One Hot Night with Dr. Cardoza: Get swept away with this sparkling summer romance!

CHAPTER ONE

AMY WOODELL ADJUSTED the single strap of her teal gown one last time as she entered the swanky hotel. She’d ripped out the stitches and resewn it in an attempt to pull up the hemline just a bit. But it hadn’t quite solved the problem.

In her rush to pack for her trip to Brazil, she’d brought the wrong shoes. The heels on her silver slingbacks were about an inch shorter than the black stilettos she normally would have worn. But she’d been a last-minute addition to the people who’d be attending the summer lecture program at the fabulous Hospital Universitário Paulista. And between a rushed itinerary followed by flight delays, there’d been no time to go shopping. She’d added a silver-linked belt to her waistline as an additional way to keep her dress from dragging the floor.

Glancing through the palm trees and lush tropical decor, she spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Krysta, wasn’t that her name? The customs and immigration line had been long, but fortunately she’d met Krysta, who was also part of the group of visiting doctors—a specialist in otolaryngology and facial reconstruction. They’d hit it off almost immediately, the other woman’s friendly nature helping put her nerves at ease.

Amy’s mom’s sudden death six months ago had put her life into a tailspin, making her realize how little firsthand knowledge she’d had about her mother’s heritage. Being in Brazil—her mom’s home country—made her feel connected to her in a way that defied logic. And she had an uncle she’d never even met, who supposedly lived on the outskirts of São Paulo, according to an address in her mom’s things.

Well, she was going to make the most of these three months! And if she could adopt a little bit of her mother’s philosophy of living in the moment, even better.

Heading toward Krysta and hoping against hope that the other woman remembered her from the immigration line, she surveyed the room. Round tables were topped with silk damask tablecloths and huge flower-strewn topiaries. The colors and lush tropical theme were like something out of a pricey travel magazine. It was gorgeous.

So were the people.

And Amy had never felt more out of place.

Her eyes met those of a man across the room, his lean physique and good looks making her steps falter for a minute. He stood straight and tall, his black hair melding with his equally black clothing; everything from his suit to his tie to the tips of his polished shoes were dark.

She shivered. He could have been the angel of death or a grim reaper—albeit a gorgeous one—here to mete out swift justice. All he lacked was a scythe. He did have something in his hand, although she couldn’t quite tell what it... When she realized she was rooted in place...and that she was staring—staring!—she forced her feet back into motion.

Oh, Lord.

Maybe he hadn’t noticed. She chanced another quick peek and was thankful to see him talking to some cute blonde, his mouth curving to reveal a flash of white teeth. Her insides gave a deep shiver.

Probably his wife, Amy.

Who thankfully hadn’t noticed a strange woman ogling her husband.

She made it to Krysta and forced a smile, although she was suddenly feeling even less sure of her place here. And her reaction to a complete stranger? Ridiculous.

Although if she had been her vibrant, larger than life mother, she would have marched right over and introduced herself to him. Laughed at his jokes. Fluttered her lashes at him a time or two. Cecília Rodrigo Woodell had never met a stranger. Something that used to embarrass Amy. But not anymore.

Wow, this is quite a welcoming party. I don’t know if you remember me. Amy Woodell?

Krysta nodded. Of course I do. You’re a physical therapist, right? She got the attention of the woman next to her. Amy, this is Flávia Maura. She actually works in the Atlantic Forest with venomous snakes and spiders. She’s here to give a lecture.

Nice to meet you. I hate to admit it, but snakes kind of terrify me. She held up her palm, where two small scars were still visible. Pygmy rattlers are pretty common in Florida. So are pools. And the two of them seem to find each other. A lot.

Flávia shifted her attention from something in the crowd back to Amy and Krysta, smoothing her palms down the front of her dress as if suddenly ill at ease in it.

"Yes, I’m familiar with rattlesnakes. But I’ll admit the only snakes that disgust me are the ones that strut around on two legs, brag about their avô’s contributions to this hospital and spend much of their time insulting others."

She sent a glare back into the crowd. "But that’s neither here nor there. And hopefully neither of you will have to deal with that particular cobra." The bits and pieces of Portuguese mixed with her English made the statement sound slightly sinister.

The image of Tall, Dark and Reaperish popped up in her head. Was Flávia talking about him? She’d kind of been looking off in that general direction. If so, Amy should be doubly glad she wouldn’t have to work with him. Or flutter her lashes at him.

Although that smile hadn’t made him look like a snake. Or even a jerk. But then again, looks could be deceiving. As she’d found out from her job. And her last boyfriend, who’d appeared to be totally into her. Until he wasn’t. She’d learned the hard way that ghosting was actually a real phenomenon.

From now on she was going to keep things between her and men light and simple. Maybe somewhere in the neighborhood of fling territory. And the Reaper? That glance he’d given her had been anything but light or simple.

Flávia smiled. "I see movement by the podium. I think they’re getting ready to give the welcomes. Até logo."

Nice to meet you, Flávia. Amy smiled back before turning to Krysta. See you soon, too, I hope, she said with a light touch of Krysta’s arm. She then began to circle the tables, waiting for further instructions. She almost tripped over the hem of her dress before yanking it up again. Ugh!

The wait was longer than she expected it to be, but just as she was trying to decide whether or not to find Krysta again, someone at the front of the room tapped the microphone. We want to take a moment to welcome our visiting doctors and lecturers. We’re very excited about this year’s summer lecture program.

She shifted her weight. She wasn’t a doctor. Furthering her education had been on the back burner for a long time, but recently she’d started giving it serious thought and had included that fact on her application.

The speaker’s English was excellent. Since there were people here from all over the world, it made sense that they’d address the group in that language. Despite having a mother who was Brazilian, Amy unfortunately hadn’t taken advantage of practicing her Portuguese. So, she’d pretty much stuck to short simple phrasings since she’d arrived, although she could understand most of what was said.

If you haven’t already done so, please consult the seating chart at the entrance to find your place. Dinner will be served shortly, so if you could take your seats as soon as possible, that would be appreciated.

Amy took a deep breath and headed over to the seating chart just as someone else was getting there. Sensing someone to her left, she turned with a smile to introduce herself. It quickly faded. It was the Reaper. And up close, those flaws she expected to see were nonexistent. Also nonexistent was the blonde he’d been with moments earlier. She forced herself to speak.

Hello. I’m Amy Woodell.

Ah, so you are our physical therapist? I have been wondering about you.

The way he said our in that gruff, accented English gave the words a sense of intimacy that made her swallow. It served to reinforce her weird initial reaction to him. She forced her lashes to stay put until her eyes burned with the effort.

Stupid, Amy. Probably married. Remember?

Yes, I guess I am. And am I the only one? She slid a thumb under her the strap of her dress, afraid it might slide down.

You are indeed. I’m Roque Cardoza, the head of orthopedics. We’ll be working together, it seems. He glanced at the seating chart. And sitting together. Shall we go?

Working? And sitting? Together? Oh, no!

She blinked a couple of times in rapid succession, her composure beginning to crumble as they made their way to the table. He had a cane in his left hand. Had he injured himself? Not that she was going to ask. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m anxious to get started.

Actually, she was anxious to be anywhere but here, suddenly.

Yes. As am I.

She shivered. It had to be the language that gave everything that smooth seductive air. She could get addicted to listening to him. And the way his eyes remained fastened to her face the whole time he’d addressed her... But not in a creepy way. Not like how she’d sized him up earlier.

Her thumb dipped out from under her strap, almost wishing it would slip, just so they could be on equal footing as far as staring went. Her eyes dropped to his ring finger, but it was empty. Not even a hint that one had been recently removed, although that meant nothing. Lots of people chose not to wear their wedding bands. And it didn’t look like staff members had brought their significant others to the soiree, since they didn’t seem to be paired up that way.

Roque indicated her seat and waited for her to take it before sliding into his own, propping his cane against the table. He hadn’t used the cane to walk and there was no orthopedic boot on his foot, and he’d certainly had no problem maneuvering into his chair. In fact, he was...

Nothing. He was nothing. And he definitely wasn’t light. Or simple. Her two new requirements in a man.

Time to squash those fling thoughts that kept circling her head like vultures looking for any sign of weakness.

She turned her attention to the person in the seat to her right. The woman was another visiting doctor from London who specialized in sports medicine.

The doctor you were speaking with also specializes in sports medicine, I hear, so it’ll be interesting to hear things from his perspective.

Was he listening?

Some of my early physical therapy work was at a center specializing in sports injuries. Those are hard, since most athletes need the affected area of the body in order to perform adequately. Sometimes they never completely recover.

Yes. Sometimes that is the case. No matter how much physical therapy they may receive. The comment came from Roque. So he was listening. And his words had a strange, almost angry quality to them.

Anything she might have said in response was halted as dinner plates were brought around to the tables.

She knew this dish. This looks like shrimp in coconut milk, like my mom used to make.

Your mother is Brazilian?

Amy glanced at him. "Yes. I think she called this camarão no leite de coco."

Very good. So you speak Portuguese as well?

I understand a lot. But I’m sorry to say I only have survival-skill fluency as far as speaking goes. My tongue gets tripped up.

His fingers came to rest on the table. If you understand the mechanics, then it’s only a matter of practice for the tongue. Soon it remembers exactly how to move.

She gulped as those vultures continued to circle. Everything he said carried a double-edged whammy that made her senses reel. She’d gotten all kinds of sly innuendos while working on male patients over the years. Both married and unmarried. But she wasn’t getting those vibes from Roque. At all. He wasn’t doing it on purpose.

And yet she found her body reacting to them—to him!—and that horrified her.

I don’t think I’ll be here long enough to get in that kind of practice. She decided to rope those vultures and jerk them out of the sky. He was one of the first men she’d actually sat down to talk to in Brazil, so it made sense that she might notice him more than she normally would.

After her mom died, she’d realized how much life the woman had exuded. How many chances she’d taken in the living of it, and how little of herself she’d held back. When Amy was a kid, she’d struggled with having a mother who was so open, so friendly. But only now was she wishing she had a little more of her mom’s joie de vivre. Fully embracing any and all opportunities. Including in the area of love.

And Roque?

Not one of those opportunities. Especially if he was involved with someone.

And if he wasn’t?

She was only here for three months. If she met someone else, someone other than a man she’d be working with, why not have a little fun? And this time, she’d have no expectations. Unlike her last relationship.

Her mom had met Amy’s father while he was in Brazil on business. They’d fallen in love instantly. Before they knew it, they were married, and Amy’s mom had uprooted herself from everything she’d known to be with the man she loved. He’d died five years later, and her mom had stayed in Florida to be close to his grave. And now she was buried next to him.

Not something Amy could imagine herself doing. Florida was one of the last links she had with her parents. She actually worked at the hospital she’d been born in.

If the hospital administration finds out that you understand the language, I can guarantee they will use that to their advantage.

And if they don’t know?

Vão descobrir, com certeza.

She took a bite of shrimp, the rich luscious flavors rolling around in her mouth. Swallowing, she said, They won’t find out. Not unless you tell them. Too late she realized that he’d spoken to her in Portuguese.

I think I will not have to tell them... Amy. Her name came out sounding like Ahh-Mee, all musical and so horrifyingly attractive.

She licked her lips, trying to maintain her grip on what little composure she had left.

He was right. There was no way she could keep her knowledge of the language a secret. But the truth was, she was embarrassed to speak. She hated making mistakes of any kind. And yet Roque’s English wasn’t perfect, and he was still willing to try in order to be understood. And at a hospital