neckline of her dress, and he noticed two tiny scars on her hand. Very lickable scars.

Hell, where had that come from?

He forced his attention back to her question. “My injury… It seems I am not only good at tripping over dresses, but my own two feet. It’s an old sports’ injury.”

“Which sport?” Her gaze flicked over his chest, down his abdomen…

He cleared a throat that was suddenly dry. “Futebol.”

Her eyes were now on his thighs and it was as if she could see right through his clothes. And pretty soon, she was going to see something that was visible despite his clothing.

“Have you had physical therapy?”

The shock of her question hit him like a bucket of ice water, scalding him in a way that heat couldn’t touch. If she only knew. Yes, he’d had therapy. And more therapy. All it had done was pile more grief onto an already existing wound. It seemed every female he met thought they could magically fix him and put him back to rights.

His jaw tightened until twin points of pain appeared. “Are you offering me your professional services, Amy?” He made it as clear as he could that she was overstepping her boundaries.

“No. I’m sorry. You’re an orthopedist. Of course you have.”

“It happened a lifetime ago. And it’s permanent. What you see is what you, and everyone else, gets. All the physical therapy in the world won’t change it.”

Diabos. Why had he gone on the attack? She was trying to help. She wasn’t like his ex-therapist or any of those women he’d gone out with who’d shown a morbid interest in his damaged leg.

He moved a step closer, so he could touch her hand. “I’m sorry. That came out badly.”

They arrived on the fourth floor before he could explain further. She got out in a hurry and stuck her key into the lock of the nearest door, only to jiggle it. She took it out and tried again. “That’s weird. It worked earlier. I’m not sure why it’s not this—”

The door opened, and the doctor from the gala appeared.

Amy recoiled a step. “I’m so sorry. I must have the wrong…” She glanced at the key. “Heavens, I do. The key says 402. I’ve only been up here once.”

Lara had a glass of wine in her hand, and when her eyes met his, they widened.

Perfect. She was probably wondering what he was doing coming up to Amy’s apartment straight from the party.

As was he.

Should he tell her why? That he’d almost ripped Amy’s dress off her at the party and had now come here so she could remove it the rest of the way? That sounded pretty damning actually.

“There were no cabs left.” The lie flew off Amy’s tongue with incredible speed. Evidently she wasn’t any more anxious to give the real reason for his visit than he was. But anyone who’d thought about it long enough would realize, there’d been a whole fleet of taxis parked outside the venue. Even if there were no cabs, it didn’t explain why he’d come up in the elevator with her. Or why the strap to her dress had suddenly disappeared. Maybe Lara hadn’t noticed how she was dressed.

Amy’s chest rose as she took a deep breath. “And actually, my dress strap ripped, and Roque’s mother is a professional seamstress, so he offered to have her sew it back together for me.”

He blinked. She’d backtracked. Why?

“Oh, that was nice of you,” Lara murmured.

“Anyway, sorry for disturbing you. See you in the morning.”

The other woman smiled at them and said good night, closing the door and leaving them alone in the corridor.

Roque couldn’t contain a grin. “I’ve never known anyone who can make even the truth sound like a lie.”

But when she swung around to look at him, her face was white as a ghost.

She whispered, “You don’t care that she might think we’ve come up here to…?”

He wasn’t about to admit that he’d entertained a thought or two himself.

“No. I really don’t. I don’t worry about what people think of me.”

At least he hadn’t until a minute ago when he saw the look on her face.

“My mom was like that. It must be pretty freeing.”

“Freeing? I don’t understand.”

“Never mind.” Amy moved to the next door down, double-checking the number, and inserted her key into the lock. This time it turned smoothly, opening to a white-tiled corridor and living room just beyond it. She entered, motioning him in behind her.

Roque followed her into the space, glancing around.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll just go and change. There’s not much in the refrigerator, since I haven’t made it to the grocery yet.”

“It’s okay. I don’t need anything.”

Her suitcases were in the living room and one of them was open wide, a pair of—diabos!—lacy pink briefs hanging over the side of it. His gut immediately tightened and all the thoughts he’d banished came rushing back, followed by a few thousand more.

She hurried over and kicked the offending garment into the case and quickly folded it closed.

What she couldn’t close was the part of his brain that had imprinted itself with that image, making him wonder what other forbidden wonders she had hidden in her luggage.

Which was none of his business.

Setting her bags upright, she wheeled one of them toward a room to her left. “I won’t be a minute.” With that, she shut the door with a thump.

Her panties!

She leaned against the back of the door, shutting her eyes in horror.

Oh, God, they’d been lying there right in front of him! Not minutes after being seen—and recognized—by her neighbor, someone she would have to work with day in and day out. At least for the first month and a half.

But her underwear! Why had she left that case open?

Well, she hadn’t expected to have a man in her apartment on her first night.

Or the second or third nights. And now that she knew who was living next door, probably no other night, either. Any hookups would now have to happen “off campus,” so to speak.

Roque might not care what people thought, but she did. Far too much. And she certainly didn’t want him to hear secondhand that she was entertaining men in one of the hospital’s apartments.

Entertaining men? What was this? The 1920s?

Opening her eyes, she went over to the bed and hefted her suitcase onto it, one-handed. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t see her now. She let go of her dress, and sure enough, the top of her bodice slid past her waist. Quickly finding a pair of yoga pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt, she opened the side zipper on her dress and let it slither the rest of the way down.

There, are you happy now?

She glared at the garment at her feet, stepping out of it and tossing it onto the bed with a little more force than was necessary.

She then dug through her bag, aware of a little time clock ticking in her head as she tried to find her bra. She blinked. She’d worn one on the flight over, so it had to be here somewhere. Or another one. That maybe she’d packed in the other suitcase that was still in the living room. Or not?

Ack. She’d left the bra she’d traveled in in the bathroom when she’d changed for the party, since she hadn’t needed it for the dress. She was not leaving this room to go grab it and waltz her way back to the bedroom with it dangling from her fingertips. That would be almost worse than him seeing her underwear. Although maybe he hadn’t noticed.

Oh, he’d noticed, all right. His eyes had been right on them.

So what to do? She’d always been small up top, wishing as a teenager that she had more oomph in that department. But right now, she was glad she didn’t. She pulled the T-shirt over her head. It was black and loose. Peering into the bedroom mirror, she decided you couldn’t really tell as long as you weren’t staring at her chest.

So hauling her yoga pants up over her hips and sliding her feet into a pair of flip-flops, she took the decorative comb out of her hair, tired of it digging into her scalp.

“I don’t worry about what people think of me.” Wasn’t that what he’d said?

Well, maybe she could practice a little of what he—and her mom—preached. She shook her hair out, trying not to care that it was curling in all kinds of crazy directions. She then folded her dress in as small a ball as possible and shoved it into one of the plastic grocery bags she’d included in case she had any wet clothes to pack on the return flight.

There. She was ready.

Sucking down a quick breath, she opened the door and sauntered into the living room as if she hadn’t a care in the world. As soon as she saw him, she wished she hadn’t agreed to let him take the dress. He was lounging on her sofa, both arms stretched out over the top of it, looking as fresh in his dark suit as the moment she’d laid eyes on him. And she was…

Not caring what people thought, that’s what she was.

His glance trailed over her hair, before arriving at the plastic bag in her hand. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” She handed it to him. “Thanks again.”

“For ripping your dress?”

Maybe. Could it be that this little mishap had provided a way to break the ice? To give her that little flaw in his perfection that she’d been searching for?

“You make a pretty intimidating figure—did you know that?”

His head cocked. “No. I didn’t.”

“I think even Peter and Lara felt it.” Although he wasn’t intimidating in a bad sort of way, like whoever Flávia had been referring to.

“Then I’ll have to work on that.”

He uncurled himself from the sofa and stood over her, and there it was again. That shiver of awareness. And whether it was because of the T-shirt fabric brushing over her bare skin or her reaction to him, her nipples tightened as a swirl of sensation spiraled down her belly to points below. She had to fight the urge to hook her arm back over her chest like she’d done while holding up her dress.

“You don’t have to work on anything. I’m sure it’s just part of being in a different country.” Why on earth had she said anything to him? “Pretty much everything is intimidating to me right now.”

“Don’t be intimidated, Amy. You’ll find Brazilians are quite amigáveis.”

“I know they’re friendly. I didn’t really mean that.”

“What did you mean, then?”

“I’m not sure. I just feel a little bit out of place. Everyone I’ve met has been either a doctor or an expert in their field.”

“You are an expert in your field, or you wouldn’t be here.”

She hadn’t thought of it like that. She’d heard the vetting process was tough and was actually surprised that she’d gotten in, even if it had been because someone else had dropped out. “Well, thank you. But not really.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. The team decided you were right for this position.”

Something caught her attention. “The team. But not you?”

“The heads of the departments are given a list of applicants that are préselecionados… I think you say it as ‘short-listed,’ yes? And then the selections are made. You were on that list.”

He was evading the question about whether or not he had wanted her. Or was he?

“But I only got on afterward, when there was a cancellation.”

“There was no cancellation. The powers that be were merely trying to find where best to place you. The physical therapy department couldn’t spare anyone to oversee your month-and-a-half shadow period. So you are now with me. I almost said no. Until I read one of your case files. It made me change my mind.”

He almost refused to work with her? And if he had, she’d still be sitting in the States.

She did not want him to see how much that stung.

He changed his mind, Amy. That counts for something.

“Which case file?”

“The spina bifida patient who went on to practice martial arts.”

Bobby Sellers. She almost hadn’t included him, because he hadn’t been the stellar success story she felt the hospital was looking for. But he’d touched her life. And when he told her he’d always wanted to break a board in tae kwon do, something her mom had insisted on her participating in, it had struck a chord. And she’d helped him work toward that, even going as far as attending the event where Bobby had indeed broken his board. It had brought her to tears.

“But why that case?”

“It showed that you are able to think outside the box—that you don’t keep pushing where it will do no good. You tweaked the prescribing doctor’s treatment plan slightly to include your patient’s own personal life goals. That is exactly what I want to see at Paulista. Things don’t always follow a prescribed path. As the saying goes, medicine is sometimes more art than science.”

“I believe that as well. We have to look at patients as a whole, not as a conglomeration of symptoms. We have to help them adapt and change when the body won’t cooperate.”

He smiled and stood, leaning on his cane a little more than he had been. “And that is why I said yes. I should go. I might not care about what people think, but I have a feeling you do. And since Dr. Smith knows I’m here in your apartment…”

Yes, it was time for Roque to go. But not because of Lara Smith. Or the fact that the pink scrap of lace peeking out of her suitcase was going to haunt him for days to come. He was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a bra under that T-shirt. But none of that was what drove him to say goodbye. It was because of the vulnerability he’d seen in her when they were talking about how she’d gotten into the program.

He’d sensed a bit of imposter syndrome, and he probably had fueled that even more with his honesty. But he hadn’t wanted to work with someone like the physical therapist he’d been assigned after his surgery. He didn’t want a fix-it mentality. He wanted someone with the ability to set realistic expectations for his or her patients. In the end, Roque would not have agreed, if the candidate absolutely didn’t meet that qualification. His patients were too important to him.

But to have stepped on her dress.

Hell. He definitely did not have the coordination he’d had back in his days with Chutegol, his football club. But then again, his injury had resulted in muscle and nerve damage, and although you wouldn’t know it from the single long scar on his outer thigh, the damage to the underlying structures had ended his football career. Fortunately, he’d earned enough from his five years of playing to put himself through medical school.

“Well, thank you for coming.”

Amy’s voice cut through the fog of his thoughts, and he swung his gaze to her, avoiding looking at her chest.

“I will let you know when it is done.” He held up the bag containing the real reason he was here. His mother would be happy to repair it for her. But not without a question or two, or a mention of their earlier conversation, which made him wonder if he’d been right to offer her services. After having women throw themselves at him during his football days, and the messy breakup of his engagement, and then the pass his physical therapist had made during treatment, he was leery of believing someone could be interested in him…as someone who came from simple roots, who’d worked hard for everything he had. So his relationships were short and sweet, and very, very superficial. No one who would try to “fix” whatever they thought was wrong with him.

So yes, his mother would ask some pointed questions.

But Roque took care of the mistakes that he could. And the ones he couldn’t? Well, he walked away from them.

Amy wrapped her arms around her midsection. “The dress was my fault, so don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’s too long. I shouldn’t have worn it.”

The image of her with her forearm clamped across her chest to keep her bodice from falling down swam in front of his face. Were all her undergarments pink? And lacy?

Damn. Talk about mistakes. Maybe this was a bigger one than he realized.

“The dress was—is—quite lovely.” His phone buzzed on his hip. Glancing at the readout, he frowned. Enzo Dos Santos? He hadn’t heard from the owner of the football club in ages, other than a quick note saying he’d had a cancerous lesion removed from his jaw. Had things gone south? He let the call go to voice mail, making a note to call his friend back once he got back to the car. “I’ll let you know when my mom has had a chance to look at it.”

What he wouldn’t tell her was the hoops he was sure to have to jump through before his mom actually got down to work.

“Well, thank you again.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you in the morning.” Roque had been dreading this three-month rotation, but there was now a weird sense of anticipation he hadn’t felt in a while. One he didn’t like and halfway suspected was due to the woman whose dress he’d stepped on. She was here for three months. Why risk letting things get messy, when they could stay in a neat and tidy box. And where he’d have no more mistakes to correct. So he said his goodbyes and walked out of her apartment, glancing at Lara’s door and wondering if she was staring out her peephole with a stop watch. Ridiculous. Roque did not care what people thought.

Except for the owner of his former football team. When he got to his car, he tossed Amy’s dress into the passenger seat and slid into the vehicle, taking out his phone and scrolling through his missed messages. Then putting all thoughts of his rotation charge out of his head, he dialed Enzo’s number and waited for the man to pick up his phone.

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