by Tina Beckett
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.
CHAPTER THREE
HE’D GIVEN HER a choice. Take the morning off or scrub in on an emergency Achilles’ tendon surgery.
It had been an easy choice. Scrub for surgery.
The surgical mask felt strange and confining, but it was also a different experience. She could now see why people said the eyes were the window to the soul.
Roque glanced at her, brows raised. “Are you sure you wish to be here?”
“Absolutely.” She wondered why Lara and Peter were not in the room as well. Maybe because they both saw surgical procedures day in and day out, and a complete rupture of the tendon was probably no big deal for them. But it was to her. It would give her a glimpse into what went on before a patient arrived on her physical therapy table.
“Let me know if you have any questions, since I’ll be speaking in Portuguese once we start. I’m going to do a percutaneous repair rather than opening his leg, to reduce the chance of infection.”
“And if you need to graft part of the tendon?”
He looked surprised. “Good question. This case is fairly straightforward. If the ends of the tendon were say...shredded, I would then open the leg and fold down a portion of the gastrocnêmio... In English—?”
“Gastrocnemius?”
“Yes, that is it.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile that made her swallow. Without being able to see his mouth or the rest of his face, and with his emotions being translated by his eyes, it forced her to watch carefully. That had to be why her own senses were taking in every millimeter of movement and multiplying how it affected her.
“We would use a portion of that tissue to reinforce the repair. To make it less likely to rupture a second time.”
“But you don’t need to this time?”
“No. This patient is still in school and young and healthy. He should be able to return to football, once he lets the injury heal completely.” He glanced around the surgical room where the other personnel appeared to be waiting on a signal from him. “Let’s get started. You can ask more questions as we go.”
She answered with a quick nod.
His words hadn’t been a dismissal. So why had it felt that way? Maybe because she knew he’d almost said no to her being in the program. And because she’d been way too caught up in their exchange of words and hadn’t been quite ready to end it.
A natural reaction, Amy.
Of course she’d be interested in learning as much as she could. And she wanted to show Roque that she absolutely should be here, despite any reservations he might have had in the beginning.
The orthopedist walked over to the patient who was already prepped for surgery and under general anesthesia. He motioned for her to join him by the table, while a nurse with a tray of surgical instruments stood on his other side. Amy watched as he made two tiny incisions on either side of the leg, using forceps to enlarge the holes slightly. He gave a running commentary in Portuguese, which she surprisingly understood, only missing a word or two here and there. “I’m going to place sutures under the skin in a figure-eight motion, catching the upper part of the tendon and using the suture material to draw it down to meet the other half.”
He then ran the needle through the first of the incisions and out the second hole. When he ducked back in, he allowed the point of the needle to tell him where to make the next small cut, repeating the process down the leg until he reached the other end of the tendon. His long fingers were sure and precise, almost dancing over the surface of his patient’s skin.
Not a good analogy, because her brain immediately opened up a side-by-side screen, putting her where Roque’s patient was, with those fingers sliding up the back of one of her calves in a way that had nothing to do with surgery. She blinked away the image, trying to force her eyes to focus on what was happening in front of her.
“Almost done.”
Amy glanced up at the clock, shocked to see that only about ten minutes had gone by. And the procedure was a lot more straightforward than she’d expected it to be. Somehow he found the tendon under the skin without any kind of imaging equipment, seeming to go by feel. But there’d been no hesitation. How many of these had he done over the course of his career? Enough to make it seem like a piece of cake.
Roque tugged on the two ends of suture line and she could almost see the ends of the tendon pulling together beneath the patient’s skin, just like the ripped seams of her dress’s strap would be pulled back together as his mom stitched it. An odd comparison, but it really was what had happened. Only this man’s leg was alive, and a ripped tendon couldn’t just be cast aside like a piece of clothing.
“These sutures are absorbable, whereas the ones I’ll put on the outside will need to be removed.” He tied off the inner stitches, and was handed another threaded needle, which he used to close each of the tiny holes he’d made in the skin. He glanced at her. “And that’s it. Not very exciting.”
Yes, it was. Too exciting actually. But not in the way he meant. Roque’s eyes were brown, but without his dark clothing on, they had almost an amber hue that she hadn’t caught last night. Or maybe because she’d been too busy taking in the man as a whole rather than being fixated on one small part of him.
No, not fixated. But when she scrambled around for another word, she suddenly couldn’t find one.
That was a problem for later, because she couldn’t exactly think straight right now.
“Thanks for letting me watch the procedure. I’ve done the physio for several Achilles’ reattachment patients. It’s a long slow process in the States.”
He nodded, pulling his mask down and thanking his team, before responding. The curve of his mouth set off a line in his left cheek that had probably been a dimple when he was a child.
He wasn’t a child anymore, though. He was all man.
“The process is long here as well. Andreu, our patient, won’t be able to play for six months and will be in a boot for several weeks.”
She sighed. “Six months can seem like forever to someone so young.”
“Yes. It can seem like a lifetime. But at least his outcome should be
a good one.”
The cryptic words made her heart ache, because she knew who he was referring to.
As he moved toward the back of the room, his steps seemed a little slower, the hitch she’d noticed earlier was more pronounced. He’d left his cane outside, probably to avoid contaminating the room. It was on the tip of her tongue to offer to go ahead of him and retrieve it for him, but no one else in the room had volunteered. Maybe it was a touchy subject. And as a physical therapist, she knew that the more people could do for themselves, the better.
A thought struck her. “Was this your first surgery of the day?”
“No, my third.”
“What?” She pulled off her own mask and gloves, discarding them in the trash can next to the door and glancing at the clock on the wall. “It’s barely eight-thirty.”
“There was an accident involving a moto-taxi in the early hours. The driver and his passenger both had multiple injuries.”
His specialty was sports medicine, but obviously he handled regular ortho surgeries as well. “Are they okay?”
“The passenger will make it, but the driver...” He shook his head.
“Oh, no. My mom said that motorcyclists here have a dangerous life, but I’m sure that’s true everywhere.”
“It is very true here.” He pushed through the door and took his cane, leaning on it for a minute. “Do you mind if we grab a coffee? Peter and Lara aren’t due in until noon, and I have a long day ahead of me.”
“You don’t have to babysit me, if you need to go grab a catnap.”
“Cat...nap?”
Oh! Of course he wouldn’t know that phrase. “A light sleep? Soneca?”
“But why a cat?”
“I don’t know. The cat we had when I was growing up slept a lot, and her sleep wasn’t exactly light.”
He smiled, and started walking, using his cane on every fourth step or so. “It’s the same with mine.”
He had a cat?
She blinked. Somehow she didn’t picture him as a cat person, although she wasn’t sure why. But the image of him baby-talking to a sulky feline made her giggle. She quickly swallowed it when he gave her a sideways look.
“Something is funny?”
“No. I was just surprised you have a cat.”
“Yes. Me too. I... Let’s say I inherited her from someone.”
“Your parents?” Her childhood cat had died not long after her mom passed away. The second loss had hit her hard, since her mom had loved Tabby fiercely.
“No. Not my parents.”
The gritted words sounded pained, although he hadn’t increased his reliance on his cane. Oh. A girlfriend. Or a wife.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay. My fiancée considered Rachel her cat. But when we broke up...well, let’s just say there were allergies involved. So the cat stayed with me.”
Allergies were involved in the breakup? No, that didn’t make sense. Her eyes widened. The girlfriend had either cheated or found someone else soon after they broke off their relationship. Someone who was allergic to cats.
That’s a whole lot of speculating, Amy.
But the curt way he spoke about it said the split hadn’t been exactly amicable. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t take the kitty to a shelter.”
“There are very few shelters here. But I still wouldn’t have. Rachel was originally a street cat, but has adapted very well to life inside my apartment.”
She could imagine why. A shot of warmth pulsed through her.
And Roque had evidently adapted very well to life with a cat. Somehow the idea of Roque squatting down to pick up some terrified, emaciated cat and comforting her made a wave of emotion well up inside of her. She’d always been a sucker for a man who was kind to animals. And to name his cat Rachel?
That was probably the doing of the fiancée as well. “How did she get her name?”
“There was a certain American program that my fiancée liked. It revolved around a café.”
She’d binge-watched it with her mom. “That’s a classic. Have you seen it?”
“I couldn’t much avoid it.” There went that tension in his jaw again. And there went her stomach.
Thankfully they arrived at the hospital’s coffee shop, a trendy looking café that would rival the one in the TV show. “That looks great.”
“What do you want?”
“I can get it.”
“It’s on the hospital.”
It was? She didn’t remember coffee breaks being covered. “A skinny vanilla latte, please.”
She could see the wheels in his head turning as he puzzled through the words, so she tried again. “A latte with nonfat milk?”
“Ah...skinny. Nonfat milk, I see.”
“What is it in Brazil?”
“Leite desnatada...literally de-creamed milk.”
She laughed. “That makes sense.”
Roque went to the counter and placed their orders, while she found a seat in the far corner. With cozy upholstered armchairs flanking a wood-topped table, the place had the feeling of a living room, where friends met to talk.
Not that she and Roque were friends, or ever would be anything more than acquaintances. He was in charge of...yes, babysitting her—until she, Lara and Peter were done with this three months. And with how slow this second day was going it might seem like forever by the end of her stay.
Dropping into her seat with a sigh, she studied her surroundings. The coffee shop overlooked the lower level of the hospital, where people were busy coming and going, including a group of medical students in white lab coats. Someone was in front of them, explaining the accoutrements of the hospital. There was another couple seated at a neighboring table. By the tiny touches and long, sultry looks, they were a pair. The sight made her heart cramp.
Amy’s last relationship had left her wary of investing anything of value—like her heart. And she certainly wasn’t going to start something she couldn’t finish while she was in São Paulo.
Which is why she’d thought about just having a quick, casual bout of sex.
Bout? She made it sound like an illness, not something sexy and fun.
Roque came back to the table with an espresso cup, a shot glass with some kind of clear liquid and her taller latte. “Café com leite desnatada e baunilha.” There were also two wrapped pieces of biscotti on the plate.
Wow, he could even make coffee sound sensual. She touched a finger to the shot glass. “What is this?”
“Seltzer water. It clears the palate and helps the flavor of the coffee come through.”
Okay, she’d definitely heard of seltzer water, but had never actually seen anyone use it for that.
He passed her drink over, along with the wrapped biscotti, and sat in one of the other seats, leaning his cane against the wall behind him.
“Sometimes you use that and sometimes you don’t,” she said, mentally kicking herself for bringing it up again.
“My leg gets tired and cramps up. After the break in my femur was repaired, the leg developed an infection, so I lost some of the muscle. It doesn’t bother me all that much, but it’s either use the cane or fall on my face from time to time.”
“Sorry, I don’t know why I keep asking about it. It’s none of my business.”
“You’re curious. It’s natural.” One side of his mouth tilted at a crazy angle. “Believe me. I will not have a problem with telling you if you step over a line.”
Like the question about his fiancée that kept buzzing around her head like a pesky mosquito? What kind of woman would Roque be attracted to? Oh, Lord, she was not about to ask about her. She didn’t want to know anything about their relationship, or why it had failed. She was pretty sure he would pull her up short if she even mentioned it.
She took a sip of her coffe
e and focused on the flavor instead. It was mellow with low rich tones that blended perfectly with the milk and vanilla. “Oh, this is good.”
Maybe it was the presentation—the glass showing the color to perfection...and that thick layer of foam on the top. Whatever it was, it tasted so much better than what she could buy in coffee shops back home. Or maybe it was just the fact that she was actually drinking coffee in Brazil. Brazil! It had been one of her dreams for a very long time.
“You have something...” One of his long fingers touched the left side of his upper lip. “Espuma.”
Sponge? Oh! Foam—from the milk. She touched her tongue to the area and swept it back and forth a couple of times. “Gone?”
His gaze slowly tracked back up, and he took a visible swallow. Their eyes met. Held. They stayed that way for a long, long minute before he said, “Yes. It is gone.” His voice had an odd timbre to it, sounding almost...wistful.
No. Not wistful. He didn’t seem like the type of man to engage in...well, fluff.
He did have a cat, though, which she hadn’t expected, either.
Roque unwrapped his biscotti and took a bite, watching her as she took another sip. This time she was a little more careful with the frothy top layer. “Do you have more surgeries today?”
“Later. I need to check in on my moto patient and the Achilles patient first. You’re welcome to tag along if you’d like.” He drank the rest of the contents of his demitasse cup.
One of his patients today had died, from what he’d implied. He had to be emotionally exhausted. Not wanting to add anything onto him, she shook her head. “I think I’ll do a little exploring of the hospital, if that’s okay. I can meet you at noon, when Lara and Peter arrive. Where do you want to meet?”
“How about right here.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll see my patients, and then I might have that kitty-nap you talked about.”
She smiled. And for the first time it felt real and unselfconscious. He was trying to use new words and not worrying about whether they were right or wrong, so maybe she should get off her high horse and be a little more adventurous. She blinked. In the language department, of course.
