ignored.
“Well, I need to get back to work,” her friend said, “before Langley takes me down. Again.”
The head of surgical residents, Gareth Langley didn’t suffer fools lightly, and somehow he and Holly had gotten off to a rocky start. Tessa steered clear of the man whenever possible.
Her housemate then slipped from between them and hurried down the hallway, blinking out of sight as she rounded the corner to the elevators. That left her alone with Clay. And his poster.
“Tessa, good to see you again. How are you?”
Really? That was the best he could do, after everything that had gone on between them? “Fine. You?”
“Surprised.” A flash of teeth accompanied that word. “I had no idea you were doing your residency at West Manhattan Saints.”
Didn’t he? Since West Manhattan was one of the biggest teaching hospitals in the city, how could he not realize this was where she’d wind up?
Unless he really had known and had come here to torment her.
Delusional, Tess. That’s what you are. He did not follow you to this hospital.
She decided to ignore his comment, nodding at the placard instead. “Nice likeness.”
The impulse to start counting days again winked through her head… this time in English. She fought the urge. And the picture was nice. It showed off his thick black hair, strong chin, those deep blue eyes that could slide over you and make you think you were the only person in the world.
Even when you weren’t.
At least it was only a head shot, because from the chest down he was no less mouthwatering than he’d been four years ago—something she was doing her damnedest not to dwell on.
He glanced at the picture. “You do what you have to. You should know that better than anyone.”
Yes, she did. Like continue working your heart out when you discovered your so-called free ride hadn’t actually been free at all. And that the man standing in front of her had known where things stood the whole time they’d shared classes… when they’d become an item. When he’d laid her down on the bed in his dorm room and become her very first lover.
Then had come the gifts. Small at first. Then more expensive, despite her protests.
It had all blown apart at her graduation ceremony when he’d handed her a flat jeweler’s box with a kiss and murmured congratulations. A half hour 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
