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.”
She nodded. “I work here.”
The words sounded ridiculous, even to her, but she did not want to explain that they’d met before. Or ask if he remembered her from when he’d been four years old. Of course he wouldn’t. He’d had a brand-new life in a brand-new country. Even his last name was different now than it had been when he’d been at the orphanage.
The weird thing was that seeing him again dredged up that infantile crush she’d had on him way back when—her very first memory from her childhood days. She’d seen that beautiful face and stared at him in awe...right before she’d grabbed hold of Marcos’s hand instead—too afraid to say anything to the boy standing next to him. She’d warmed up to him later but it had been a very different warmth from what she was feeling right now.
Those brown eyes touched on her scar once more and then brushed across her lips. Could he sense her thoughts? Deus, she hoped not. With a rough indrawn breath his gaze left her and moved to his uninjured hand, which was still hanging onto the IV pole, knuckles white as his grip tightened further. “I think you’re right. I’ve had about all I can stand for one day. Would you mind giving me a hand?”
Sophia steadied her emotions and drew on years of training. “Sure.”
Moving around the desk, she commandeered the IV stand and tucked her shoulder beneath his arm. “You ready?”
Even as he gritted out an affirmative, and they started to make their way back down the corridor, she was very aware of the warmth of his body against hers and the fact that her arm was resting across naked skin where his robe parted. Her heart shivered a couple of times then leaped into space, landing at the bottom of her abdominal cavity with a thud. It didn’t quite shatter, but there was definitely a crack or two lining its tough protective surface.
Get real, Sophia. He’s just one more patient in a long list of patients. He’ll be gone in a matter of days or at the most a few weeks.
Maybe it was better if he never remembered her. If she never mentioned their time together at the orphanage.
She attempted small talk as they shuffled back down the hallway. “It’s really bacana that you and your brother found each other after all these years.”
“Bacana?” Lucas stopped for a second to look down at her.
She searched around for an English word that would get across the meaning. “It’s um...cool. Good.”
“Yes. Very cool.” The way his muscles stiffened at her words made her wonder if he really did think it was. But why wouldn’t he? Marcos was a great guy. Besides, now he could get to know his home country. Get to know someone he’d once been close to.
Unlike her, who had no one. Whose parents, although still alive, had left her at an orphanage when she’d been a baby because they hadn’t had the money to deal with her defect—an unfortunate reality in her country.
They’d reached out to her once, when she’d moved into her teenage years, when her government-funded surgery had been but a distant memory, but things had been strained and neither her parents nor her had particularly wanted to pick up the pieces. They’d moved to another part of Brazil by the time she’d reached adulthood, and although she still had their address, she’d never bothered to get back in touch with them. And they’d never contacted her again.
Her downed heart rolled around, reminding her of its presence. Hmm...maybe those cracks in it weren’t so new after all. Maybe, like her lip, they’d healed with barely a trace. Until a hard knock—or the gentle brush of a thumb—had brought back all the reasons she needed to be on guard.
Especially with a man who’d spied what lay beneath her make-up within the space of a heartbeat but hadn’t been able to see beyond it. Lucas had touched her scar back then as well—when it had been fresher and more noticeable. Before she’d learned how to cover it up with the quick flick of her make-up brush.
Surely she’d be able to do the same with her heart. By the time she was done, no one—not even the plastic surgeon by her side—would be able to see through the carefully applied layers.
And that was just the way she wanted it.
CHAPTER TWO
LUCAS HAD JUST perched on the edge of his bed when a buzzing sound came from the nurse’s pocket.
“Oh, sorry. I was expecting your brother to call me this morning between rounds. He wanted to check on you.”
He waved her away. “Go ahead.”
His legs felt like spaghetti, despite his trash talk a few minutes ago at the nurses’ station. He hated feeling helpless. Hated being at someone else’s mercy.
Something about that fact tickled the back of his subconscious. A memory he couldn’t quite grasp no matter how hard he tried.
Sophia pulled the phone from her pocket, her eyes still on his as she checked the readout. “It’s Marcos. I’m sure he’ll want to say hi.”
Answering the phone, her eyes sparkled as she chatted with his brother, asking him about how things were going in the States. Something he said made her laugh. “Well, tell Maggie I send my love.”
The