Читать книгу To Play With Fire - Tina Beckett, Tina Beckett - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

“MARCOS! EARTH TO MARCOS!”

Cool fingers covered his eyes, and someone gave him a quick peck on top of the head, which almost caused him to lose his grip on his first real cup of coffee of the day. For a split second he thought it was Maggie who’d kissed him.

It wasn’t.

He gave a soft curse, then twisted his head sideways to dislodge the person’s hands. “Sophia, this is not the place.”

“Nossa Senhora. You’re so grouchy nowadays.”

His childhood friend dropped into one of the hospital cafeteria’s tan upholstered chairs and crinkled her nose in irritation.

Almost as slender as she’d been during their days at the orphanage, Sophia Limeira had looked Marcos straight in the eye when he’d arrived at the state-run home, plopped her thumb out of her mouth and offered the wet digit up to him. He’d just stood there staring at her, trying not to cry in front of his little brother, who kept asking where Papai was...when they were going home. Marcos had already grasped the truth of their situation from the moment he’d seen the policeman on the other side of the fence: they weren’t going home. Not ever.

Sophia, as if recognizing a lost soul when she saw one—had stuck to his side like glue from that moment on. Had even followed him into the medical field. Marcos, in turn, had protected her when she’d been little—still felt the need to protect her now that she was an adult. And even though she griped about it constantly, he had a feeling she secretly liked the fact that someone cared.

He took a tentative sip of his coffee as he tried to formulate a response to her declaration. “I’m not grouchy. I’m busy.”

With a flourish of her fingers, four rectangular slips of paper appeared, splayed apart like a hand of cards. “Too busy to go with me to the ballet? I won four tickets from a promotion they were having at Printemps.”

“Printemps? What the hell is that?”

“Wow, Marcos. Such language.” She sighed and stuffed the tickets back in her bag. “It’s a department store down on 25 de Março. I know you’ve seen it.”

A bargain-hunter’s paradise, the huge shopping district in the center of São Paulo was a chaotic beehive of activity on the best of days...and the last place Marcos ever ventured, if he could help it. The area could also be dangerous. “You went down there by yourself?”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “I’m not a kid any more, remember? We’ve talked about this.”

“We did. And you agreed to take someone with you when you shopped.”

“I did. I took the American girl you have working for you. She’d never been.” Her brows came together in rebuke. “After six months, can you believe it? You should have at least offered to show it to her.”

Yeah, right. He could just see that happening. Maybe he’d ask her tomorrow, in fact. Marcos pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.

Maggie was the last person he wanted Sophia hanging around with. His friend might take it on herself to do something crazy.

“Anyway,” she continued, “Maggie said she’d go to the ballet with me, but that leaves two tickets. She said she was sure you’d want to go as well.”

Something crazy. Like that.

His hand dropped back to the table, eyes narrowing. Somehow he doubted it had been Maggie’s suggestion that he go. “Sorry. Can’t make it.”

“You don’t even know what the dates are yet.”

It didn’t matter. No way was he going to the ballet with Sophia and her new BFF.

He tried to pry the truth out of her. “Did Dr. Pfeiffer actually mention me by name?”

“She did.” Sophia drew an X across her chest with her index finger. “Juro.”

I swear. Fitting, since he’d like to do a little swearing himself.

“What did she say, exactly?”

“Well, I said I might ask you to go along with us, and Maggie said, ‘Do that.’”

He gave a short laugh, relief washing through him. “It’s called sarcasm, Soph. Americans use it a lot.”

Okay, well, that cleared up that little mystery.

Undaunted by his lack of enthusiasm, she leaned forward. “Did you know Americans also use this...” she made a circle of her thumb and forefinger, shielding the sign with her other hand to keep it hidden from fellow diners “...to mean that something is good? Maggie said she accidentally used it with a patient a while ago.”

“Yes. I know.” Marcos pushed her hand down with a frown and held onto it. “That doesn’t mean you should go around flashing it.”

He remembered exactly when Maggie had used that sign. Seventy-nine-year-old Guilherme Lima had come in to ask about his test results, and before Marcos had realized what her intentions were, out had come the finger circle accompanied by an emphatic shake or two of her hand. He’d thought the poor man—whose test results really had been A-okay—had been going to die of a stroke right there in his office. Marcos had thought he might just follow his patient over the edge. But for an entirely different reason. Maggie’s innocent demeanor, accompanied by that obscene gesture, had set off a firestorm in his belly that had lasted the rest of the day.

When he’d offered to drive her home with the idea of setting her straight in private so she wouldn’t be embarrassed, things hadn’t gone exactly as planned. He’d explained why she shouldn’t use that sign, and her eyes had gone wide as she’d licked her lips. Another deadly combination he hadn’t been able to resist—and hadn’t bothered trying. Then she’d dropped that water bottle and leaned forward...

Something he was better off not thinking about right now.

As if he’d summoned her, a flash of red to the side caught his attention, and he swiveled his head to look. Maggie was in line with a tray, but her eyes were on him, following the line of his arm to where his hand still held Sophia’s. A frown marred her brow, and something about it made Marcos let go of Sophia in a rush.

A second later, he thought better of it. Had his friend even explained their relationship to her? That he’d been Sophia’s sidekick at the orphanage?

Why did it matter? In fact, it might not be a bad thing if Maggie thought there was a little something going on between them.

Which would make him look like a first-class jerk, after those passion-filled moments they’d shared.

As if realizing she was still staring, Maggie yanked her glance back to the tray in her hand and continued through the line, perusing the items behind the glass window at the counter as if they fascinated her.

Unfortunately, Sophia had also spotted her and waved her over.

Meu Deus. Why had he ever thought coffee was a good idea?

With a sense of impending doom, he watched as Maggie made her selection, hunched her shoulders and headed their way, looking very much like she was facing a slow and painful death.

Well, join the club, querida. You’re not the only one.

* * *

Maggie had wanted a simple fruit cup, hoping to make up for the fact that she’d skipped breakfast that morning. What she hadn’t wanted, however, was to witness her boss holding hands with her new friend, Sophia, who was everything Maggie wasn’t: curvy, with flawless tanned skin and silky black hair that shimmered with every movement. The girl also seemed to have cornered the market on flirty smiles, except she did it with a total lack of guile about how that sultry flash of teeth affected the opposite sex. And judging from Marcos’s reaction, he’d definitely been affected.

It might even explain why Sophia had been so quick to mention inviting him to the ballet.

Did she have any idea what he and Maggie had done in the parking garage? No, of course she didn’t. She had the feeling Marcos wasn’t the kind of man to kiss and tell.

But he might be the kind of person who played the field. And there was something between these two. She could tell by the way they leaned into each other as they talked, by their easy smiles and casual manner.

Past lovers?

Present?

That thought made having to sit with them that much worse. Because, if the two of them were involved, the last thing her boss would want was for Sophia to discover what they’d been up to a month ago. From the uneasy look on his face, he was thinking much the same thing.

Before she could veer away to another table, however, Sophia leaped up and took her tray, setting it next to hers and then kissing her cheek. Maggie still hadn’t gotten used to that aspect of their culture: the kissing—whether it was the casual Brazilian kissing that went on between friends and relatives or, worse, the crazy intense style she’d experienced with the Brazilian seated across from her. Yep, that style of kissing was still kind of foreign to her, since the encounters she’d had in her past life had almost never involved mouth-to-mouth contact.

She sucked down a quick breath as an unwanted memory pushed its way in. She shook it off, her fingertips curving and pressing deeply into the sides of her thighs.

He’s dead. The past is dead. Get over it.

Slumping into her seat and wishing she could be anywhere else, she forced a smile. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.” She gave the offhand remark in such a way that neither party would know who she referred to.

“I come here every morning.” The faint amusement that tinged his words made her bristle. She wasn’t stalking him, for heaven’s sake.

“Really? I only come when my boss asks me to show up at a ridiculously early hour,” she retorted.

He glanced at his watch, one side of his mouth quirking. “Six o’clock is hardly early.”

“Hmm.” The vague noise was meant to be noncommittal, but it caused Marcos to lean back, arms crossing over his chest.

Sophia, seemingly unaware of the tension in the air, spoke up. “I was just telling Marcos about the ballet. And that you were going, too.”

Oh, no! She’d hoped any drama involving those tickets would happen out of her earshot.

“When is it again?” Marcos asked, his eyes trained on her face, which was growing hotter by the second.

Sophia glanced at her. “Two weeks from Wednesday.”

Lifting his phone off the tabletop, he used a finger to scroll across the screens, probably looking at his calendar. “We have a medical conference starting this Monday.”

Something she was trying her best to forget. They were supposed to sit together, since part of the conference dealt with advances in neurosurgery. Marcos said he’d probably need to translate portions of it for her.

The last thing she wanted him doing was whispering in her ear. She’d had that experience once already and didn’t need any reminders of what a heady thing it was.

“That’s perfect,” Sophia said. “Those things never go past five in the afternoon, and the ballet doesn’t start until eight.”

Maggie wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that. She’d already promised Sophia that she’d go. But that had been before she’d found out she’d be a third wheel. She wanted to back out more than anything, but didn’t want to offend her friend in the process.

“Will it be at the Municipal Theater?” Marcos asked.

“Of course.”

Now was her chance to try to wriggle out of it. “Maybe I should just let you guys go and enjoy it on your own.”

“What are you talking about? Of course you must go.” Sophia laid her hand on Marcos’s arm. “He wants you to come as well, don’t you, Marcos?”

“Definitely. I want you to come.”

The smooth words were said without the slightest twitch of an eyebrow, but she felt her face flaming back to life. He’d used that phrasing on purpose...knew it would bring up memories of her—with him—as he’d told her he wanted her to do exactly that.

And she had.

She wished she could think of something equally witty and sophisticated to lob back at him, but she couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t be obvious to everyone. Which made her feel like a royal dork.

Besides, how could she refuse to go after her friend had been so excited about winning the tickets in the first place? Nope. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. So she gritted out a smile instead. “Well, I guess that’s settled, then.”

Sophia gave an audible sigh, then leaned back with a grin. “Exactly.”