“Good idea.” Victor pulled out his cell and quickly programmed some numbers, then stuffed the phone back into his pocket. “All set.”
“Thanks,” Tamara murmured.
“De nada. Sweet dreams.”
“You, too.”
She watched as he propped his big feet on the table, folded his hands across his flat abdomen, leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes.
Tamara rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. But she was too keyed up to take a nap, and Victor’s proximity didn’t exactly help. It had been eons since she’d last gone on a date, let alone shared a bedroom with a man. And this wasn’t just any man. This was her nemesis, her archrival, the only person who could derail her chance at landing the research grant she’d worked so hard to receive.
Gnawing her lower lip, Tamara cautiously turned her head on the pillow and looked at Victor, allowing her eyes to trace his features. Even she had to admit how ridiculously gorgeous he was, with thick dark brows, strong cheekbones, a square jaw and a deep, olive-toned complexion that was a gift of his Colombian heritage. But the feature Tamara found most distracting—next to his hypnotic blue eyes—were his lush, sensual lips. Watching those lips move had caused her to lose her train of thought more often than she cared to admit.
But she knew better than to indulge an attraction to Victor Aguilar, no matter how unbelievably hot he was. According to the rumor mill, he’d secretly dated over half the hospital’s nursing staff, as well as one of their fellow interns, Isabelle Morales. Even if Tamara weren’t a stickler for following rules, she wouldn’t have allowed herself to become involved with Victor. Her sense of self-preservation was too strong for that.
So why are you lying here ogling the man when you’re supposed to be sleeping? her conscience mocked.
Heat stung her face, and she quickly averted her gaze. As thunder rumbled outside the window, she squeezed her eyes shut and silently began counting sheep.
Several moments later she felt a light, prickling awareness that made her reopen her eyes and turn her head. Her heart thumped into her throat when she discovered Victor watching her from beneath the thick fringe of his dark lashes.
She stared at him.
He stared back.
After a prolonged silence, she whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Can’t sleep?”
He shook his head slowly. “You?”
She shook her head. “The thunder’s too loud,” she lied.
“Yeah.” But he didn’t sound very convinced.
“I think I’m too wired to sleep,” she added, sitting up and folding her legs into a half-lotus position. “No matter how exhausted I am at the end of the day, it usually takes me a while to come down off an adrenaline rush.”
Victor smiled a little. “Me, too.”
Tamara hesitated, then said with soft wonder, “We performed an emergency thoracotomy today.”
“We did, didn’t we?”
She nodded. “Even though we were taught how to do the procedure in med school, we were always told that the survival rate is so low, less than two percent. But we beat the odds, Victor. We defied the experts, and Bethany Dennison lived. Isn’t that amazing?”
“Absolutely,” Victor agreed, gazing at her with an expression of quiet fascination.
She blushed, sheepishly biting her lip. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to gush like that.”
“Don’t apologize. I feel the same way you do. That same sense of awe at the realization that you’ve been entrusted with people’s lives, that all the education and training you’ve received comes down to that pivotal moment when someone’s life hangs in the balance, and they’re counting on you to pull them through.” He paused, shaking his head slowly at Tamara. “It’s powerful.”
“Very,” she whispered, shivers racing up and down her spine. She felt more connected to him than she’d ever imagined was possible before today.
They gazed at each other for several charged moments as lightning flashed outside the window.
A half smile quirked the corners of Victor’s mouth. “Have you ever questioned your sanity for choosing cardiothoracic surgery as your specialty?”
Tamara grinned. “Why? Because we have to undergo four years of college, four years of medical school, seven years of a general surgery residency, and three more years of a 120-hour-per-week cardiothoracic surgery fellowship? Nahhh.”
Victor grinned. “Piece of cake, right?”
“Ab-so-lute-ly.”
They looked at each other, then burst out laughing.
When their mirth subsided several moments later, Tamara let out a long, deep sigh. “Honestly? I have occasionally wondered whether I should explore a less demanding field, like dermatology or ophthalmology.
Something that would allow me to have some semblance of a life outside work.”
“Marriage,” Victor murmured. “Children. Guilt-free family vacations.”
“Exactly,” Tamara agreed. “I’ve never wanted to become one of those self-absorbed workaholics who’s never around for my family, who’s stuck in a hospital on gorgeous weekends while my husband and kids do fun things without me.” She sighed. “On the other hand, I’ve always wanted to be a heart surgeon. The best of the best. I can’t achieve that goal unless I’m willing to make some hard sacrifices.”
Victor nodded slowly.
She knew he understood where she was coming from. They were both driven to succeed as cardiothoracic surgeons, who were considered among the most talented and sophisticated of their surgical peers. Not only were they required to master the field of general surgery, they also underwent extensive training, charted new areas of research and technology, and performed extremely dangerous and complex operations. Being a cardiothoracic surgeon was not for the faint of heart—no pun intended.
“So what about you, Aguilar?” Tamara ventured, turning the tables on him. “After a grueling eighteen-hour day, have you ever thought about throwing in the towel? Just surrendering your scrubs and walking away from the madness?”
He chuckled softly, dragging his hands through his thick dark hair. “Even if I ever wanted to quit, I have too many people depending on me not to.”
“Your parents,” Tamara surmised.
He nodded. “They came to this country with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, and they worked their asses off to give me and my younger brothers a better life than the one we left behind in Colombia. I’m the first in my family to graduate from college. So my parents are counting on me to seize the American Dream so that I can reach back and help my siblings do the same thing. I’m not about to let them down.”
Tamara gazed at him, filled with newfound respect and admiration for his loyalty to his family. At the same time, she was struck by the realization that they were halfway through their two-year internship, and she didn’t know much about him.
She knew that he had at least one younger brother, who bore such a striking resemblance to him that Tamara had done a double take when she saw him. Alejandro Aguilar had stopped by the hospital one day to have lunch with Victor. Before they left, Victor had introduced his brother to Jaclyn and Isabelle, completely snubbing Tamara who’d been standing nearby, pretending not to notice or care.
Shoving aside the unpleasant memory of the slight, she asked curiously, “How many brothers do you have?”
“Four.”