Romancing the M.D.

Victor smiled a little. “Me, too.”

Tamara hesitated, then said with soft wonder, “We performed an emergency thoracotomy today.”

“We did, didn’t we?”

She nodded. “Even though we were taught how to do the procedure in med school, we were always told that the survival rate is so low, less than two percent. But we beat the odds, Victor. We defied the experts, and Bethany Dennison lived. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Absolutely,” Victor agreed, gazing at her with an expression of quiet fascination.

She blushed, sheepishly biting her lip. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to gush like that.”

“Don’t apologize. I feel the same way you do. That same sense of awe at the realization that you’ve been entrusted with people’s lives, that all the education and training you’ve received comes down to that pivotal moment when someone’s life hangs in the balance, and they’re counting on you to pull them through.” He paused, shaking his head slowly at Tamara. “It’s powerful.”

“Very,” she whispered, shivers racing up and down her spine. She felt more connected to him than she’d ever imagined was possible before today.

They gazed at each other for several charged moments as lightning flashed outside the window.

A half smile quirked the corners of Victor’s mouth. “Have you ever questioned your sanity for choosing cardiothoracic surgery as your specialty?”

Tamara grinned. “Why? Because we have to undergo four years of college, four years of medical school, seven years of a general surgery residency, and three more years of a 120-hour-per-week cardiothoracic surgery fellowship? Nahhh.”

Victor grinned. “Piece of cake, right?”

“Ab-so-lute-ly.”

They looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

When their mirth subsided several moments later, Tamara let out a long, deep sigh. “Honestly? I have occasionally wondered whether I should explore a less demanding field, like dermatology or ophthalmology.

Something that would allow me to have some semblance of a life outside work.”

“Marriage,” Victor murmured. “Children. Guilt-free family vacations.”

“Exactly,” Tamara agreed. “I’ve never wanted to become one of those self-absorbed workaholics who’s never around for my family, who’s stuck in a hospital on gorgeous weekends while my husband and kids do fun things without me.” She sighed. “On the other hand, I’ve always wanted to be a heart surgeon. The best of the best. I can’t achieve that goal unless I’m willing to make some hard sacrifices.”

Victor nodded slowly.

She knew he understood where she was coming from. They were both driven to succeed as cardiothoracic surgeons, who were considered among the most talented and sophisticated of their surgical peers. Not only were they required to master the field of general surgery, they also underwent extensive training, charted new areas of research and technology, and performed extremely dangerous and complex operations. Being a cardiothoracic surgeon was not for the faint of heart—no pun intended.

“So what about you, Aguilar?” Tamara ventured, turning the tables on him. “After a grueling eighteen-hour day, have you ever thought about throwing in the towel? Just surrendering your scrubs and walking away from the madness?”

He chuckled softly, dragging his hands through his thick dark hair. “Even if I ever wanted to quit, I have too many people depending on me not to.”

“Your parents,” Tamara surmised.

He nodded. “They came to this country with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, and they worked their asses off to give me and my younger brothers a better life than the one we left behind in Colombia. I’m the first in my family to graduate from college. So my parents are counting on me to seize the American Dream so that I can reach back and help my siblings do the same thing. I’m not about to let them down.”

Tamara gazed at him, filled with newfound respect and admiration for his loyalty to his family. At the same time, she was struck by the realization that they were halfway through their two-year internship, and she didn’t know much about him.

She knew that he had at least one younger brother, who bore such a striking resemblance to him that Tamara had done a double take when she saw him. Alejandro Aguilar had stopped by the hospital one day to have lunch with Victor. Before they left, Victor had introduced his brother to Jaclyn and Isabelle, completely snubbing Tamara who’d been standing nearby, pretending not to notice or care.

Shoving aside the unpleasant memory of the slight, she asked curiously, “How many brothers do you have?”

“Four.”

Her eyes widened incredulously. “Your parents have five sons?”

Victor gave her a crooked smile. “That’s generally what four plus one equals.”

“Shut up, smart-ass.” But Tamara was grinning. “I feel sorry for your poor mother, being outnumbered like that.”

Victor chuckled. “If you ever met my mother, you’d save your pity. She’s always run the show in our family. Although my father would never admit it, we all know Mama’s the boss. So being the only female in the house has never made any difference to her.”

Tamara smiled softly, enjoying this rare glimpse into his background. Although he was well liked and respected by their fellow interns, he’d been known to keep the details of his personal life close to the vest. Which was something else he and Tamara had in common.

“It sounds like you and your family are pretty tight,” she observed.

“We are.” A quiet, reflective smile touched Victor’s mouth. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

Tamara nodded, then couldn’t resist asking gently, “Why did your parents leave Colombia?”

She watched as sorrow settled over his face like a veil. He looked past her, staring out the rain-streaked window. When he spoke, his voice was pitched low. “It was too dangerous to stay there. At the time, many parts of Bogotá were overrun with gangs. My parents lived in constant fear of something happening to one of us.” He paused for a long moment, and Tamara instinctively braced herself for what he would reveal next. “One day, my uncle and his daughter were sitting on their front porch when a gunfight broke out between two rival gangs. They were killed in the crossfire.”

A horrified gasp escaped Tamara’s lips. “Oh, my God, Victor,” she breathed. “How awful.”

Pain flickered in his eyes. “That’s the way it was,” he said grimly. “Even if you were at home minding your own business, you could still be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” His brooding gaze returned to Tamara’s. “Not long after my uncle and cousin died, my parents packed up the family and fled to America, along with my aunt and her surviving children.”

Tamara nodded, swallowing tightly. “Have you ever gone back?”

He nodded. “We still have many family members there. And I know it may sound hard to believe, but despite what happened, Bogotá will always be home.”

“Of course. I understand.” She shook her head mournfully. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Victor.”

He inclined his head, silently acknowledging her condolences.

Neither spoke for a long time.

Seeking to distract him from his painful memories, Tamara asked softly, “Would you like a snack?”

Victor eyed her blankly. “A snack?”

“Yeah.” She reached for her backpack and dug out a large plastic bag filled with an assortment of goodies. As she emptied the bag onto the bed, Victor lowered his feet to the floor and leaned forward to survey her stash.

“Whatcha got?”

Tamara grinned. “I got whatever you need, papi,” she said teasingly, feeling like a drug dealer. “I got protein bars if you need a quick shot of energy, healthy granola bars if you feel like being good, and candy bars if you—”

She laughed as Victor snatched a Snickers out of her hand and tore open the wrapper. After taking a huge bite of the chocolate bar, he groaned appreciatively. “Mmm, that hits the spot.”

Tamara tsk-tsked him. “I’m surprised at you, Dr. Aguilar, choosing empty carbs over more nutritious snacks.”

“Says the woman with the bag full of candy bars,” he muttered around a mouthful of chocolate.

Tamara grinned. “I only bring those to bribe the nurses into—”

“Bribe?” Victor interrupted in a tone of mock indignation. “Why, Dr. St. John, I didn’t know you engaged in such unethical behavior. Shame on you.”

Tamara chuckled. “Yeah, well, some of us don’t have the nurses eating out of the palms of our hands. Some of us have to do more than wink and smile to get what we need around here.”

Victor gave her a look of sham innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tamara laughed . “Riiight.”

Grinning, he polished off his Snickers bar and snagged another one.

She shook her head at him. “Keep eating all that junk and your arteries will get clogged, then I’ll have to operate on you.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

He met her surprised gaze. “I wouldn’t entrust my life to anyone but you.”

Tamara warmed with pleasure at his words. “Likewise,” she murmured. And she meant it.

Victor smiled at her, his eyes glittering like molten sapphires.

As they stared at each other, the moment stretched into two.

Glancing away, Tamara busied herself with returning the remaining snacks to the bag. “You know,” she remarked offhandedly, “all the nurses think you look like Adam Rodriguez from CSI.”

“Yeah?” Victor drawled, leaning back in the chair and propping his sock-clad feet on the table as he continued munching on his candy bar. “And what do you think?”

She tilted her head to one side, lips pursed as she pretended to examine his masculine features. “I can definitely see the resemblance. But—” She broke off, shaking her head.

“But what?”

She hesitated, then sighed. “At the risk of further inflating your ego,” she said grudgingly, “I think you’re even better looking than Adam.”

A slow, wicked grin curved Victor’s mouth. “Are you flirting with me, Tamara?”

Heat rushed to her face. “Of course not.”

“Are you sure? Because that would be against hospital policy, and you know—”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I’m not flirting with you. Sheesh. Can’t a woman compliment you without wanting to sleep with you?”

Victor looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. I’ve never met one.”

Sputtering with indignation, Tamara slapped his hard, muscled thigh. “Pendejo!” she hissed, seizing on her expanding Spanish vocabulary to call him a jerk.

He threw back his head and laughed, a strong, deep laugh that rumbled up from his chest and raised goose bumps along her skin. She’d have to be an occupant of the morgue not to be affected by his raw sex appeal.

“I forgot that you’re learning Spanish from Isabelle so you can communicate with more of your patients,” Victor said.

“That’s right, and I’m a damn quick learner. So pretty soon I’ll be able to insult you in two languages.”

Again he laughed, discarding his Snickers wrapper in the trash. “You knew I had to say something to get a rise out of you,” he teased. “We were getting along too well.”

“God forbid we should do that,” Tamara muttered, plumping up the stiff pillows before lying down on her side. “I’m going to sleep.”

“You can’t.”

“Says who?”

“You have to keep me company until my sugar rush wears off.”

She snorted. “No one told you to eat two candy bars.”

“I had the munchies. Come on, Tamara,” Victor cajoled, moving his foot from the table to playfully nudge her leg, a simple touch that sent heat crashing through her veins. “Keep me company.”

“Fine,” she relented with a huff, knowing damn well she wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway.

Over the next few hours, as the storm raged on outside, she and Victor talked and laughed, swapping horror stories from medical school and comparing notes on the best and worst professors they’d had. When Victor’s cell phone beeped, he turned off the alarm and tossed the phone aside without missing a beat in their conversation. It seemed like they could talk all night and never run out of things to say to each other.

But eventually Tamara felt drowsiness settling over her like a warm blanket. Taking pity on Victor, who’d appeared increasingly uncomfortable in the chair, she invited him to share the bed with her.

It’s just for another hour or so, she told herself as he stretched out alongside her, the heat of his body penetrating hers even though they weren’t touching. Surely it won’t rain all night.

Before sleep claimed her, the last thought that drifted through her mind was that after tonight, things would never be the same between her and Victor.

Chapter 3

Victor was having the most amazing dream.

It had to be a dream because he certainly didn’t remember taking a date home last night, though it wouldn’t be the first time he’d woken up in a woman’s bed with no memory of how he’d gotten there.

But this time was different. The woman in his arms felt like she belonged there.

So she couldn’t be real, his subconscious rationalized. He had to be imagining the gentle rise and fall of plump breasts, the tantalizing thrust of nipples against his chest, the shapely swell of hips beneath his hand, the luscious curve of a feminine thigh draped across his waist. She wasn’t real, yet it seemed wholly natural for him to brush his lips over her forehead and nuzzle her soft, fragrant hair. And when she sighed contentedly and cuddled closer to him, he couldn’t be blamed for the hot rush of arousal that sped to his groin and had him cupping the woman’s lush, round bottom.

When she stiffened without warning, he snapped his eyes open.

And was greeted by the stunned, beautiful face of Tamara St. John.

They stared at each other in stricken silence.

An instant later they sprang apart, scrambling off the bed and facing each other from opposite sides.

“Wh-what happened?” Tamara whispered.

Victor, who could rattle off the most complex medical passages from the Gray’s Anatomy textbook without batting an eye, suddenly found himself tongue-tied. “The storm … It was late … We, uh, fell asleep.”

Their panicked gazes swung toward the window, where they could see the first blush of dawn breaking across the sky.

“When did it stop raining?” Tamara wondered aloud.

“I don’t know.” Victor paused. “I was asleep, like you.”

“Oh, God,” she groaned.

As she scurried around the bed to retrieve her shoes and backpack, Victor couldn’t help thinking how exquisite she looked, with flushed cheeks and her dark, chestnut hair tousled about her face and shoulders.

She glanced up from tying her sneakers, eyeing him frantically. “Don’t just stand there! Get your stuff so we can get out of here!”

Scrubbing an unsteady hand over his face, Victor shoved his feet into his boots and grabbed his duffel bag and helmet, then followed Tamara from the room.

When they reached the elevators, she said decisively, “I’ll go down first. We don’t want anyone to see us leaving together at this hour.”

Victor nodded. “Good idea.”

They stood staring up at the electronic panel above the elevator doors, the air between them crackling with tension and bewilderment over this strange new territory they’d just wandered into.

“Tamara—”

“Victor—”

They spoke at the same time, then looked at each other.

At that moment, the elevator arrived.

Clearly relieved, Tamara boarded quickly and stabbed the down button as if she were fleeing the serial killer they’d joked about last night.

But as the metal doors slid closed, their gazes clung almost longingly.

That was the moment Victor realized that they could never go back to the way things used to be.

Thirty minutes later, he was still brooding over Tamara as he strode down a narrow hallway to reach his apartment. Just as he inserted his key in the lock, he heard the sound of another door opening just three doors away.

“Good morning, stranger,” a sultry voice greeted him.

Victor glanced over his shoulder, meeting the sensual gaze of an attractive young woman with straight blond hair, perky breasts and long legs bared by the short skirt she’d donned for work that morning.

He flashed a lazy smile at her. “Hey, Natalia.”

“Hey, yourself,” she purred, lounging in the doorway of her apartment. “Every time I think I’ve got your schedule figured out, you prove me wrong. Did you work a double or triple shift yesterday?”

Victor chuckled. “No such thing as a ‘triple shift.’ Not technically, anyway.”

She ran an eye over him, taking in his dark jeans and boots. “But you’re just getting home from the hospital, right?”

“Right.” He edged toward his door. “And I’m pretty beat, so if it’s all the same to you—”

“How’s your family doing?” Natalia interrupted.

He bit back an impatient sigh. “They’re good.”

“When was the last time you saw everyone?”

“Two weeks ago. But I’m hanging out with them this Sunday on my day off.”

“That’s great.” Natalia sighed wistfully. “I really wish I could go with you, Victor. I adore your family, and I haven’t seen them since … well, since we stopped dating.”

Victor suppressed a pained grimace. He saw no reason to remind her that their “dating” had consisted of one take-out dinner and a few sweaty romps in the sack.

Natalia was the first person he’d met when he moved into the apartment building last year. She’d given him a friendly tour of the Alexandria neighborhood, followed by an even friendlier tour of her body hours later. With her long blond hair, green eyes and tanned curves, she looked like one of many California beach bunnies he’d encountered—and bedded—while at Stanford. So he’d been somewhat surprised to learn that Natalia was from his hometown, though he knew, of course, that Colombians come in all different shades. Upon meeting Natalia, his parents had also been pleased to discover that she was from Bogotá. They’d never made any secret of the fact that they expected Victor and his brothers to settle down with nice, respectable Colombian girls once they’d finished sowing their wild oats.

Natalia had thoroughly charmed Luis and Marcela Aguilar. By the time they left Victor’s apartment that afternoon, they were practically planning his wedding. So they’d taken it especially hard when Victor informed them that he was no longer seeing his sexy neighbor. But he’d had no other choice but to level with them. He couldn’t allow his parents to continue believing that he and Natalia had a future together when he knew better. He didn’t have room in his life for a serious relationship. Completing his residency was priority number one, so he couldn’t afford any distractions whatsoever.

After spending just one night with Tamara St. John, he already knew that she would measure an off-the-chart twenty on the Richter scale of distractions.

“Victor?”

Pulled out of his reverie, he eyed Natalia blankly. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

“Yes,” she replied, looking slightly miffed at his inattention. “I was inviting you to dinner tomorrow night, if you’re available. And I know that’s a very big if given your crazy schedule. But if you have the night off, I’d like to have you over for dinner. I’ll cook. You bring the wine.”

Victor shook his head, smiling to soften his rejection. “Not that the offer doesn’t sound tempting, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“I am.” He paused. “But that’s not the only reason I can’t make it.”

She sighed. “Just because we’re not sleeping together anymore doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, Victor.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Is that what you want, Natalia? To be friends?”

“Sure, why not? We come from the same town. We live on the same floor. Your parents love me. We enjoy each other’s company.” She grinned slyly. “And if those aren’t good enough reasons, we’re great in bed together. So we could be friends with benefits.”

Victor chuckled, rubbing his bristly jaw. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is. Look, I’m making you an offer most guys would kill to receive. No-strings-attached sex and companionship. You want someone to vent to after a long, stressful day at the hospital? I’m your woman. You want a hot, delicious meal waiting for you when you get home? Look no further. You need to work off some pent-up sexual energy? I’m all yours.”

Victor gave her a long, assessing look through narrowed eyes. “Why?”

She blinked. “Why what?”

“Why would you let any man take advantage of you like that?”

“You’re not just any man, Victor. And you wouldn’t be taking advantage of me, unless you honestly believe I’d consider it a chore to sleep with you.” She smiled suggestively. “Trust me, I wouldn’t.”

Victor regarded her another moment, then shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Mierda.”

Hearing the profanity, Natalia pouted. “So is that a no?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are you sure?” She struck a seductive pose in the doorway, her mouth curving in a smile meant to entice.

But suddenly, all Victor could see were Tamara’s alluring dark eyes, the plush softness of her lips, the smooth perfection of her deep brown skin, and the way her tight, shapely butt filled out her blue scrubs. It was crazy. Here he had a sexy, beautiful woman offering to cater to his every need, and all he could think about was some prickly smart-ass who’d hated his guts from the moment they met—and probably still did.

He needed to get his head examined by one of the neurosurgeons at the hospital.

Natalia heaved a lamenting sigh. “Well, if you change your mind about my offer—any of it—you know where to find me.”

“Thanks,” Victor drawled wryly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he turned to unlock his door, Natalia let out a soft groan that drew his gaze back to her. She was grimacing as she massaged the back of her neck with one hand. “I don’t know whether I’m stressed out from work, or I need a new mattress, but I’ve been having this terrible pain in my neck for weeks.”

Victor’s mouth twitched. “You should probably see a doctor about that.”

She gave him a pointed look. “I’ve been trying to see a doctor, but he won’t make any time for me.”

“Hmm. Then you should probably find another one.”

Chuckling at her disgruntled expression, Victor stepped inside his small apartment and closed the door behind him. After dropping his keys on the sideboard table and tossing his helmet onto the leather sofa, he started toward his bedroom. He wanted to take a hot shower and grab a few more hours of sleep before he had to return to the hospital that afternoon.

Ignoring the blinking message light on his phone, he headed into the adjoining bathroom and twisted on the shower faucet. The old building was plagued by bad plumbing, so he’d learned to give himself a head start if he wanted his water nice and steamy. Eventually, he planned to move into newer digs—someplace where he could actually enjoy hot showers that lasted longer than ten minutes. But for now, he was willing to sacrifice comfort for affordability and convenience. He’d gotten this apartment for a steal, so the money he saved went toward helping his family. Again, he had his priorities.

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.