Hot Doc From Her Past. Tina Beckett

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.