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Romancing the M.D.
Maureen Smith
Landing an internship at the prestigious Hopewell General hospital is a dream come true for Tamara St. John.She has struggled hard to get where she is and isn't about to risk it all for arrogant doctor Victor Aguilar. Tamara and Victor are constantly locking honrs, but the sinfully seductive doctor is also driving her crazy with desire. Tamara knows that dating a colleague is a recipe for disaster - until one stormy, passion-filled night changes everything. . .



Tamara emerged from the hospital to find Victor sitting astride a gleaming black-and-silver motorcycle. His long legs were covered in dark Levi’s that stretched taut across his strong, muscular thighs.
Her mouth ran dry. “Victor.”
“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured. “Want a ride?”
She wanted a ride all right, but not necessarily the kind he was offering. She’d thought he couldn’t look any sexier than he did in his scrubs, but damn, was she wrong. He looked hot as hell on his Harley, straddling the powerful bike with an innate, dangerous-edged masculinity that sent her hormones into overdrive. She wanted to hop onto the seat with him, thrust her breasts into his face and wrap her legs around his back.
“Let me give you a ride home.”
She swallowed hard, shaking her head. “That’s okay. I can walk.”
“Why walk,” he drawled, “when you can ride?”
Her bones turned to gelatin. “I only live fifteen minutes away.”
“I’ll get you there in five.”
She glanced pointedly at the black helmet dangling from the motorcycle’s handlebar. “You don’t have one of those for me.”
“Actually,” he said, reaching inside a compartment next to the gas tank and producing another helmet, “I do.” He held her gaze. “So let me take you home.”
Tamara wavered, biting her lower lip.
“Get on, cariño.” His voice dropped an octave, going indecently husky. “You know you want to.”
Dear Reader,
I hope you’ve been enjoying the Hopewell General continuity series.
In the third installment, Romancing the M.D., the scandal and drama continue with the story of rival interns Victor and Tamara. These brilliant cardiac surgeons share a sizzling attraction that they have been fighting for months. But even as they find themselves competing for the same research grant, they’re already losing their hearts to each other… .
It was fun for me to revisit Alexandria, Virginia, the setting for the fictitious Hopewell General Hospital. I grew up near Alexandria and worked in that lovely, historic city for three years. Victor and Tamara are about to create their own special memories there … if they don’t kill each other first!
As always, please share your thoughts with me at author@maureen-smith.com.
Until next time, happy reading!
Maureen Smith
Romancing the M.D. Glossary of Spanish Terms
Me importa un carajo—I don’t give a damn
Vete al carajo—Go to hell
Cariño—Sweetheart (term of endearment)
Gracias—Thank you
Muchas gracias—Thank you very much
De nada—You’re welcome
Mierda—Shit
Maldito sea—Damn it
Carajo—Damn it
Pendejo—Jerk
Vámos corre rápido—Let’s go, run fast
Hermanote—affectionate nickname for an older brother (variant of hermano)
Culo—Ass
Muy bonita—Very beautiful
Mijo/mija—My son/my daughter
Papito—Daddy (often used as a Colombian term of endearment for sons)
Tía—Aunt
Apellido—Last name
Mira—Look
Bésame—Kiss me
Te necesito—I need you
Te adoro—I adore you
Te amo—I love you
No puedo vivir sin ti—I can’t live without you
Quiero estar contigo para siempre—I want to be with you forever

Romancing
the M. D.
Maureen
Smith





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Special thanks and acknowledgment
are given to Maureen Smith for her contribution
to the Hopewell General miniseries.
For the men and women everywhere who have devoted their lives to healing others.
My utmost gratitude to Zora Bilicich, who patiently answered
my questions about her native Colombia and provided the
Spanish translations for this book.
A heartfelt thanks to Sylvia Hightower, R.N., my go-to expert on all things medical.

Chapter 1
Dr. Tamara St. John was feeling murderous.
It was too bad she’d taken an oath to do no harm. Otherwise, Victor Aguilar García would be a dead man. A gorgeous one, but a corpse nevertheless.
They squared off in the hallway outside the room of a patient who’d been readmitted to the hospital after developing a postoperative wound infection. The two interns had struck combative poses, hands on hips, lab coats spread open as they argued with each other. Tamara hated that Victor’s six-two frame forced her to angle her head back to meet his flashing gaze, and she hated that the dark blue color of his eyes reminded her of the most beautiful sapphire she’d ever seen.
“You’re not listening to me,” he said, the words gritted through straight white teeth. “Naphtomycin—”
“—is still in the clinical trial stage,” Tamara interrupted sharply. “So that means the jury’s still out on the drug’s safety and effectiveness. Unlike you, I don’t like hedging my bets on a wildcard. I think we need to administer another course of antibiotics—”
“Because that’s been working so well, right?” Victor countered mockingly.
Tamara bristled. “Let’s not forget that this is my patient—”
“—who’s been readmitted twice for a postoperative sternal wound that won’t heal. It’s time to pursue more aggressive treatment options.”
“Naphtomycin isn’t an option,” Tamara said unequivocally.
“Well, it should be.”
“I disagree. Until it’s been approved by the FDA—”
Victor interrupted, “German physicians are already using Naphtomycin on their patients, with proven results.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Tamara said obstinately.
“What do you mean it doesn’t—” He broke off, shaking his head in angry exasperation. “Look, St. John, you have the potential to be a good cardiothoracic surgeon one day, but if you want to be the best, you’re gonna have to start thinking outside the damn box.”
“How dare you?” Tamara hissed furiously. “I don’t need career advice from you! Last I checked, we both graduated from top medical schools, and we’re both finalists for the same research grant—”
“Me importa un carajo!” Victor swore in Spanish, striking his fist against the wall. “Why does everything have to be a damn competition with you? This isn’t about you and your egotistical need to be right—”
“My egotistical need?” Tamara sputtered in outrage.
“What about you? Every decision you make is based on the false assumption that you can never be wrong. You take risks with patients’ lives like you’re rolling dice on a craps table. Don’t you dare lecture me about my ego when you’re the one with the God complex!”
Victor scowled blackly. “I don’t have a—”
“Like hell you don’t!”
He glared at her another moment, then scrubbed his hands over his face and shook his head at the ceiling, as if he were petitioning God for a flood that would sweep her away. He needed a shave and a haircut, Tamara noted irritably, eyeing his stubble-roughened jaw and the thick dark hair that brushed his collar. He always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, tossed on some clothes and hopped on to his Harley to ride to work. Tamara supposed that the rumpled, sexy look worked for some women. But not her. Everything about the man grated on her damn nerves.
She felt an unwelcome jolt as his strikingly blue eyes suddenly returned to hers. “Look, St. John,” he said in a low, controlled voice, “I don’t have time to stand here arguing with you, and the patient sure as hell can’t afford any more delays in her treatment. Before you rule out administering Naphtomycin, just ask yourself what you would do if Mrs. Gruener were your mother.”
“I wouldn’t endanger her life by giving her a drug that hasn’t even been approved by the FDA!” Tamara snapped.
“How do you know?” Victor shot back. “Until you’re in that situation, you have no idea what measures you’d take to help your mother.”
“I don’t deal in hypotheticals. I deal with hard, cold facts, which is something you seem incapable of—”
“Why am I standing here talking to you?” Victor cut her off. “You’re an intern just like me, so ultimately, it’s not your call whether or not Mrs. Gruener receives Naphtomycin. And thank God for that!”
Tamara’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare go over my head.”
“Think I wouldn’t? Let me tell you something. Mrs. Gruener’s recovery is more important than your stubborn need to be right.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Sure as hell could have fooled—”
Beep, beep, beep!
The two combatants glanced down at the pagers clipped to their waists. When they saw the familiar code that signaled a crisis requiring all available medical personnel, they turned and rushed downstairs to the emergency room.
They were greeted by pandemonium as several stretchers bearing injured victims were wheeled into the hospital, where a triage had been set up to evaluate the new arrivals. Those who were most seriously injured were already being tended to.
Tamara and Victor hurried over to fellow intern Jaclyn Campbell, who was examining the bloody head wound of a teenager who was moaning in pain.
“What happened?” Tamara asked anxiously.
Jaclyn grimaced. “School bus accident. At least thirty students were on board, not to mention the driver and several other motorists involved in the collision.”
“Shit,” Tamara and Victor swore in unison.
“Let’s go, people!” shouted Dr. Lucien De Winter, the new head of the E.R. at Hopewell General. He strode through the bustling emergency room, calling out authoritatively, “All hands on deck!”
Alerted by the wail of an approaching ambulance, Tamara and Victor raced outside to greet the arriving EMTs, who had just removed a stretcher bearing a teenage biracial girl covered with blood and multiple lacerations.
“She’s hypotensive,” one of the EMTs informed them as he and Victor quickly wheeled the gurney toward the entrance to the hospital. “Blood pressure’s eighty-three over forty-two, pulse is one-thirty-six.”
Moments after they rolled the new patient into the E.R., she went into cardiac arrest.
“She needs to be opened up!” Victor said urgently.
Tamara was already sprinting ahead, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she frantically searched for an attending physician to assist them. To her dismay, none could be found.
Victor and the EMT had wheeled the patient into an available trauma bay and were using a defibrillator on her. As Tamara raced in after them, Victor called over his shoulder, “We’re gonna have to open her up!”
Tamara stared at him. “We can’t!”
“Why the hell not?”
“We’re interns, Victor! We’re not supposed to be operating on patients!”
“If we don’t help this girl ASAP,” he barked, “she’s going to die!”
Tamara knew he was right. The teenager had suffered blunt chest trauma during the traffic accident, so time was of the essence. Surely she and Victor wouldn’t be punished for taking matters into their own hands in order to save the girl’s life, she reasoned.
After casting one last glance around the chaotic emergency room, Tamara sprang into action, setting up the ultrasound machine as Victor hurriedly unpacked a tray containing the necessary equipment for an emergency resuscitative thoracotomy. They didn’t have time to get the patient transported to an operating room. They’d have to perform the procedure right there in the E.R.
After intubating the patient and donning protective equipment, Tamara and Victor went to work cutting open her chest cavity to gain access to her heart. With the hospital’s medical staff stretched perilously thin that morning, she and Victor had to rely on each other’s training and instincts to ensure a successful operation. Like a precisely choreographed ballet, they passed the scalpel, scissors and forceps back and forth, and moved out of each other’s way without being told. As Victor massaged the patient’s heart with his gloved hands, Tamara murmured encouragements to him.
Suddenly their personal differences and grievances didn’t matter. All that mattered was the single goal they shared—to save a young girl’s life.
So that’s what they focused on doing until an attending physician arrived to take over.
Later that evening—after their young patient had been transported to the intensive care unit for recovery, and the other accident victims had been stabilized or discharged—Tamara and Victor found themselves alone in the interns’ locker room. It had been a long, exhausting day. All Tamara craved was a hot shower and a soft bed, though part of her was so wired from today’s events that she wondered whether sleep would elude her tonight.
She was tying her sneakers when the deep, masculine timbre of Victor’s voice came to her from the other side of the lockers. “You did a great job today.”
Tamara straightened slowly from the floor. She was surprised by the unexpected compliment. And undeniably pleased.
“Thanks,” she said. “So did you.”
“Gracias.” Victor paused for a moment. “We make a good team.”
Something foreign fluttered in her belly. “Yeah,” she agreed softly, “we do. Shocking, isn’t it?”
He gave a low chuckle. “Yeah.”
A long silence fell between them.
Tamara found herself holding her breath, waiting for him to say more. When he didn’t, she rose from the bench, grabbed her backpack from the locker and swung the door shut. As she started from the room, she tossed over her shoulder, “I’ll see you tom—”
“Wait up. I’ll walk you outside.”
She turned to watch as Victor emerged from behind the row of lockers. He’d changed into a blue T-shirt and dark jeans that rode low on his hips and clung to his strong, muscular thighs. His duffel bag was slung over his back, while a gleaming black helmet was tucked beneath his arm.
He sauntered toward her, exuding such raw magnetism that Tamara’s mouth ran dry.
When he reached her, she noticed two things at once: the color of his T-shirt brought out the piercing blue of his eyes, and his hair had gotten tousled when he’d put on his clothes. She had an overwhelming urge to reach up and slide her fingers through the thick, wavy locks to see if they felt as soft as they looked.
“Ready?” Victor asked her.
She glanced away quickly. “Sure. Let’s go.”
They left the locker room and headed down the corridor toward the nearest exit. The hospital was so quiet, the chaos from that morning’s school bus accident almost seemed like a distant memory. But Tamara knew she’d never forget it. She and Victor had saved a sixteen-year-old girl from dying today. No matter how many years she practiced medicine, or how many more lives she saved, Tamara hoped she’d never take a single miracle for granted.
As she and Victor neared the sliding glass doors that led to the parking lot, they saw that it was raining outside. No, not just raining. Pouring.
“Oh, no,” Tamara groaned, dreading the fifteen-minute walk to her studio apartment in the torrential downpour. “I didn’t bring my umbrella to work this morning.”
“I don’t think it’d do you much good,” Victor muttered grimly, his heavy brows furrowed as he observed the slanted sheets of rain falling from the night sky. “You’d be soaked to the bone by the time you got halfway home.”
“I know.” Tamara frowned, eyeing the helmet under his arm. “You probably wouldn’t fare much better on your bike.”
“Probably not.” But he looked like he wanted to try anyway.
She heaved a sigh. “This really sucks. I don’t even remember the forecast calling for rain.”
“I wouldn’t know. I never listen to weather forecasts.”
Tamara’s mouth curved wryly. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Victor cocked a brow at her. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that you—” The rest of her reply was drowned out by a sharp clap of thunder that rattled the building and made the overhead lights flicker.
She and Victor stared at each other.
“Looks like we’re gonna have to wait out the storm,” he said.
Tamara nodded reluctantly. “Looks like.”
Victor glanced around the quiet reception area, then said abruptly, “Come on.”
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 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.
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.

Chapter 5
Over the next three days, Tamara and Victor went to great pains to try to avoid each other. If Tamara entered the on-call room where Victor was napping on the bottom bunk bed, she turned and hurried back out the door. If Victor strode into the cafeteria and saw Tamara seated alone at a table, he acknowledged her presence with a brusque nod and kept walking. They were constantly on the move—examining patients, reviewing charts, dispensing prescriptions, rushing into emergencies to save the sick and dying. Yet they were part of a team, so try as they might, it was impossible for either of them to pretend the other didn’t exist.
On Friday afternoon, they were summoned to the chief of staff’s office to learn the fate of the research grant they were both vying for. They sat stiffly beside each other as Dr. Dudley informed them that the hospital’s grant committee had decided to put a freeze on all funding projects pending the outcome of the Matthews lawsuit.
“I know you’re both disappointed,” Dr. Dudley said at the end of his spiel, “and I wish I had better news to share with you at this time. But, unfortunately, none of us could have foreseen the unsavory circumstances that would befall the hospital.”
“Of course,” Tamara murmured, injecting an appropriate amount of deference into her voice. “We understand.”
“Speak for yourself,” Victor said shortly.
Both Tamara and Dr. Dudley stared at him in surprise.
“I beg your pardon?” the chief of staff demanded imperiously.
“With all due respect, sir,” Victor said, leaning forward in his chair as he pinned the older man with a direct gaze. “I don’t understand why funding for the research grant has to be postponed. I mean, I realize that this frivolous lawsuit has everyone shaking in their boots—”
“Dr. Aguilar—”
“—but let’s be honest here. This hospital rakes in millions a year in financial donations. We treat senators and media moguls and insanely rich philanthropists. Our mission statement boasts that we’re on the cutting edge of medicine. Dr. St. John and I are each working on important research that could save countless lives and bring even more prestige to this institute. But we can’t do it on a shoestring budget. We need more funding in order to continue our work. But I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that a bunch of bureaucrats fail to grasp that basic concept.”
“Dr. Aguilar,” the chief of staff blustered indignantly, “you are way out of line! You may not agree with the committee’s decision, but you’ll damn well respect it. Furthermore, you and Dr. St. John are more than welcome to explore other funding sources. There are a number of organizations and societies—”
“I know.” Victor’s cool, narrow smile reeked of belligerence. “I guess I was just hoping that the hospital would honor its commitment to always put patient care above bureaucracy, which is what we were all promised upon acceptance into the residency program. But I guess some promises aren’t worth keeping around here.”
Face suffused with outrage, Dr. Dudley jabbed a warning finger at Victor. “Now you listen here—”
Tamara jumped out of her chair. “Goodness, where has the time gone?” she exclaimed, making an exaggerated show of checking her watch. “I really hate to cut and run, Dr. Dudley, but Victor and I have another meeting to attend, and Dr. Balmer doesn’t tolerate tardiness. So—” she grabbed Victor’s rigid arm and tugged him to his feet “—we’re just going to go and leave you to your work. We know what a busy man you are.”
“Yes, I am.” Dr. Dudley glared reproachfully at Victor, whose expression had turned downright surly. “You may be a gifted doctor, Aguilar, but you’ve got a hell of a lot to learn about organizational structure.”
Before Victor could open his mouth to respond, Tamara smoothly interjected, “He’ll take that under advisement, sir. Thank you.” And with that, she ushered Victor out of the office, which was about as easy as dragging a wild stallion up a rocky gorge.
Once they left the outer reception area occupied by Dr. Dudley’s assistant—whose mouth was agape—Victor shook off Tamara’s hold and stalked off down the corridor.
She marched after him, seething with frustration. Reaching him at the elevator, she burst out incredulously, “Have you lost your damn mind? What the hell’s gotten into you, talking to Dudley like that?”
“Vete al carajo,” Victor muttered darkly, stabbing the elevator button.
“What? Did you just tell me to go to hell?”
“Damn right I did,” he growled, rounding furiously on her. “And let’s get something straight right now. I’m not a damn child who needs to be censored. I meant every word I said to Dudley, so I don’t need you to intervene on my behalf!”
“Are you serious? You should be thanking me!”
“Thanking you!” he repeated, his thick brows slamming together over his flashing eyes. “What the hell should I thank you for?”
“I just saved your ass in there! In case you’ve forgotten, Dr. Dudley is the chief of staff. After the way you just mouthed off to him, he could kick you out of the program!”
Victor scowled. “Like you give a damn.”
“I don’t

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