Read the book: «Hot Doc From Her Past»

CHAPTER TWO

“DOMINGO, SEGUNDA-FEIRA, Terça-feira, Quarta-feira…” Reciting the days of the week in Portuguese had always helped center her before. But as Tessa continued to enunciate each syllable of each word, the bubble of horror that was trapped in her throat refused to burst. Instead, it grew larger with every breath.

She stared at the huge cardboard placard propped on an easel in the lobby of West Manhattan Saints, the one welcoming the hospital’s newest orthopedic surgeon.

People swerved to avoid her as they made their way into the medical facility, and one man bumped her shoulder with a muttered apology about being late as he passed her. Tessa was running late, too, but at the moment she was powerless to do anything except stand there.

Clayton Matthews, a blast from the past—her past—sported the same lazy half smile she knew so well. The one that tipped up one corner of his mouth and made everything inside her liquefy. And he seemed to be aiming that smile squarely at her, and in turn at everyone who might stop to gaze upon him.

Ha! Gaze upon him. That made him sound like a god or something.

He had been godlike to her at one time. Before she’d realized exactly who had provided her “scholarship” to medical school. The one that had paid for almost her entire education.

Not him. But his parents. She had no idea why they had, other than the fact that her parents and Clay’s had become fast friends as her mom and dad worked on a huge block of Clay’s dad’s buildings. Her dad was still in partnership with them, as a matter of fact.

That partnership was how she’d met Clay in the first place. And the placard brought that last terrible scene on graduation night rushing back.

She swallowed. God. She did not want to face him. Especially now. Not with the second anniversary of her mother’s death weighing on her mind.

So she wouldn’t. This final part of her residency was in cutaneous oncology—another reminder of her mom’s courageous battle—while Clay was an orthopedic surgeon. They would be on different floors, even. How likely was it that they would really run into each other in the huge hospital?

Taking a deep breath, she let herself relax slightly.

“Wow, Tessa, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Holly Buchanan, one of the housemates at the Brooklyn brownstone where she lived, stopped beside her. Long brown locks shifted to the left as the other woman tilted her head and looked at the poster. “Ooh, although he’s not a bad-looking ghost. Is that the newest member of our happy family?”

Tessa’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace. Happy? With the grueling hours they were putting in on the final year of their residency, no one had much time to notice the general atmosphere around the teaching hospital. Harried and exhausted described most of the people Tessa knew. That included her female housemates, Holly and Caren, and her one male housemate, Sam, who lived in the other three units at the brownstone. The friends saw each other more at the hospital than they did at the house.

“I guess he is.” She did her best to stifle the bitter edge to her voice, but something must have come across.

“Do you know him?” Holly’s shoulder nudged hers.

“No.” Because it was true. The man she had thought she’d known had been nothing like the man he’d turned out to be. “No, I don’t know him. At all.”

It had been how long? A little over four years. Besides, he was married now, at least that’s what she’d heard.

A warm scent tickled her nose, just as a warning tingle lifted the fine hairs on her neck.

“I think ‘at all’ might be stretching the truth, don’t you think, Tess?” That voice. Mellow. Matching the half smile on the poster to a T. “Because I definitely know you.”

She wrenched her body around to face the newest threat, just as he held out his hand to Holly. “Clayton Matthews, Orthopedics, nice to meet you.”

Holly’s eyes widened as they flicked to meet hers, and then she accepted Clay’s proffered hand and murmured her own name and specialty. Tessa sent out a desperate plea to her housemate that was summarily ignored.

“Well, I need to get back to work,” her friend said, “before Langley takes me down. Again.”

The head of surgical residents, Gareth Langley didn’t suffer fools lightly, and somehow he and Holly had gotten off to a rocky start. Tessa steered clear of the man whenever possible.

Her housemate then slipped from between them and hurried down the hallway, blinking out of sight as she rounded the corner to the elevators. That left her alone with Clay. And his poster.

“Tessa, good to see you again. How are you?”

Really? That was the best he could do, after everything that had gone on between them? “Fine. You?”

“Surprised.” A flash of teeth accompanied that word. “I had no idea you were doing your residency at West Manhattan Saints.”

Didn’t he? Since West Manhattan was one of the biggest teaching hospitals in the city, how could he not realize this was where she’d wind up?

Unless he really had known and had come here to torment her.

Delusional, Tess. That’s what you are. He did not follow you to this hospital.

She decided to ignore his comment, nodding at the placard instead. “Nice likeness.”

The impulse to start counting days again winked through her head… this time in English. She fought the urge. And the picture was nice. It showed off his thick black hair, strong chin, those deep blue eyes that could slide over you and make you think you were the only person in the world.

Even when you weren’t.

At least it was only a head shot, because from the chest down he was no less mouthwatering than he’d been four years ago—something she was doing her damnedest not to dwell on.

He glanced at the picture. “You do what you have to. You should know that better than anyone.”

Yes, she did. Like continue working your heart out when you discovered your so-called free ride hadn’t actually been free at all. And that the man standing in front of her had known where things stood the whole time they’d shared classes… when they’d become an item. When he’d laid her down on the bed in his dorm room and become her very first lover.

Then had come the gifts. Small at first. Then more expensive, despite her protests.

It had all blown apart at her graduation ceremony when he’d handed her a flat jeweler’s box with a kiss and murmured congratulations. A half hour later she’d learned over a loudspeaker that the Wilma Grandon Memorial Scholarship had actually been named after Clay’s maternal grandmother and that Tessa had been its one and only recipient.

A thousand eyes had swiveled in her direction.

At that moment, she’d been transported back to her childhood bedroom and those sacks of used clothes. Only this was much, much worse. Once again, she was the poor immigrant girl from Brazil who had nothing. Waves of humiliation washed up her face and flooded her body. How could he do that to her?

The embarrassment ignited, turning into something else that scorched across her soul. Only this time the passion she’d inherited from her homeland turned everything inside her to a barren wasteland.

Tessa sent his parents a warm thank-you letter, expressing her gratitude. She sent Clay a completely different kind of letter—returning his graduation present and telling him it was over. That she needed to concentrate on her residency. She repeated that refrain when he showed up at her dorm room—not letting him see how gutted she was that he’d kept such a huge piece of information from her. He evidently bought the excuse, because it was the last time she’d seen him.

Until now. But at least she could be cordial to him. Maybe he would take the hint, and they would settle on polite indifference in any future encounters.

She held out her hand, as he’d done to Holly moments earlier. “Well, it’s good to see you again, Clay. I hope you like it here.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then he took her hand, his palm skimming across hers in a heart-stopping combination of warmth and friction as his fingers closed around hers.

Heat poured into her belly and rushed up her face.

Too late she realized her mistake. Because this was no squeeze-and-release grip. This was intimate—a connection that went far beyond the physical realm—and her body reacted to the promise it brought along with it.

A shiver ran over her as he drew her a step closer. “I think I already do.”

She blinked for a second before realizing his words were in response to hers… that she hoped he’d like it here.

How bad would it be if she turned tail and ran right back out of the hospital, abandoning everything she’d worked so hard for?

Very bad. She was here for a specific reason. To treat those with skin diseases that were sometimes benign—and sometimes deadly.

She wasn’t going to run. Not from anyone. Time to nip whatever this was in the bud. She tossed her head as the perfect solution came to mind.

“I heard you got married. How’s your wife?” She allowed a little acid to color her voice as she gave her hand a slight tug, hoping he’d take the hint.

He did. But not before his thumb skimmed over the back of her wrist in a way she recognized. Her temper died as her heart cracked in two. How could he do this?

“She’s not my wife anymore.” His throat moved as if he suddenly needed to swallow. When he spoke again, there was a rough edge to his voice. “We’re divorced.”

Divorced. Oh, God. How was she going to survive if she ran into him every day?

“I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m running late…”

Maybe he heard the frantic words that were echoing in her brain, because he took a step back, his expression cooling. “I’ll let you go, then. I’m sure we’ll see each other around the hospital.”

Whether it was a threat or a promise, she had no idea, but she saw her opportunity and grasped it with both hands, throwing him a quick, empty smile and walking away from him as fast as her legs could carry her.

And yet he watched her go. She could feel his gaze on her back, and from the heating of her hindquarters she wondered if those blue eyes had skimmed over that part of her, as well.

Divorced. Oh, how much easier it would have been if he was happily married with a van full of squawking progeny.

What had happened between him and his wife? He hadn’t sounded all that happy that his marriage was over.

It’s none of your business, Tessa. She quickened her steps, switching into what she called waddle mode—when her pace became too fast for her legs to handle and the wiggle of her hips shifted into overdrive.

But, waddle or not, she had to get away from him. And stay away. At least until the end of her current residency cycle. Maybe she should rethink her plans of applying for that Mohs micrographic surgery fellowship here at West Manhattan. She could always move to another teaching facility.

But she loved it here. Loved the hospital. Loved living in the brownstone with Sam, Caren and Holly. Was she really going to let Clay drive her out?

She turned the corner, but she didn’t slow down until she was on the elevator and heading toward the third floor. Then she sagged against the wall.

Clayton Matthews. Here in her hospital.

Her lips tightened. No. She was here to stay. She’d been toying with getting her own place and possibly even starting a family once her residency was done—a huge decision, but one she’d been thinking about for a while. She wasn’t going to drastically alter her course, no matter how much he made her insides melt. He’d lost none of his sizzle factor, she’d give him that.

So she was going to continue doing the things she loved as if she’d never seen him—although she had no idea how that was possible. She’d just have to come up with some kind of strategy for future sightings.

The doors to the elevator swished back open, and she stepped out onto the busy floor of the world she knew and loved.

Strategy.

She mulled that word over for a second or two before discarding it. Right now, she would practice preventative medicine. If it worked in health care, it could surely work in her love life—not that she had one. Since Clay, she’d dated two men. Neither had lasted more than a couple of months. She could never seem to relinquish enough control to make a steady relationship work.

Okay. So prevention was the word of the day—the word for avoiding negative consequences. Starting now, Tessa would practice prevention when it came to Clay.

Which meant avoiding him. At all costs.

“Traditional Capoeira of Brazil.”

The familiar name on the list of businesses supporting the hospital’s annual summer Health Can Be Fun festival caught Clay’s eye. At the bottom of the page were hundreds of lines—many already filled in with the names of volunteers. Hospital staff had been encouraged to find a place to serve ahead of the July 19 event. Most of the easier tasks—like raffle drawings, the ticket booth and kiddie face painting—were taken. He shook his head. He’d have to look at it again when he was a little calmer.

Seeing Tessa this morning had thrown him for a loop. Maybe he would have handled it better had she not been standing in front of that ridiculous poster the hospital had insisted on putting up. But there she’d been, talking with one of her friends. His gut had tightened when he heard the other woman laugh at something Tessa said. Because there’d been nothing funny about what had happened between the two of them.

And when Tessa denied knowing him…

Well, that had been the last straw. Any thought of sliding by the pair unnoticed had fled in a rush of anger.

Except he’d seen something flit through Tessa’s eyes when she turned and saw him standing there. Dismay? Horror? Guilt? He couldn’t place what it had been exactly, but he refused to believe what had come to mind when he’d first seen that look: pain.

There’d been no pain in the tight lips and steady gaze on the day he’d shown up on her doorstep, only to have her confirm they were through. If anyone should have felt pain back then, it had been him. Things had been tense between them for the last six months of their relationship, but he’d never dreamed she’d been that unhappy. Unless it had been about the money all along. Except she’d returned his bracelet.

His teeth clenched until his jaw ached. He’d been over and over this years ago and had come up empty.

Someone else came into the lounge and cleared her throat, making him realize a woman was waiting, pen in hand, to sign up for something. He took a couple of steps back and let her take his place.

His gaze cut back to the name of the local capoeira studio. Did Tessa still train there? When they’d been together, she’d sent him a handwritten invitation, asking him to come and learn a little more about her Brazilian heritage. He’d accepted without hesitation. And it had been worth it. Watching her work out inside the circle they called a roda had been beyond sexy—the intricate, flowing moves had highlighted the lean lines of her body and made capoeira look more like a dance than a true martial art.

He’d soon learned differently. It was just as passionate and fiery as Tessa was—and just as proud.

He shook himself back to the present as the attractive brunette finished writing her name and turned toward him with a smile, her dark eyes skipping over him. “Thanks. Better get in there and choose something. Pickings are getting mighty slim.”

“So it would seem.” He managed to return her smile, although the last thing he wanted to do was engage in small talk with a member of the opposite sex. He’d been burned twice now. Maybe he should have become a priest, like his cousin.

Except he did like women. He just didn’t have the knack for long-term relationships, evidently. That was one gene his parents—married for thirty-five years now—hadn’t passed down to him.

“See ya,” the brunette said with yet another smile, although she didn’t try to introduce herself, as Tessa’s friend had. He was just as glad.

“Yep. Good luck with that.” He nodded toward the board.

“You, too. Maybe we’ll wind up volunteering for the same thing.”

That was probably meant as a hint, but since Clay hadn’t even noticed what she’d signed up for, she was out of luck. “Maybe.”

She exited the room, leaving Clay to stare at the sheet again and wonder about Tessa and the studio. Especially when he looked closer and noticed that she hadn’t signed up for anything, either, although the list of businesses didn’t have slots for sign-ups. They must be using their own people in the rented booths.

It didn’t matter. How hard could an hour or two of volunteer work be? He could always sign up for the cleanup crew, which still had several time periods available. That way he wouldn’t have to interact with anyone.

But right now all he wanted to do was get to work and forget about his encounter with a certain redhead.

Except that a few parts of Clay were still smoldering from seeing her again. Time to remedy that. The sooner he could locate his mental fire extinguisher and douse those areas with a mixture of foam and water, the better it would be. For both of them.