One Hot Night with Dr. Cardoza

by Tina Beckett

  Was he afraid she would say something that would embarrass him? Well, his mom had dragged out his naked baby pictures and put them up on the big-screen television he’d bought her a year ago, thinking it was hilarious. Not so hilarious was the fact that she still wanted him married. With children. She hadn’t exactly hounded him about it, but she brought it up enough to make him roll his eyes. And she’d hated Halee, so he guessed everything had worked out the way it was supposed to.

  “I’m sure, which is part of the reason I wanted to come here so badly. It’s one thing to read about surgical techniques. It’s another thing to see them in person. Just like the beaches here in Brazil.” Amy sighed. “I should have planned in some vacation time. But I didn’t. So I’ll have to squeeze a beach visit in during my working stay somehow.”

  Peter smiled. “My wife would slay me if I hadn’t included her in some vacation time. Which beach are you thinking about?”

  “Guarujá actually. It’s only fifty miles away from the city and it sounds really beautiful.”

  “No.” The word was out before Roque could stop himself. Everyone stared at him.

  “Did I pronounce it wrong?” she asked.

  Caramba. No, she hadn’t pronounced it wrong. It sounded warm and husky coming out in those low tones of hers. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was him...and that particular place.

  “Guarujá is beautiful, but it has a reputation, especially this time of year.” He suddenly knew what he was going to do. He was going to take his one good deed and make it two. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so awkward about intruding on her reunion with her uncle. He just needed to figure out how to suggest it.

  Now she was frowning. “Reputation? It’s a nice area, from what I read.”

  “It is, but...” He thought for a second. “There are quite a few wealthy individuals who live there, and that creates problems, just like it does everywhere. Guarujá can draw those who want to take from them.”

  Her face cleared. “Point taken. So where would you suggest?”

  He glanced at Lara and Peter, deciding he didn’t want either of them here for what he was about to suggest. “Would you two mind going on ahead? I left a list of patients I’d like you to look over at the nurses’ desk.”

  Maybe he was wrong, but they both looked a bit relieved to be sent off. He hoped no one was getting the wrong idea about their relationship. Hell, he didn’t want to get the wrong idea, so he needed to go about this carefully.

  “If we can find out if your address is correct for your uncle, maybe we can combine that visit with a trip to Guarujá. How does that sound?”

  Innocent enough. Even to his own ears. All he had to do was keep it that way.

  “Are you sure? I hate to take any more of your time. You already had to make a trip to my apartment.”

  Yes, and the glimpse of those damned lacy undergarments still hadn’t faded from his memory. Maybe he just needed to replace that memory with others that were less...volatile.

  “I don’t mind, unless you’d rather go with Lara and Peter.”

  She tilted her head as if thinking for a second or two. “Actually, your idea is a good one, and neither Lara nor Peter can help with translating for me. I really do appreciate your offering to help with that. Thank you.”

  “It’s not a problem. We’ll coordinate times and try to do it on my next scheduled day off.”

  It had been ages since he’d heard the crash of ocean waves or let the salty breeze flick along his limbs—things he’d learned to love as a child growing up in Rio’s Barra da Tijuca. He’d missed making weekly treks to the beach.

  That had to be why he was suddenly looking forward to the thought of spending the day with her. Maybe a little too much. But it was too late to retract the offer now. And he found he didn’t want to. Besides, it wasn’t like anything would happen. She wasn’t even attracted to him from what he’d overheard her saying.

  “Can you surf in Guarujá? I’d really love to try surfing in Brazil one day,” Amy said, eyes shining in a way that made his gut shift sideways.

  “Do you surf?” He tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. Of course she did. She was from Florida.

  “A little. A friend taught me a few years ago, so I like to at least watch.”

  The image of Amy in a white bikini paddling out into the surf next to him flickered on a screen in his head. He blinked it away. He would not be paddling out with anyone, much less Amy, who was here for less than three months.

  She was so different from Halee, who’d hated the ocean. The only way his ex had tolerated any bodies of water was if she was cruising down them on a yacht. They were such opposites he sometimes didn’t know what they’d even seen in each other. Then again, he’d been a different person before the accident. Arrogant and far too sure of himself and his own immortality. A split-second collision on the field had taken care of that forever.

  It seemed a lot of things had changed over the years. Including the type of woman he now found attractive?

  His gaze collided with hers for a moment, before she smiled. “A day on the beach does sound fun.”

  It did actually. Roque couldn’t remember the last time he took a day just to enjoy one of São Paulo’s famous beaches. It had been a year or two.

  “Great.” It would also be nice to see his country through the eyes of a tourist. And hopefully it would help her as well. He took his phone out and scrolled through his work agenda. He didn’t tend to take very many days off, so there were surgeries scattered through almost every day for the next several weeks, but he finally found an opening. “How about three weeks from Friday? I’ll drive us out, rather than taking the bus.”

  “Should I bring a suit?” Amy asked.

  “That’s up to you, if you want to go in.” Hell, he really hoped Amy would decide against that. He didn’t need to go from imagining her wearing skimpy underthings to actually seeing her in swimwear, skimpy or not, although he had no idea why he was so leery of it. There were beautiful women everywhere in his country.

  Just then the elevator doors opened. He glanced up and almost groaned aloud. It was his mom. And she was carrying a dry cleaner’s bag. Inside of it, the teal color of Amy’s long dress was clearly visible.

  Amy also turned to look and her face quickly turned pink. Yep. Not the best scenario. And worse, his mother was striding toward them like a miniature powerhouse.

  “I could have picked it up,” Amy murmured to him.

  “Yes, I told her that as well. But my mamãe does not always listen.”

  “Roquinho, graças a Deus. You are hard to locate in this place.”

  Roquinho? Really, Mother?

  The diminutive form of his name meant Little Roque, and was one of her favorite ways to address him. It could be cute on occasion, but today wasn’t one of those times.

  “You could have had me paged. Or texted me.”

  “Oh, yes. I keep forgetting.”

  Her eyes zeroed in on Amy with a precision that would have made a surgeon proud. Any surgeon, except him. It brought back memories of their conversation about him meeting someone. The muscles in his gut tensed.

  “This is her? The woman whose dress you almost ruined? Oh, the Fates...”

  The way she said that made him close his eyes for a second or two. “Yes. Amy, this is my mother, Claudia Cardoza. Mom, this is Amy Woodell. She’s here for the lecture series.”

  “Oh, yes, I know all about that.”

  Why did every word that came out of her mouth sound like she was concocting something? Something he knew he wouldn’t like.

  His mother handed him the dress and went up to Amy and put her hands on her shoulders, before pulling her close to deliver a resounding kiss on the cheek in true São Paulo fashion. In Rio it was customary to plant a kiss on both cheeks rather than just one, but in Brazil, people learned
to adapt to where they were.

  “It is very nice to kiss you, Amy.”

  Roque cringed at the misused English word. Especially since he’d had a thought or two about that recently himself.

  “You mean nice to meet her, Mom.”

  His mom laughed and shrugged. While her English wasn’t the best, her strong desire to be hospitable overrode her embarrassment over mistakes. Most people found it charming.

  So did he. Usually.

  Amy spoke up. “Thank you for fixing my dress, Senhora Cardoza.”

  She said it in slow Portuguese that was perfect, if a little formal. His mom’s eyes went wide and she threw him a nod that had a world of meaning to it.

  Diabos! His mom’s dislike of Halee had shown in her attitude and actions. And one of the biggest problems with his mother was that her emotions flashed across her face like a strobe light in a pitch-black room. She liked Amy. And, looking back, he could see how she had probably been right about his former fiancée, but that didn’t mean she was right now. It was one of the reasons he’d never introduced her to any of his dates, although none of those had been anything more than casual dinners.

  He liked his life the way it was. No entanglements. No demands on his time. A night here and there he could afford, but a lifetime of commitment? Nope. Not again. He’d been ready to marry Halee, until the accident happened and she dumped him. Maybe the next woman wouldn’t have dumped him, but...

  Gato escaldado tem medo de água fria.

  Once bitten twice shy—wasn’t that how they said it in English? In this case he liked the Portuguese version better.

  “Roquinho said your, er, strap break? He step on it. Make it rip.”

  Amy smiled and replied in English. “It was an accident. Not a big deal. And thank you for fixing it. I would like to pay you for it.”

  His mom waved her hands. “No. No payment.”

  “But...”

  “It is enough that Roque ask me for favor. He almost never ask. And now I ask favor in return. You come to dinner?”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes. It would please me. Roque say your mother is from Brazil?”

  “I, um...” Amy threw him a glance. “I would like that—if it is okay with Roque.”

  “Of course it is.”

  Great. His mom was suddenly making what should have been a small favor into something big and putting words in his mouth.

  He fixed her with a look and responded in Portuguese, keeping his tone low. “Mamãe. Don’t embarrass her.”

  All she did was smile and pat his cheek, making him roll his eyes, suddenly very glad that he’d sent Lara and Peter to the nurse’s desk.

  “Find out a time that is good for her. She needs to see something besides this hospital. She will meet your father as well.”

  Why the hell was that even necessary? She didn’t need to meet his father. Or any other family members, for that matter. But this was one argument he wanted to have in private.

  “I will ask, but no promises.”

  Amy’s quick grin came and went. So she hadn’t missed the exchange, despite it being in Portuguese. Perfect. So not only was he going to help her find her uncle and go to a beach with her. Now she would be dining at his mother’s house. A house with that big-screen television and plenty of baby pictures.

  But the last thing he wanted to do was talk about why that wasn’t a good idea. Or have someone bring up how he’d very nearly defrocked her in front of two hundred people. Or why he’d had a vivid dream last night in which she hadn’t quite caught the dress before it slid to her feet—revealing her wearing lacy pink briefs and nothing else. He’d woken up in a puddle of sweat and need that he couldn’t quite shake.

  So, no. The less he thought about that night at the gala or her apartment—or the consequences of them—the better for everyone involved. So he kissed his mom and thanked her and said they needed to get back to work. She took the hint, but the smile she sent Amy said that she wasn’t about to forget about this meeting. Or the dinner invitation.

  All he could do was give an inward groan and hope that his mom let the subject of Amy and her dress drop.

  Dress drop. Damn. There it was again.

  He tightened his grip on the dress’s hanger and determined that this was one subject he was not going to revisit. Or at least he would set that as his current goal, and hope against hope that he could kick that ball right past the goalkeeper and into the net.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “AMY WOODELL—THIS IS Enzo Dos Santos and his wife, Lizbet.”

  Roque’s dark eyes were on her as he made the introductions. More than three weeks had passed since his mom had appeared with her dress and the dinner invitation—which was scheduled to happen this evening after work.

  The team had really started to sync, and Amy wasn’t looking forward to being relegated to the physical therapy end of things, although she knew that was what had been planned all along.

  Maybe relegated wasn’t the right word for it, since Roque had told her about Enzo from the beginning. It seemed kind of funny to be meeting another person in his inner circle. First his mom—who’d given her a searching look that Amy hadn’t quite been able to forget—and now his former coach. The man whose physical therapy she would be helping with once he had healed enough from his surgery.

  “Nice to meet you both,” she murmured.

  Enzo’s wife came forward and shook her hand, saying how grateful she was that Amy would be helping her husband recover. “Roque speaks very highly of you.”

  He did? Amy glowed with pride to think that perhaps Roque had enjoyed working with her as much as she had enjoyed working with him. And tonight she had dinner with his parents and tomorrow they were supposed to go on what Roque had called their field trip.

  A phone call to a man named Abel Rodrigo had turned out to indeed be her uncle. Unfortunately, the visit they’d planned to make to him before going to the beach was going to have to be postponed, since her uncle was currently out of town on business. Maybe it was for the best, since she was already stressed about dining with Roque’s parents and spending tomorrow at the beach with him.

  Something that put her in an uneasy state of excitement, every time she thought about it. A whole day alone with him. Just her and Roque. Most of the last three weeks had been spent with the team, which she’d been glad of. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. Even though there’d been those odd moments when she sensed him looking at her. And she’d certainly glanced at him. More than once.

  Lord. She needed to stop this.

  Dragging her mind back to the patient, she forced herself to concentrate on what they were saying.

  There was a kindness to Lizbet’s manner that warmed Amy’s heart. Despite that, there was something else—a spark of sadness, maybe?—in her eyes. Who could blame her? She and her husband had just gone through a terrible ordeal, one that wasn’t over yet. Mr. Dos Santos owned one of the most famous football clubs in Rio. The same team Roque had once played for. He said they’d been friends for a very long time and it was obvious he cared for Enzo very much.

  The man had almost lost his life to cancer. He’d certainly lost a good portion of his jaw. And now he was recovering from still more surgery. His lower mandible had been completely rebuilt. Enzo’s jaws were immobilized at the moment, to allow the repairs to heal, so he had a whiteboard and marker to help him communicate. He was busy writing something and showing it to his wife.

  She licked her lips, hesitating. “I, er, I don’t know quite how to say this, but that doctor who tried to take over the surgery came to see Enzo again yesterday, under the guise of wanting to make sure he had everything he needed. Enzo doesn’t care for him and would prefer he didn’t have anything to do with his treatment.”

  Surely he wasn’t talking about Dr. Carvalho. He was an excellent doctor
from what she’d heard. “Which doctor was that?”

  She handed the whiteboard back to her husband. “He introduced himself once, but he was kind of aggravating. He seems very concerned about Dr. Carvalho’s involvement for no reason I can work out. After Enzo’s recent difficulties...” Her voice trailed away. “I just don’t want anything to set us back on a bad track. Things have been better since we’ve been in Brazil.”

  Enzo wrote something on his board and held it up.

  She’s worried. Felt I was depressed.

  Amy could very well imagine he was. The man had been through a lot.

  “I know who you’re talking about,” Roque said. “I’ll see to it that he doesn’t come see you again.”

  Wow. Roque could actually have another doctor banned from visiting a patient? Well, since Enzo was also his friend, it stood to reason that he would fight for him.

  Was this who Roque meant when he said he wanted to be contacted if any doctor she didn’t recognize tried to see Enzo? She was going to ask once they left the room.

  Roque turned to her. “Amy, you’ve looked at Enzo’s chart—do you want to give them an idea of how you’ll go about physical therapy?”

  “Sure.” She went over the steps in her head. “First thing will be to pass your swallow test, which I don’t anticipate you having any trouble doing.”

  Enzo nodded, writing something on his board. When he turned it toward her, the words were so unexpected they made her laugh.

  If I don’t cry, you’re not doing your job.

  “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever had a patient that wanted me to make them cry before. But I assure you, you’ll at least feel like crying at some point. I’ll work you hard, but as long as you know my motivation is to meet our agreed-upon goals, then we’ll do fine.” She touched his hand. “I promise, I have the best of intentions and want us to work as a team.”

  The man relaxed back against his pillows, nodding and giving her a weak thumbs-up sign.

  She couldn’t imagine how hard it was for this strong vibrant man to be laid up unable to work. Was that how Roque had felt after his injury?