Tina Beckett - Hot Docs On Call - New York City Nights

“So is Molly going to come to the exhibition?” Tessa’s question came out of nowhere.

“Probably. She seemed to like the studio a lot. My folks will be taking care of her during the festival, since I’ll be a little occupied.”

She immediately tensed, head coming up, eyes facing straight ahead. “That’s nice. It’s wonderful that they can watch her when her mother can’t.”

Yeah, which was most of the time, since Lizza was normally busy flitting here or there and focusing on her career. The funny thing about that was that Tessa was doing exactly the same thing. Working hard and putting all of her efforts into her job. But it didn’t bother him that she did it.

Why?

Because if Molly had been her daughter, he had no doubt that she would somehow make time for her, just as he did. Sure, his parents cared for her while he was working, but he spent every second he could with her. Tonight was the exception to the rule. He rarely went out to do anything fun anymore because he had responsibilities and he took them seriously.

So did Tessa.

And so did Lizza, in her own way. Except Molly’s mother seemed to check her responsibilities at the door when it came to her own daughter.

His teeth grated against each other.

He glanced at Tessa, and she seemed to have relaxed again, so maybe it was his imagination that she’d suddenly gone all stiff and nonresponsive.

They arrived at the bar to find the capoeira group assembled out front. Marcos waited for the last two stragglers to arrive. “Everyone good with doing his own thing and leaving whenever you want? If you want to share cabs, make those arrangements now before it gets crazy. You can pair up again on the way out.”

One of the players grinned. “My wife is meeting me here, so count me out. I’m not sharing that cab with anyone but her.”

A couple of laughs went through the group at the bald innuendo.

Clay glanced at Tessa. “Are you okay with sharing one?”

“Of course.” She stopped. “Unless you’re staying until the place shuts down.”

“I wasn’t planning to. How about if we leave whenever you’re ready?”

She gave him a pointed look. “If you want to prowl around, though, and find someone else to leave with, just let me know. You can text me.”

“The only person I’m leaving with is you.” He realized how that might have sounded when her face turned pink. But everyone was already moving into the bar and the sounds from inside were leaking out through the open door.

“I guess that’s our cue. Shall we?”

He waited for her to enter, already ruing the thought of sharing a cab with her. Because it made him think of sharing other things. In a much more private and fulfilling venue. That single night of summer madness. The one he couldn’t get out of his head.

A single night, he could probably handle. But any more than that truly would be madness.

SHE PROBABLY SHOULDN’T be dancing with him.

Especially not this kind of dancing. Cheek to cheek, her right hand cradled in his, the fingers of her left hand at the back of his neck. Except the entire evening had been leading up to this. She’d danced with Marcos for a whole dance before Clay had cut in with a smooth remark about needing to discuss capoeira strategy for the exhibition.

Only Clay hadn’t talked strategy. He’d simply spun her into his arms as a slow dance came on, his warm fingers burning through the thin knit top she’d changed into. It wasn’t nightclub wear, since she hadn’t known they’d be going out tonight. But, then again, The Pied Piper wasn’t a dressy kind of club. It was where professionals went after work to wind down from the day. And to possibly score a little company for the night.

Tessa wasn’t interested in scoring anything. So she’d been more than happy to stick to dancing with people she knew. Even if that meant finding herself in Clay’s arms all over again. They’d come to this club from time to time when they’d had a few hours free during med school, which hadn’t been often. But when they had, they’d inevitably wound up in a bed somewhere. Once they hadn’t even made it that far, driving Clay’s little sports car to a secluded spot across the Jersey border and squeezing both of their bodies into the passenger seat.

Sex between them had always been hot.

Which was why she wondered what she’d been thinking to allow herself to fall right back into his embrace.

She wasn’t. Thinking, that was.

It was the excitement of fighting him in the circle once again. The memories of how invigorating those matches could become later, in the privacy of the night.

Which made her next thought stop her in her tracks. What would it matter if they engaged in a little hanky-panky on the side? They were no longer involved—Clay had a young daughter he needed to concentrate on.

But she had needs. And she imagined he did, too—although Clay probably had those needs met on a regular basis. She wasn’t made like that. But maybe she could bend her own rules in this case, since she and Clay weren’t exactly strangers.

Her fingers tightened a bit on his neck. Clay’s response was to grip her waist with a firmer hand. Or maybe that was her imagination wanting to make it so.

And, Lord, if he didn’t smell good. Too good. Especially this close. The match and exertion should have washed away any trace of aftershave, so that couldn’t be the source of the woodsy, yummy scent that made her breathe a little bit deeper.

It was just Clay. She recognized it—remembered going to sleep to it and waking up with it beneath her skin. And, just like in the past, it drew her to him.

Her nose brushed his shoulder before she realized how close she’d gotten to him. With almost no hesitation—except maybe in her brain—her head turned sideways and she pressed her cheek against him, allowing her eyes to close. To “feel.” Something she hadn’t done in a very long time.

Her days of med school and internship had turned her into an analytical machine, with cause and effect always at the forefront of her mind… her feelings tucked in a distant part of her brain, where they rarely surfaced. Except in instances like with Mr. Phillips, when they’d reemerged without warning and threatened her objectivity.

Maybe she shouldn’t even be a doctor.

Yes, she should. Her mom had been so excited for her when she’d been accepted into med school.

And if it had come with a price—her relationship to Clay—it was still worth it.

If she could help people like Mr. Phillips, then she would continue to make those sacrifices.

The hand at her waist slid backward until it rested on the small of her back. She might have thought he was trying to put some distance between them but, if anything, he was tucking her closer, his chin coming down to rest on top of her head.

Her breath caught at the familiarity that was slowly wrapping her in cords of silk.

Especially with the little hum of vibration that went through his chest, a sound she couldn’t hear but that she could feel. And she felt it all the way down to her toes.

What was one night? Was Clay even thinking the same thing? Wondering if they could set the love machine for a quick tumble cycle that would heat up quickly, shaking out the wrinkles from their daily lives? Afterward they could fold everything up and put it back into a drawer. Out of sight. Out of mind.

Should she say something? Proposition him?

And just where would this sexathon take place? She could drag him back to her unit at the brownstone, where Caren, Holly or Sam might overhear something. Her nose crinkled. No, if they got together, she didn’t want to hold back anything, except her emotions.