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As he pulled off his T-shirt, his senses were filled with Tamara’s sweet fragrance that clung to the fabric. She smelled like nectarines and warm, earthy woman. Unable to resist, he buried his nose in the shirt and breathed deeply, thinking he could get very addicted to the scent of Tamara St. John.
After several moments, he dropped the T-shirt on top of the wicker clothes hamper—in case he wanted to savor it again later—and finished undressing.
As he stepped inside the steamy shower stall and reached for a bar of soap, his thoughts remained on Tamara, replaying every moment of the night they’d spent together. He could still hear the smoky, bewitching sound of her laughter, could see the quiet wonder on her face as she’d recounted the experience of saving a young girl’s life. He’d gotten chills when she spoke of her desire to become a cardiothoracic surgeon. The passion in her voice, in her glittering dark eyes, had struck a chord deep within him. He related so well to everything she’d said, he could have finished her sentences.
Without intending to, he’d found himself sharing profoundly personal things with her, things that few people knew about him. But confiding in her had felt so right, as natural as them waking up in each other’s arms.
Victor groaned softly at the memory of Tamara’s lush breasts pressed against his chest, her curvy thigh hooked around his waist. She’d felt so damn good he’d thought he was dreaming. He’d wanted nothing more than to roll her onto her back, peel her jeans and panties off her legs, and bury himself deep inside her.
With another groan, he lifted his face to the hot spray of water and closed his eyes, conjuring an image of Tamara joining him in the shower. He imagined rivulets of water streaming down her beautiful brown skin, caressing the sensual contours of her body. He imagined palming her round breasts, teasing her dark nipples into hardened peaks. As she moaned with pleasure, he visualized his hand roaming down her sleek belly before he cupped her mound and slid two fingers inside her wet, succulent heat.
Caught up in the erotic fantasy, Victor reached down and wrapped his hand around his throbbing shaft. He stroked upward, then down, imagining Tamara’s legs locked around his hips as he lifted her off the floor and pinned her against the tiled wall. As the warm water cascaded over their naked limbs, he imagined thrusting into her, her breathless cries soon mingling with his very real groans.
Throwing back his head, Victor fisted himself harder and faster until he ejaculated, his seed shooting out of him. Swearing gutturally, he bowed his head and braced his hands against the wall for support. As if on cue, the water turned cold, washing over his heated, shuddering body.
“Shit,” he whispered hoarsely.
If fantasizing about Tamara could do this to him, he couldn’t even conceive of what would happen if they ever hooked up for real.
He endured the frigid temperature for as long as he could, then staggered out of the shower stall and draped a towel around his hips. When his gaze landed on the T-shirt he’d left on top of the clothes hamper—the one that smelled like Tamara—he scowled. Stalking across the small bathroom, he grabbed the shirt, balled it up and shoved it deep inside the wicker basket.
The sooner he got the damn woman out of his system, the better off he’d be.
Chapter 4
That afternoon, Tamara met her mother for lunch at The Fish Market, an Old Town landmark perched at the end of Alexandria’s historic King Street. Although the restaurant had devolved into more of a tourist trap in recent years, and the nautical decor was on the campy side, the place still served some of the best seafood in the area. Whenever Tamara and her mother were in the mood for crab cakes or greasy fish sandwiches, they knew where to go.
“Guess who I ran into yesterday,” Vonda St. John announced halfway through the meal.
Tamara glanced up from a plate of pasta and scallops to meet her mother’s gaze across the small table. “Who?”
There was an excited gleam in Vonda’s almond-shaped eyes, which Tamara had inherited—along with her mother’s high cheekbones, chocolate complexion, chestnut-colored hair and lithe, curvy physique. They looked so much alike that men often hit on them at the same time, claiming to mistake them for sisters. Considering that Vonda had only been seventeen when she gave birth to Tamara, it was no surprise that she looked young enough to pass for her twenty-six-year-old daughter’s twin. But as close as she and Tamara were, there’d never been any question of who was the parent and who was the child. After Tamara’s father skipped out on them, Vonda had dried her tears and staunchly committed herself to the task of raising a strong, fiercely independent woman who would never make the mistake of trusting the wrong man.
Tamara owed everything she was, and everything she would become, to her mother.
“Well?” she prompted when Vonda didn’t immediately respond, no doubt trying to draw out the suspense. “Who did you run into?”
“Your high school sweetheart, Morris Richmond.”
“Really?” Tamara exclaimed. “Where’d you see him?”
“At work.”
“Morris works at the Pentagon, too?”
“As of last month. He got a job as a systems analyst for one of the defense contractors, and he’s making good money.” Vonda smiled at her daughter. “Of course he asked about you. I told him you’re doing your residency at Hopewell General. He was very impressed, said he always knew you were going places. Don’t be surprised if he shows up at the hospital one day. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
“Not at all,” Tamara said easily. “I’ve often wondered how Morris was doing. It’d be nice to see him again.”
Her mother grinned. “He’s looking good, baby. Real good.”
Tamara chuckled, sipping her cold soda. “I’m not surprised. He was one of the cutest boys at school.”
“The smartest, too.” Nostalgia softened Vonda’s expression. “You two were such an adorable couple. I remember how Morris used to come over after school sometimes to study with you. I never had to worry about leaving you alone together, because you were both so studious and focused on your books. Acing your calculus exam was more important to you than getting inside each other’s drawers.”
“That’s what you think.” At her mother’s shocked look, Tamara laughed. “Just kidding, Ma. We never abused your trust like that.”
Vonda harrumphed. “I didn’t think so. I raised you better than that, and Morris was such a sweet, respectful young man. I really liked him.”
Tamara gave her a wry look. “Let’s not forget that he’s also the same one who broke up with me after I was named valedictorian over him.”
“He did, didn’t he?” Vonda pursed her lips for a moment, then shook her head. “It takes a very special man not to be intimidated by a strong, brilliant woman with a higher IQ. You’re a force to be reckoned with, darling. Any man you eventually marry will have to be very successful in his own right so he won’t feel threatened by you.”
For no discernible reason, Tamara thought of Victor, who’d graduated at the top of his class from Stanford and seemed destined to make his mark in the field of cardiothoracic surgery. For all his faults—and he had plenty—Tamara knew that he would never feel threatened by a smart, accomplished woman. He was more than secure in his manhood, and would view someone like her as his equal.
Not that we’re ever going to be in a relationship, she quickly told herself.
“So how are things going at work?” her mother asked, twirling strands of linguini around her fork before taking a bite. “What’s the latest on the lawsuit?”
Tamara grimaced at the reminder of the hospital’s brewing scandal. “They’ve hired someone from New York to handle the lawsuit—some hotshot lawyer named Maxwell Wade,” she explained, though she and her colleagues had been instructed not to discuss the case with outsiders. But this was her mother, whom she’d always confided in. And details of the lawsuit had already been leaked to the media anyway.
“It sounds like your employer is going to need the best legal counsel money can buy,” Vonda remarked.
Tamara nodded grimly. “They are.”
After graduating from Dartmouth, she’d been so excited to return home to Alexandria to begin her residency at Hopewell General, a prestigious hospital that catered to the nation’s power elite. But Hopewell’s stellar reputation had recently come under fire after one of Tamara’s fellow interns, Terrence Matthews, had been shown the door when he was caught stealing drugs from the hospital’s pharmacy. Unfortunately, Terrence was a member of one of Virginia’s wealthiest families, who’d retaliated against the hospital by withdrawing their financial support and filing a lawsuit. The public relations fallout and pending litigation had cast a pall over Hopewell General, putting everyone—from administrators to orderlies—on edge.
“The Matthews family is one of our biggest benefactors,” Tamara continued, poking disinterestedly at her tender scallops. “Losing their financial contributions could really cripple the hospital. They’ve already halted construction on a wing that’s been undergoing renovations for months.”
Vonda frowned with concern. “What about your research grant? How will that be affected?”
Tamara sighed heavily. “I don’t know yet. The hospital’s funding committee is supposed to be meeting tomorrow to decide the fate of several projects, including the research grant. So I should know something by the end of the week.”
Her mother reached across the table and patted her hand. “Think positive.”
Tamara nodded, even as Victor’s deep voice drifted through her mind. Think positive, he’d told her last night when they were searching for an unlocked room in the deserted ward. Since leaving the hospital that morning, she’d been trying to put the whole experience out of her mind. But she couldn’t. Waking up in the arms of her nemesis shouldn’t have felt so damn right. But it had, and she was afraid to examine why.
“No wonder you haven’t been yourself today,” her mother observed, watching as Tamara absently swirled her fork through a puddle of lemon cream sauce. “Ever since you arrived for lunch, you’ve seemed preoccupied with something.”
Or someone, Tamara mused grimly.
“But your mood makes sense now,” Vonda continued. “You’re worried about losing the research grant.”
“Well, technically,” Tamara said ruefully, “I can’t lose something I haven’t received yet.”
Vonda smiled indulgently. “I’m sure you’re going to get the grant.”
“I don’t know, Ma. Victor has as good a shot as I do. His research related to cardiac arrhythmia surgery is pretty amazing. Potentially groundbreaking, in fact.”
Vonda’s sculpted brows lifted in surprise. “Are my ears deceiving me? Did you just say something complimentary about Dr. Aguilar?”
Tamara shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’ve said nice things about him before.”
Vonda snorted. “Calling him an ‘egomaniac,’ a ‘narcissistic asshole,’ and a ‘blue-eyed devil’ doesn’t exactly qualify as nice.”
Tamara grinned sheepishly. “Okay, then. Let me go on record as saying that he’s also a brilliant doctor, one that I admire and respect immensely.”
Her mother stared at her for so long, Tamara was tempted to fidget in her chair the way she’d done as a child whenever she was caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.
As she watched uncomfortably, a slow, knowing smile spread across her mother’s face. “Did something happen between you and Dr. Aguilar?”
Tamara’s face flamed. “Of course not,” she said quickly. Perhaps too quickly.
Vonda’s eyes narrowed shrewdly on her face. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” It was true. Technically, nothing had happened between her and Victor—unless you counted talking the night away and waking up practically wrapped around each other. Her belly quivered wantonly at the memory of Victor’s hand on her butt, his heavy erection pressed against her inner thigh. She’d tried to dismiss his hard-on by telling herself that he was merely experiencing nocturnal penile tumescence, aka the “morning wood” phenomenon familiar to most guys. But as she’d stood there facing Victor across the bed—trying not to notice how outrageously sexy he looked with his lids at half-mast, hair rumpled, jaw darkened with stubble—she’d been knocked breathless by the sudden realization that he wanted her.
And the feeling was unequivocally mutual.
Her mother studied her another moment, then reached for her margarita and took a long, deliberate sip.
Tamara waited.
Setting down her glass, Vonda said quietly, “Just be careful. You don’t want to jeopardize everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve.”
“I know,” Tamara murmured. “Believe me, I have no intention of becoming involved with Victor Aguilar.”
Her mother gave her a gentle, intuitive smile. “Sounds to me like you already are.”
Shortly after Tamara and Victor reported to work that afternoon, they were approached by their supervisor, Dr. Shirley Balmer, who’d replaced Dr. De Winter as head resident. The attractive, forty-something woman bore such a strong resemblance to Angela Bassett that some of the interns often whispered lines from the actress’s movies behind her back.
After ushering Tamara and Victor into the break room and closing the door behind them, Dr. Balmer demanded without preamble, “Whose idea was it to perform a thoracotomy on Bethany Dennison?”
Tamara and Victor exchanged glances.
“Why?” Tamara asked cautiously. “Is there a problem?”
Balmer’s dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that, Dr. St. John. Don’t answer my question with a question.”
“It was my idea,” Victor said.
Balmer frowned, shaking her head at him. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“It was an emergency situation,” Victor explained. “The patient had gone into cardiac arrest, and a judgment call had to be made.”
“By an attending physician, Dr. Aguilar. Not by an intern.”
“We couldn’t find an attending,” Tamara spoke up.
Balmer arched a dubious brow at her. “How hard did you look?”
At Tamara’s hesitation, Victor interjected, “There wasn’t enough time to go hunting someone down. The patient was coding. If we didn’t act fast, she could have died.”
“She also could have died as a result of a botched thoracotomy,” Balmer countered, dividing a reproachful glance between Victor and Tamara. “Do either of you have any idea how much of a risk you took yesterday? As first-year interns, you lack the training and experience to operate on patients without supervision. If that girl had died, the hospital could be facing one hell of a malpractice lawsuit, and God knows that’s the last thing we need right now.”
Victor frowned at her. “Am I missing something here? Did we, or did we not, save Bethany Dennison’s life?”
“No one is disputing that, Dr. Aguilar. And I can certainly appreciate the difficult dilemma you both faced, having to weigh the risk of losing a patient against your obligation to follow standard hospital procedure.”
Balmer paused, then heaved a deep breath. “Look, I know how anxious the two of you are to complete your internship and get into the nitty-gritty of practicing medicine. You both graduated at the top of your medical classes, and you’re both overachievers. I sense your impatience every time you’re restricted to suturing patients, Dr. Aguilar. And I know, Dr. St. John, that the field of cardiothoracic surgery is dominated by men, so you’re eager to prove that you’ve got what it takes to hang with the boys. But you both need to understand that as exceptionally gifted as you may be, you still have plenty to learn about becoming surgeons. So just keep that in mind the next time you’re faced with making a life or death decision. Are we clear?”
Tamara and Victor glanced at each other, then nodded dutifully. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now get back to work.”
As they moved toward the door, Dr. Balmer added, “Dr. Pederson, the attending physician who relieved you in the E.R. yesterday, was very impressed with the work you did on Bethany Dennison. He told me that some of his surgical peers have never even attempted an emergency resuscitative thoracotomy, much less succeeded at performing one. So congratulations to both of you. You’ve definitely gotten on the chief of surgery’s radar.”
Tamara and Victor grinned broadly at each other before leaving the break room. Together they started down the hallway, enjoying a rare sense of camaraderie.
It was short-lived.
“Oh, before I forget,” Dr. Balmer called after them.
They glanced back at her, still smiling.
“I agree with Dr. Aguilar’s recommendation to administer Naphtomycin to Mrs. Gruener. So I went ahead and ordered the course of antibiotics this morning.” Balmer looked at Tamara, brow arched. “I assume that’s okay with you, Dr. St. John?”
Tamara frowned. “Actually, I’m concerned that—”
Balmer’s pager went off. After checking the display screen, she muttered, “Duty calls,” then turned and hurried off in the opposite direction.
Tamara glared accusingly at Victor. “I can’t believe you went behind my back and talked to Dr. Balmer.”
He scowled. “You didn’t leave me any other choice. You refused to see reason—”
“Reason? Do you honestly think there’s anything reasonable about prescribing an unproven, potentially harmful drug to a seventy-five-year-old woman?”
“I do.” Victor paused. “And, obviously, so does our supervisor.”
Tamara’s temper flared. “For Mrs. Gruener’s sake, I hope to hell you’re both right.”
And with that, she stalked off down the hall.
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