Romancing the M.D.

by Maureen Smith

  “Oh, yeah?” she flung back. “Since when did you become the resident narc?”

  “Whoa, Bickersons,” Sheryl intervened, making a timeout gesture with her hands. She divided an exasper ated look between them. “Sheesh. Can’t you two ever give it a rest?”

  “He started it,” Tamara snapped.

  Victor smirked. “Real mature.”

  “You should talk.”

  To circumvent another quarrel, Sheryl quickly interjected, “Finish telling me about your date, Tamara.”

  Temper simmering, she forced a bright smile. “We had a wonderful time. Morris is a real gentleman who knows how to treat a woman. Honestly, he’s as sweet and charming as he was back in high school. And since he remembered how much I used to enjoy watching plays, he invited me to—”

  “Damn, my pen’s out of ink,” Victor muttered, lifting his head from his paperwork. He glanced at Tamara. “Excuse me.”

  Her pulse went haywire as he leaned past her to retrieve another ballpoint from the pen holder on the counter beside her. When his arm lightly grazed her breasts, her nipples hardened. As she tried to move out of his way, their eyes caught and held. Her heart rate quadrupled.

  After a prolonged moment, his gaze lowered to her mouth. By the way his pupils darkened, Tamara could tell that he was remembering the scorching kiss they’d shared in the elevator. It was all she’d been able to think about since yesterday.

  They stared at each other for several electrified seconds before he moved back slowly, taking his sweet time about it.

  “I could have just handed the pen to you,” Tamara grumbled, her voice husky with arousal.

  His lips twitched. “I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation.”

  “Yeah, right.” She looked down at his lab coat. “You have spare pens in your pocket.”

  He followed the direction of her accusing gaze. “Oops,” he murmured. “My bad.”

  Tamara scowled at him.

  When she returned her attention to Sheryl, she found the other woman watching them closely, her eyes glinting with shrewd speculation.

  Tamara panicked. “If you two will excuse me,” she mumbled, scooping her patient charts off the counter, “I have rounds to make.”

  And with that, she strode quickly away.

  Chapter 7

  As she neared the entrance to Bethany Dennison’s room two hours later, Tamara heard girlish peals of laughter. Curiosity piqued, she quickened her pace until she reached the open doorway.

  She stopped short at the sight that greeted her.

  Victor and a small boy, no more than six years old, faced off across the portable overbed table, each gripping the other’s hand. Victor was squatting on his haunches, eyes narrowed, face screwed up in a comical expression of concentration.

  Bethany sat propped up in bed, her dark hair pulled back from her face in a thick rope of a braid that hung over one shoulder. Tamara was pleased to see how well the lacerations and contusions on her face and arms were healing. And judging by the sound of her laughter, she wasn’t experiencing any respiratory problems, which was always a risk for patients who’d undergone a thoracotomy.

  Grinning at Victor and her little brother, Bethany asked, “Are you guys ready?”

  The boy eagerly bobbed his head.

  “Let’s do this,” Victor said in the low, guttural rasp perfected by Hollywood action heroes.

  Bethany’s grin widened. “Okay. On the count of three. One…two…three!”

  The boy scrunched up his small face, pushing at Victor’s arm with all his might. Even from across the room, Tamara could see that Victor wasn’t exerting the slightest bit of force, though he did a pretty good job of pretending to.

  After several prolonged moments, he surrendered with a loud, exaggerated groan of disappointment.

  The boy’s eyes widened—first with shock, then with triumphant elation—as he stared at his sister. “I beat him! I beat him!”

  Bethany clapped and cheered. “Yay, Decker! Good job!”

  Affecting an appropriately humble expression, Victor shook his young opponent’s hand. “Congratulations, my man. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

  Beaming with vindicated delight, Decker Dennison flexed his nonexistent biceps. “Told you I’m strong!”

  Victor laughed, playfully ruffling the boy’s dark, curly locks. “Guess I need to get out of this hospital more often and start hitting the gym, huh?”

  “Yeah, probably,” Decker agreed.

  Tamara covered her mouth, but her laughter escaped anyway, drawing the attention of the three occupants of the room.

  She was amused by the varying reactions to her appearance. Decker waved at her, then plopped into a chair to resume playing his Nintendo DS. While Victor’s expression grew shuttered, Bethany’s face brightened even more, if that were possible.

  “Hi, Dr. St. John!”

  “Hello, Bethany,” Tamara said, smiling warmly as she advanced into the room. “How are you feeling today?”

  Bethany grimaced. “My ribs are still sore, but Dr. Aguilar says that’s normal after a thora…thoracot—” She broke off, grinning sheepishly. “How do you pronounce that word again?”

  “Tho-ra-cot-o-my,” Tamara enunciated. “And Dr. Aguilar is right. Sore ribs are perfectly normal.”

  “What’d I tell you, kiddo?” Victor drawled humorously. “And she never thinks I’m right.”

  Bethany giggled.

  As Tamara reached the bed, Victor moved aside so that she could stand near their patient. “Where’s your mom?” she asked Bethany, thinking of the anxious woman who’d been a constant fixture at her daughter’s bedside since the accident.

  “She went downstairs to meet my father,” Bethany replied. “He just got off from work.”

  Tamara nodded, smiling as she gently passed a hand over the teenager’s smooth, wavy hair. “You’re looking better and better every day. And the sound of your laughter was music to my ears.”

  “That’s what Dr. Aguilar said.” Bethany grinned at them. “You guys think alike.”

  Tamara and Victor exchanged glances.

  “Every now and then,” Tamara conceded before her gaze wandered to the growing assortment of balloons, flowers and teddy bears that had been brought to Bethany during the week.

  She smiled. “I do believe you’re the most popular patient on this floor, Miss Bethany.”

  “Yeah.” The girl smiled shyly. “A lot of kids and teachers from school came to see me. Even the principal showed up one day.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Tamara said warmly. “Isn’t it great to know how much you’re loved?”

  Bethany nodded. “I didn’t even know some of the people who visited me.” She hesitated, then admitted almost wistfully, “I’m not, like, one of the most popular kids at school. Not even close.”

  Tamara was touched by the glimpse of vulnerability Bethany had revealed. Suddenly she was reminded of the shy, reclusive nerd she’d once been, misunderstood by her peers who hadn’t shared her consuming ambition.

  “As you’re about to discover, kiddo,” Victor drawled wryly, “popularity is overrated.”

  Bethany stared up at him. “You think I’m going to be popular now?”

  “You already are. You were the most seriously injured kid on that bus. You were this close—” he held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart “—to doing the tango with the Grim Reaper. Your name’s been all over the news, and reporters have been chomping at the bit to talk to you.” He flashed a crooked grin. “Helluva way to get famous, isn’t it?”

  “Tell me about it.” A slow, impish smile swept across Bethany’s face. “But I’ll take it.”

  “Good Lord,” Tamara muttered as Victor threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  A few minutes later they were joined by Bethany’s parents, an attractive interracial couple in their late thirties. Although Victor and Eli Dennison had already established a rapport, bonding over their love for all things baseball
, the man still seemed somewhat uncomfortable around Tamara. She suspected that he, like many brothers who married outside their race, expected to be harshly judged by every black woman he encountered. But he needn’t have feared Tamara’s condemnation. Although she fully expected to marry a black man someday, she’d never begrudged others for making different choices.

  After perching on the side of the bed to hug and kiss his daughter, Eli Dennison looked up at Victor and Tamara with a worried expression. “I know you’re sending her home tomorrow, but is she going to be okay? I mean, long-term?”

  Tamara was surprised when Victor glanced at her, silently prompting her to respond to the concerned father.

  She hesitated, then gently explained, “Bethany’s going to experience some pain and discomfort for a while. And you all need to keep a close eye on her incision to make sure there’s no redness or swelling, which could mean it’s infected. To answer your question regarding her long-term prognosis, I can tell you that the worst part is over. Bethany survived a complicated medical procedure that many don’t. She’s young, healthy and strong, and incredibly resilient.” Tamara smiled. “So something tells me, Mr. Dennison, that your daughter’s going to be around for a very long time to drive you crazy over boys, college applications and expensive wedding preparations.”

  Tears filled the man’s dark eyes. “Thank you,” he said in a soft, choked voice. “Thanks to both of you for saving our baby girl’s life.”

  Tamara’s throat tightened. She could only nod as Chloe Dennison caught and squeezed her husband’s hand.

  Victor walked over to their son and crouched down, bringing himself to eye level with the boy. “I want you to take good care of your sister, all right? Bring her all the ice cream she wants, and if you see that she’s in a lot of pain, let one of your parents know. Can you do that for me, buddy?”

  Decker nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir.”

  Victor grinned, tousling his hair. “Attaboy.”

  After hugging Bethany and promising to return the next day to go over her discharge instructions, Tamara and Victor left the room.

  A companionable silence lapsed between them as they started down the corridor, hands clasped behind their backs, steps perfectly synchronized.

  “You have an amazing bedside manner,” Tamara blurted, voicing her thoughts aloud without intending to.

  “So do you,” Victor said at once.

  They stopped walking and turned to face each other, their words tumbling over one another’s.

  “I loved the way you stroked Bethany’s hair, giving her that human touch.”

  “And what about you? Arm wrestling with her little brother like that? It was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Victor shook his head. “He’s a great kid who loves his sister. The whole family would have fallen apart if anything had happened to her. But that’s why I wanted you to answer Mr. Dennison’s question. I knew you’d have just the right words to reassure him.”

  “I really appreciated that,” Tamara said earnestly. “But you would have been just as comforting. You really connected with them.”

  “So did you. I think—” The rest of Victor’s sentence was drowned out by the noisy rattle of a passing dinner cart.

  He and Tamara smiled sheepishly at each other.

  “Talk about a mutual admiration society,” she teased.

  Victor chuckled softly. “Yeah.”

  As the humorous moment passed, they stared at each other. Tamara nervously tucked her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “Well, I’d better—” She broke off at the sound of approaching voices.

  Glancing around, she saw two young, attractive nurses strolling toward them. As the women drew near, they smiled so suggestively at Victor that Tamara would have sworn the three of them had just engaged in a ménage à trois. Which they probably had at some point.

  “Hey, Victor,” they cooed. Not Dr. Aguilar. Victor.

  He inclined his head in greeting. “Ladies.”

  They continued past, giggling breathlessly like schoolgirls.

  Rubbing his jaw as if he were suddenly uncomfortable, Victor reclaimed Tamara’s gaze. “Where were we?”

  “I was about to finish my rounds,” she said tightly. “So you’re more than welcome to catch up with your little…friends.”

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She smiled sweetly. “You’re the one with the genius IQ. So I’ll let you figure it out.”

  As she stalked off down the hallway, he came after her. “Wait a minute. Can we talk?”

  “We just were. Now it’s time to get back to work.”

  “Not yet. We weren’t finished.”

  “Yes, we—”

  Without warning, Victor grabbed her arm and tugged her across the corridor to a supply closet. He nudged her inside, then shoved the door closed behind them.

  Tamara staggered backward, glaring incredulously at him. “What do you think you’re doing? I don’t appreciate being manhandled!”

  “You didn’t leave me any other choice,” Victor growled.

  She glanced disdainfully around the narrow closet filled with shelves of medical supplies and equipment. “Please don’t tell me this is where you have all your quickies.”

  He scowled. “What the hell are you talking about? What quickies?”

  She snorted. “Like you don’t know. I’ve heard—”

  “Whatever,” he cut her off impatiently. “I just wanted to have a private conversation with you for once. I swear, it feels like we’re constantly under a damn microscope around here.”

  Tamara couldn’t argue with that. “Fine,” she relented in nervous exasperation. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Us.”

  Her heart lodged in her throat. Staring at him, she asked warily, “What about us?”

  “There’s something happening between us, Tamara.”

  She swallowed hard, fighting panic. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Deny it all you want,” he said, dangerously soft, “but I know I’m not the only one who sensed a change in our relationship the other night. We made a connection, Tamara. A powerful connection.”

  She shivered. “Just because we’re attracted to each other—”

  “Uh-uh,” he interrupted, slowly advancing on her. “It’s more than that, though God knows if we had any more chemistry, we wouldn’t be able to keep our clothes on. No, cariño, what we’re dealing with here goes way beyond sexual attraction, and I think you know it.”

  She trembled, her lungs locking as he stopped just inches from her. It was criminal what he did to her, wreaking pure havoc on her body without even laying a finger on her.

  “Go out with me, Tamara,” he said, low and husky.

  She shook her head vehemently. “I can’t.”

  “You can’t?” he challenged. “Or you won’t?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “One implies an inability. The other is a refusal.” His eyes glittered. “So which is it?”

  “Both,” she said in a shaky voice. “You know the policy—”

  “Screw the policy,” he growled. “The policy didn’t stop Jaclyn and Dr. De Winter from getting together.”

  “And look what it cost them!” Tamara interjected. “Dr. De Winter had to step down as chief resident.”

  “Yeah, but he’s in charge of the E.R. now, so I’d say things worked out just fine for him. Anyway, we’re not talking about anyone else. We’re talking about us.”

  “There is no us,” Tamara said emphatically. “I’m sorry, Victor, but I’ve worked too damn hard to get where I am to allow myself to be sidetracked.”

  “I’m not trying to sidetrack you. We share the same career goals, remember?”

  “Exactly! So you have as much to lose as I do.”

  “One date, Tamara,” Victor cajoled huskily. “All I’m asking for is one date.”

  She wavered, undeniably tempted to surren
der, to allow herself to enjoy his company—free of prying eyes—for just one night. But she knew that one date would lead to another, then another. And before she knew it, she’d be in over her head, wondering how she could have been so foolish.

  Steeling her resolve, she shook her head firmly. “No, Victor. I can’t go out with you. I won’t. So please just—” She broke off as he tucked his stethoscope into his ears and gently placed the disk on her chest. Her heart galloped as she watched him close his eyes, the dark crescents of his lashes fanning his cheekbones.

  After several agonizing moments, she swiped her tongue nervously over her dry lips. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “Listening to your heart.” His eyes opened, tunneling deep into hers. “You should try it sometime.”

  And with those profoundly nuanced words hanging between them, he turned and walked out on her.

  Chapter 8

  “So who’d you have to sleep with to get an entire day off?” Alejandro Aguilar García teased his older brother the next afternoon.

  “Very funny,” Victor retorted. “I didn’t have to sleep with anyone. And I’m on call, so I could get paged anytime.”

  Alejandro tsk-tsked. “You’ll break Mama’s heart if you leave early. All she’s looked forward to is having you home today. She killed the fatted calf and everything.”

  Victor chuckled. “Believe me, I’m not going anywhere until I’ve stuffed my face. My mouth’s been watering since I got here and smelled her cooking.”

  Alejandro grinned. “That’s why I have to marry a Colombian woman with some culinary chops. I wouldn’t be able to survive without empanadas and sancocho.”

  “You don’t know what you’d be able to survive without,” Victor murmured, his mood darkening at the thought of Tamara and the way she’d turned him down yesterday. If she thought he was giving up that easily, she’d better think again.

  “Anyway,” he added to his brother, “you’re too young to be thinking about marriage. You’re only a junior in college. Speaking of which, how are your classes going?”