Romancing the M.D.. Maureen Smith
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you counted talking the night away and waking up practically wrapped around each other. Her belly quivered wantonly at the memory of Victor’s hand on her butt, his heavy erection pressed against her inner thigh. She’d tried to dismiss his hard-on by telling herself that he was merely experiencing nocturnal penile tumescence, aka the “morning wood” phenomenon familiar to most guys. But as she’d stood there facing Victor across the bed—trying not to notice how outrageously sexy he looked with his lids at half-mast, hair rumpled, jaw darkened with stubble—she’d been knocked breathless by the sudden realization that he wanted her.
And the feeling was unequivocally mutual.
Her mother studied her another moment, then reached for her margarita and took a long, deliberate sip.
Tamara waited.
Setting down her glass, Vonda said quietly, “Just be careful. You don’t want to jeopardize everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve.”
“I know,” Tamara murmured. “Believe me, I have no intention of becoming involved with Victor Aguilar.”
Her mother gave her a gentle, intuitive smile. “Sounds to me like you already are.”
Shortly after Tamara and Victor reported to work that afternoon, they were approached by their supervisor, Dr. Shirley Balmer, who’d replaced Dr. De Winter as head resident. The attractive, forty-something woman bore such a strong resemblance to Angela Bassett that some of the interns often whispered lines from the actress’s movies behind her back.
After ushering Tamara and Victor into the break room and closing the door behind them, Dr. Balmer demanded without preamble, “Whose idea was it to perform a thoracotomy on Bethany Dennison?”
Tamara and Victor exchanged glances.
“Why?” Tamara asked cautiously. “Is there a problem?”
Balmer’s dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that, Dr. St. John. Don’t answer my question with a question.”
“It was my idea,” Victor said.
Balmer frowned, shaking her head at him. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“It was an emergency situation,” Victor explained. “The patient had gone into cardiac arrest, and a judgment call had to be made.”
“By an attending physician, Dr. Aguilar. Not by an intern.”
“We couldn’t find an attending,” Tamara spoke up.
Balmer arched a dubious brow at her. “How hard did you look?”
At Tamara’s hesitation, Victor interjected, “There wasn’t enough time to go hunting someone down. The patient was coding. If we didn’t act fast, she could have died.”
“She also could have died as a result of a botched thoracotomy,” Balmer countered, dividing a reproachful glance between Victor and Tamara. “Do either of you have any idea how much of a risk you took yesterday? As first-year interns, you lack the training and experience to operate on patients without supervision. If that girl had died, the hospital could be facing one hell of a malpractice lawsuit, and God knows that’s the last thing we need right now.”
Victor frowned at her. “Am I missing something here? Did we, or did we not, save Bethany Dennison’s life?”
“No one is disputing that, Dr. Aguilar. And I can certainly appreciate the difficult dilemma you both faced, having to weigh the risk of losing a patient against your obligation to follow standard hospital procedure.”
Balmer paused, then heaved a deep breath. “Look, I know how anxious the two of you are to complete your internship and get into the nitty-gritty of practicing medicine. You both graduated at the top of your medical classes, and you’re both overachievers. I sense your impatience every time you’re restricted to suturing patients, Dr. Aguilar. And I know, Dr. St. John, that the field of cardiothoracic surgery is dominated by men, so you’re eager to prove that you’ve got what it takes to hang with the boys. But you both need to understand that as exceptionally gifted as you may be, you still have plenty to learn about becoming surgeons. So just keep that in mind the next time you’re faced with making a life or death decision. Are we clear?”
Tamara and Victor glanced at each other, then nodded dutifully. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now get back to work.”
As they moved toward the door, Dr. Balmer added, “Dr. Pederson, the attending physician who relieved you in the E.R. yesterday, was very impressed with the work you did on Bethany Dennison. He told me that some of his surgical peers have never even attempted an emergency resuscitative thoracotomy, much less succeeded at performing one. So congratulations to both of you. You’ve definitely gotten on the chief of surgery’s radar.”
Tamara and Victor grinned broadly at each other before leaving the break room. Together they started down the hallway, enjoying a rare sense of camaraderie.
It was short-lived.
“Oh, before I forget,” Dr. Balmer called after them.
They glanced back at her, still smiling.
“I agree with Dr. Aguilar’s recommendation to administer Naphtomycin to Mrs. Gruener. So I went ahead and ordered the course of antibiotics this morning.” Balmer looked at Tamara, brow arched. “I assume that’s okay with you, Dr. St. John?”
Tamara frowned. “Actually, I’m concerned that—”
Balmer’s pager went off. After checking the display screen, she muttered, “Duty calls,” then turned and hurried off in the opposite direction.
Tamara glared accusingly at Victor. “I can’t believe you went behind my back and talked to Dr. Balmer.”
He scowled. “You didn’t leave me any other choice. You refused to see reason—”
“Reason? Do you honestly think there’s anything reasonable about prescribing an unproven, potentially harmful drug to a seventy-five-year-old woman?”
“I do.” Victor paused. “And, obviously, so does our supervisor.”
Tamara’s temper flared. “For Mrs. Gruener’s sake, I hope to hell you’re both right.”
And with that, she stalked off down the hall.
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