Romancing the M.D.. Maureen Smith

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      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.

      Chapter 4

      That afternoon, Tamara met her mother for lunch at The Fish Market, an Old Town landmark perched at the end of Alexandria’s historic King Street. Although the restaurant had devolved into more of a tourist trap in recent years, and the nautical decor was on the campy side, the place still served some of the best seafood in the area. Whenever Tamara and her mother were in the mood for crab cakes or greasy fish sandwiches, they knew where to go.

      “Guess who I ran into yesterday,” Vonda St. John announced halfway through the meal.

      Tamara glanced up from a plate of pasta and scallops to meet her mother’s gaze across the small table. “Who?”

      There was an excited gleam in Vonda’s almond-shaped eyes, which Tamara had inherited—along with her mother’s high cheekbones, chocolate complexion, chestnut-colored hair and lithe, curvy physique. They looked so much alike that men often hit on them at the same time, claiming to mistake СКАЧАТЬ