New York City Docs

He wouldn’t put his daughter into a volatile situation like that marriage ever again. Remaining unattached was the best way to guarantee he didn’t. Which meant no kissing of spunky redheads was allowed. Unless it was a single night of summer madness that lasted no longer than that.

Now that he’d settled that he could lean back and enjoy himself.

They ate for the next fifteen minutes, the silence broken only by comments about the food and how good it was. The tension that had filled the operating room and their initial meeting seemed to have faded away. Instead, it felt more like those periods of quiet companionship they’d once shared.

Only this wasn’t four years ago. It was now. And where he’d once walked with confidence, he now needed to tread with care. For Molly’s sake.

And his own.

Tessa’s hand slid over his. “Hey. Thank you for understanding. About what happened all those years ago.”

Clay wasn’t sure he’d call it understanding in the sense that she meant it. Instead, maybe it was an acknowledgment that mistakes had been made on both their parts.

It wasn’t a new day exactly. But the warmth of her skin against his made him think about that single night of summer madness idea he’d had moments earlier. And how he might just like to experience a night like that.

Not smart, Clay.

That didn’t stop him from turning his hand so that his palm was facing up and catching her fingers in his.

And then, opening himself to what could be madness itself, he lifted her hand and kissed it.

Shock went through Tessa’s system at the firm press of his lips against her skin. Memories old and new swirled through her head and her eyes locked with his as he slowly lowered her hand back to the table. But he didn’t let go.

His plate was empty. So was hers.

“Do you want dessert, Tessa?”

She did. Only it was the forbidden kind that she’d enjoy for a little while and then regret the moment she swallowed the last little bite.

She shook her head, still unable to look away.

Not bothering to ask for the check, Clay released her long enough to throw a couple of bills on the table and then stood, hand outstretched.

Her tummy began to twist and turn, half in anticipation, half in fear of what she might say or do.

She gripped his fingers and let him haul her out of her seat in a way that felt like old times—when neither of them had been able to wait for what came next.

Only Tessa no longer knew what that was.

He towed her through the restaurant, nodding at the hostess, who wished them good-night. Then they were outside in the balmy New York air and her back was against the rough adobe finish of the restaurant.

With Clay standing in front of her. Inside her personal space.

He was so close, and when his thumb swept over the back of her hand she jumped.

“Scared?”

Yes. But she knew when to lie. “Not at all. Should I be?”

His fingers gripped even tighter and he gave a slow, knowing smile. “Absolutely.”

“Why is that?” Okay, now she was not only scared, she was dying for him to come a little closer, everything inside her coiling in readiness.

And desire.

Another couple went by them on their way to the front entrance of the restaurant, glancing quickly at them and then away again as if afraid of intruding on an intimate moment.

And they were.

Clay must have felt it, too, because he leaned next to her ear. “Exactly how soon do you need to be home, Tessa?”

Her stomach dropped to her feet. Was he asking if she had to be home, period? Because she had no idea what she was going to say if he asked her to spend the night with him.

Um… Okay, think this through for a minute.

He probably didn’t mean what she thought he did. It had to be something else. Something different, and she was being stupid and naive.

Except he was still stroking his thumb over her skin with featherlight sweeps that were driving her crazy. And his breath was still warm against the side of her face.

She bit her lip, struggling against the need to close her eyes and just go with the flow. If he did mean what she thought he meant… would she say yes?

Yes.

“I don’t have to be home right away. Why?”

How was that for prevaricating? She gave herself a high five for quick thinking.

“It’s a beautiful night. I thought we might start with a walk in the park.”

Start with?

Her stomach dropped a little lower. Central Park was one place they’d gone when they’d been dating. To either walk or study… or find a secluded spot.

They’d been kids back then, though.

So thirty-year-olds didn’t make out?

He doesn’t want to make out with you, Tessa. Get real!

“Do you go to the park a lot these days?”

“Sometimes. It’s a good place to clear my head after surgery.”

Had he gone there after she’d broken things off with him—walked around all by himself? Somehow that thought made her heart ache. But he’d never called again after that scene at her dorm, or even acted as if it had been a big shock.

They’d been fighting on and off for months before that. It had been inevitable that things would eventually come to a head. If he’d just heard the cry of her heart back then, maybe the end of the relationship wouldn’t have been so bitter. They could have parted as friends and gone their separate ways with nothing but fond memories of their time together.

But, of course, that’s not what had happened. And she couldn’t take back what she’d said to him, even if she wanted to. She still felt justified in breaking things off, in some ways.

She hadn’t wanted Clay’s gifts or to have him fix things or take care of her. She’d just wanted his love and respect. He’d never been able to understand that. And maybe he still didn’t, judging from his offer to put in a good word for her with Dr. Wesley.

Enough, Tessa. Let it go.

One thing she did want to do was go for that walk he’d suggested. Just to put to rest any animosity between them. Although she definitely wasn’t sensing any from his side right now.

So she gave his hand a quick squeeze. “The park sounds good.”

Twenty minutes later they were looking over the pond as a couple of runners glided past on silent feet. “I remember when I was a teenager,” Tessa said, “Mom told me to stay out of the park at night. Things sure have changed over the years.”

“My folks were the same way. In fact, I doubt my mother would come here after dark even now unless she had a police escort, and even then it’s iffy.” He gave a low chuckle. “I probably won’t admit I came here, even now.” Clay probably wouldn’t admit it to anyone, actually. Especially his mom, who’d been stunned by the abrupt end of their relationship, although Clay had broken it to her in a completely different way, telling her that the decision had been mutual. There’d been no reason to poison his folks’ attitude toward her, and at the time he’d had no idea that his parents’ scholarship had had anything to do with how Tessa saw him.

Evidently it had.

He was doubly glad he’d handled it the way he had with them. They’d be hurt. Devastated, actually, if they thought they’d had anything to do with her dumping him.

He wished she’d said something. Anything. Maybe they could have worked it out.

No, they couldn’t have. If not because of Tessa, because of him. He’d failed at two relationships. There was no reason to think he’d be successful at a third. He had Molly to think about should things get messy.

And they always got messy. Especially when there was lust pumping through his veins that was as strong as it had ever been.

A police officer came walking by, pausing to glance their way as if mentally assessing the situation. Clay nodded at him and the cop returned the gesture, continuing on his way.

“That’s why things are so much better,” she murmured. “And it’s been cleaned up. It’s beautiful here.”

It was, with the soft glow of the park lights gleaming off the water… and off Tessa’s hair.

Hell, part of the reason he’d suggested coming to the park had been to give himself a chance to think about what he was doing. Kissing her… or anything else was sheer madness.

Yes, it was. The madness of a single summer night.

The words whispered through his skull, a terrible litany that demanded to be heard. Demanded an answer.

Kiss her.

The urge he’d had at the restaurant was back. Stronger than ever.

As if sensing his thoughts, Tessa turned her face toward him, and her eyes widened. Damn. She always had been able to read him.

And since she could…

He moved a step closer, waiting to see if she’d back away from him. She didn’t. So his fingers went to her face, tracing across her right cheekbone, her skin warm and soft, just as it always used to be. He couldn’t remember feeling anything softer. Not even Lizza, who always had some kind of cream or ointment smeared over her skin.

Tessa’s felt… real. That was the only way he could think to describe it. Flesh and bone, and the softest, silkiest skin known to man.

“Hey.” Why he’d said that particular word, he had no idea, except it had always been a kind of signal between them. And it had almost always been followed by a meeting of their lips.

Right on cue, hers curved up at the edges. “Hey, yourself.”

That was all it took. His hand went to her nape and drew her closer. It wouldn’t be the first time people in the park had seen couples kissing—or more.

And as much as he wanted to just plaster his mouth over hers and grab at everything she’d let him take, he didn’t. Instead, he barely touched her. Just a gentle press and release. When her hands went to his shoulders, he repeated the move, his fingers sliding into the hair at the base of her skull as their lips met again. Parted.

As if protesting his teasing, her teeth nipped his bottom lip, sharp enough to sting.

Okay, honey, don’t say I didn’t try to resist…

This time, when his mouth met hers, all hesitation was gone, and he let her feel the frustration and desire he’d been fighting for the past week. Out it came, spilling over him in a torrent, making him crush her to him as he continued to deepen the kiss.

A quick wolf whistle by another passing jogger almost made him smile. Almost.

Still holding her, he edged her back a little way until they were behind a stand of landscaping that was just tall enough to give them a modicum of privacy. If the cop came back, he’d probably scowl at them and send them on their way.

Clay was willing to risk it. And more. He crowded her against a tree as his mouth again took possession of hers. Tessa made a small sound at the back of her throat, the hands that had been on his shoulders winding around his neck instead as if she needed to burrow closer. Her breasts flattened against his chest. He ached to reach up and cup them—to see if the weight in his palms was as perfect as it always had been. But he didn’t think Tessa wanted to risk a night in jail.

Although there’d been a time when neither of them would have cared. And they hadn’t—Tessa coaxing him into the lush greenery of the park and making a few of his deepest fantasies come true.

Just the memory made his flesh leap.

It had been so long.

And when her mouth pulled away from his, he muttered a curse beneath his breath, only to have her laugh and kiss her way up his jaw. “The problem with the park being safer is there are also more people.”

“I don’t remember that being a problem before.”

Her fingers floated down his chest, sliding over his nipples. He sucked in a quick breath.

She’d always been a daredevil at heart—not a hint of shrinking violet in her. Maybe it was the heated Brazilian blood flowing in her veins.

“Tess, I don’t think you want to do this.”

“Don’t I?”

Her hands slid around to the back of his waist and ducked beneath the band of his slacks. She pulled him just a little bit closer, until there was no doubt that she could feel what she did to him. Because it was right there, pulsing against her, wanting nothing more than to shove her clothes aside and take care of business right then and there.

Not a good idea. Not only because of the venue but because if he was going to have her, he damn well wanted it to last more than a few seconds. He wanted to see every last inch of her, feel every secret dip and swell and run his tongue along all those soft curves.

He pulled back, gritting his teeth at the whimper of protest that tempted him to give in and start all over again.

“No,” he muttered, his voice coming out rough and dark, even to his own ears. “Not here.”

Green eyes blinked up at him. “What?”

Holding her back so he could fully see her face, he gave her a smile that held every lusty imagining he’d ever entertained about her.

“I don’t want a quickie in the park. And I damn well don’t want it on a night when you have to get up at the crack of dawn.” He leaned in until his lips were against her ear, breathing in her scent and letting it slide back out. “It’s going to happen at my place, Tessa. And I’m going to keep you there all night long.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHOP-CHOP-CHOP.

Short little fingers connected with his shoulder in a sharp triplet that had him shaking his head.

Chop-chop-chop. The hatchet-like barrage was repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Clay’s mom, standing in the kitchen stirring a pot of pasta, laughed at the bloodcurdling shriek Molly gave for effect.

He gave her a sour look. “Don’t encourage her.”

Clay had tried a reward system with his daughter, had tried reasoning with her, but nothing seemed to deter her.

The girl spun around on her toes, her hands making various slicing motions that would make any masseuse proud to know her.

“I’m not encouraging her.” His mom pointed the wooden spoon at him, eyes crinkling in the corners even though it was obvious she was trying her best not to smile. “Like I said earlier, the sooner you can get her over to that studio, the better.”

It had been two days since he and Tessa had kissed in the park, and he’d railed at himself at least a thousand times since. What had he been thinking, promising her a steamy night at his place? He didn’t take women there. Ever.

Chop-chop-chop. Molly turned her efforts to one of the bar stools, while Jack laid his head on his paws and did his best to blend into the beige carpet. With his black and white spots, it wasn’t working out very well for him.

He patted the side of the chair, inviting his parents’ dog over to him. Jack glanced at Molly and then with a low woof came over and plopped down on the floor beside him.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you old softie,” he said, scratching behind the Dalmatian’s ears. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger just like the rest of us.”

As if to agree, the dog pulled in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, his brown eyes closing, lids flickering as he fell asleep.

If only he could go to sleep that quickly and easily. But lying in his bed was torture. Especially after telling Tessa he was going to keep her in it all night. Every time he started to drift off, images danced behind his eyelids and he’d jerk back awake.

Chop-chop-chop.

This time it was Clay who was holding back a smile. Just when he got too hung up on all that was wrong with his life, this little girl swooped into his field of vision and turned it all right again.

Getting up from his seat, he went over and caught her up in his arms. “Let’s say we go get those little choppers all washed and clean for dinner.”

Molly giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “When are we going to see capo… capo…?” Her tongue struggled over the pronunciation.

“Capoeira.” He drew the word out slowly so she could hear it. “And we’re going soon. Very soon.”

I hope.

With that, he swept her down the hall, knowing that as soon as dinner was over her little karate chops would start all over again. And continue on the drive home, until she finally fell asleep in her bed.

We’re all friends here.

Were they?

Tessa had hoped Clay wouldn’t come to the capoeira studio when she was there, but Marcos had made a scoffing sound. Right before making his comment about them all being friends.

Besides, he had something to run by her, he’d said. And by Clay.

That filled her with trepidation more than anything.

She pulled up to the studio to see that Clay’s car was already in the parking lot, but he wasn’t in it. Great. She definitely didn’t want Marcos relaying some scheme while she wasn’t there to mediate. She’d never told the director of the studio what had happened between her and her ex, and he’d never asked. But surely, since Clay had stopped coming in to train, he’d figured out they were no longer together. At least she hoped he did.

When she pushed through the door to the studio, she saw the man in question immediately. He was there in the middle of a swarm of capoeiristas with his daughter. Everything in her relaxed. He’d said he wanted Molly to see a training session, so it hadn’t just been a line.

And after that kissing session in the park she’d halfway expected him to show up on her floor and start making plans about that night he’d talked about.

She’d had second thoughts about that. She could only hope his absence meant that he’d reconsidered, as well.

It had been a warm, dark evening, and the park had been beautiful. It had been natural that it would bring up old memories and emotions.

Emotions that had no place in her hectic life right now. She was getting ready to complete her residency and apply for that fellowship. The last thing she needed to do was rekindle a romance that was dead and gone.

Was it?

Of course it was. But she was also a young woman with normal urges. And it had been a very long time since she’d been with a man. Well over a year.

If Clay propositioned her, she couldn’t guarantee she’d say no. But it would be with the understanding that it was just about the sex.

S-E-X. Nothing more.

That tick-tick-tick going on inside her chest was not some biological clock warning her time was running out. Her residency took priority. But once that was done she planned on looking into adoption. Or checking into in vitro fertilization, using a sperm donor.

Clay’s blue eyes met hers and one side of his mouth tilted up in that crazy sexy smile. Okay, so she’d been staring at him as all those thoughts had gone wriggling through her head—just like a thousand swimmers all headed for the prize. Great. Clay was not a potential sperm donor, and she hardly thought he’d be amenable to dumping a sample in a cup and handing it over to some fertility expert.

No, he’d want his donation to be up close and personal.

She shivered for a second before realizing Marcos had said something.

Clay’s brow went up, his smile widening.

Caught again! Damn.

She dragged her eyes away from him and found Marcos at the front of the room. “I’m sorry?”

“I said it was good to have Clay back in the studio, Tessita. Do you not think so?”

Tessita. Oh, no. He was already irritated with her.

“Yes. Of course it is.” She kept her eyes off Clay and fixed them firmly on Marcos.

“Do you want to show him what you’re working on?”

“What?” Oh, no. She hadn’t planned on training in front of him. “It can wait. Really. I think he just wanted his daughter to see what capoeira is.”

“And who better to show it to her than someone who has mastered the sport, não é?” Marcos held out his hand. “After all, he has seen you train before. He has trained with you.”

I’ve done more than that, Clay’s glance seemed to say.

She wanted to send Marcos a biting reply in their native tongue, but Clay would know they were talking about him. Or arguing about him. She didn’t want him to think his being here bothered her at all.

Even if it did.

Marcos clapped his hands. “Form the circle. And we begin.”

The practicantes gathered in a loose ring, Clay standing just a bit back, still holding Molly up where she could see.

Tessa hadn’t even changed into her capoeira gear yet—she’d been running late from the hospital. All those recent night shifts had wreaked havoc on her concentration. She also hadn’t expected to be dragged into an impromptu exhibition. So she was in yoga pants and a loose T-shirt.

Something in her wondered exactly what Marcos had up his sleeve.

She moved to join the circle of students, dragging her T-shirt to the side and tying a knot to hold it tight against her waist. The last thing she wanted was for it to ride up in front of everyone when she did some of the flips and twists she’d been practicing.

The studio’s tambourine players started things off, snapping out the typical beat of the studio, while the stringed bow added its own unique twist. The rest of the circle joined in, clapping and chanting in time with the beat. Pointing at two of the studio members, Marcos signaled for them to be the first to enter the ring. The men moved forward and began the advances and feints that were typical of the martial art. One of the men fell as he attempted a single twist backflip, but leaped back to his feet.

“Ai caramba, gente. Força!” Marcos waved the man out of the circle and jabbed a finger at another participant, who took his place. The other capoeirista didn’t miss a beat, just engaged the new guy. Back and forth they went in a perfectly synchronized dance that often came within a foot or two of crashing into the bodies that formed the human cage behind them but not so close as to be a real danger to anyone.

Tessa clapped in time with everyone else, but glanced back at Clay, who stood on the outside of the ring. She’d always stood next to him in days past, translating whenever Marcos had gone on a tirade about something in Portuguese. He nodded, indicating he got the gist of it, although with the way the fallen guy had slunk out of the center of the circle it was pretty obvious he’d been scolded. He shifted his daughter to the other arm and said something to the girl with a smile. She then started clapping along with everyone else.

She couldn’t hold back her own smile. One of her earliest memories was of watching her dad in the ring, doing some of these very same moves, and the memory of receiving her very first cord—the capoeira equivalent of a belt. It had been white. She’d rapidly worked her way up the ranks, although her advancement had slowed once she’d gone to medical school and had only been able to come once a week rather than the usual three that most of the serious participants trained. The purple and green cordão she currently owned signified she could be an apprentice instructor if she wanted to.

But she didn’t have time to do anything except practice medicine and come to the studio once a week.

Marcos treated her as if she were one, though, being tougher on her than he was on a lot of the other students. Since she was participating in the exhibition, he had good reason to be. One mistake and the public demonstration would be ruined—and, like most Brazilians, he would see it as a reflection on his teaching abilities. And he would not be pleased.

Marcos motioned for a new player to enter the ring, the flow in and out of the circle seamlessly performed. A few minutes later it was her turn.

Gritting her teeth, she forced her concentration to spiral down to what was contained within the circle, not allowing it to stray as she performed a low bent cartwheel, which moved her to the center of the area. She immediately went into a cadeira squat as the other player swung his leg in an arc over her back.