One Hot Night with Dr. Cardoza

by Tina Beckett

  Traffic was heavy, but not as bad as at the center of São Paulo, which many times saw bumper-to-bumper traffic and motorcycles that whizzed frantically between the rows of cars.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, just didn’t expect it to look like this honestly. There must be thousands of people living here.”

  Roque smiled. “Hundreds of thousands. And I was right.”

  “Right? About what?”

  “I do like seeing this place through the eyes of a tourist.”

  So he hadn’t brought anyone here during previous years’ lecture programs? If what he said was true, it appeared not.

  She couldn’t stop a smile as a wave of warmth poured over her. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

  “You have not disappointed, Amy. Believe me.”

  Something about the way he said that sent a shiver over her.

  He’s not talking about that kiss, Amy.

  More likely he was talking about how she did her job at the hospital.

  Roque found a paid parking garage and slid his car into the first available spot, taking his ticket and paying the attendant.

  Scooping her beach bag from the back seat, she crossed the strap of her purse over her chest and kept the wicker tote containing her beach gear in her hand.

  “Do you want me to carry something?”

  She glanced at his hands, noting he’d brought nothing with him. “I’m good. It’s not heavy. I just have a towel and sunscreen in there.” She dropped her sunglasses over her nose to help cut the glare from the sun, which was already warm.

  Skirting one of the large apartment blocks, they arrived on a long sandy strip that led down to the water. On it was a sea of red striped umbrellas that stretched as far as the eye could see. “Wow, they’re all dressed up for company, aren’t they?”

  “It’s pretty impressive, I agree.” He glanced at one of the nearby buildings. “Why don’t you keep going, and I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

  She looked over at where his attention had gone, but saw nothing, so she did as he’d asked and started across the sand. She then took off her shoes and stuffed them into her bag, enjoying the warmth beneath her bare feet.

  Less than a minute later, she felt a slight tug on her bag. The hair raised on the back of her neck when she sensed someone directly behind her.

  Roque had been right.

  When the bump happened again, she instinctively whirled around, hooking her foot around the calf of the pickpocket and yanked as hard as she could, sending him flying to the ground.

  Only at the deep “oomph” did she realize her mistake.

  Roque lay sprawled across the sand, his cane about three feet to his right. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I thought someone was trying to steal something from my bag.”

  He propped himself up with his hands on the sand. “I guess you really can defend yourself.”

  “Of course I can. I already told you I know tae kwon do.” She frowned. “Wait. What do you mean, I can defend myself? Were you trying get a reaction from me?”

  “I thought I’d see how aware you were of your surroundings.” He reached for his cane. “Very, evidently.”

  “It was pure instinct. Are you hurt? Your leg?”

  Pushing off with his cane, he shook his head and tried to get to his feet, only to have his walking aid sink into the soft sand, leaving him stranded on the ground. “My pride is the only casualty, it seems.”

  She reached down to help him up, and he let her, managing to heft himself to his feet. “This feels like reversed roles. I did the same for you, when your dress was ripped and you couldn’t get out of my car. Remember?”

  Only too well. “Yes, well, at least you didn’t step on my dress on purpose. Unlike me, who purposely tripped you.”

  He squeezed her hand for a minute before releasing it, leaning against her as he tried to get his cane situated. “But I did reach into your bag on purpose, just now, so you did the right thing.”

  He took a step, and the color suddenly drained from his face. He stopped in place.

  “You are hurt. I am so, so sorry!”

  “It’s nothing.” He reached down to massage his left thigh. “Just a muscle cramp. I get them sometimes when the nerves misfire.”

  She turned and faced him. This was her chance. “I can help with that.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  There was a darkness to his voice that was at odds with the reality of the situation. She actually could help. If he’d let her.

  She took a deep breath and let it out in a controlled hiss, trying to keep herself from taking his refusal personally. “I can’t make your injury go away, but I can help with the pain you have right now.”

  “I’ve tried it.”

  She tilted her head. “And it didn’t help at all? I find that hard to believe. I can do a deep tissue massage that—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  This time, she let the anger come to the forefront. “Are you kidding me? You said you liked how I treated Bobby Sellers, said it showed I could think outside of the box, and now you’re acting like I have nothing to offer.”

  She’d lived through this hot and cold nonsense before and wasn’t about to put up with it from him.

  “I did not say that.”

  “Not in so many words, but you implied it. Please let me try. If it doesn’t help, you’ve lost nothing. But if it does...”

  “You won’t always be here, Amy, so it’s better if I don’t get used to any—”

  “Damn it! You’re the one who told me Paulista is an amalgamation of all the best hospitals in the world. There are other therapists you could go to if it turns out this works. I let your mother fix my dress. Let me try to help your leg.”

  “What would you do?”

  He leaned on the cane with both hands. It must really hurt. She’d never seen him this vulnerable before. “I’ll use essential oils in a carrier oil and massage them into your skin. The heat generated from my hands will help the oils absorb.”

  “And if it doesn’t help? Will you then stop suggesting I seek therapy?”

  She blinked. He was going to let her try? She’d somehow expected a bigger fight than that. While a part of her was relieved, another part was worried that maybe he knew something she didn’t. Something that would prove her wrong. “Are you sure it’s just a muscle cramp? Could you have landed wrong and damaged something else?” She’d hooked his right leg, not the injured one, but anything could have happened as he went down.

  “It’s not dislocated or broken, if that’s what you mean. I recognize this pain. It’s just muscle.”

  “Can you make it back to the car?”

  “I can finish our tour.” But when he tried to take another step, he winced and stopped again.

  “No, you can’t. Give me your cane.”

  “I don’t think—”

  She jerked it from beneath his hands and hooked it over her beach bag.

  “What the hell, Amy?”

  She moved to his affected side. “Put your arm around me.”

  “No.”

  “What’s wrong, Roque? Scared? Of little ole me?”

  “I am not scared.”

  He might not be, but she was now wondering about the wisdom of asking him to touch her, even as an offer of help.

  Surprisingly, he put his arm around her waist while she jammed her shoulder under his arm, and the second he did, a sense of rightness came over her, the warm solidness of his body fitting perfectly against hers. The side of her breast nestled against his chest in a way that made her nipples tighten at the slightest hint of friction. She held perfectly still and willed it away. It didn’t work.

  Oh, no. Not what she wanted. At all.

  She hesitated, tearing her mind apart for some other way to get
him to the car and coming up blank. Maybe this was why he hadn’t wanted her helping him. Because he knew how he made her feel.

  Not the time to be thinking about any of this, Amy.

  “Let’s go. Lean on me as we walk.”

  Slowly they made their way back to the sidewalk and soon all thoughts of how he made her body react vanished. Roque didn’t make a sound, but when she glanced up at his face, his mouth was bracketed with white lines of pain. Why had she swept his leg out from under him?

  Because she’d honestly thought someone was trying to steal something from her bag, and pure instinct had taken over. He said the pain was muscular. Well, she would know as soon as she laid her hands on his skin. Either the muscles would be knotted and hard or she’d realize something else was wrong.

  Lord, she hoped he was right. She didn’t think he’d like having to postpone all his surgeries because of something as stupid as a case of mistaken identity.

  Well, they would worry about that when the time came.

  “Do you have your international driver’s license?”

  “Yes, do you need me to drive?”

  He leaned more of his weight on her and another warning shimmy went through her stomach, bringing back all the uneasy sensations she thought she’d banished. Evidently not.

  His skin was warm against her. So alive. So—

  “Maybe. If you can drive a manual transmission.”

  He’s hurt, Amy, why are you even thinking along these lines?

  She responded carefully. “My car at home is actually a stick shift. We don’t have quite this much traffic, though, except for when the snowbirds come to town.”

  “Snowbirds?”

  “It’s what we call people from the north when they come to Florida to get away from their winter weather.”

  “Country homes? Like what my parents have?”

  She smiled. “Not quite, but maybe the same idea.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they made it to his car, and Amy helped him get inside, lifting his injured leg and sliding it onto the floor gently. The muscles of his calf were firm, no hint of atrophy from babying his leg. She drew in a deep breath. This was a man who would not baby anything. So if he was letting her do this...

  He said something she didn’t quite catch before muttering, “I feel like a...an...idiota.”

  That word came through in any language. “Stop it. And get ready to hang on.” She then sent him a smile that she hoped was full of mischief. If she could distract him, maybe that would interfere with his body’s pain receptors. She’d heard of it working.

  “Maybe I should drive.”

  “If what I’m seeing on your face is any indication of your pain levels, then putting you behind the wheel would be even more dangerous than my mad car skills.”

  He leaned his head against the headrest. “I do not even want to know what ‘mad car skills’ means.”

  “Probably just as well. Okay, here we go.”

  She stowed her gear in the back and then climbed into the driver’s seat, adjusting it to her shorter stature. Roque handed her the keys.

  Getting the car started, she managed to back out of the slot and drive up the ramp that led out of the parking garage. “Anything I need to do?” Besides take note of every move the man made?

  “No. I already included a tip when I paid.”

  “Do you have a GPS? If not, you’ll have to give me some instructions on how to get to your place.” One of her biggest failings was that if she wasn’t driving, she didn’t pay attention to the route when she was a passenger. She’d tried to correct that trait time and time again, but she either got caught up in the conversation or the scenery.

  “I’ll put it on my phone. You’ll just basically take the Immigrantes Highway all the way back to São Paulo.”

  “Sorry. That means nothing to me.”

  “Here.” He pushed a button and a voice came out of the phone. It was in Portuguese, so it took a moment or two for Amy to adjust to the computer-generated speech. “Don’t worry, I’ll help. My leg feels better now that it’s not having to support my weight.”

  Now that her insistence had gotten her what she wanted, she was starting to wonder how smart she’d been in making that offer. Except she was the one who’d caused his pain. The least she could do was try to fix it.

  Her heart clenched and she knew she was in trouble with this man. Not that she was going to let herself fall in love with him. She’d meant it when she said she was going back to start her doctoral studies. She couldn’t do that in Brazil.

  And Roque’s life was here. In Brazil. Wrapped up in his work and the life he was living. Just because she liked the way his body felt against hers changed nothing.

  The fact that she did meant she’d have to be even more careful. That kiss had sent her senses spiraling toward treacherous territory. If his phone hadn’t buzzed...

  Yes. That phone. A lifesaver for sure.

  There was no room in her life for the long leather sofa she’d seen in his office. And as she’d left the office, her eyes had somehow caught and taken note of the fact that there was a lock on the door.

  All they’d have to do was turn the little latch and—

  Ridiculous. She needed to stop this!

  The GPS said something and she forced her mind back to her driving and getting them home. “Do you live in the same part of town as I do?”

  “About five miles before you get there. It’s a red-tiled building.”

  “Tell me when we’re getting close, so I can start looking.”

  For the next twenty minutes or so, he sat in silence, eyes closed tight. She wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep or if he was in so much pain that he was just trying to cope.

  Suddenly he straightened up, glancing at her. “Not much farther.”

  “On this road?”

  “Yes, two blocks ahead on your right. Condomínio Apollo. Just pull into the lower level garage. The numbers are painted on the spaces. I’m 601.”

  She found his building, and shifting the vehicle into a lower gear, she managed the sharp curving turn that led into what looked like a maze. But the numbers were laid out in order and she found his spot down another line of spaces to the left. Fortunately, most of the tenants were at work so she could navigate fairly easily. Otherwise she might have had to make a couple of three-point turns.

  She glanced at him. “Any better at all?”

  “I guess we’ll find out.” His jaw was tight, but that might be from anticipated pain rather than actual current pain.

  “I’ll come around and help.” She put his keys in the pocket of her sundress, retrieved her purse and beach bag, in case she needed to catch a taxi back to her own apartment, and went around to the passenger side door. Opening it, she said, “Give me your hands.”

  “Let me have my cane, and I’ll see if I can manage.”

  Without a word she got his walking stick, but instead of handing it to him she draped it over her arm. “Take. My. Hands.”

  “Amy...”

  She got down on her haunches next to the low-slung car and looked him in the eye. “Trust me, Roque. Please. The less strain you put on those muscles right now, the more likely we’ll be able to massage the knots out of them.”

  “Merde.”

  The swear word was so soft she almost missed it. Her heart ached for him in a way that it didn’t for most of the cases she’d worked on. She’d learned early on that if she could harden that traitorous organ it was better for her patients, because she had to push them to help them heal. And it was often painful. She’d had strong, strapping men cry in her presence and had to promise she’d tell no one.

  She stood and took his hands in hers and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I want to help. I promise. But I can’t do that unless we get you into the apartment.” She thought for a second.
“Unless you have a wheelchair, or maybe a walker in there somewhere.”

  “No. No wheelchair. Let’s just do it.”

  She helped him swing his legs around until they were both on the ground. “Okay, whenever you’re ready. Grab my wrists.”

  She moved her hands lower until they wrapped around his forearm and waited for him to do the same. “It’ll be stronger this way. I’ll be less likely to drop you.” She said the words with a smile only to hear him swear again. A little louder this time.

  “On the count of three. Um...dois...tres!”

  That did it. He was out of the car, although he was holding most of his weight on his right leg.

  It was no better evidently.

  “Okay, we’re going to do like we did before. Lean your weight on me.” She sensed an argument forming and cut him off. “We can work on the cane once we get into the house.”

  They made their way to the elevator, and she let him push the button. Sixth floor. “How many floors is this building?”

  “Six.”

  Okay, so he was on the top floor. Once the elevator reached number six, and the doors opened, she realized there were only two doors up here. So these apartments had to be huge. The floor she lived on had six residences on it. “Are your keys on the same ring as your car keys?”

  “Yes.” The words came out in a short burst of air that told her his strength was flagging.

  She quickly fished them out of her pocket and held one of the keys up. He nodded and reached for it, opening the door so fast that she almost lost her balance. She caught herself just in time. It would have been great to say trust me and then have them both collapse into the apartment.

  She got him as far as the couch and lowered him onto it before saying, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ROQUE HAD TENSED when she’d joked about him having a wheelchair in his apartment. He didn’t. Not anymore. What he did still have was a walker. It was hidden inside a closet in his spare bedroom. He could barely look at his old nemesis without myriad emotions clutching at his gut and threatening to rob the strength from his legs.