of Lizza’s heels clicked in that way she did when she was annoyed at something. Too damn bad.
His daughter threw her arms around his neck. “Love you, Daddy. Be good.”
“Aren’t I always?” He tweaked one of her braids.
A second later, Lizza and his daughter were headed toward the hospital entrance. A couple of masculine heads turned toward his ex-wife. She was beautiful, he acknowledged, with long blond hair and a delicate bone structure, although he now saw it as a brittle kind of grace that didn’t stand up to pressure.
When he examined his feelings about other men ogling her, he found he didn’t care. He’d stopped caring when she’d accidentally forwarded texts to his phone from another man. Someone in Italy that she evidently met up with whenever she was there, despite having a young daughter at home. All that money on counseling for nothing.
The only thing he was grateful to her for was that she’d signed over primary custody of Molly to him without batting an eyelid, saying that with her schedule it was probably for the best.
He couldn’t agree more.
Dropping back in his seat, he noticed that Tessa was studying her bowl of oatmeal as if it were fascinating.
He blew out a breath. “And how has your morning been?”
The smile he expected didn’t come. Instead, she swirled her spoon through the mixture in her bowl.
“It must be embarrassing to have her meet me.”
“It was a little different than introducing two colleagues at a medical conference, I’ll give you that.”
This time her head came up, eyes flashing, color seeping into her face. “You could have pretended not to know me.”
“Why would I do…?” He frowned. “You think I’m embarrassed by you?”
He glanced at his watch for a third time and found that five minutes late had morphed into fifteen. He didn’t have time to hash this out with her right now. Not that it even mattered.
Tessa had always had a chip on her shoulder about money or anything associated with it—that probably extended to Lizza’s display of expensive clothing.
It wasn’t as if she was poor, her parents did well enough for themselves, even if his grandmother’s memorial fund had helped pay for her education. Their parents were good friends—they’d worked together for years. When Tessa’s parents had realized they weren’t going to be able to help her achieve her dreams, his mom and dad had quietly stepped in to help. They were generous people—it was what they did.
In the past, Clay would have tried to smooth things over with her. Right now, however, he was out of both time and patience.
Standing to his feet, he looked down at her. “I think you’ve got it backward, sweetheart. You always acted like you were the one embarrassed, not me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t suppose you do.” Time to leave. But first there was a little itch he just had to scratch. “Before I forget, I saw the capoeira studio on the list of businesses involved with the festival.”
She nodded. “They’re putting on an exhibition to garner interest.”
“Are you participating in it?” Why he’d asked that, he had no idea.
This time her answer came even slower. “I am.”
“You always were good. I’ll have to stop by the studio sometime.”
He tried to stop the memory of Tessa’s long, lithe movements as she trained in capoeira from crowding his head, but it was too late—the memories were too vivid… and too raw.
A tightening sensation in his gut—as well as her less-than-enthusiastic response—told him it was time to get out while the getting was good.
So he cut the conversation short with a quick wave and a “Have a nice day” thrown in for good measure.
As it was, Tessa was the only one with the slightest chance of that happening. Because, between his first ex and his second, his day was well and truly shot.
The foot connected with her cheek with a sharp smack.
Down Tessa went in a tangle of arms and legs.
Marcos was immediately kneeling beside her. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. Where is your head, moça?”
Her head was where it had been for the past two days. On Clay and the thought of him showing up at the studio unannounced, maybe even with his daughter in tow. Or, worse, with his gorgeous-enough-to-be-a-model ex-wife. The one who fashioned clothes like the ones she’d been given all those years ago. That would be the worst. She’d felt like a field mouse next to an exotic cat as she’d sat there in the hospital cafeteria. Surely Clay had compared them as well and wondered why the hell he hadn’t stuck with his wife. Or wondered what he’d seen in Tessa in the first place.
She shook the thoughts away, angry with herself. She was supposed to be training for the hospital festival. And this was geared to be a demonstration that showed off capoeira’s romantic side, from its circle of constantly switching partners to the cartwheels, spins and beating drums that made the martial art both beautiful and different. It was more about skill than combat nowadays, but it still clung to some of its former roots. As she’d found out on several occasions. Today being one of them.
One wrong move—or right move, depending on your perspective—and you could take an opponent down. Just as she’d done when she and Clay had been dating, and she’d sent that invitation asking him to come to the studio.
He’d soon been hooked. In fact, she’d done the batismo ceremony on him—a match where a more advanced capoeirista took down an inexperienced student, formally inducting him into the studio. She’d even presented him with his white cord—the ranking system used by the sport—helping him tie it around his waist. Memories of sweeping his legs out from under him still haunted her dreams on occasion. As did the memory of leaning over him in victory once he’d been flat on his back. His response had made her shiver. With a single raised brow he’d promised retribution later that night.
And he’d kept that promise. Sweet, sweet retribution that had had her begging for more.
“Tessa?”
She blinked back to the present. “Sorry. I just lost my concentration for a second or two.”
“A second or two?” Several Portuguese swearwords accompanied the question as the owner of the studio stared down at her. “It’s been more like the entire match.” He touched a finger to her still-stinging cheek. “I don’t want you bruised up before the festival. It defeats the purpose of emphasizing the workout benefits of capoeira. Intende?”
“Yes, I understand. Let’s try again.”
Marcos helped her up and then motioned for the next person in the circle to join her. “Begin.”
The percussion
