the deed was a marvel in logistics co-ordination, but he somehow made it to the finish line without doing a face plant, and even washed and dried his uninjured hand afterwards.
There. He felt more independent already.
Right.
Judging from the pale face staring at him in the mirror, he might feel independent but he could use a big infusion of some kind of miracle drug. He jabbed his fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead, not that it helped much.
Now that he was up, though, there was no way he was climbing back in that bed and staring at the dull white ceiling for hours on end. He’d done enough of that. So if walking would get him out of this place any faster, he would do just that. In fact, he’d jog if he had to.
All by himself.
He ignored the remote control dangling by its cord off the side of the bed and slogged his way toward the door, feeling like he was pushing through a huge vat of Jell-O. He refused to call for a nurse who would fuss over him like he vaguely remembered his brother doing when they’d been kids. At least until he and Marcos had been separated and grown up on two completely different continents.
His birth country had evidently missed him as much as he’d missed it, judging from the two slugs the doctors had dug out of him. His mouth twisted. Maybe he should have just stayed in the States.
Taking a deep breath and hoping he wouldn’t live to regret the move, he pulled the heavy metal lever on the door and stepped into the hallway.
As a testament to how utterly fantastic his last couple of days had been, the door hit him squarely on the ass as it closed, almost sending him and his IV pole spinning to the floor.
He bit back a whole string of English cuss words that could get him into trouble, even here in Brazil, and pulled himself upright.
It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood...
With a heavy sigh of resignation he started down the long corridor in search of some answers. Or a good stiff drink. Whichever he came across first.
* * *
Nossa Senhora do céu!
Sophia Limeira’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
As head nurse, she should probably show a little more dignity but, Deus, she couldn’t help but stare in awe as every female head—patients and visitors alike—turned in graceful synchronization to watch Lucas Carvalho make his way down the hall.
Long legs showed off the beautiful lithe movements of someone who knew the effect he had on those around him. Even with his left arm in a sling and dragging an IV stand along with him, he could have crooked a finger at any woman in the place and she’d have rushed toward him, snarling and snapping at anyone who dared get in her way. Even eighty-seven-year-old Marta Silva, who was parked in a wheelchair against the south wall, looked like she might slither from her seat and land in a heap at his feet.
Thankfully, Sophia was firmly anchored in her office chair—behind the desk that sat directly in Lucas’s path.
It was then she noticed he wasn’t making the slightest effort to hold his hospital gown closed at the back.
Maybe that was why all the women were ogling him.
It wasn’t entirely his fault, as both his hands were occupied with other things but, still, she was really, really glad he was facing her.
Although that was ridiculous. She was a nurse, for heaven’s sake. She’d seen plenty of bare masculine butts over the last ten years.
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,
