Tina Beckett - The Dangers Of Dating Dr Carvalho

But none of their owners had looked like Lucas.

She touched the flesh above the right side of her lip with her index finger, self-conscious all of a sudden, although she knew she didn’t need to be. The scar was barely visible—the lip margins perfectly aligned. A dot of concealer on a sponge and the flaw almost blended away into nothingness.

Almost.

But Lucas was a plastic surgeon. His knowing eye could cut right through the thin layer of make-up and see the scar for what it was. A remnant from her childhood. She wondered if he ran across many cases like hers in his practice.

Probably not. He was from California, the land of beautiful bouncing breasts and perfect spray-on tans.

She gulped as his eyes met hers, then narrowed slightly, as if trying to place her.

He didn’t remember her. Even when she’d slid into his room that first day and introduced herself, there’d been no hint of recognition. Even when she’d stood nearby as he’d taken his first steps.

Marcos had once said no one could forget her.

Ha! Well, someone could. And someone had.

Not that it mattered. It had been ages since she’d seen Lucas. And they’d both been children at the time.

And he’d been so very sad that first week at the orphanage. Within a month, however, they’d become inseparable—the dynamic trio, the workers had dubbed them.

Only Lucas had been one of the lucky ones who’d been adopted, leaving Marcos and her behind for ever.

Deus! He was still headed her way. And the bony hollows of the boy she’d once known were now filled in with muscle and sinew that rippled with every step he took.

Fully man. Fully dangerous.

She knew she should be on her feet, scolding him for getting out of bed and walking unassisted, but she couldn’t seem to make her body obey the normal commands. Casting a quick glance around her, she saw there wasn’t another nurse in sight. Just her. And Lucas’s eagle-eyed gaze was fastened directly on her.

Needing to be the first one to speak for some crazy reason, she arched a brow when he reached the desk. “You do know you’re putting on quite a show for the folks behind you, don’t you?”

He frowned for a second then gave her a slow smile as if realizing what she meant. “Don’t worry. I eventually have to go back the way I came.”

Yes, he did.

Holding tight to her impassive “nurse” demeanor when all she wanted to do was keep staring, she forced a shrug. “Don’t worry,” she parroted. “I’m immune.”

“Ah, yes, a sad byproduct of the nursing profession.”

“The same can be said of plastic surgeons,” she lobbed back.

See? She could be just as suave and sophisticated as he could.

“Ah, but I could never grow immune to the wonders of the female body.”

Scratch that last thought. She might be able to put on a pretty good act but she could never be as sophisticated as he was. Inside, there were still remnants of the shy little orphan she’d once been. One who’d latched onto Marcos’s hand the day he’d arrived at the orphanage, while shooting his cute little brother surreptitious peeks from beneath childish lashes. She’d been bowled over by Lucas then, and as aggravating as it might be, it appeared she was still flustered by him now.

Tall, at six feet two—at least, according to his chart—with dark wavy hair that hung low on his forehead and even darker eyes, he was mesmerizingly beautiful. Kind of apt for someone in his line of work, but Sophia could swear his good looks owed nothing to plastic surgery. There were faint crinkles radiating from the corners of his eyes and a long line bracketed his left cheek, evidence of a slightly lopsided smile that she could remember even from his childhood.

The times he’d smiled, that was.

Both brothers had seemed strangely grown up, even as young children. Which made sense, considering they’d lived in one of the notorious favelas that dotted the landscape.

And although Lucas still spoke flawless Portuguese, an American accent threaded its way through each and every word, sending shivers over her each time he opened his mouth.

Or she could just be catching the flu.

Realizing she hadn’t responded to his outrageous comment, she climbed to her feet, hoping the added height would snap her back to normal.

Mistake. Because her eyes only came up to his neck, where a pulse beat a steady tattoo against his skin.

Time to send him on his way. “Now that you’ve had your fun, do you need help getting back to your room?”

As nonchalant as he might appear, she couldn’t forget he was less than a week out of major surgery to repair damage to his liver. And when she glanced higher, she spied a tell-tale glimmer of moisture across his upper lip, but he held her gaze with a steadiness that surprised her.

He shook his head, his eyes trailing down her face then pausing to retrace their path, a slight pucker appearing between his dark brows. She forced herself to remain still when he reached across the desk, his thumb brushing the area just below her right nostril and sliding to the bottom of her lip. Her heart rate shot through the roof, stomach quivering at the unexpected contact. She should be furious at his audacity, angry at how quickly he’d noticed what she’d done her best to hide, but the warmth of his skin somehow blotted out everything...except the sensation of flesh sliding against flesh.

She swallowed then answered his unspoken question. “I was born with a cleft lip. It was repaired when I was one.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...” For the first time he looked uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable with what? The image of how she must have looked before her reconstructive surgery?

Surely not. But this was a man who sold beauty for a living...who knew perfection—or imperfection—the second he saw it.

Very few people ever spotted her scar. And she’d had enough attention from the male population to know that her curves tended to be the first thing a man noticed about her. Maybe that was a blessing.

But she couldn’t count the number of times she’d wished a man would look into her eyes rather than stare down the front of her shirt.

Yeah? Well, here was one who had, and look what he zeroed in on.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure in your line of work...” She let the words hang in mid-air.

His brows went up. “Why do I get the feeling the last part of that comment would have been less than flattering.”

“Not unflattering, just realistic. I’m sure your training lends itself to searching for flaws and then fixing them.”

“Ah, yes. Well, if that were the case, I have two pretty big flaws right now, don’t I?”

She blinked in surprise. “Really? And what would those be?” Because she couldn’t see the slightest hint of any defect in the man standing in front of her. In fact, she was kind of looking forward to the moment when he’d turn around and walk away, just so she could get a peek at what all the other people in the wing could still see.

He lifted his bandaged arm. “Bullet holes tend to announce their presence in no uncertain terms.”

Yes, they did. And that was her cue to get this man back to bed where he belonged.

Deus! That last thought carried a few more Freudian connotations than she cared to admit.

A laugh bubbled up her throat before she could stop it, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing. We just need to get you back in...in your room before you collapse.”

His glance tracked to her chest, where her nametag hung, and then back up to her face. “Sophia, right? You were in the hospital after my surgery.”

The laughter dried up in a flash. “Yes.”

“And when I took my first steps after the surgery.”