31. TESSA
TESSA
“Holy shit.” The words escaped before I could stop them, hanging in the air of the most extravagant space I’d ever seen.
“Do you like it?” Blake asked, setting my pathetically small suitcase down with a soft thud. The sound echoed through his foyer—because, yes, he had an honest-to-God foyer bigger than my entire bedroom.
An abstract painting hung above an elegant table that probably cost more than my entire building, its bold strokes of crimson and gold catching the late afternoon light.
“Do I like it?” I swept my gaze around, trying not to gawk like a tourist at the soaring ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a glittering city view. “Have you ever met a human being who doesn’t?”
He shifted his weight, and I caught something unexpected in his expression. Was that nervousness? The great Blake Morrison, brilliant doctor and owner of this spectacular penthouse, actually seemed to care what I thought.
“I don’t let many people up here,” he admitted.
“Seriously?” I spun around, unable to contain my disbelief. “If I lived in a place like this, I’d host dinner parties every weekend. Hell, I’d invent reasons to throw parties.”
“Well, I work long hours.” He shrugged.
I cocked my head, studying him. “And if you didn’t? Would you host parties then?”
His pause told me everything I needed to know.
“No,” he finally admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I suppose not.”
I returned to taking in this alternate universe, where even the baseboards sparkled and everything looked like it had been plucked straight from an architectural magazine.
My fingers itched to trail along the foyer table, though touching something that probably belonged in a museum felt sacrilegious.
“Seriously though … this place is …”
“Pretentious? Obnoxious?”
I smirked, meeting his gaze. “I was going to say incredible. Though I have to ask, don’t doctors usually have a zillion dollars in student debt?” At least in the first couple of decades of their careers.
Blake rubbed the back of his neck. “Friend of mine is a savvy businessman.”
“Jace,” I said, memories flooding back of my brother’s endless stories about his infamous college friend. The guy was practically a legend, showing up in business magazines before he’d even graduated. “Your guardian angel of investments?”
“He let me in on something when I probably should’ve been using that money to pay off my loans.” Blake’s eyes met mine, a hint of that old rebellious glint I remembered from high school.
“Looks like it turned out well.”
So, this must be why my brother lived like a king.
My jaw clenched. Thanks for the heads-up, Ryker.
Thanks for letting your own sister in on this little gold mine.
But who was I kidding? He knew exactly why he’d kept quiet.
I would never have risked my business savings on a gamble, no matter how much of a “sure thing” it supposedly was.
Blake shoved his hands into his jean pockets—and sweet mercy, those jeans should be illegal. They hugged his hips in a way that made my mouth go dry. Not that I was noticing the way every stitch got to touch him places I never had. Definitely not.
I drifted toward the statue on the foyer table, drawn to the way the light caught the wooden caduceus—twin snakes coiled around a winged staff, the ancient symbol of medicine. It looked like an artifact that belonged in a museum, not perched on Blake’s entry table.
“My mentor gave me that when I finished residency,” Blake said, and something in his voice made me glance over.
He was looking at the statue the way most people looked at old family photos.
“He said great doctors were like those snakes. Always adapting, always healing.” His fingers ghosted over the wood, barely touching.
“I’ve thought about moving it somewhere safer. ”
“It’s beautiful.” Just like the career he’d built. Just like his home. And just like his heart.
“So,” he said, rocking back on his heels, “want the grand tour?”
“Before we do that?—”
He held up his palm, stopping me mid-sentence. “Let’s skip the part where you thank me profusely and tell me how guilty you feel for ‘invading my space’ and promise to be a ghost.” His impression of my voice was terrible and oddly endearing.
“How did you?—”
“Know exactly what you were about to say?” Those dark eyes locked on to mine, seeing straight through me, like they always had.
“Because you’d rather perform heart surgery on yourself, using a rusty spoon, than accept help from anyone.
You’re infuriatingly independent like that.
” His lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Some things never change.”
“You’re one to talk,” I shot back.
“At least I never moved next door to a stalker.”
“My neighbor isn’t a stalker!”
“Please.” Something flickered across his face. “I saw how he looked at you, Cupcake. And I didn’t like it.”
The sudden intensity in his voice shifted the air between us, making it harder to breathe.
I’d always known Blake had a darker side, one I’d seen glimpses of through the years in bloody knuckles after fights and sharp comments that didn’t quite fit his polished doctor image.
Most people would be put off by that edge to his personality, but it had always drawn me in, made me want to unravel all his complicated layers.
“So,” he said, his casual tone a stark contrast to the tension crackling between us, “should we do a panty count to see how many your neighbor snatched, or should we get on with the tour?”
I crossed my arms, going for stern but probably looking more … Jell-O-like. “I’ll only stay here on one condition.”
Blake arched an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Funny, I thought the suitcase implied we were past the negotiation stage.”
“Whether you acknowledge it or not, this is a huge favor, and I need to contribute something.”
His lips curved into that smile that had always spelled trouble. “Oh?”
“Not that.” I ignored the heat crawling up my neck, and other places, at his suggestive tone. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Morrison. I meant something useful.”
“Such as?”
“I could clean?—”
“Have a maid.”
“Cook dinner?—”
“Personal chef.”
I frowned. “I can’t just … live here. It doesn’t feel right. It’s unbalanced, and that makes me uncomfortable.”
The playfulness drained from his face as he took three steps closer. Close enough that I caught the spicy hint of his body wash mixed with that uniquely Blake scent I’d recognize anywhere.
“You want to know what you can give me?”
I nodded, my throat suddenly dry at his proximity.
“Give me this.” His voice dropped lower, softer.
“Coming home to lights on instead of darkness. Having you here, in my space, making it feel less like an empty house and more like …” He ran a hand through his hair, messing up those perfect dark strands.
“Just … be here, Tess. That’s more than enough. ”
Holy shit. Hello, backflips in my stomach.
“Blake …”
“Besides,” he added, his casual tone returning as he stepped back, breaking the spell he’d accidentally cast, “you’re actually doing me a favor. Now I won’t lie awake at night, imagining you breathing in toxic mold.”
“You worry about me?” The words slipped out.
“Only when you do stupid things. Like moving next door to Norman Bates.”
“He’s not?—”
“And now,” he continued, talking over my protest, “I won’t be distracted at work, wondering if your creepy neighbor is building a shrine to you in his basement.”
I couldn’t help but smirk. “That’s a bit dramatic.”
“I’m a doctor. We’re known for our dramatic flair.” He flashed that heart-stopping grin. “Almost as dramatic as wedding planners who refuse to accept help from their dearest friends.”
Dearest. My stupid heart latched on to that word, hoping I meant as much to him as he did me.
“Fine. But I’m at least doing the dishes.”
“Touch my dishwasher, and I’m changing all the passwords in this place to components of the periodic table. Now, can we get on with this tour, or do you need to list more chores I won’t let you do?”
“A tour.” I shook my head, studying the endless hallway before us. “At my place, I could do an entire tour in twenty steps or less, but this place? I’ll need hiking boots.”
“Don’t worry; I had my assistant stock some emergency provisions in case you get lost between the kitchen and your bedroom.” He started walking, expecting me to follow. “Living room first.”
He swept his hand out to a sofa that looked like it was crafted from clouds. “State-of-the-art entertainment system, every streaming service known to mankind, and …” He grabbed a remote, pointing to a distinctive green button. “One-click access to those god-awful romance movies you love so much.”
“Says the guy who exclusively watches people getting dismembered in horror films.”
“Those are educational. Some of us actually need to know where the arteries are.”
“Pretty sure The Texas Chain Saw Massacre isn’t included in med school curriculum.”
“Shows what you know.” He pressed the remote into my hand. “And before you start with the guilt spiral, I changed the purchase passcode to your birthday. Figured you couldn’t forget that one.”
My stomach did a perilous little twirl. He’d gone out of his way to change his passwords, just because he remembered how much I loved movies?
“Kitchen next,” he announced, leading me into a space that belonged in a magazine. “Had my assistant stock your favorites.”
Assistant?
He opened the fanciest refrigerator freezer I had ever seen.
The thing was so organized; it looked like it belonged in an appliance commercial with glorious colors of fruits and vegetables on the left, lean proteins, eggs, yogurts on the right.
And then some of my favorite foods. Including dark chocolate squares—the kind from that Michigan Avenue chocolate shop—on the lower shelves, the ones that much shorter me would have no difficulty reaching.
Guilt etched across my insides.
“Blake …”