Tina Beckett - To Play With Fire

Forcing a softer tone to his voice, he clarified, “Teresa Allen.”

The nurse tapped the keys of her computer and said, “Recovery room three.”

He strode away before stopping again with a frown. Turning back to the desk, he said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

There. At least she hadn’t stuttered that time.

Arriving at the recovery room, he found Maggie was indeed there, along with Teresa’s mother. He ignored her for the moment, going over to shake hands with the mom and saying in English, “I’m Dr. Pinheiro.”

“You’re the one who did the surgery?”

He glanced at where Maggie stood, chin elevated as if bracing herself for whatever he might say. He cursed his careless words in the operating room. “Actually, Dr. Pfeiffer and I both had a part in it. She’s already explained what we did?”

“Yes. The new shunt should be okay for a while?”

“For a long while, we hope.” He smiled at his patient, who’d drifted back to sleep. “Teresa has to lie flat for the next twenty-four hours, so she’ll need to stay here for another day or two.”

“Can I stay with her?”

“I don’t see why not. It might make her feel more secure to have you here. I can have a cot brought in.”

“Thank you.” They shook hands once again, and Maggie came over this time.

“You’ll let her know I was here?” she asked the mother.

“Yes. She’ll be happy to know that. Can you visit her tomorrow?”

Maggie reached out and hugged her. “Absolutely. I’ll see you later.”

With that she was out the door without a backwards glance at him.

Dammit.

He went after her, catching up to her within a few strides.

“Hey. Espere.”

Maggie stopped in her tracks, the sudden halt not making the slightest sound on the polished linoleum floor. She stayed put but didn’t look at him. He rounded her still form until he stood in front of her, ignoring everything around him as he stared down at her. When she finally glanced up, the cool indifference in the clear blue depths of her eyes was unmistakable, even to him.

An act? Or was she really not bothered by what he’d said to her? Either way, he owed her an apology.

“I’m sorry.” He touched the line of her jaw with his index finger, forcing it not to linger for more than a second on the softness he found there. “I overreacted a little while ago. Markinho is a childhood name. No one uses it.”

“One of your patients did.” Her soft voice spoke volumes.

He’d forgotten she’d overheard Graciela call him that a few days ago.

“She’s different.” He tried to think of a way to explain it that didn’t involve talking about his past. “I’ve known that particular patient for a very long time.”

She studied him for a second or two, as if trying to decide whether or not she was going to accept his explanation. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I was trying to explain why I called Teresa ‘pumpkin.’”

“No harm done.”

Really, Marcos? Are you certain of that?

He wasn’t sure of anything, when it came to her.

He forced himself to continue. “The medical conference starts Monday. I’d like us to drive over there together, if possible.”

What the hell? Did he really want her back in his car after what had happened? He’d talked about them sitting together during the seminars, nothing more.

She might need help finding the place.

Nothing like having an argument inside your own damn head.

“I think catching a taxi from the hospital might be a safer bet...for everyone.”

He couldn’t hold back a smile. “Point taken. Tell you what. Why don’t we meet here in the lobby at seven and we’ll take the subway instead. It stops close to the convention center and we can walk over there together.” He glanced at her shoes. Swallowed hard. “Wear something comfortable.”

And on that note—trying not to dwell on the fact that her shiny black pumps looked exactly like the pair she’d been wearing that day in his car, or the fact that one of them had fallen off some time during their maneuvering, forcing him to retrieve it from the floor afterwards—he stalked away to get his fifth cup of coffee.

And to hopefully locate his damned sanity.

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.”