Tamara frowned at him. “Where?”
“Just follow me.” He started off down the hallway.
When she remained where she was, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “If anyone sees that we’re still hanging around the hospital, we’re gonna get drafted into pulling another shift.”
He was right.
“Say no more,” Tamara muttered, hurrying after him.
Chapter 2
They rode the elevator to the tenth floor, where they disembarked onto a vacant wing that was undergoing construction. The long corridors were dimly lit, and plastic tarp covered the dusty linoleum floors. With rain lashing at the windows and forks of lightning streaking across the sky, the empty ward had a decidedly gloomy atmosphere.
“We probably shouldn’t be up here,” Tamara said, her voice hushed.
Victor chuckled softly. “What’s wrong? You afraid that some bogeyman is lurking in the shadows?”
“Of course not.” A wry grin tugged at her lips. “But you have to admit that this would be the perfect setup for some cheesy horror movie. In fact, I’m pretty sure that Michael Myers has slaughtered more than his share of victims in deserted hospital wards.”
Again, Victor chuckled. “Don’t worry, cariño. I’ll protect you.”
Tamara forced herself to ignore the way her pulse skipped at the term of endearment, which he’d undoubtedly used without conscious thought.
As they walked down the empty corridor, their footsteps crunched against the plastic tarp, the sound echoing loudly in the silence. “Where, exactly, are we going?” Tamara asked.
“To find an open room.”
“What if there aren’t any?”
He slanted her an amused look. “Think positive.”
They rounded a corner and tried the first door. It was locked, as were the next twelve doors they approached.
Weary and frustrated, Tamara was about to give up and suggest that they head back downstairs. And then they came to an unlocked room near the end of another hallway. Laughing softly, they slipped inside like a pair of vagrants relieved to find shelter on a brutal winter night.
When Tamara automatically reached for the light switch, Victor warned, “Don’t turn it on, or someone might see us.”
“Oops, that’s right. I forgot.”
Not that they really needed the light. Since the curtains were open, rooftop lighting from an adjacent building poured through the window to reveal a small room occupied by a single bed, a night table and a chair tucked into the corner.
It wasn’t until Victor closed the door behind them that Tamara felt a moment’s pause at being alone with him. Not because she was attracted to him or anything, she told herself. She just didn’t want to be caught in a compromising position with him. Their chief of staff, Dr. Germaine Dudley, frowned upon intra-hospital relationships. The last thing Tamara needed was to be disqualified from receiving the research grant because she’d violated the hospital’s nonfraternization policy.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Victor told her.
She hesitated, then sat stiffly on the bed and shrugged out of her backpack.
Victor set his helmet on the table and dropped his duffel bag to the floor, then crossed the room to retrieve the lone chair. He dragged it over to the bed and plopped down with a grateful groan.
“Damn, it feels good to be off my feet,” he said, stretching out his long legs and rubbing his hands over his face. “Thank God one of these rooms was open.”
“Yeah.” Tamara glanced out the window. “The rain doesn’t appear to be letting up.”
Victor followed the direction of her wistful gaze. “Nope. Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while.”
She sighed heavily. “Looks that way.”
Victor chuckled dryly, bending to remove his black boots. “Don’t sound so depressed, St. John. I’m sure we can get through a couple more hours without killing each other. Especially if we’re both asleep—which I intend to be pretty damn soon.”
Tamara grinned. “Good point.” After another hesitation, she toed off her sneakers, loosened her ponytail, then stretched out on the bed facing Victor. “We should probably set an alarm so we don’t oversleep.”
“Good idea.” Victor pulled out his cell and quickly programmed some numbers, then stuffed the phone back into his pocket. “All set.”
“Thanks,” Tamara murmured.
“De nada. Sweet dreams.”
“You, too.”
She watched as he propped his big feet on the table, folded his hands across his flat abdomen, leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes.
Tamara rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. But she was too keyed up to take a nap, and Victor’s proximity didn’t exactly help. It had been eons since she’d last gone on a date, let alone shared a bedroom with a man. And this wasn’t just any man. This was her nemesis, her archrival, the only person who could derail her chance at landing the research grant she’d worked so hard to receive.
Gnawing her lower lip, Tamara cautiously turned her head on the pillow and looked at Victor, allowing her eyes to trace his features. Even she had to admit how ridiculously gorgeous he was, with thick dark brows, strong cheekbones, a square jaw and a deep, olive-toned complexion that was a gift of his Colombian heritage. But the feature Tamara found most distracting—next to his hypnotic blue eyes—were his lush, sensual lips. Watching those lips move had caused her to lose her train of thought more often than she cared to admit.
But she knew better than to indulge an attraction to Victor Aguilar, no matter how unbelievably hot he was. According to the rumor mill, he’d secretly dated over half the hospital’s nursing staff, as well as one of their fellow interns, Isabelle Morales. Even if Tamara weren’t a stickler for following rules, she wouldn’t have allowed herself to become involved with Victor. Her sense of self-preservation was too strong for that.
So why are you lying here ogling the man when you’re supposed to be sleeping? her conscience mocked.
Heat stung her face, and she quickly averted her gaze. As thunder rumbled outside the window, she squeezed her eyes shut and silently began counting sheep.
Several moments later she felt a light, prickling awareness that made her reopen her eyes and turn her head. Her heart thumped into her throat when she discovered Victor watching her from beneath the thick fringe of his dark lashes.
She stared at him.
He stared back.
After a prolonged silence, she whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Can’t sleep?”
He shook his head slowly. “You?”
She shook her head. “The thunder’s too loud,” she lied.
“Yeah.” But he didn’t sound very convinced.
“I think I’m too wired to sleep,” she added, sitting up and folding her legs into a half-lotus position. “No matter how exhausted I am at the end of the day, it usually takes me a while to come down off an adrenaline rush.”
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 slow
ly 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 operat
e 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.”
Romancing the M.D. Page 2