23. TESSA
TESSA
Blake’s entire body tensed, jaw tightening as his gaze locked on to my front porch.
“Who’s that?” Blake growled.
“Just a neighbor,” I assured.
“He’s standing on your porch, waiting for you to come home.”
“He’s harmless,” I said quickly. Too quickly.
Blake’s dark eyes snapped back to me. “Why do you feel the need to qualify that?”
Damn. “Eli was always bothered by Sebastian, too, but he’s just … well, he has a little crush on me. It’s not a big deal.”
Blake’s voice dropped lower. “People who keep insisting something’s not a big deal usually know damn well it’s a very big deal.”
“Not in this case.” I fumbled for my keys. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I?—”
“I’m walking you inside.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“This isn’t up for debate.” The words came out with all the immovability of a mountain.
I bit back a groan. I knew that tone. It was Blake’s I’m-not-changing-my-mind voice.
Fighting it would be like arguing with gravity.
And the last thing I needed was a scene that would make this situation even worse.
I just wanted to get inside, shower off the hospital smell, and deal with my latest work emergency before it exploded into something unfixable.
“Tessa.” Sebastian shuffled forward as I approached my door, his voice pitched high with anxiety. “You never came home last night! I was so worried.”
“You know there are laws against stalking,” Blake snarled.
Sebastian’s eyes widened like a startled rabbit’s, darting between Blake and me.
I shoved Blake through my front door before he could terrorize my neighbor further. “Sorry, Sebastian. He didn’t mean to be rude. If you’ll excuse me, I’m in a hurry.”
I yanked Blake inside my home to prevent him from giving Sebastian PTSD, shut the door, and sagged against it, exhaling slowly.
“You didn’t have to be mean to him.”
“And he doesn’t have to monitor your comings and goings like an amateur surveillance team.”
“He’s harmless.”
“Yet you’ve felt the need to clarify that. Twice .” Blake put his hands on his hips, his shoulders rounding at the movement.
“He’s socially awkward, that’s all.” I dropped my keys and phone on the foyer table with a clatter. “Being mean to him doesn’t make social situations easier.”
“You don’t find it concerning that he’s camping out on your porch?”
“Like I said—” I started toward the kitchen, desperate for a drink of water.
“Socially awkward but sweet?” Blake’s voice dripped skepticism. “You’re starting to sound like a broken record, Cupcake.”
The nickname hit like a sucker punch. He didn’t know it had this magical power to transport me into a girl who would gladly let him be bossy. In bed.
Domination, sign me up.
“I really need to take a shower.”
Blake’s attention finally swept through my shoebox of a home.
I watched his assessment through new eyes, seeing my place the way he must. The kitchen was barely more than a hallway, with three tired cabinets on each side showing battle scars from previous tenants.
My apartment-sized appliances huddled together like apologetic afterthoughts, the refrigerator’s persistent hum serving as background music to my professional inadequacy.
The “dining room”—a generous term for the corner where I’d wedged a secondhand table—had disappeared under an explosion of wedding planning materials.
Seating charts and fabric swatches spilled across the surface like evidence of the successful career woman I was trying to become.
The living room didn’t fare much better, featuring a love seat that had seen better days and a 32-inch TV balanced precariously on a garage-sale end table that wobbled if you walked too heavily past it.
My bedroom door stood open at the end of the hallway, just large enough for a queen-size bed that served as a daily reminder I’d chosen ambition over square footage. The whole place screamed temporary situation . Except I’d been telling myself that for a while now.
Blake’s presence made everything feel smaller, more provisional too. His broad shoulders and success-story swagger belonged in some sleek downtown high-rise with floor-to-ceiling windows, not this glorified starter home, where I played at being a grown-up.
“You’ve lived here for what, a year and a half?” he asked.
“Yep.” I kicked off my shoes, surprised to find I wasn’t self-conscious about my home like I usually was with visitors. This was Blake. He knew me. Knew this wasn’t my endgame.
“And you didn’t have any health issues before moving in?”
“No.”
He nodded, gaze tracking along the walls like he could see through them. “Seen any signs of mold or mildew?”
Oh. Now I saw where this was going.
“No. Eli had the same concern, so we both went over this place with a fine-tooth comb.”
But Blake was already in full diagnostic mode, his eyes cataloging every crack like a potential symptom. “Mind if I take a look around?”
A look around. In my private residence. The teenage girl in me wanted to race ahead of him, hiding evidence of my decidedly unprofessional life.
The reading glasses with the pink rhinestones I’d bought during a late-night Amazon spree.
The collection of unicorn coffee mugs that my best friend kept adding to as a joke.
And, dear God, please don’t let there be any underwear lying around.
But he was looking for mold. Nothing else. And if I didn’t let him satisfy his doctor instincts, he’d never let it go.
“Knock yourself out.”
I shadowed his inspection tour, partly to prove I was fine, mostly to run interference before he stumbled across anything mortifying.
Like my battery-operated boyfriend in the nightstand drawer.
His physician’s focus took him through my kitchen first, those capable hands—hands that had literally restarted my heart—running along cabinet edges and pipe joints, checking for moisture.
In the bathroom, he examined the caulking with the same intensity he probably gave surgical sites.
His lips twitched as he took in my shower curtain, covered in cartoon cats wearing tiaras. “Nice decor.”
“Judge all you want. Princess cats bring me joy.”
That earned me a low chuckle that did dangerous things to my insides. But it was nothing compared to what happened when we reached my bedroom. Instead of mold, his attention caught on my collection of throw pillows, each embroidered with a different romance novel quote.
“ A duke in the streets, a demon in the sheets ?” he read, his voice rough with amusement.
I snatched the pillow from his view, but it was too late.
He’d already spotted the book on my nightstand, and I bet my stupid heart monitor logged the moment he picked it up in those big, capable hands.
The contrast of his masculine fingers against the pink floral cover—complete with a couple locked in an embrace against an impossibly rosy mountain backdrop—sent an inappropriate chill through my core.
“What’s this one about?” The corner of his mouth lifted in that devastating half smile that undoubtedly made the nurses and female doctors swoon.
“Same as all the others,” I managed. “Love.”
“Ah, but you once gave me a twenty-minute lecture about how each one tells a unique story.”
He began thumbing through the pages and—oh God—found my highlights. And my margin notes. Including the OH MY GOD, THIS IS SO HOT I’d scrawled next to a particularly steamy scene.
I lunged for the novel, but not before his eyes caught the passage in question.
That smile of his grew three sizes. “Getting her pussy eaten in front of city lights, eh?”
My cheeks burned hotter than that ridiculous pink cover. “Did you find any MOLD, Dr. Morrison?”
His laugh—deep, rich, and entirely too knowing—filled my bedroom, making me acutely aware that we were alone. Next to my bed. My very unmade bed, with sheets still rumpled from my fitful sleep two nights ago.
His gaze drifted to those twisted sheets, and I swear the temperature in the room rose ten degrees, making my lady parts start her engines.
No. False alarm. He’s not coming inside.
Oh my God. I mentally cringed when I heard those thoughts in my own head.
“You okay there, Tess? You look like Ryker did when your mom found his browser history.”
“Gross.” Nothing kills inappropriate thoughts like bringing up your brother’s porn habits . “No mold in here. Moving on.”
I pretended not to hear his soft chuckle as he followed me, pretended not to be aware of the heat of his much larger body behind my own. Pretended Blake wasn’t the one I’d fantasized about doing those things to me in that romance novel.
“So, where’s the rest of your porn library?”
I spun around so fast that I crashed right into his chest. His hands shot to my waist to steady me, and suddenly, I was engulfed in his warmth, his scent a mixture of body wash and something uniquely Blake that made my toes curl.
“It’s not porn.” I pushed away from him, but the damage was done.
He’d switched to that casual stance, hands at his sides, that somehow made him look even more devastatingly attractive. Like a GQ model who’d wandered into my home by accident.
“I saw the words cunt and cock. ” Blake arched a brow, his voice dropping to a tone that should be illegal. Based on the fresh smirk on his face, he’d said it to incite that fresh smoke from my cheeks. “I’m not a literary scholar, but I don’t think that was Moby Dick . Although …”
Glaring at him, I turned with a huff. “No mold. No mildew. I appreciate?—”
“The CPR? The lifesaving? The literary criticism?”
I glowered at him, but he’d shifted back into doctor mode, his expression turning serious as his gaze swept the walls again with renewed intensity.
“The thing about mold and environmental toxins is that they’re insidious. They hide in walls, under floors, in air ducts. Places you’d never think to look until it’s too late.”
“Are you suggesting my home is what’s making me sick?”
“I’m saying we can’t rule it out.” He ran his fingers along a dark spot on my drywall, and I tried not to notice how his shirt pulled across his shoulders.
“Environmental factors can destroy a healthy body from the inside out. Sometimes so gradually that you don’t realize what’s happening until you’re in the ER. ”
“My symptoms weren’t gradual,” I reminded him. “It started suddenly with an illness.”
“Still doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”
“ Anything is possible at this point,” I replied. “Maybe I got infected by a pink elephant that blew a loogie through my bedroom window.”
His glare was so delicious that it took everything not to smile.
Instead, I cleared my throat. “In any case, I can’t afford to move, and even if I could, my lease doesn’t end for another six months. I see no signs of mold, but your concern has been noted.”
His jaw ticced as he looked around my small space again, and I recognized that expression. The one where he was gearing up for a fight.
Not happening.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” I said before he could launch into another chapter of his argument, “I have to get to an important meeting with the caterer.”
His features tightened. “In person ? Tell me you’re joking.”
“It has nothing to do with romance novels, I assure you.”
“You just got released from the hospital.”
“Keyword being released.” I opened the front door, praying he’d leave before he discovered my special collection. The one Scarlett had strict instructions to burn if I ever actually died.
“Tessa, you need to rest.”
“I will. It’s one meeting.”
“Your heart stopped yesterday.” The reminder came with enough intensity to make my actual heart skip.
“And look at me now. Fresh as a daisy.”
“You need to stay home.”
“Again, your opinion has been noted. Now if you could go before bugs invite their friends, I’d appreciate it.”
His jaw set in that stubborn line I remembered all too well from residency.
“I put a rush on your labs.” He stepped on the front porch. “Should have the results soon. When I call, you’d better answer. Because if you don’t, I’ll assume you’re unconscious and bring the entire ER to your doorstep.”
So bossy.
“And where are you headed?” Why the hell did I ask that? Hello, my only goal was to get him to leave.
And why in the world were my lungs deciding to threaten a strike if he said anything about another woman? Blake probably had a thousand women he was dating. Surely, he’d grown out of his aversion to the female species and discovered what his body was capable of doing to the opposite sex.
“I have … an engagement.”
“He said cryptically.”
Look at his coffee-colored eyes assessing me. Was he being deliberately mysterious just to mess with my head?
“I’m glad you’re okay, Tess. I want you to text me when you get back home from your meeting.” His attention swept to the neighbor’s door. “Safe.”
The reason I watched Blake saunter to the car was not because he had the hottest ass I’d ever seen, nor was it because I savored the way his broad shoulders stretched out that shirt. I was simply making sure he didn’t have a run-in with my neighbor. That’s it.
Okay, fine, yes, I was also massively wondering what kind of “engagement” had him looking worried.
And why did I have a feeling it had everything to do with me?