Awakened By Her Brooding Brazilian / Falling For The Single Dad Surgeon

Just then, as Jake Cooper added something to the conversation, Krysta’s gaze met Francisco’s, and tingles ran up and down his spine at her dark, intent stare. Her lush lips parted slightly, as though to speak, and then she blinked, and turned away toward one of the surgical nurses who’d asked a question.

A question Francisco missed, completely.

Ridiculous. Get a hold on yourself.

He would be less than useless to the patient if he didn’t get his mind back on the job at hand. These feelings, cravings, could be dealt with later.

Dragging his concentration back to the meeting, he made it a point to avoid looking at the alluring doctor for the rest of the time, and took off as soon as everything wrapped up.

Although off shift, going straight home didn’t appeal. Whereas up until now he’d been perfectly content with going from work to apartment and back again with few deviations, tonight just thinking about his silent, empty apartment increased his restlessness. Instead, he turned into a restaurant near the hospital, and made his way to the bar.

When his drink arrived, he cupped it in his hand, although he didn’t take a sip.

He’d never minded solitude before. Even when caught up in the crazy world of modeling, of being Mari’s lover, with its constant whirl of parties and galas and openings, he’d had to sneak away periodically, just to be alone. Never did he feel lonely, at those times when he was by himself in a hotel room, far from home, or even hiding from the press, sequestered in his Rio apartment. Mind you, then he’d also been studying, more determined than ever to make it to, and then through, medical school.

Why, now, did being alone chafe so?

Not even the thought of seeing his family soon lifted his spirits.

A hand on his shoulder startled him from his ruminations.

“Mind some company?” Jake Cooper smiled, and tilted his head toward the bar stool next to Francisco.

Throwing off his dour mood, Francisco replied, “Please have a seat.”

Doing as bid, Jake signaled the bartender and, when the smiling woman approached, ordered a Scotch. On receiving it, Jake took a sip, and sighed.

“I needed that,” he said with a wry twist of his lips.

“I hope that’s not an indication of how much you’re enjoying being here,” Francisco teased. “I’d hate to think Paulista’s is anything but welcoming.”

“Not at all,” Jake replied. “Just having some personal issues.”

Tell me about it.

Francisco didn’t pry. Not being the type given to confidences, he rarely asked others to share theirs. He’d heard around the hospital that Jake had brought his nephew, who now lived with him, to Brazil. Perhaps that was where his problem lay.

“So, what do you think of Krysta Simpson?” Jake asked.

Of all the topics, this was the one Francisco least wanted broached. Yet, there was nothing for it but to reply, “She’s brilliant, and nice as well. Not always the case in a surgeon of her caliber.”

“Agreed,” Jake said, although he sent Francisco a sideways glance as he spoke. “I was a little surprised at Enzo’s determination to have her do his reconstruction, but he told me she was recommended to him by a friend at the Mayo Clinic. Once I looked into her record, I could understand why.”

“She’s a star,” Francisco said. “It’s the honor of my career to work with her. Under normal circumstances, we probably would never even have met.”

“Ah, and here she is,” Jake said, without commenting on Francisco’s statement. “I invited her to have dinner with me.”

He accompanied the words with a wave toward the door, and Francisco turned to see the topic of their conversation hesitating by the doorway.

She was having dinner with Jake Cooper? The confluence of desire and jealousy driving through his chest stole his breath, so much so that when he spoke, his voice was gravelly.

Rough.

“Well, I won’t keep you from your meal,” he said, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman walking toward them, even knowing he should turn away.

What was it about her that drew him this way?

“Nonsense,” Jake said briskly, rising from his seat. “It’s a working meal, so you should just join us.”

Francisco rose, too, all too aware of her sparkling, somehow serious eyes trained on him as Krysta neared.

“Hi,” she said, her gaze holding his effortlessly. “I didn’t know you’d be joining us.”

Did that mean she was sorry he was? Was she interested in Jake Cooper, not as a fellow physician, but personally?

“I just invited him,” Jake said, drawing her attention and finally releasing Francisco from the hold those eyes had on him. “Since we’re going to be discussing Enzo’s surgery and postoperative care further.”

Krysta smiled, and Francisco’s heartbeat kicked up a notch. There was something so beautiful in watching those lips curve upward.

“Perfect,” she said.

Stupid for that simple comment to make him feel ten feet tall.

As the hostess led them to a table near the windows, Jake and Krysta chatted easily, but Francisco stayed silent, still trying to marshal all his faculties for the discussion ahead.

Just as they sat down, Jake’s cell phone rang, and he frowned.

“Excuse me,” he said, rising abruptly. “I have to take this.”

He left behind a thick silence, which both Francisco and Krysta tried to fill at the same time.

“Are you...”

“What is...”

They both stopped, exchanged a glance, and then Krysta chuckled.

“You go,” she said, reaching for her water goblet.

“I was going to ask if you were sure you didn’t mind my joining you and Jake for dinner.”

She gave him a long look over the edge of her glass, then set it down.

“Not at all,” she replied, just as Jake made his way back to the table.

“I’m very sorry,” he said, sounding harried. “I’m needed at home, so I’m going to have to leave.”

“Oh, nothing serious happening there, I hope?” Krysta didn’t sound disappointed, just curious and concerned.

“No,” Jake replied with a wry twist of his lips. “My nephew is giving the babysitter hell, and she doesn’t know how to deal with him. I’ll see you tomorrow, when we go to examine Enzo, and we can talk after if need be.”

Then, with a final wave, he was gone, leaving Francisco and Krysta by themselves at the table.

CHAPTER FIVE

KRYSTA STARED ACROSS the table at Francisco, who seemed more interested in looking at the glass in front of him than at her, and wondered where it all had fallen apart.

She’d thought there was a real friendship building between them, but somehow it had devolved into this stiff, stark silence. She knew she was being contrary to let it matter. After all, hadn’t she decided it was better to have distance between them, just so she wouldn’t have to try to figure out how to manage her attraction?

Yet, she did mind. Finding someone she could relate to, feel truly comfortable with, was rare. Sure, she had colleagues she felt kinship with, but that was strictly on a professional basis. She’d felt there was more to be explored with Francisco, but now...

It was at times like this she felt her inexperience keenly. Someone more worldly, who hadn’t spent all their life with their nose in a book, would probably know how to go forward, but unfortunately Krysta had to admit she was stuck.

Then her typical forthrightness reasserted itself.

“I think I must have inadvertently done something to upset you,” she said quietly. “I wish you’d tell me what it was, so I can apologize.”

His head came up, and she was snared, immediately, by his gaze. It was almost golden in the candlelight, and her breath caught in her throat, a rush of heat cascading down from the top of her head to envelop her.

“Not at all,” he replied. “And if I have made you feel that way, it is I who should apologize.”

Interesting. And now her curious researcher’s brain was fired.

“Then what happened? I thought, when we first met, that we were becoming friends. Was I mistaken?”

He looked away, but not before she saw the shutters come down over his expression.

“No.” It sounded as though the word was dragged from his throat.

“Then what happened?”

Almost absently, as though he weren’t thinking about what he was doing, he lifted his drink and took a sip. Then he put the glass down with a tad more energy than was necessary.

“It’s just me,” he said. “I have problems opening up to people, making friends.”

If she hadn’t seen him around the hospital, had just met him elsewhere and they’d talked like they had at the gala and over lunch, she wouldn’t believe him. But she had seen the wall between him and other members of staff, and wondered at it. Just then the waiter came to take their orders, but neither of them had even looked at the menus. Krysta ordered some sort of chicken dish, too distracted to force her brain to interpret the description.

As soon as the waiter left, and she realized he wasn’t going to add to his statement, she asked, “Is that because you used to be a model?”

Once more she remembered the insinuations made by Dr. Delgado on that first evening, and wondered if they had anything to do with his friendless state. Now she wished she hadn’t been so noble in not trying to find some articles about his breakup to read. Somehow, she thought they could give her further insight into this most private of men.

Francisco was silent for so long she was beginning to think he wouldn’t respond, but eventually he said, “In a way.”

She waited for him to expand on his reply, but he just stared down into his glass, seemingly lost in less than happy thoughts. So she took the initiative, and said, “Well, I don’t make friends easily, either, so we have that in common.”

He gave her a bland look. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. You seem to get along with everyone.”

Krysta stared at him, honestly shocked. Then she realized he’d mistaken her work persona, where her confidence was at its highest, for her overall personality.

“That’s just work,” she said, wondering why she was being so honest with him when she still felt he wasn’t being as frank with her. “I don’t have friends. I’ve never fit in anywhere, or felt as though I could trust people not to make fun of me—my lack of fashion sense, the way I always put my work first. Socially, I’m a dud.”

“You’re not a dud, at anything.” He sounded genuinely outraged by her suggesting such a thing, and his reaction made her smile.

“Oh, I know my faults. And if I didn’t, my therapist would tell me. I’m afraid of anything that doesn’t involve my job. I’ve never taken the time to make friends, learn new things that aren’t work related or even take up a hobby.” She shrugged, just as the waiter approached with their meal. “In those regards, I’m the equivalent of a twelve-year-old. Maybe even younger. I know what people say about how I dress, and they’re right, but I don’t really care. In that respect, you should probably be ashamed to be seen with me!”

Francisco didn’t respond until after the waiter had put down their plates and fussed about a little, before leaving them alone again.

Leaning forward, he said, “I don’t care about how you dress. You’re a brilliant, beautiful woman, and anyone you take as a friend is blessed.”

It was her turn to look down, overcome with emotion. What that emotion was, she didn’t want to think through, only knew it filled her with warmth and pleasure.

And excitement.

He’d called her beautiful!

Her, who’d had to learn not to react when others made fun of her looks!

“Okay, then,” she said when she’d got her voice under control and started shifting her mystery meal around on her plate. “Let’s start our friendship over, shall we? If it’ll help, think of yourself as my Reintroduction to Interpersonal Relationships 101.”

“Sim...” he replied.

But she was sure the hesitation in his voice wasn’t her imagination.

Francisco looked down at his plate, not really seeing it, and picked up his fork, although eating was the furthest thing from his mind.

There was a sensation of being pulled into a maelstrom, and it made his stomach roll. He hadn’t been able to force himself to tell her about Mari, about being accused of using her to get ahead. Or about being leery of people saying he was doing the same thing with Krysta. Yet, facing that kind of talk didn’t seem as imperative right now as it had been.

She thought it important enough to ask what had happened to make him withdraw. It showed she cared and wanted him as a friend, and that’s exactly what he would be, despite the simmering attraction making it hard to even look at her for any length of time.

Making him hard, beneath the table.

“What made you go into medicine, anyway?” she was asking, pulling him out of his half-elated, half-agonized thoughts.

“My youngest brother was born with a facial defect, a cleft lip and palate. We were poor. Very, very poor. My parents worried about how they would get him the help he needed, and what would happen to him if they couldn’t. Then they heard about a clinic where they could take him for free, and we met a doctor there who agreed to operate on João.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven.” He smiled slightly, remembering. “João was, not surprisingly, a cranky baby, and I was the only one who could soothe him, so my parents took me with them to see the doctor. I was fascinated by what he was saying, and helped him examine my brother. After the operation, when I saw what Dr. Jimenez was able to achieve, I knew that was what I wanted to do with my life.”

Those dark, sparkling eyes were on him, and it felt as though she could see into his soul.

“There’s a clinic coming up, in a place called Aparecida. Why aren’t you going?”

That surprised him. “I am going. In fact, I am one of the main organizers this year. How did you hear about it?”

It was her turn to look down at her plate, and it made him wonder what she was trying to hide.

“I overheard a couple of the residents talking, and looked at the roster. I didn’t see your name.”

“My name wasn’t included because it was a given I’d be there.”

“Ah,” she said, seemingly intent on putting an exact amount and ratio of food on her fork. It was one of those fussy little things she did that amused and enticed him. “I signed up for it, too.”

“Oh? You know there probably won’t be anything too exciting for you to do, don’t you?”

The glance she gave him was scathing. “That’s the same thing Director Andrade said to me when I asked if I could go. I didn’t get into medicine just to do the flashy stuff, you know. If I can be of help, I’m definitely interested, even if I end up just being a scrub nurse.”

Francisco snorted. “I don’t think it’ll come to that. We’re more than happy to have you. Although surgeons come from all around this part of the country, there’s always room for more. And it means we can expand the number of patients we see, which is always a good thing.”

She nodded, and silence fell between them, but it wasn’t fraught, or uncomfortable. Francisco liked that about her—that ability to put him at ease, even when he was supremely aware of her every movement and breath.

Eventually, she looked around and said, “I like this spot. It’s cozy, and the food is great.”

“Haven’t you been here before?” He was a little surprised by that, since the restaurant was near the hospital, and on the route to the apartment building where all the visiting doctors were staying.

“No. I usually eat at home,” she said, once more carefully filling her fork.

It made him think about what she’d said earlier, about being afraid, and he had to ask, “What have you seen since you’ve been here?”

Her reply didn’t really surprise him.

“The hospital. My apartment.” As though defensive, she quickly added, “The building where I’m staying has a nice pool. I’ve used that almost every evening.”

“Nossa senhora!” He put his hand over his heart, to show how sorry he was. “I have been a poor host, and even poorer friend. We must remedy this, as soon as possible.”

The look she gave him, although outwardly bland, sent a streak of fire down his spine.

“After the Dos Santos surgery,” she said, and he had the whimsical thought that the operation marked some kind of milestone in her mind. “Then we can discuss it.”

But the thought of spending more time with her, breaking her out of her solitary shell, had taken hold of him, and he couldn’t stop his excitement and enthusiasm. There were so many things to show her, to watch her experience.

“After the clinic in Aparecida, I’m going to my parents’ home to celebrate my birthday with them. You must come, too.”

Once more she bent her head to look at her plate, hiding her expression from him.

“We’ll see,” was all she replied, and he knew, from her tone, not to push.

CHAPTER SIX

ENZO DOS SANTOS was declared fit for surgery, by both Jake Cooper and Krysta, so the schedule was adhered to.

Krysta hadn’t allowed herself to think too much about her dinner with Francisco. Doing so would have disordered her usually focused mind. Yet, at night, when usually she soothed herself to sleep with computations and thoughts of work, his image insisted on inserting itself into her head.

For the first time ever, she was eager to get through a surgery. Not because of the help she was affording her patient, but because there was the sensation of life waiting to happen on the other side.

As she scrubbed in prior to the mandibular reconstruction, she kept her thoughts firmly on the surgical plan, doing her best to ignore Francisco, who was doing the same at the next sink. Thankfully, he wasn’t a chatterbox, and they completed their preparations in silence, which was only broken by the sounds of running water and the subdued comments of others in the room.

It was a little unusual, in her experience, for the room to be so quiet, but this was, for Paulista’s staff, an event of some importance. There was talk. If the surgery was as successful as everyone hoped, and the imaging and mapping models were found effective, the hospital might find it advantageous to use the techniques going forward. It was an opportunity to make Paulista’s stand out even more.

Krysta was sure they’d find the new techniques superior to any they now used. The time saved using the preformed plates, guides and the template for modeling the fibula made for a far more efficient operation. And the final results were better than any she’d seen in the past.

Looking through into the theater, she made eye contact with the anesthesiologist, who nodded in return. The gallery above the operating room was full, but she didn’t think about that, either.

Strange how if she were going to give a lecture she’d be a frazzled mess right now, but although a man’s life and future lay in her hands, she was rock solid. Confident in her abilities.

“Okay, everyone,” she said in Portuguese. “Let’s get this done.”

There was an answering murmur from the assembled team, and then they were in the theater, and beginning.

Surgery wasn’t something to be rushed, but as they began, Krysta was highly aware of the time. The longer it took, the less efficient the new techniques would appear to be, and more stress would be put on the patient, who had already gone through one major operation.

“Retractors.”

There. Now she could see exactly what she was working with, rather than just looking at scans, and something inside her relaxed, as it always did at this point in a surgery.

It was the feeling of the work truly beginning, although she was totally cognizant of how much it took to get to this point.

“The transplant site looks good,” she said, aware that, because of the audience above, she needed to give some kind of running commentary. “Dr. Cooper did a great job of the mandibulectomy, and I don’t see any signs of deterioration because of the infection.”

They worked apace, each step as laid out in the surgical plan following as it should. Time ticked away, and Krysta kept a sharp eye on the other teams, but didn’t try to micromanage them. If there were a problem, they’d tell her.

“Although instant repair of a bisected inferior alveolar nerve is preferred, splicing is still effective if done within three months, and most patients regain some sensation in their chin and lower lip within ten months. Not too long ago, the inclusion of IAN repair in a surgery of this type was considered too time-intensive. Now, with superior facial mapping and virtual surgical planning, it’s become viable.”

She spoke more for the benefit of the students sitting in the gallery, but it also was a subtle way of letting the fibula team know where they were.

“Performing the osteotomy now, Dr. Simpson.”

Right on time. She glanced over in time to see the surgical nurse handing Francisco the Gigli saw, and then looked back at what she was doing. His calm, confident tone fed her own surety in the success of the operation.

“Nurse, make sure you have the template ready.”

“Sim, Doctor.”

There was always a chance that something could go wrong, either with the patient or the process, but Krysta was confident. She was preparing for the insertion of the shaped bone, while the dental implants were being placed.

“Each guide and template we’re using today was specifically fabricated for Mr. Dos Santos, sterilized and packaged by a firm in Belgium. Using the template to shape the fibula saves time and eliminates any guesswork from the process. It also allows for preplanning of the placement of the dental implants.”

Yet, even with that self-assured pronouncement, Krysta still held her breath for an instant as she fit the bone in place, and heaved a silent sigh of relief when it was, indeed, perfect.

“Less than two millimeters’ difference. Good work, Dr. Carvalho.”

“Thank you, Dr. Simpson.”

Vascular work now, to ensure proper blood flow to the bone and surrounding tissue, and then the fitting of the titanium plate used to secure the bones together. Another silent sigh of relief when it conformed perfectly to the shape of the jaw.

“As you all know, mandibular repair in the past often left patients with malformities of the face, making social interaction difficult. Being able to fabricate a plate that restores the shape of the face as close to normal as possible changed that. But it was up to the surgeon, at the time of the operation, to get the shape and height correct. Now, with all the tools and techniques at our disposal, we can save time in the theater, thereby reducing the stress put on our patients.”

She went on to explain, when she could, about the ease of having screws specifically calibrated to the patient’s needs.

“No more searching through boxes of screws to find the appropriate lengths. This particular company even sends correctly sized screwdrivers.”

One of the surgical nurses said something under her breath, and Krysta paused to look up.

“Exactly,” she said, letting amusement color her tone. “A dream come true.”

Soft-tissue work now. She couldn’t allow herself to think about the fact that they were on the final lap. If you did, things could be missed, or you could get sloppy.

Check and recheck. Making sure everything was in place, and looked perfect.

“As per usual, the blood flow to the jaw and skin will be monitored every hour for the next two days,” she said as she began to close. “Dr. Morales, our maxillofacial specialist, has determined there is no need for temporary arch bars to wire the jaws shut, so I believe we’re almost finished here. Mr. Dos Santos has a long recovery ahead of him, but I believe he’ll be pleased with the results.”