Hot Doc From Her Past. Tina Beckett
later she’d learned over a loudspeaker that the Wilma Grandon Memorial Scholarship had actually been named after Clay’s maternal grandmother and that Tessa had been its one and only recipient.
A thousand eyes had swiveled in her direction.
At that moment, she’d been transported back to her childhood bedroom and those sacks of used clothes. Only this was much, much worse. Once again, she was the poor immigrant girl from Brazil who had nothing. Waves of humiliation washed up her face and flooded her body. How could he do that to her?
The embarrassment ignited, turning into something else that scorched across her soul. Only this time the passion she’d inherited from her homeland turned everything inside her to a barren wasteland.
Tessa sent his parents a warm thank-you letter, expressing her gratitude. She sent Clay a completely different kind of letter—returning his graduation present and telling him it was over. That she needed to concentrate on her residency. She repeated that refrain when he showed up at her dorm room—not letting him see how gutted she was that he’d kept such a huge piece of information from her. He evidently bought the excuse, because it was the last time she’d seen him.
Until now. But at least she could be cordial to him. Maybe he would take the hint, and they would settle on polite indifference in any future encounters.
She held out her hand, as he’d done to Holly moments earlier. “Well, it’s good to see you again, Clay. I hope you like it here.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then he took her hand, his palm skimming across hers in a heart-stopping combination of warmth and friction as his fingers closed around hers.
Heat poured into her belly and rushed up her face.
Too late she realized her mistake. Because this was no squeeze-and-release grip. This was intimate—a connection that went far beyond the physical realm—and her body reacted to the promise it brought along with it.
A shiver ran over her as he drew her a step closer. “I think I already do.”
She blinked for a second before realizing his words were in response to hers… that she hoped he’d like it here.
How bad would it be if she turned tail and ran right back out of the hospital, abandoning everything she’d worked so hard for?
Very bad. She was here for a specific reason. To treat those with skin diseases that were sometimes benign—and sometimes deadly.
She wasn’t going to run. Not from anyone. Time to nip whatever this was in the bud. She tossed her head as the perfect solution came to mind.
“I heard you got married. How’s your wife?” She allowed a little acid to color her voice as she gave her hand a slight tug, hoping he’d take the hint.
He did. But not before his thumb skimmed over the back of her wrist in a way she recognized. Her temper died as her heart cracked in two. How could he do this?
“She’s not my wife anymore.” His throat moved as if he suddenly needed to swallow. When he spoke again, there was a rough edge to his voice. “We’re divorced.”
Divorced. Oh, God. How was she going to survive if she ran into him every day?
“I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m running late…”
Maybe he heard the frantic words that were echoing in her brain, because he took a step back, his expression cooling. “I’ll let you go, then. I’m sure we’ll see each other around the hospital.”
Whether it was a threat or a promise, she had no idea, but she saw her opportunity and grasped it with both hands, throwing him a quick, empty smile and walking away from him as fast as her legs could carry her.
And yet he watched her go. She could feel his gaze on her back, and from the heating of her hindquarters she wondered if those blue eyes had skimmed over that part of her, as well.
Divorced. Oh, how much easier it would have been if he was happily married with a van full of squawking progeny.
What had happened between him and his wife? He hadn’t sounded all that happy that his marriage was over.
It’s none of your business, Tessa. She quickened her steps, switching into what she called waddle mode—when her pace became too fast for her legs to handle and the wiggle of her hips shifted into overdrive.
But, waddle or not, she had to get away from him. And stay away. At least until the end of her current residency cycle. Maybe she should rethink her plans of applying for that Mohs micrographic surgery fellowship here at West Manhattan. She could always move to another teaching facility.
But she loved it here. Loved the hospital. Loved living in the brownstone with Sam, Caren and Holly. Was she really going to let Clay drive her out?
She turned the corner, but she didn’t slow down until she was on the elevator and heading toward the third floor. Then she sagged against the wall.
Clayton Matthews. Here in her hospital.
Her lips tightened. No. She was here to stay. She’d been toying with getting her own place and possibly even starting a family once her residency was done—a huge decision, but one she’d been thinking about for a while. She wasn’t going to drastically alter her course, no matter how much he made her insides melt. He’d lost none of his sizzle factor, she’d give him that.
So she was going to continue doing the things she loved as if she’d never seen him—although she had no idea how that was possible. She’d just have to come up with some kind of strategy for future sightings.
The doors to the elevator swished back open, and she stepped out onto the busy floor of the world she knew and loved.
Strategy.
She mulled that word over for a second or two before discarding it. Right now, she would practice preventative medicine. If it worked in health care, it could surely work in her love life—not that she had one. Since Clay, she’d dated two men. Neither had lasted more than a couple of months. She could never seem to relinquish enough control to make a steady relationship work.
Okay. So prevention was the word of the day—the word for avoiding negative consequences. Starting now, Tessa would practice prevention when it came to Clay.
Which meant avoiding him. At all costs.
“Traditional Capoeira of Brazil.”
The familiar name on the list of businesses supporting the hospital’s annual summer Health Can Be Fun festival caught Clay’s eye. At the bottom of the page were hundreds of lines—many already filled in with the names of volunteers. Hospital staff had been encouraged to find a place to serve ahead of the July 19 event. Most of the easier tasks—like raffle drawings, the ticket booth and kiddie face painting—were taken. He shook his head. He’d have to look at it again when he was a little calmer.
Seeing Tessa this morning had thrown him for a loop. Maybe he would have handled it better had she not been standing in front of that ridiculous poster the hospital had insisted on putting up. But there she’d been, talking with one of her friends. His gut had tightened when he heard the other woman laugh at something Tessa said. Because there’d been nothing funny about what had happened between the two of them.
And when Tessa denied knowing him…
Well, that had been the last straw. Any thought of sliding by the pair unnoticed had fled in a rush of anger.
Except he’d seen something flit through Tessa’s eyes when she turned and saw him standing there. Dismay? Horror? Guilt? He couldn’t place what it had been exactly, but he refused to believe what had come to mind when he’d first seen that look: pain.
There’d been no pain in the tight lips and steady gaze on the day he’d shown up on her doorstep, only to have her confirm they were through. If anyone should have felt pain back then, it had been him. Things had been tense between them for the last six months of their