32. TESSA
TESSA
I woke to the smell of fresh coffee and … were those pancakes?
My stomach went from zero to hangry in approximately point-three seconds. I launched myself out of bed, made a quick pit stop in my private bathroom to ensure I looked less walking zombie and more functioning human, then ventured into the hallway.
And there it was again—that one mysteriously closed door in a sea of open ones. Even Blake’s bedroom door stood wide open, his bed already military precise in its making. Of course it was. The man probably saved three lives before I hit my first snooze button.
Rounding the corner into the kitchen, I stopped dead in my tracks. A woman I’d never seen before stood at the stove, humming.
For a second, I froze, a dark, terrible feeling snaking through my chest.
Who was this woman in Blake’s private residence? I thought he said he didn’t let many people here, so was this woman special? She moved around the space like she freaking belonged here.
“Good morning, Tessa,” she sang out as if we were old friends. “Dr. Morrison was very specific about your favorites.”
She slid three perfect pancakes onto a pristine white plate, creating what could only be described as breakfast art—golden syrup cascading just so, fresh berries arranged with gorgeous precision, and a butter pat melting into a perfect golden pool.
“You’re Blake’s chef,” I breathed, relief washing over me.
Wait, did I just use the word relief ? Why did that word invade my psyche?
“Indeed. I’m Maria. And let me tell you, making something other than egg whites and organic protein shakes is a delightful change of pace.”
She placed the plate—my own personal carbohydrate heaven—at the breakfast bar.
“Dr. Morrison thought you’d be more comfortable here than the formal dining room. But if you’d prefer?—”
“This is perfect,” I assured her, climbing onto a stool.
And that’s when the universe decided to test my ability to maintain basic motor functions. Blake strode in, wearing nothing but workout shorts, his tattooed torso glistening with sweat that—you guessed it—made his muscles look even more impossibly sculpted.
“Morning,” he said, still catching his breath. “Sleep well?”
My brain chose that exact moment to go on strike. Complete system shutdown. My mouth forgot how to work on account of the eye candy in front of me, and Blake’s brows furrowed as he pressed his palms against the opposite side of the breakfast bar, concern flickering across his ripped abs.
Okay, fine, concern couldn’t technically be on his abs, but those abs. Look at them—all ready for a photo shoot.
“What’s wrong?”
I blinked rapidly, trying to reboot my brain. “Oh … nothing … just … you’re here, not at work, and working out, and … I have pancakes.”
Good God. Was that the same brain that graduated college with all A ’s?
Blake seemed to evaluate me, probably wondering if I’d had a mini stroke, while Chef Maria’s shoulders shook slightly with poorly concealed amusement.
Desperate to escape my own humiliation, I glanced down at my food and noticed a tiny white plate next to it that contained three mysterious pills.
“That’s a medical-grade, high-absorption multivitamin,” Blake explained. “Along with vitamin D and a probiotic. I’d like you to take them daily.”
I eyed the little white dish. “I prefer my multivitamin. It’s a chewable gummy.”
“A gummy.” He choked. “Do you know how many artificial colors and flavors are in most of those things? The absorption rate is practically zero.”
“It tastes like candy, and I don’t like to swallow.”
The words hung in the air for one mortifying second before a smirk played across his annoyingly perfect jawline. He approached slowly, like a predator who knew exactly how distracting his presence was.
“Learn to swallow,” he murmured.
And then he did the most unexpected thing: he kissed the top of my forehead.
Once again, my brain short-circuited, spiraling with questions. Did he actually just do that? Was he seriously acting like that forehead kiss was no big deal? And my personal favorite traitorous thought: Damn, girl, those lips were warm and firm as hell. Imagine them sucking on your?—
Get a grip you pathetic, easily distracted brain cells. Blake isn’t the first hot guy you’ve seen. Act like the adult you are, not some teenager meeting her celebrity crush backstage.
I squared my shoulders, scowling at the pills.
Was I comfortable with this? He meant well, and he was a doctor who knew all about, well, vitamin stuff, but he was being quite bossy. Maybe even crossing a line.
“The agreement was for me to stay here to avoid potential mold exposure,” I reminded him, pulling my plate of heaven closer. “I didn’t see the page of our agreement that outlines you taking control of my diet.”
I took a bite of pancake and let out an involuntary moan that made Chef Maria snicker.
“You think this is me taking control?” Blake arched an eyebrow, gesturing to my breakfast masterpiece. “If I had my way, you’d be on nothing but lean proteins and organic vegetables.”
I pulled my plate closer and scooted my stool a couple inches away from him.
“So help me, if you even think of taking this away from me after letting me taste it, I’ll stab your doctor hand with my syrup-covered fork.”
He stared at me, perhaps questioning my sanity. Or considering calling my bluff.
Not a bluff, I silently warned with my stare back, shoving another bite of syrup-drenched carbs into my mouth.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m simply asking you to take vitamins that will actually benefit your body. Vitamin deficiencies are linked to countless medical complications.”
When he put it that way …
“Fine,” I conceded. “I’ll try.”
“Try hard,” he growled. “Or I’ll have Maria crush them into your smoothie.”
“I’m not five years old.”
“So, you can swallow?”
My entire face burst into flames, inciting a ridiculously sexy smirk from him.
“I’m heading to work,” he finally said, mercifully changing the subject. “But I’ll be back for dinner.”
I glanced at the clock, confused. “Thought you worked thirty-hour shifts?”
“Day off.”
“And you’re going in?”
“Have some things to look into.”
“Me,” I thought. “My labs.”
“I have a team working on this. Want to check their progress.” He paused. “Maria, make fettuccine Alfredo tonight. Fresh bread, grilled chicken.”
Maria’s eyebrows shot up. “But tonight’s brussels sprouts and?—”
“Warm bread,” he specified. “And a Caesar salad.”
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. That was my favorite meal, the exact one I’d mentioned during a casual conversation years ago. More surprising than his perfect memory was his willingness to deviate from his rigidly controlled diet.
“Maria, make sure Tessa eats whatever she wants for lunch.”
Maria nodded, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
“Call if you need anything, Cupcake.”
Oh, I had needs. None of them appropriate to voice out loud.
Once he was safely out of earshot, Maria smiled. Cleared her throat. “Would you like me to make you a cup of coffee?”
“Tea would be great.”
She frowned. “I’m afraid Mr. Morrison doesn’t have tea, but I’d be happy to?—”
“I brought some,” I clarified. “Brought a few things from my place.”
“So, no coffee in the mornings?”
I had no idea what Blake had told her about my staying here, but given she was partly responsible for what I ingested while under this roof, she deserved some explanation.
“I cut it out when I started getting sick. Figured green tea might be …” I shrugged. Might be what? Magic that erased my problems?
“Did it help?”
I frowned.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I waved my hand. “Tell me. How do you function when he walks around like that? Because I’m going to need survival tips.”
She smiled, cleaning up the mess. “I’m afraid you’ll need to get used to it if you stay here; Dr. Morrison frequently wears no shirts.”
Well, that should have been disclosed before I’d moved in here. Hello, you big distraction.
But him being comfortable wearing no shirts brought me joy because no one knew his history of hiding his skin.
“Is he always like this?” I wondered aloud, finally picking up the first pill.
“No,” she answered thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen this side of him.”
“Really? I figured he always acts like a massive control freak.”
“Loving,” she clarified with a smile. “I’ve never seen him act loving like this before.”
I froze mid-swallow.
“He’s normally …”
“An Iceman?” I supplied, remembering the hospital whispers.
“I was going to say serious and rigid.”
“So … an Iceman.”
“I would never describe my boss in unflattering terms,” she said diplomatically. “But this softer side? It’s refreshing.” She patted my arm. “I hope you stick around, Tessa.”
Later, heading back to my room to shower, I passed that mysterious closed door again. Logic said it was probably just an office, full of confidential medical files and boring paperwork.
But something in my gut said there was more to it. And why did that only make it more intriguing?