Читать книгу Romancing the M.D. - Maureen Smith - Страница 9

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.