31. TESSA #2
“If you’re about to launch into your you shouldn’t have done this speech, remember our deal.” He opened a cabinet, revealing more of my favorites. “No more sorrys.”
“I just don’t want to be in your way. You work such demanding hours and?—”
“Exactly. We’ll be like two ships passing in the night.” He leaned against the counter, his height making the massive kitchen seem somehow smaller. “Just making sure you have everything you need.”
He pointed to a paper held to the fridge by a magnet shaped like a scalpel. “Numbers for the personal assistant and chef.”
“I didn’t know doctors got personal assistants.”
“She’s not from the hospital. I hired her directly. She handles the errands I’m too busy for.”
“Like preparing for unexpected houseguests?”
“Like making sure said houseguest doesn’t starve to death because she forgets to eat when she’s working.” He pushed off the counter.
I followed him down the hallway to a guest bedroom that made five-star hotels look like highway motels.
A king-size bed dominated the space, draped in a gloriously fluffy comforter in shades of silver and cream that practically begged to be touched, while a crystal chandelier cast soft shadows across plush carpeting that sank beneath my feet.
The air itself smelled of lavender and fresh linens, making the space feel both luxurious and somehow intimate.
“I have a few rules.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Rules?” Totally fair, but totally unexpected. “Like what?”
“Your ex-boyfriend, or any current or future boyfriend, is not welcome here.”
Okaaaaay …
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be tempted to shove his face into my fireplace.”
Trying to act like his flash of jealousy wasn’t super welcomed in my lower belly, I carried on with a joke. “And hospital boards tend to frown upon that?”
“I don’t want to ruin my perfectly good fireplace. Plus, I need to be able to think clearly; this is my safe space, and I’ll be working after hours on your case here, so if you’re going to meet a man, meet him outside these walls.”
I smirked. “Don’t worry. My only boyfriend right now requires AA batteries.”
Holy crap, did I just say that out loud? I bet my face looked like it had just been shoved into the fireplace. His, on the other hand, looked … ravenous.
He had to clear his throat and rub the back of his neck.
Looks like I’d finally said something that made him squirm.
“I wish you hadn’t told me that.”
Yep. Totally squirming. Shame on me for enjoying it.
“Why?”
“Because now I’m going to constantly be craning my ears to see if I can hear that coming from your room.”
My neck flushed with heat, his eyes drifting across my skin. It took him several seconds to break the sexual tension and move onto something else.
“Look.” He gestured to the bookshelf. “Had my assistant grab all the best-selling porn from the nearest bookstore.”
“It’s not porn!”
“Really?” He moved to the bookshelf, plucking a novel from the highest shelf with those doctor fingers that I definitely wasn’t staring at. “Because this blurb implies the monster has two massive cocks.”
“I know what you’re doing.” I snatched the book from his hand, trying to ignore how his low chuckle and heat from his very close body affected my insides. “You’re trying to distract me so I don’t feel weird about all of this.”
“You seriously think a little food and some books are the most fascinating thing in this penthouse right now?” His voice dropped an octave. “You just admitted to having a vibrator, and you have a porn collection. I’m busy wondering how many of these books have anal.”
“I’m sure if I looked at your internet browsing history, your porn collection would be pretty interesting too.”
He smirked, holding this thread of … desire tightening between us for a few beats before stepping around me. But did he take his eyes off me as he did that? No. No, he did not.
“Come.” He waved his hand for me to follow. “No pun intended.”
I followed him down a hallway so massive that it probably needed its own postal code.
We passed door after door, all standing wide open, except for two: one at the far end that he’d breezed right past— interesting since he’d been so eager to show off everything else —and this one, where he now stood, waiting.
“Your office.” His hand hesitated on the knob. “You mentioned being on a tight deadline with this wedding planning. I might have asked my assistant to do some research about what a wedding planner needs in their workspace.”
“Blake …”
“If you hate it, we can undo everything. If we missed something, we can add it.” He opened the door, and my jaw nearly slammed on the ground.
The office wasn’t a room; it was a dream materialized.
Hardwood floors gleamed beneath pristine walls, adorned with elegant art pieces that somehow perfectly captured the essence of romance and celebration.
An oversize window bathed everything in soft afternoon light, making the space feel almost magical.
My mouth fell open even wider as I took in the distinct stations he’d created.
A primary desk boasted dual Apple monitors, flanking a brand-new MacBook Pro with an absurdly large bow perched on top.
Bookshelves lined with every wedding magazine in existence stretched toward the ceiling.
A cozy consultation area featured two plush chairs, separated by an end table that belonged in a museum.
Everything, from the pastel pinks to the silvery grays, blended into what looked like a headquarters for a seven-figure boutique wedding planning agency. Not my struggling business that was one canceled wedding away from disaster.
“Blake, this is too much.”
“Nothing is too much for you, Tessa.”
Based on the way his gaze latched on to mine and his mouth fell open slightly, he hadn’t meant for that profession to slip out. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. What to make of it. Was I picking up on desire? Like deep desire or simple hormonal desire?
Blake broke eye contact, and suddenly, I needed to fill the space with words. Lots and lots of words.
“You had your assistant import all my files from my iPad?” I finally managed, spotting my color-coded system on the massive wall monitor, displaying project deadlines and contact lists.
He’d asked for my ipad, and I’d handed it over, presuming he wanted to see my digital tracker of foods, which was more organized than my handwritten notes. Because, yeah, at one point, I’d kept both.
“That’s why I borrowed it.” He shifted his weight. “Not just to snoop through your medical history.”
“Though you definitely did that too.”
“Doctor-patient confidentiality prevents me from commenting.” His smile turned sheepish. “We can change anything you don’t like.”
“Blake, this is …” My eyes burned as I struggled to find words big enough. “No one has ever done anything like this for me.”
“It was one phone call, Cupcake.” But the way he said my nickname—soft and intimate—made it feel like so much more.
“I just wanted you to have a space where you could work comfortably. You can have clients come here for meetings, use the chef for dinner presentations. Consider it your headquarters.”
I blinked rapidly, fighting back tears that threatened to expose just how much this meant to me.
When he’d offered to let me stay here, I hadn’t expected this level of thoughtfulness.
Hadn’t expected him to seem so … happy about my presence.
Like having me here wasn’t just convenient, but celebrated.
Which was incredibly flattering and dangerously complicated. Because now, every smirk, every laugh, every heated look was making it harder to remember why we’d always kept that line drawn between us.
And somehow, I had a feeling that line was about to become very, very blurry.