One Hot Night with Dr. Cardoza Page 13

  “This is my life. Not the football stuff. I want to live in the present, not cling to the past.”

  Amy turned to face him. He was speaking in riddles today, and she wasn’t quite sure what any of it meant. But when he pushed away from the door and walked toward her, Amy’s mouth went dry. He had the same look in his eye that he’d had the day they made love.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  “No. But then I didn’t tell you how handsome you look, either. But you do.”

  “I thought you didn’t find me all that attractive.”

  “I lied.”

  He laughed, then reached for her hand and slowly reeled her in. “I’ve had a hard time taking my eyes off you all night.”

  Splaying her hands against his chest, she tipped her head back to look at that firm jaw, the slightest dusting of stubble across his chin making her want to slide her fingers across the scruff, let it tickle her cheek, her neck... Her lips parted as the thoughts continued.

  “I didn’t really want to give you a tour of the house, you know. I wanted to get you alone.”

  “You did?” She smiled. “I never would have guessed.”

  “I think that is yet another lie.”

  “Maybe.” Happiness shimmered in her belly, making its rounds as it captured more and more of her doubts and locked them away. “Why did you want to get me alone?”

  “So I could do this.” His kiss took her by surprise. It wasn’t the hard, desperate kisses from their night together. No, this was the slow brushing of lips. The touch and release that repeated over and over until she was breathless for more. He whispered her name, drawing it out in a low murmur that set her heart on fire, made her hope he actually felt something for her, despite what he’d told her in the courtyard at the hospital.

  “I want to come to your house, after this. Say yes. Please.” His hand came up and cupped her breast, thumb finding her nipple with a precision that made her breath catch. “Afterward I want to talk.”

  Talk. If his behavior right now was any indication of what he wanted to say to her, it couldn’t be bad. Right? Because right now the man was burning red hot and setting her on fire right along with him.

  “Yes. And I have something I want to tell you, too. I think I—”

  A long pained scream from below shattered the intimacy in an instant.

  “It’s Mom.”

  He let her go and opened the door, hurrying down the stairs and leaving her to follow. When she got to the bottom Claudia was in Roque’s arms sobbing uncontrollably, her choppy speech too broken up for her to follow.

  And then Roque’s eyes came up, and in them was a kind of pain she’d never seen before.

  “My father has been shot.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ROQUE DIDN’T CALL her like he’d said he would when he’d dropped her off at her house on his way to the hospital. And as the hours grew longer she became more and more concerned. She’d offered to go with him, but he thanked her and said he needed to be with his family right now, effectively shutting her out.

  She didn’t think he meant to; he was just in a hurry. Completely understandable. He was worried.

  Well, so was she. She cared about his parents, too. Maybe more than she should.

  And she’d been almost convinced he cared about her, too, after the way he talked to her in the bedroom.

  She finally gave up waiting and tried to call his cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail after one ring. She didn’t leave a message. There was no need. He would know what she wanted. She decided to just go up there instead. She could at least show him support, even if he had to stay by his father’s bedside.

  Or was it too late? Had he died, and they were all trying to come to terms with it? Seeing Claudia broken and weeping in her son’s arms had torn her heart in two. She’d felt helpless, unsure what to do.

  She still did.

  And that look in Roque’s eyes...

  She saw it every time she blinked. The despair. The horror.

  Calling a taxi, she went to the elevator, glancing at Lara’s door and remembering the day of the party and how her eyes had widened when she saw Roque standing in the corridor with her. How embarrassed she’d been.

  It seemed like forever ago. And now it was almost over. The goodbye party was rushing toward them at breakneck speed, and once that happened she would have one more day before she boarded a flight taking her back to the States.

  And she hadn’t told Roque how she felt. She’d started to in the bedroom just before he got the news about his father. And she certainly couldn’t do it now.

  The taxi ride took a mere ten minutes, but it seemed like hours. The closer they got, the more uneasy she became. If he’d wanted her there, he wouldn’t have taken the time to drop her off at the house; he would have just gone straight to the hospital.

  Unimportant. Inconsequential.

  He’d never taken those words back.

  Roque had been a star footballer. He was probably used to adulation and women throwing themselves at him.

  Do you really think he could fall for someone like you?

  The insecurities she’d felt when she first came to Brazil surfaced all over again: What did she think she was doing here?

  But the taxi had pulled up outside of the hospital, so it was too late to turn around. So swallowing, she got out of the vehicle and paid the driver before slowly walking toward the entrance of the hospital.

  She spotted Roque immediately; he was sitting in one of the chairs facing the glassed-in entrance to the emergency room, his head between his hands. No one else was around him.

  Oh, God. Had his father died? He was a police officer, one of the most dangerous jobs in all of Brazil. She hesitated by the door, trying to decide whether or not she should intrude. Then his head came up and he speared her with a look. He looked neither angry nor glad. He just looked...empty.

  She slowly made her way over, clasping her hands together. She sat, leaving one chair in between them, just in case he really didn’t want her there.

  He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “I saw that you called.”

  Amy had assumed he was busy with his father or trying to comfort his mother. But maybe he just hadn’t wanted to talk to her. “I didn’t leave a message. I figured you had other things to think about.” She hesitated. “How is he?”

  “He’s in surgery. They don’t know if he’s going to make it or not.” He swore softly. “He went into one of the favelas to make an arrest and there was a shootout. A bullet nicked his femoral artery. He almost bled out at the scene. His heart stopped on the ride over.”

  “I’m so sorry. Your mom...?”

  He looked away. “She’s in the chapel, praying.”

  And Roque was not. He was out here. Alone.

  The people who were at the house were nowhere to be seen. Maybe they were in the chapel with his mom.

  She wanted to touch his hand, but the space between them seemed too great, and not just in terms of physical space. There was something distant in his attitude. Maybe it was just fear and worry.

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. If he lives, he’ll have a long recovery ahead of him. That has to take priority for me.” He turned to look at her. “I’ve asked to be replaced for the rest of the lecture series, so you’ll be working with someone else for the remainder of your stay. I probably won’t be at the sendoff party. Or see you before you leave. I’m sorry about that.”

  He was sorry that he wouldn’t be there to see her leave? But not about the fact that she was leaving? That he might never see her again?

  She was being selfish. The man’s father might die, for God’s sake. She could always talk to him on the phone before she left.

  And maybe it would go straight to voice mail like it had tonigh
t.

  What had he said back at the house?

  His voice ran through her head as if he were reciting the words all over again: “I’m not a fan of hanging on to things that are in the past. Or of saying long goodbyes to things I can’t retrieve. I’d rather the cut be swift and final.”

  He hadn’t offered to keep her updated on how his dad was doing, while she was here or once she left Brazil.

  Her stomach cramped with grief.

  She wasn’t going to sit by the phone and wait, though. Not this time. Evidently ghosting could occur while the person was sitting right beside you.

  She stood. “I understand. You need to be here with your dad. Please tell your mom that I’m thinking about her and hope Andre will be okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  Amy looked at him for a long time, committing the lines and planes of his face to memory. Then in a soft voice she said, “Goodbye, Roque.”

  And with that, she turned and walked away.

  * * *

  She was right. He didn’t contact her—although she had heard that his father pulled through his surgery. Nor had he come to see the final days of Enzo’s physical therapy treatments. And he was nowhere to be seen at the party, which was now in full swing.

  These festivities didn’t seem as new or full of hope as the welcome party had. Amy could see Francisco Carvalho chatting quietly to Krysta, his face full of sadness. And her friend told her that Flávia had been bitten by a venomous snake not long ago and had almost died. Thankfully she’d made an almost miraculous recovery. Amy hoped there were enough miracles floating around to touch Roque’s dad in his long rehabilitation. She still wished Roque well. Despite a heart that was swollen and heavy. Of all the people to fall in love with.

  All she could do was go home and do her best to forget him. Pack him away like that white eyelet dress of hers.

  She could throw herself into her doctoral studies where she had no time to think about anything except school. Roque was right about one thing: letting go of the past. She’d held on to her parents’ home for far too long, treating it almost like a shrine, the way Roque’s mom did with his football memorabilia. She loved her mom and dad and they would always be with her, but she needed to make a fresh start. Maybe even in another part of the country.

  This time she could do things right and not hold on to what she couldn’t have. So, taking one last look around the swanky decor with its loud music and sad goodbyes, she looked for the nearest exit and showed herself out.

  * * *

  Roque’s dad was finally out of the woods after three grueling weeks of advances and setbacks. He was going to have to go through cardiac rehab to strengthen the damaged muscle in his heart, and it would take months before he could go back to work, and that might not even happen if he couldn’t recover enough of his strength. But he was nearing retirement age and was thinking about just handing in his badge and drawing his pension. It was certainly what his mom wanted.

  And what did Roque want?

  He knew he hadn’t been exactly welcoming when Amy came to the hospital, but his thoughts had been so chaotic he hadn’t had time to think. His dad’s surgery had made him realize how uncertain life was. How painful endings could be. As he’d sat in the waiting room his thoughts had turned to Amy right about the time her call came through.

  When Roque’s own injury had sidelined him, he’d tried his damnedest to hold on to his old life, convincing himself that he was going to play football again. It had taken the reality of using a walker for months, and a visit from Enzo Dos Santos, to make him realize he needed to let go.

  Which is what he’d needed to do with Amy. She had her whole life ahead of her. Her whole career. He told her he knew she was going to get her doctorate one day, and she said she was planning to start working on it when she got home. She couldn’t do that if he was sitting there clinging to her, like he’d clung to his football dreams.

  He’d had no business sleeping with her. Or anything else. It had been rash and irresponsible, and if he’d followed through with what he’d been about to tell her in his childhood bedroom, he could have derailed her life. It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask her to stay in Brazil. With him.

  He realized as he was sitting at his mother’s dinner table that he loved the woman. In a way that he couldn’t say of any other woman. Not even Halee.

  And as his mom sat in the chapel of the hospital, begging her husband to stay with her, begging God to keep him there by any means necessary, he knew he couldn’t do the same with Amy. He wasn’t going to ask some deity to make her stay, wasn’t going to make promises he couldn’t keep.

  He was going to let her go. Because he loved her. Because he wanted her life to be as rich and full as it could be. His life before his accident had been selfish and self-serving. He thought he’d grown past all of that. Until he realized he’d be going back to his old ways if he asked her to stay.

  There was a knock at his office door. He grunted at whoever it was to come in, only to meet his mom’s chiding face.

  “Roquinho, is this how you greet your mother?”

  “I’m sorry. Is Papai okay?”

  “He is in rehab and doesn’t want me there. He can’t stand for me to see him weak. What he doesn’t know is that he’s the strongest man I’ve ever met.” She leaned over his desk, her hands planted on its surface. “And I thought you were just like him. But now I am not so sure.”

  He barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. He knew exactly where she was headed with this. “She’s going to continue her education, Mamãe. I’m not going to keep her from her dreams.”

  “Did you ask her what her dreams were?”

  “I already know what they are.”

  “So you didn’t. And when you were hiding in your bedroom with her? Why did you not ask her then?”

  He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “How did you know where we were?”

  “I know where all young men want to go with a pretty woman. One they’re in love with.” She dropped into the chair in front of his desk. “Don’t try to deny it.”

  He gritted his teeth and forced his way through. He did not want to talk right now. Not about Amy. Not about anything. He wanted to work.

  “It changes nothing.”

  She leaned forward. “Why not ask her?”

  “I already told you. I know what she wants.” He picked up a pencil and twirled it between his fingers. “Asking her to give that up would be selfish.”

  “Why would you ask her to give it up? A...what did you say? Doctorate? It takes how long to get?”

  “I don’t know. Three years. Why?”

  She blinked. “Oh, Roquinho. Don’t you see? Three years is not such a long time.”

  “I don’t see how any of this—”

  She held up her hand. “She left Brazil to pursue her dream, yes? So why can you not leave Brazil...to pursue her?”

  He sat back in his chair, the creaky wheels in his head starting to turn again. For someone who was not even a surgeon, his mom had cut clean through to the heart of the matter. Why couldn’t he go to the States to be with her, while she worked on her degree? With his credentials, he could probably do something while he was there, maybe even research how to get his certification in the States. But that wasn’t what was important; it was something that could be decided afterward. Once they both got what they wanted: Amy her degree and a fulfilling career. And maybe Roque...could somehow, in some weird twist of the universe, get Amy.

  If she would even have him after the way he’d brushed her off.

  All he could do was try. The question was, was he willing to?

  Yes.

  He came around the desk and took his mom’s wise face in his hands, giving her a hard kiss on the cheek. “Have I ever told you how glad I am that you’re my mother?”

  “I think you just d
id.”

  She stood up and hugged him tightly. When she let him go, he saw tears in her eyes.

  “Now, go. And tell her I would like to work on another of her dresses. This time it will be white with layers and layers of lace.”

  “I’ll tell her. I promise.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AMY SAT IN her first day of classes, trying to concentrate on what the professor was saying. But even two months post-Roque, her thoughts still returned toward him. And it made her furious.

  He doesn’t love you, Amy. Get over it.

  He would have made some effort to contact her if he felt anything at all. She’d been so, so sure that he cared when he kissed her that last time in his bedroom. But she’d given him every opportunity to say something. And instead there was only silence. A silence which continued even now.

  Class was dismissed, and she headed out to the parking lot, slinging her book bag over her shoulder. Getting her degree seemed so worthless right now. Right now being the operative words. Once she stopped daydreaming about a certain Brazilian orthopedic surgeon and stopped seeing him at every turn, like at that lamppost over there.

  She rolled her eyes, until she realized she’d never actually seen him teleported from her head to a physical location. Looking again, thinking she’d just mistaken someone else for him, she stopped dead in her tracks when she realized she wasn’t mistaken. And he hadn’t teleported.

  He was here. In Florida, looking just as outrageously gorgeous as he had in Brazil.

  Then he smiled. And, just like always, something inside of her somersaulted.

  What was he doing here? Was he at a conference?