Читать книгу To Play With Fire - Tina Beckett, Tina Beckett - Страница 11

CHAPTER FOUR

MARCOS MURMURED SOMETHING to the woman seated behind the registration desk at the conference center, but Maggie couldn’t hear what it was.

He hadn’t said anything else about what had happened during the surgery two days ago—when she’d mistakenly used his nickname in front of a roomful of medical staff. In fact, Maggie hadn’t seen much of him since then. But he had left a note at the nurses’ station confirming he’d meet her in the hospital lobby this morning.

Riding on the São Paulo subway had been a new experience for her as she rarely traveled downtown, but it had been a fairly simple trip. They’d even found seats next to each other—which Marcos had indicated wasn’t always an easy feat. Not that it mattered. He’d been glued to the screen of his phone the whole time, evidently checking and responding to emails.

Despite the quick ride over, they were still a few minutes late for the opening of the convention. Marcos didn’t seem overly concerned. These things never started on time, he’d said.

He’d been right. The line behind them grew longer by the second, and she didn’t hear anything coming from behind the closed doors to their right.

Maggie was used to punctuality, so the laid-back atmosphere she’d found in Brazil was another thing that was hard to get used to, but it all seemed to work out in some weird way. And the hospital was top notch, up on the latest treatment methods and as spotless as they came. Teresa Allen’s impeccable surgery was the norm, rather than the exception. As for the doctors... She glanced at Marcos from beneath her lashes, a shiver going over her. Well, that was something she shouldn’t think about right now.

What she did know was how fortunate she was to have gotten this internship.

The receptionist handed Marcos two lanyards, along with a couple of printed name tags, and he paused at the table to slide the paper tags into the holders. They’d put an “a” at the end of her name, instead of an “e”. Marcos sent her a grim smile as she slipped the cord around her neck. “It seems they think you’re magic.”

“I’m sorry?”

He lifted the plastic holder from her chest and nodded at it. “Maggia...or magía, in Portuguese. Magic.”

Another shiver went over her as he let the tag fall back into place and donned his own lanyard. She licked her lips, not sure if she dared joke about it. “Well, at least they didn’t make the same mistake I did by using your nickname. What does it mean, anyway?”

“Markinho? It means little Marcos.” He steered her toward the doorway, which was being pushed open by a couple of dark-suited ushers. “Although I might take exception to being called ‘little’. Do you want to weigh in on that?”

Heat flashed up her neck. Oh! He was in quite a mood today. Maybe because Sophia wasn’t here to witness his antics. She switched to English. “Don’t you think you should be a little more discreet?”

He stopped in front of the doors and turned to face her, ignoring the clipboard-wielding attendant who was tilting his head to try to catch sight of their names.

“Discreet? In what way?”

“Does Sophia know about...what happened?”

Realizing there were people waiting to get in, he held his badge up to the man, who flipped through the sheets and checked something off. Then Marcos moved through the door, leaving her to catch up.

“Do you mean between us?” He narrowed his eyes as he glanced sideways at her, making his way up the tiers of blue-upholstered chairs in the main room of the conference center. “No, and there’s no need to tell her.”

Outrage flashed up her back and made her blink. What kind of man was he? “You often do that sort of thing?”

He gave her a strange look. “It depends on what you mean by ‘that sort of thing’ and your definition of ‘often’. But what does any of this have to do with Sophia?”

No one could be that dense. Unless he truly didn’t care about the other woman’s feelings. “If you two are, um...seeing each other, surely she wouldn’t appreciate—”

“Seeing?” His brows drew together, and he switched back to Portuguese. “As in transar?”

More heat poured into her face, joining the simmering flood that was already at work there. That was one verb she knew. But did he have to be so blunt? She glanced around to make sure no one had heard. “If you want to put it so crudely, yes.”

“Sophia and I aren’t...” His furrows eased, and he actually laughed, taking her elbow and leading her to a seat in the middle of the auditorium. “She’s like a sister to me. We’ve known each other since we were...young children.”

Despite the puzzling pause at the end of his words, a wave of pure relief washed over her, rinsing away the heat that had collected in her cheeks. Okay, so he and Sophia weren’t lovers. Although why she should care one way or the other, she had no idea. Except that she didn’t want to hurt the other woman.

Maggie knew first hand what it felt like to be racked with guilt over the consequences of someone else’s actions. Only her aunt had never found out the truth about her husband—and never would now.

Thank God. It would have killed her to know what he was really like.

Fingers slid across the small of her back, sending a zing of electricity through her. “How about here?”

For a split second she thought he was asking her where she liked to be touched, then realized he was nodding to the chairs in front of them.

Sitting next to him for the next several hours was going to be pure torture if she didn’t get her head on straight. She was going to try very, very hard not to ask him to translate anything during the conference. Which meant she’d have to concentrate. A good thing, in this case.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter where we sit.”

People were now moving through the auditorium in clusters, talking shop as they went by. Why couldn’t she and Marcos be like that? Simply focus on their jobs and leave their personal baggage at home.

Maybe because most coworkers didn’t engage in car sex...a fact that sent a worrying tingle through her fingers every time she thought about it. It was the guilt that was causing it. She’d done something she shouldn’t have. She glanced down at her hands, checking the length of her nails, just in case.

It was normal for things to be awkward. How could they not be?

She dropped into her seat, staring doggedly at her program. Their unexpected kiss that day had been an almost violent encounter. So much so that the suddenness of it—his hand curling around her nape and then the harsh, desperate press of his mouth against hers—had stormed her senses. The momentary sense of shock at her reaction had rendered her immobile, unable to do anything except let the wash of need sweep over her.

He’d pulled away at that second and stared into her eyes. “Meu Deus. You’re frightened.”

She’d shaken her head, realizing she wasn’t. “No.”

“Then kiss me back, querida...”

A hand touched hers, yanking her back to the present with a start. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked which of the seminars you wished to attend. The only one I’d like to sit in on is called ‘Sublabial versus Endonasal Surgical Options for Patients with Pituitary Adenomas.’”

She stared at her program, trying to make sense of the words. Not easy with Marcos looking over her shoulder, his warm, mellow scent carried to her on subtle air currents. “I’m here for the language more than anything so whatever you choose is fine.”

“Are you interested in any of the other specialties?” He fanned through his book to find the directory. “They’ve got endocrinology, plastic surgery, oncology, pediatrics...” Reaching over to flip her program to the right page, his fingers brushed hers, causing her to freeze for a second.

She inched her hand away from his, hoping it wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “I’m good.”

A masculine throat cleared above her, and they both glanced up. Marcos smiled and rose to his feet in response to the newcomer. She tried to shrink into her seat as the two men talked above her, but she was painfully aware that Marcos’s brown leather belt with its elegant silver buckle was right at her eye level. Her fingers tingled again, and she forced her gaze to move higher.

Marcos set a hand on her shoulder. “Maggie, this is Dr. Silvano Mendoso, head of pediatrics at our hospital. Silvano, meet Dr. Maggie Pfeiffer. She’s here from the States to do a year’s internship in my department.”

They must get tired of using a title for every single person they came across.

She craned her neck up to smile at the other doctor. Almost as tall as Marcos and with dark curly hair, he gazed down at her. She squirmed in her seat. Standing was out of the question at this point, as she’d be pancaked between the two men if she tried. She settled for lifting her hand to shake Dr. Mendoso’s. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I haven’t seen you around the hospital,” he said, gripping her fingers for a fraction longer than necessary.

Up went Marcos’s brows. “That’s because I keep her quite busy, learning new things.”

It had to be the language that made everything sound exotic...and slightly suggestive.

The lights dimmed and then came back up. Dr. Mendoso gave her an apologetic smile and then slapped Marcos on the back. “I’d better get back to my seat before someone decides to steal it. Nice to meet you...Maggie, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Thank you. You as well.”

She tried to settle in to listen to the opening speech, not daring to ask Marcos to translate missed words here and there. She caught the gist of the instructions: the explanation of the layout of the building; where to find the refreshment tables between sessions; and who to ask if you got lost.

Lost? She was all that and then some.

Surprisingly, she understood a good deal more than she’d expected to. Several hours later, though, she revised that thought. Her mind felt like Swiss cheese, the gaps in comprehension growing with each change of subject matter. The temptation to lay her head on Marcos’s shoulder and drift off was strong.

Too strong.

She fought the urge by holding herself rigid in her chair as they went from one seminar to another and listened to various speakers lecture on the latest advances in this or that.

“You’re doing well.” Marcos glanced up from the notes he’d been jotting on his program during a lull. “You haven’t asked for my help. Not even once.”

No. Thank God.

“This isn’t life or death like at the hospital. If I don’t understand a word or two, it won’t hurt anything.”

“No. I suppose not.” He tapped the end of his pen against the program. “But the challenge to understand what’s happening around you does make things interesting, yes? What does your family think of you living in another country?”

The sudden change in subject threw her. “They’ve always encouraged me to think for myself.”

The only person who hadn’t was gone now. Her fingers curved reflexively into the tops of her legs before she forced them to relax. To lie absolutely flat.

Not wanting to think about her family, she followed his lead. “What about you? Anyone else in your family go into medicine?”

There was a pause, and Maggie thought for a second that her phrasing was off. But then he answered. “My family is a complicated subject. Best left for another time.”

Wow. So it was okay for him to ask about her family, but not the other way around. Well, great. The man burned hot and cold, and she could never predict which one he might be at any given moment. If she felt this way after almost seven months of working with him, she doubted if the next few would bring any serious changes.

He glanced at his watch and swore softly. “It’s almost five. Do you mind missing the last session? We need to catch the subway—rush hour in São Paulo is best avoided if at all possible.”

“Oh, no, of course not.” In actuality, it was a relief to get away. She wasn’t sure she understood his hurry, though, since they had taken the subway, rather than his car. How would rush hour matter one way or the other if you weren’t actually driving?

She soon found out. People getting off work streamed through the turnstiles at the metro station and swarmed down the escalators to reach the lower levels. A faint sense of claustrophobia began to press in around her, and Marcos stopped to take her hand after five or six people came between them, threatening to make her lose sight of him all together.

“You have to be aggressive,” he murmured, gripping her fingers and towing her along. “It only gets worse from now until about eight at night.”

“Worse?”

He grinned down at her. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? But it’s exhilarating, no? The life, the movement...the noise.”

The noise? No, she found it kind of unsettling. Chaotic. Her instinct was to cling to the railing on the side of the wall and hang on for dear life as the crowds swept around her. She clung to Marcos’s hand instead.

And prayed she’d live to see another day.