NEW YORK CITY DOCS

Hot-shot surgeons, taking the world by storm… by day and by night!

In the heart of New York City, four friends sharing an apartment in Brooklyn are on their way to becoming the best there is at the prestigious West Manhattan Saints Hospital—and these driven docs will let nothing stand in their way!

Meet Tessa, Kimberlyn, Holly and Sam as they strive to save lives and become top-notch surgeons in the Big Apple. Trained by world-class experts, these young docs are the future—and they’re taking the medical world by storm.

But with all their time dedicated to patients, late nights and long shifts, the last thing they expect is to meet the loves of their lives!

For fast-paced drama and sizzling romance, check out the

New York City Docs quartet:

Hot Doc from Her Past Tina Beckett

Surgeons, Rivals… Lovers Amalie Berlin

Falling at the Surgeon’s Feet Lucy Ryder

One Night in New York Amy Ruttan

Available from August 2015!

Dear Reader,

Our family lived and worked for many years in Brazil. One of the most fascinating things we experienced while we were there was our son’s class doing a demonstration of capoeira, a Brazilian martial art. It was completely different from what I’d expected, with its flowing movements accompanied by the beat of tambourines and a unique instrument called a berimbau.

In Hot Doc from Her Past, Dr Tessa Camara is slogging through the last year of her residency along with three other housemates. Tessa happens to have Brazilian parents, who have encouraged her to retain bits and pieces of her heritage—one of which is capoeira. When her martial arts studio decides to participate in the hospital’s summer festival it creates the perfect storm—because an old flame has just burst back into her life… someone she is desperately trying to steer clear of. Only the hospital, her friends and fate have other plans!

Thank you for joining Tessa and Clay as they circle each other in the capoeira ring and in life, each hoping to avoid losing not only the match but also their hearts. I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I loved writing it!

Love

Tina Beckett

A three-times Golden Heart® finalist, TINA BECKETT is the product of a Navy upbringing. Fortunately she found someone who enjoys travelling just as much as she does and married him! Having lived in Brazil for many years, Tina is fluent in Portuguese and loves to use that beautiful country as a backdrop for many of her stories. When not writing or visiting far-flung places Tina enjoys riding horses, hiking with her family and hanging out on Facebook and Twitter.

Hot Doc from Her Past
Tina Beckett

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication

To those who hold two countries in their hearts.

Table of Contents

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

Twelve years earlier

THERÉSIA CAMARA SAT cross-legged on her bedroom floor surrounded by clothes. Someone else’s clothes. Two huge garbage bags full, to be exact. She glanced down at the brand-new sundress she’d worked ten hours to buy and felt sick. What had seemed like an extravagant purchase two days ago—one that had made her feel grown-up and independent—looked cheap when compared with the designer labels on what she’d just been given.

And how could she not wear them? Worse, how could she not be utterly grateful that her best friend had thought of her when sorting through her closet? There were more clothes in those two sacks than she’d ever owned.

What it made her feel, though, was poor.

She swallowed. It was okay. She’d make good use of them, including the plum-colored prom dress tucked inside a boutique garment bag that now hung on the back of her closet door. No one would remember that Abby had worn it last year, right?

Tessa’s parents—who’d worked hard ever since moving from Brazil to the United States—were just getting their painting and remodeling business off the ground. In fact, they’d recently secured a huge contract with a Manhattan firm, redoing a group of office buildings, a project that would keep them busy for the next few years, if the owner was happy with the first batch. But there were materials and supplies to buy in preparation for the work. They certainly didn’t have the money to buy her a fancy party dress she would wear only once. Or clothes in preparation for her senior year in high school, which started in two short weeks.

She straightened her back and picked up a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans that were almost new. Luckily she and her friend were the same size. This was a godsend really, and she would see it for what it was. It would take a load off her parents—which was also the reason she’d sought a job stocking the shelves at a local supermarket to help ease their burden. There would be enough expenses as it was, with graduation and applying for scholarships for college. And then medical school. She crossed her fingers and kissed them in the hope that this particular dream came true.

And someday… She brought the jeans to her chest and squeezed them tight, her heart filling with hope. Someday she would be the one helping others. She was going to work harder than she ever thought possible to make sure her grades stayed as high as they were now. Then she would see that her parents were taken care of—even if their new contract went bust. It was what they’d done for her by moving to a new country. And she did have everything she needed, even if those things didn’t come from exclusive stores.

Tessa didn’t need labels. Or a ton of money. She just needed to succeed, no matter what sacrifices she had to make. As of now, she was making a pact with herself. She was going to get through school on her own. Without any help.

From anyone.

CHAPTER TWO

“DOMINGO, SEGUNDA-FEIRA, Terça-feira, Quarta-feira…” Reciting the days of the week in Portuguese had always helped center her before. But as Tessa continued to enunciate each syllable of each word, the bubble of horror that was trapped in her throat refused to burst. Instead, it grew larger with every breath.

She stared at the huge cardboard placard propped on an easel in the lobby of West Manhattan Saints, the one welcoming the hospital’s newest orthopedic surgeon.

People swerved to avoid her as they made their way into the medical facility, and one man bumped her shoulder with a muttered apology about being late as he passed her. Tessa was running late, too, but at the moment she was powerless to do anything except stand there.

Clayton Matthews, a blast from the past—her past—sported the same lazy half smile she knew so well. The one that tipped up one corner of his mouth and made everything inside her liquefy. And he seemed to be aiming that smile squarely at her, and in turn at everyone who might stop to gaze upon him.

Ha! Gaze upon him. That made him sound like a god or something.

He had been godlike to her at one time. Before she’d realized exactly who had provided her “scholarship” to medical school. The one that had paid for almost her entire education.

Not him. But his parents. She had no idea why they had, other than the fact that her parents and Clay’s had become fast friends as her mom and dad worked on a huge block of Clay’s dad’s buildings. Her dad was still in partnership with them, as a matter of fact.

That partnership was how she’d met Clay in the first place. And the placard brought that last terrible scene on graduation night rushing back.

She swallowed. God. She did not want to face him. Especially now. Not with the second anniversary of her mother’s death weighing on her mind.

So she wouldn’t. This final part of her residency was in cutaneous oncology—another reminder of her mom’s courageous battle—while Clay was an orthopedic surgeon. They would be on different floors, even. How likely was it that they would really run into each other in the huge hospital?

Taking a deep breath, she let herself relax slightly.

“Wow, Tessa, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Holly Buchanan, one of the housemates at the Brooklyn brownstone where she lived, stopped beside her. Long brown locks shifted to the left as the other woman tilted her head and looked at the poster. “Ooh, although he’s not a bad-looking ghost. Is that the newest member of our happy family?”

Tessa’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace. Happy? With the grueling hours they were putting in on the final year of their residency, no one had much time to notice the general atmosphere around the teaching hospital. Harried and exhausted described most of the people Tessa knew. That included her female housemates, Holly and Caren, and her one male housemate, Sam, who lived in the other three units at the brownstone. The friends saw each other more at the hospital than they did at the house.

“I guess he is.” She did her best to stifle the bitter edge to her voice, but something must have come across.

“Do you know him?” Holly’s shoulder nudged hers.

“No.” Because it was true. The man she had thought she’d known had been nothing like the man he’d turned out to be. “No, I don’t know him. At all.”

It had been how long? A little over four years. Besides, he was married now, at least that’s what she’d heard.

A warm scent tickled her nose, just as a warning tingle lifted the fine hairs on her neck.

“I think ‘at all’ might be stretching the truth, don’t you think, Tess?” That voice. Mellow. Matching the half smile on the poster to a T. “Because I definitely know you.”

She wrenched her body around to face the newest threat, just as he held out his hand to Holly. “Clayton Matthews, Orthopedics, nice to meet you.”

Holly’s eyes widened as they flicked to meet hers, and then she accepted Clay’s proffered hand and murmured her own name and specialty. Tessa sent out a desperate plea to her housemate that was summarily 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 surgery fellowship here at West Manhattan. She could always move to another teaching facility.

But she loved it here. Loved the hospital. Loved living in the brownstone with Sam, Caren and Holly. Was she really going to let Clay drive her out?

She turned the corner, but she didn’t slow down until she was on the elevator and heading toward the third floor. Then she sagged against the wall.

Clayton Matthews. Here in her hospital.

Her lips tightened. No. She was here to stay. She’d been toying with getting her own place and possibly even starting a family once her residency was done—a huge decision, but one she’d been thinking about for a while. She wasn’t going to drastically alter her course, no matter how much he made her insides melt. He’d lost none of his sizzle factor, she’d give him that.

So she was going to continue doing the things she loved as if she’d never seen him—although she had no idea how that was possible. She’d just have to come up with some kind of strategy for future sightings.

The doors to the elevator swished back open, and she stepped out onto the busy floor of the world she knew and loved.

Strategy.

She mulled that word over for a second or two before discarding it. Right now, she would practice preventative medicine. If it worked in health care, it could surely work in her love life—not that she had one. Since Clay, she’d dated two men. Neither had lasted more than a couple of months. She could never seem to relinquish enough control to make a steady relationship work.

Okay. So prevention was the word of the day—the word for avoiding negative consequences. Starting now, Tessa would practice prevention when it came to Clay.

Which meant avoiding him. At all costs.

“Traditional Capoeira of Brazil.”

The familiar name on the list of businesses supporting the hospital’s annual summer Health Can Be Fun festival caught Clay’s eye. At the bottom of the page were hundreds of lines—many already filled in with the names of volunteers. Hospital staff had been encouraged to find a place to serve ahead of the July 19 event. Most of the easier tasks—like raffle drawings, the ticket booth and kiddie face painting—were taken. He shook his head. He’d have to look at it again when he was a little calmer.

Seeing Tessa this morning had thrown him for a loop. Maybe he would have handled it better had she not been standing in front of that ridiculous poster the hospital had insisted on putting up. But there she’d been, talking with one of her friends. His gut had tightened when he heard the other woman laugh at something Tessa said. Because there’d been nothing funny about what had happened between the two of them.

And when Tessa denied knowing him…

Well, that had been the last straw. Any thought of sliding by the pair unnoticed had fled in a rush of anger.

Except he’d seen something flit through Tessa’s eyes when she turned and saw him standing there. Dismay? Horror? Guilt? He couldn’t place what it had been exactly, but he refused to believe what had come to mind when he’d first seen that look: pain.

There’d been no pain in the tight lips and steady gaze on the day he’d shown up on her doorstep, only to have her confirm they were through. If anyone should have felt pain back then, it had been him. Things had been tense between them for the last six months of their relationship, but he’d never dreamed she’d been that unhappy. Unless it had been about the money all along. Except she’d returned his bracelet.

His teeth clenched until his jaw ached. He’d been over and over this years ago and had come up empty.

Someone else came into the lounge and cleared her throat, making him realize a woman was waiting, pen in hand, to sign up for something. He took a couple of steps back and let her take his place.

His gaze cut back to the name of the local capoeira studio. Did Tessa still train there? When they’d been together, she’d sent him a handwritten invitation, asking him to come and learn a little more about her Brazilian heritage. He’d accepted without hesitation. And it had been worth it. Watching her work out inside the circle they called a roda had been beyond sexy—the intricate, flowing moves had highlighted the lean lines of her body and made capoeira look more like a dance than a true martial art.

He’d soon learned differently. It was just as passionate and fiery as Tessa was—and just as proud.

He shook himself back to the present as the attractive brunette finished writing her name and turned toward him with a smile, her dark eyes skipping over him. “Thanks. Better get in there and choose something. Pickings are getting mighty slim.”

“So it would seem.” He managed to return her smile, although the last thing he wanted to do was engage in small talk with a member of the opposite sex. He’d been burned twice now. Maybe he should have become a priest, like his cousin.

Except he did like women. He just didn’t have the knack for long-term relationships, evidently. That was one gene his parents—married for thirty-five years now—hadn’t passed down to him.

“See ya,” the brunette said with yet another smile, although she didn’t try to introduce herself, as Tessa’s friend had. He was just as glad.

“Yep. Good luck with that.” He nodded toward the board.

“You, too. Maybe we’ll wind up volunteering for the same thing.”

That was probably meant as a hint, but since Clay hadn’t even noticed what she’d signed up for, she was out of luck. “Maybe.”

She exited the room, leaving Clay to stare at the sheet again and wonder about Tessa and the studio. Especially when he looked closer and noticed that she hadn’t signed up for anything, either, although the list of businesses didn’t have slots for sign-ups. They must be using their own people in the rented booths.

It didn’t matter. How hard could an hour or two of volunteer work be? He could always sign up for the cleanup crew, which still had several time periods available. That way he wouldn’t have to interact with anyone.

But right now all he wanted to do was get to work and forget about his encounter with a certain redhead.

Except that a few parts of Clay were still smoldering from seeing her again. Time to remedy that. The sooner he could locate his mental fire extinguisher and douse those areas with a mixture of foam and water, the better it would be. For both of them.

CHAPTER THREE

WHERE WAS HIS EX-WIFE?

Clay sat in the hospital cafeteria with Molly and listened to his daughter chatter on about all she’d done with Grandma and Grandpa yesterday evening. He couldn’t hold back a sigh as she bounced in her chair and scooped up a bite of fruit from her plate.

His parents had been stoic all during his divorce, although they must have been disappointed in him for not working harder to make things work. He’d tried. Hell, he’d never expected his marriage to end in divorce any more than they had. But nothing he’d tried had worked. He’d compromised on where he’d practiced medicine to be closer to the house. He’d taken on the bulk of Molly’s care when she’d been a baby. He’d even gone to marriage counseling.

And yet here he sat.

His biggest failures in life, it seemed, had to do with women.

One thing his mom and dad had been overjoyed about had been getting the chance to be deeply involved in their granddaughter’s life. And it seemed yesterday had been no exception—with the trio heading out to Central Park for a walk with their Dalmatian, Jack.

He glanced at his watch, his impatience growing. Lizza was almost a half hour late, and he was supposed to be at work in a few more minutes. He’d been hoping to have a little time to get to know the ropes before jumping right into his morning rounds. But it looked as if that wasn’t going to happen.

Out of the corner of his eye he spied a familiar figure at the checkout counter. Only it wasn’t Lizza. He groaned out loud.

“What is it, Daddy?”

He pulled his attention back to his daughter’s blue eyes. “Nothing. I was just thinking about work.”

“Oh. Okay. Do I have to go to Mommy’s?”

The same question had been repeated for the past two visits. Clay didn’t know what to do about it. Lizza traveled for weeks at a time, visiting European fashion houses in search of ideas for new designs. Molly hadn’t spent more than a handful of weekends with her mom in the past year. And Lizza didn’t help by being so fastidious about her house and furniture. Molly wasn’t even three and a half yet. She needed to be a kid. But he’d learned to keep his mouth shut, as long as his ex didn’t do anything to damage their daughter’s self-esteem.

So he settled for a response that he hoped was conciliatory. “Mommy would be sad if you didn’t.”

“I know.” Said with a sigh that made his gut clench.

If someone had told him four years ago that after his breakup with Tessa he’d have rebound sex that would result in a pregnancy and marriage, he’d have said that person was out of their gourd. And yet here he was. Only he was crazy about his daughter. So were his parents. It made all the crap he’d put up with from Lizza bearable.

He looked back toward the checkout area just as Tessa turned around, scanning the place for a spot to sit. It was breakfast time and the place was packed with medical personnel, all scarfing down a quick bite before facing a new day.

Her glance skidded past his and then stopped for a long second, her green eyes closing for a brief instant before reopening and sliding back his way again. She gave him a quick nod and then kept looking for someplace to sit.

Only there wasn’t any.

Come on, Lizza. Hurry up.

In the meantime, he couldn’t leave Tessa standing there, so he motioned her over. He could have sworn her mouth gave a pained grimace before she moved in their direction. He had no doubt if there had been any other person in the place that she knew, she would have gone to sit with them instead.

He was her last choice.

Well, some things never changed.

She set her tray next to Molly’s, her brows coming together slightly, although she didn’t ask the question he knew had to be swirling around her head.

His daughter had no such inhibitions. “I’m Molly. Who are you?”

Tessa blinked. “I’m Dr. Camara. How are you?”

“I’m waiting on my mommy.”

His stomach tightened again. Left with no other choice, he made the introductions. “Tessa, this is my daughter.”

“Is she your friend?” Molly asked.

“An old friend, yes.” He looked at Tessa and dared her to correct him. She didn’t, dropping into the chair across from him instead.

“That’s right. Your dad and I knew each other a long time ago when we were both in school.”

“Oh. Did you know Mommy, too?”

Tessa’s teeth came down on her lower lip for a minute. “No. I didn’t. Is your mom a doctor?”

“No, she makes pretty dresses and fancy clothes.”

Tessa’s body language changed, fingers clenching on her tray for a second before finally letting go and picking up her glass of juice. “How lucky for you. You must have all kinds of wonderful outfits.”

Only she didn’t make it sound as if Molly was lucky at all. There was an edge of sadness that made him look at her a little bit closer. He didn’t voice the question in his head, however. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

“I have a Mohs procedure to assist with today.”

Interesting.

“Mohs? Are you specializing in plastic surgery?” The famed technique, named after its inventor, was used on skin lesions. Lesions that were normally cancerous.

She took a sip of her drink and then shook her head. “Dermatologic surgery. But I hope to do a fellowship in Mohs.”

He’d thought her plans had been to go into craniofacial surgery. “That’s quite a jump, isn’t it?”

“Things change.”

“They absolutely do.” He couldn’t hold back the sardonic note to his voice.

He and Tessa stared across the table at each other for several seconds as the atmosphere around them began to crackle with tension.

No. It wasn’t tension. It was the distinctive clickety-clack of a pair of high heels moving quickly across the space.

“Mommy’s coming.” His daughter’s whispered words had a fatalistic sound to them.

He swiveled around in his chair to find that Lizza was indeed headed their way, her perfectly made-up face a huge contrast to Tessa’s unadorned freckles and simple style. Tessa wasn’t the only one who’d made a huge leap from one specialty to another. The difference between his two exes could give a psychologist enough material to fill a volume or two.

Lizza stopped beside their table, brows lifting slightly in question, while Tessa looked as if she wanted to drop off the face of the earth.

Join the club, honey.

“Hello, Clayton.”

She’d always used his full name, rather than the shortened version. He’d liked it at first, because it had been yet another thing that had unlinked him from Tessa, but after a while her formality had worn thin. As had those stupid air-kisses she insisted on giving to everyone. Even as he thought it, she bent down and made a popping sound beside Molly’s cheek that never made contact. Neither did his ex attempt to embrace her daughter.

His molars ground together.

No wonder Molly had such a difficult time bonding with her. His parents were all about hugs and real, down-to-earth kisses.

When he stood, though, Lizza made no effort to lean into his cheek as she normally did. Probably because she was now looking at Tessa.

He wasn’t going to get out of introducing them, evidently. Perfect. He glanced at his watch. And now he was five minutes late for his shift. “Lizza, this is an old friend from medical school, Tessa.”

Tessa murmured that she was happy to meet her, while his ex did nothing but reach for Molly’s hand. “Are you ready to go, sweetie? Mommy has some important phone calls to make.”

His hands curled at his sides, although he tried to rein in his temper. “Are you sure you have time for her this weekend? I could always drop her back off at Mom and Dad’s place.”

“It’s my weekend.” Said as if Molly were simply one more appointment on an already busy calendar.

His chest ached. Molly didn’t even have a suitcase, since his ex had a second wardrobe and toys for their daughter at her house. She would launder Molly’s current clothes and return her to him in them. Lizza insisted on keeping their households entirely separate. Shades of Tessa and her unwillingness to accept anything from him.

Maybe the women were more alike than he’d thought.

Clay squatted in front of Molly. “I’ll see you Monday morning, chipmunk.”

One 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 instruments set the rhythm once again as Tessa concentrated on the ebb and flow that accompanied her current partner, the feinting and parrying looking almost choreographed. Two minutes later, she was standing back in the ring of participants as someone else danced in to take her place. When it was once again her turn she slid forward, only to find herself on the wrong side of a foot for the third or fourth time. Mortified, she crashed to the mat, wondering if Marcos was going to take away her purple and green cordão and demote her to a lower level.

He knelt beside her once again. “I think that is enough for today, Tessita.”

She grimaced. Marcos only resorted to calling her “little Tessa” when he was upset with her. And he had every right to be. She’d trained with him for years and years. He knew exactly what she was capable of. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I do not, either, but when you come back next week, try to make our capoeira look a little less… brutal.”

Everyone laughed, including Tessa, and the tension eased as he helped her to her feet. She sighed. “Point taken. I’ll work on it.”

“Good. The festival will be here before we know it.”

She grabbed her towel from on top of her bag and blotted the sweat from her face and neck. “Four weeks. I know. Maybe I’ll find a few extra hours this week and come in for a private session.”

“I think that would be good, Tessita.”

Ugh. Still upset. Well, Marcos wasn’t the only one. She was upset at herself. Ever since her encounter with Clay in the cafeteria she’d been on edge. Something about the way his ex had looked at her, the acid in her gaze making Tessa feel like a criminal of some sort, even though she’d done nothing wrong.

Well, it was time to put Clay and his ex—and most especially his cute little daughter—from her mind. Once and for all.

How she was going to do that, though, remained to be seen.

CHAPTER FOUR

HE WAS WATCHING HER.

Tessa had caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye as she continued to section the diseased skin tissue, teasing it away from healthy cells. The Mohs surgery had been put off for three days due to a cold her patient had developed.

How had Clay found out when she would be operating? Maybe Brian Perry, her attending cutaneous oncologist, had clued him in. But why would he have done that? Clay was an orthopedic surgeon, a whole different realm than cutaneous surgery.

She had already marked the surgical site before proceeding and when she lifted the thin layer of tissue and placed it onto a glass slide, she made sure to match the marks so they would know where to continue cutting if the margins weren’t completely clear. Brian glanced down at the site and nodded to the lab assistant. “Once you’re ready, let us know.”

They would section the tissue sample and stain it, looking for areas that still contained cancer cells. Either Tessa or Brian would then remove more tissue just at the specific location. That way they conserved as much healthy tissue as possible.

“How are you doing, Mandy?” Her patient was lying on her stomach with her head to one side, but was wide-awake. Mohs surgery was generally done under a local anesthetic. The only hard part was that there was quite a bit of waiting involved if the tumor had roots that went deeper than expected.

“I’m okay. How’s it coming?”

“We’ll know in a few minutes.”

The buzzer at her waistband went off, as did Brian’s. The lab was ready for them to view the slide.

Tessa was glad to get out from beneath Clay’s stare. She still had no idea why he was there.

The results under the microscope showed that there was still one area that contained tumor cells. Brian marked the graph they’d been charting to match what they saw on the slide.

After shaving off two more layers of skin in that area, they finally got the results they were looking for: clear margins. This wasn’t melanoma but a squamous cell tumor on the patient’s lower left back. While not as dangerous as the type of cancer that had killed Tessa’s mom, it could still grow out of control, dividing and penetrating to other organ systems if not caught in time. Fortunately this patient had a known history of skin cancer and had screened herself on a regular basis.

Sucking down a breath, she peered again at her patient as they got ready to close the surgical site. In a calm voice she explained what they’d done and what to expect, thankful they wouldn’t need to do a skin graft. Even as she hoped Clay had gotten bored and left, he probably hadn’t. She was still stumped as to his presence. Didn’t he have his own patients to attend to?

Maybe he wanted to discuss something with her. Lord, she hoped not. The last thing she needed after the day she’d had was to do a dissection of a different kind. Especially if it involved their shared past. It had been over four years. There was nothing left to dissect.

“Looks good, Tessa. I think you got everything. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” The praise should have elated her but she was still on edge over Clay’s appearance.

As if hearing her thoughts, Brian glanced up at the window, evidently noticing what she had a half hour earlier. “Looks like you had an audience.”

What did she say to that? I know? Or act as if she had no idea who it was.

She chose a different route. “Wonder why.”

“Not sure. If you feel up to finishing on your own, I’ll go see if I can help him with something. Maybe he has a surgery in here afterward and is scoping out the room. He’s new.” He paused. “I think you’re well on your way to a fellowship in Mohs, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Just beneath the hum of excitement that went through her at the other man’s words lurked a trill of annoyance. This should have been a moment of triumph for her. She was so close to finishing up her residency. And now a dark specter of the past had to sweep in and ruin it.

Forget it. You did the surgery. Without any assistance or input, for the very first time. That should be all she was thinking about right now.

But it wasn’t. And as Brian headed out the door she bit her lip.

She wasn’t thrilled about her attending going up to chitchat with her ex, but it wasn’t as if she could say anything in a roomful of other medical staff. So she just gritted her teeth and hoped she’d be able to get through the final part of the surgery.

And she should be proud. Clay had seen she could do this on her own. Just as she’d promised herself. She refrained from glancing up and making sure he actually had seen her finish. But just barely.

She asked for the suture material, and the surgical nurse handed her the pre-threaded needle. Closing the deeper layers first, she worked her way back up to the surface tissue, stopping from time to time to make sure her patient was doing okay. Fifteen minutes later she was done. Brian hadn’t come back, and she couldn’t bring herself to sneak a peek at the observation room. Instead, she settled for putting the final piece of tape on the gauze and talking to her patient, giving her care instructions and telling her to come back and see Dr. Perry in a week to have her stitches removed. Then she squeezed her shoulder and said her goodbyes.

Pulling off her surgical loupes and then stripping off her gown and gloves, she dropped everything into the appropriate bins. As if pulled on a string, her head went up, eyes seeking the space above her. It was empty. Clay wasn’t there, and neither was Brian. Disappointment sloshed through her, followed by relief. The relief was what she chose to focus on. Maybe Clay really did need to see her attending for something. Which meant he hadn’t been there because of her. None of that mattered. What mattered was that she could relax.

She pushed through the door to leave the operating room and pulled the clip from her hair so she could redo it. Except the person who’d been in the suite above her was now just outside the door. Quickly finger-combing her hair and cramming the mass back into the clip, she tried to look nonchalant, although her heart was thumping out a nonsensical rhythm in her chest.

“Where’s Brian?”

Stupid question. But it was the only thing she could think of to say at the moment.

“He said he had another patient and left me here to wait for you.”

Why would he be waiting for her instead of her attending?

“Any specific reason?”

He turned to face her, propping his shoulder against the wall. His face bore no trace of the sardonic amusement she’d come to expect from him. Instead, it was deadly serious. “I talked to my mom last night.”

At that, Tessa tensed. She and Clay’s parents had maintained a cordial relationship over the years—and despite how uncomfortable it made her feel that they’d shelled out so much money for her education, she was grateful to them. Even after she and Clay had broken up, she’d still had some contact with them. That was until her mom died. She’d barely been able to hold herself together during that time, much less carry on a coherent conversation with anyone outside work. “Oh?”

His eyes searched her face. “I didn’t know your mother passed away, Tessa.”

Oh, no. Don’t do this. Not right now. Not here. Especially since the anniversary of her death had just barely passed.

A sudden rush of moisture coated her lower lids, forcing her to blink several times to hold the flow at bay. “Yes, she did.” Licking her lips, she tried to get away. “I have a couple more patients to see, so if you’ll excuse me…”

Before she could move past him, though, he reached out and encircled her wrist, his fingers warm and solid against her icy skin. “I’m sorry, Tess. I had no idea. Is that why you changed your specialty?” He nodded toward the double doors of the operating room.

She decided to cut past all the chatter. “Is it why I went into dermatologic surgery? Yes. I suppose your mom also told you what she died of.”

“She did.” He let go of her hand and cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb beneath her left eyelid. The compassion in his gaze was so different from the blasé attitude he’d shown in front of his poster in the lobby. Then he’d been all cocky with his confident swagger and veiled references to their past.

Tessa felt a telling hint of moisture beneath his fingertip and gave an inward curse. She hadn’t quite banished the tears after all.

Taking a step back, she attempted to break free of his touch. “I decided that the best way to serve her memory was to try to help others like her.” She stiffened her spine just a bit. “Is that why you were watching me? Because of your mom?”

“You noticed me.” One brow went up.

The swagger was back.

Her lips curved despite herself. There was something about this man that did a number on her even after all these years. Did he really think she would miss seeing him there? “It was kind of hard to avoid seeing you, since you were almost directly in front of me.”

Well, not quite. He’d been off to the side, but she’d gotten used to scanning that observation room, which was used quite a bit by both senior doctors and residents in different stages of their work. So, yeah. She’d spotted him almost right away.

“It seemed the best place to find you. You float around this hospital like a ghost.”

A ghost? That was one way of putting it. A ghost on a mission was more like it. She’d caught sight of Clay twice on her floor yesterday and had ducked into a patient’s room to avoid being seen by him.

Really mature, Tessa.

“Hospitals keep their residents pretty busy. I’m sure you know that from experience.” The doors opened and her patient was wheeled out by one of the male nurses. That old wheeling-patients-out-of-the-hospital-instead-of-letting-them-walk-out-on-their-own-two-feet rule was still alive and well. This was the perfect opportunity to escape. “I need to go.”

“I’ll walk with you. Wouldn’t want you disappearing on me again.”

What?

“Was there something else you wanted to discuss?” Other than her personal life, that was. She didn’t say it, though, since she wasn’t anxious for anyone to know that she and Clay knew each other in any way other than as a pair of colleagues… casual acquaintances. She let the wheelchair move a few more yards ahead before turning to follow it.

Clay fell into step beside her. “Yes. Actually, there is.”

Clay wasn’t sure why he’d gone to the observation room. Maybe out of a sense of nostalgia or morbid curiosity. Or it could be that after his mother told him about Gloria’s death from melanoma, something inside him had needed to tell her he was sorry. Despite all of the ugly stuff that had happened between them at the end of their relationship, he’d never wanted anything bad to happen to her or her family.

Why hadn’t his mom said anything earlier? Probably because he’d cut her off anytime she’d mentioned Tessa’s name. His parents had never known how angry he’d been that she’d thrown his graduation gift back in his face—because he’d never told them. Still, they’d quickly learned she was a touchy subject, one best avoided altogether. The only reason they’d found out that Tessa was at West Manhattan Saints was because of Molly—who’d mentioned the pretty lady that had sat with them at breakfast.

They’d been all ears, probably thinking he was dating again.

Hardly. He was done with marriage, with dating… with women in general.

Then Tessa’s name had come up. And the news of Gloria’s death had been the first thing out of his mother’s mouth.

Regret for all he’d said and done streamed through him. It had grown until the weight of needing to offer his condolences had gotten too heavy. Which was why he was here.

Except as soon as he’d gotten the words out of his mouth he’d felt the need to counter them with a flip comeback seconds later. Why? And why was it only Tessa who brought out that side of him? He didn’t do the back-and-forth banter stuff with Lizza—he never had. In fact, he avoided speaking with her as much as possible nowadays.

Tessa was waiting for him to tell her what that other subject he wanted to discuss was. “Remember I asked you about the studio?”

“Studio?” The way she said it, with studied indifference, told him she knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Your capoeira studio. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think Molly might really like to watch one of the training sessions. And if they’re practicing for an exhibition, it’s the perfect opportunity.”

She turned to glance at him, her puzzlement obvious. “You know where it is. It hasn’t moved. So why ask me?”

“I wanted to see if you knew when they were practicing. Marcos—if he’s still there—probably wouldn’t even remember me.”

And that was the only reason you wanted to see her, right?

“He’ll remember you.”

Something about the way she said it made him slow down just a bit. Tessa, probably not even realizing she was doing it, slowed her pace, as well.

It had been over four years. Surely the studio had had lots of people come and go in that period of time.

“How do you know he will?”

Her glance skittered away. “He may have mentioned you once or twice.”

Ah, yes. Clay could see how that might have been awkward for her: explaining why they’d broken off their relationship and why he would no longer be training at the studio.

He could have kept going—he liked the sport. But he’d been so angry at Tessa back then, he hadn’t wanted any reminders. Besides, he’d been intent on making a clean break. Seeing her every week at the studio wasn’t exactly the best way to do that.

“And I’m sure you gave him nothing but glowing reports.”

This time, Tessa stopped completely, an odd look coming over her face. “I never said anything bad about you, Clay.” She seemed to hesitate, then continued. “Why don’t you let me call him, and I’ll get back in touch about a time.”

Okay, so she’d just gone from basically telling him to get in contact with them himself to offering to do it for him. What gives?

He decided to press a little harder. “Any particular reason you want to do it?”

She shrugged. “I speak the language. It might be easier for me to explain things.”

Somehow he doubted that was it at all. She just wanted to be in control of how much information the school’s owner had. It certainly wasn’t because of Marcos’s English skills, since he spoke it perfectly, although he still had a Brazilian accent. As did Tessa. Just a smidgen… when she got angry or emotional. Clay could still remember some pretty heady times as they’d made love. In the heat of the moment, when she’d been squirming with need, she’d gritted out something in Portuguese. And, man, had it done a number on his control, breaking it into tiny pieces.

The accent had also been there when she’d cut things off between them, the anger and pain in her eyes unmistakable, although he still had no idea what he’d done that had been so terrible. It had only been a bracelet. Lizza would have taken it and run. Except that had all changed after their divorce.

Women.

But now wasn’t the time to go into any of that. And going to the studio was probably a bad idea. A really bad idea judging from Tessa’s wary expression. But he admired the athleticism of capoeira and wanted Molly to experience what he had the first time he’d seen it. Especially since she was going through a phase where she was giving karate chops to everything in sight, including him. He wanted her to see what a real martial art looked like. And to understand that it wasn’t about “chopping” people or breaking boards, but about discipline and self-control.

Maybe his daughter could even take lessons, although he had no idea what ages they accepted.

And maybe Clay could even start training again himself. He could use something to help him stay in shape. He could go when Tessa wasn’t there. They could still keep their lives completely separate—he’d learned a thing or two from Lizza’s insistence on maintaining a his and hers division of households.

His and Tessa’s circles never needed to intersect.

Okay, then. He’d done what he’d come to do. Offer his condolences. Now it was time to get the hell out.

He took his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a business card. “Give me a call when you know something.”

Tessa hesitated, and for a moment Clay wondered if she was going to refuse to take it. Then she reached out and plucked it from his fingers, careful not to touch him. At least that’s the way Clay perceived it. So he did something about it. He caught her hand, the card trapped between them. He felt her muscles jerk and then relax. “Give my best to your dad, okay?”

“I will. Thanks.” Then she tugged free and spun away from him, striding after her patient, who was now long gone. Leaving Clay wondering what the hell he’d been thinking for going after her… for touching her. Because she wasn’t the only one who’d reacted. His hand had wanted to linger, his fingers itching to stroke over her palm the way he used to when they were together.

He knew far too well why he’d done it. It had irked him to see her attending standing so close to her while she’d been doing that surgery. And how, when the man had touched her sleeve, she hadn’t flinched away from him, as she did with him.

He hadn’t liked the way it made him feel. Had felt the need to see if she still responded to his touch the way he remembered. She’d responded, all right. He just couldn’t tell if she’d been repelled by the warm slide of flesh against flesh or if she’d been bothered in a completely different way.

He could only hope her reaction had been no less disturbing than his had been—a kind of knee-jerk muscle memory that happened without conscious thought. He’d been stunned the first time it happened. And the second.

He needed to somehow erase that memory and everything that went with it. Because if he couldn’t, he was in big, big trouble.

The first thing to do was make sure he didn’t touch her again.

No matter what.

Tessa plopped onto one of the dark dining room chairs in the brownstone house where she lived and put her head down on her arms. Caren Riggs was already home, standing in the kitchen rolling and cutting what looked to be square noodles on the marble island in the center of the space. Right now, though, Tessa was too wrung out to care, even though whatever Caren was cooking smelled divine.

Interacting with Clay was turning out to be even harder than she’d expected. Because when he touched her she quaked. And felt wistful about long-gone days.

She didn’t want to yearn for him. That was a million times worse, in her opinion, than simply lusting after that scrumptious bod. Because lust she could explain away—after all, Clay was a hunk of the first order, a vital man who dominated whatever space he happened to stroll past. Even Brian, who was a little older than Clay and just as attractive, with a touch of gray in his sandy-brown hair, didn’t make her insides squirm and twist the way her ex did.

And that was bad. Very bad. Because she didn’t want to have any kind of reaction at all to him. She was afraid she’d learn something she didn’t want to know. That she’d never quite gotten over him.

Sure you did. You broke up with him.

No. She’d broken it off because she’d known they weren’t going to be good for each other and had gotten out while the getting was good. That didn’t mean it hadn’t been painful or that it hadn’t ripped her heart from her chest to contemplate never seeing him again.

A few minutes passed as she sat there, and then the table beneath her cheek shifted a bit. Caren had evidently come over and set something down.

“Hey,” the other woman said. “You look tired.”

“Am.” The mumbled word was all she could manage.

“Then eat something. I made chicken and dumplings—classic comfort food. Besides, I have something I need to talk to you about.”

Oh, no. This was the second time today someone had used those words.

Tessa looked up to find her friend sitting across from her, and, yes, there was now a shallow, wide-rimmed bowl sitting in front of her. A second bowl sat in front of Caren. The concoction smelled even more heavenly this close to her nose. “What’s the occasion?”

“Not really an occasion. I may just not get any Southern cooking for a while, so I thought I’d make some now while I still can.”

Caren wasn’t from New York, and Tessa found her slow drawl soothing somehow. Even now it seemed to drift through her soul, pushing back the tide of confusion and grief that had gripped her ever since her surprise encounter with Clay in the hospital lobby.

She tilted her head, accepting the spoon the other woman handed across to her. The brownstone, owned by Holly and her family, was decorated in classic dark woods and rich upholstery. It reminded her of what she might find in Clay’s parents’ home. Wealthy, understated. But for some reason this place didn’t make her cringe the way it might have had she not been paying her own way.

“Why wouldn’t you get Southern cooking for a while?” She stirred the mixture in her bowl to help cool it.

“That’s the thing. I was going to talk to you, Holly and Sam after you all got home. But when you came in first, I thought I’d sound you out about it.” Caren paused and eyed her for a second. “Is everything okay?”

“Peachy.” She cut into one of the dumplings and blew on it for a second before sliding it into her mouth. Her tastebuds perked right up, a low groan sounding from her throat. She’d never tried honest-to-goodness Southern cuisine before meeting Caren, but she was rapidly becoming addicted. Swallowing it, she smiled. “This stuff is awesome.”

“Told you you’d like it. Aren’t you glad I forced you to try homemade dumplings after you moved in?”

“I hate to admit it but yes. I’ve only had the fluffy biscuit kind. These are so good.” She waited until Caren had eaten a couple of bites before continuing. “So what’s going on?”

Setting her spoon down in her bowl, her friend propped her elbows on the table. “I’m thinking of going on a medical mission.”

“What?” Caren had never mentioned leaving the hospital or the brownstone. “Where to?”

“Africa. Cameroon, actually. I just got the go-ahead to start packing.”

“Wow, that was fast. What about your fellowship, are you just going to let it go? And what about your unit?”

The house had been divided into four separate units with a shared kitchen, living room and dining room. Over the course of their residency the four roomies had become fast friends. Maybe because they were all young and single, but it was probably also because they shared a common goal of becoming doctors.

She’d just assumed things would stay the way they were for a while. To think of Caren no longer being here…

“That’s the thing. I have a cousin who is thinking of coming to West Manhattan Saints and applying for a fellowship.” Caren scooped up another bite of dumpling and waved it around for a minute. “She could sublet my unit. All my furniture would stay put. There would just be a new face to go along with it.”

A key scraped in the lock just before the front door was pushed open. Sam Napier appeared, carrying a couple of bags, which he switched to the other hand before closing the door again. He glanced at them. “Hi. Am I interrupting something?”

With his longish hair, lean build and the slightest hint of a Scottish accent, Sam could only be described as superhot, but he was also something of an enigma, quiet and intense, rarely sharing anything personal about himself. Maybe it was just a guy trait, but Tessa had a feeling there was more to it than that. Whatever it was, he was definitely the quietest of the housemates.

She shrugged. “You’re not. Caren was just… She glanced at the other woman, wondering if she wanted the medical mission thing kept a secret.

“I was just telling Tessa that I might be leaving for a while. My cousin Kimberlyn—who’s also on her way to becoming a doctor—would be able to move in and take over my share of the expenses, if that’s okay. I wanted to check with everyone first before giving her a definite answer.”

Sam came over to stand by the table. “I don’t have a problem with it. I guess it’s really up to Holly, though, since she and her folks own the place.”

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