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An explosion of sensation surges through me.

It’s the feel of her curves. The heat of her skin. How her waist fits so perfectly in my hands.

It’s her smell, sweet yet sensual, just the way she is.

It’s the way she looks at me with those big, sky-blue eyes, like I’ve made her happy just by being here.

It’s the little hum of pleasure she makes as she kisses me back. The taste of peanut butter and fudge lingering on her lips. It’s the soft slide of her silken hair through my fingers as I cup the back of her head.

That increasingly present balloon in my chest expands again. Each time it inflates, it seems to get even bigger. Squeezing everything else out of the way until it’s hard to breathe.

I can’t get enough of her. Not just of kissing, or feeling her body, but everything.

As our kiss continues, Tatum leans into me, giving me some of her weight. Her small hands come to my shoulders, holding on for balance as she goes up on her toes to reach me.

But I’m not having that. Forcing Tate to work to kiss me. Instead, I cup her ass and lift her off her feet, bringing her face so it’s level with mine. She lets out another sexy moan and her nails dig into my skin, bringing a welcome bite of pain amid the pleasure.

My heart is racing faster than it has during any workout. All my composure, the years of training myself to remain calm in any situation, seem to disappear whenever I’m kissing her.

Whenever I’m touching her, really.

Shit. Just thinking about Tate makes it hard to focus on anything else.

I can. I do. My job is too important not to. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a struggle.

Just as my lungs are beginning to burn for air, Tate drags her lips from mine and says, “I saw Jade. Right after you went to your meeting. She said I’m all clear for”—her brows arch up meaningfully—“higherimpact activities. As long as I’m careful not to push myself too much.”

Setting her down, I brush my thumb across her kiss-swollen lips. “And what does pushing yourself too much mean, according to Jade?”

I know Tate thinks I’m being overly alarmist. But as a survivor of a traumatic brain injury, there is no way I’m messing around with this. I’d be fine waiting weeks more, if that’s what we need to do to make sure she’s safe. Will it involve a lot of cold showers and taking care of myself while fantasizing about Tate’s incredible body?

Yes. Absolutely.

Do I care? No. Tate’s health is way more important than my physical desires.

“Lots of jumping around,” she replies. “Doing anything that could cause me to hit my head.” She smiles. “I’m fine to go ahead with normal activities. So…” She tilts her head, giving me a questioning look. “What do you think?”

What do I think?

I think I want to pick up Tate and take her into the bedroom right now.

But.

There are things we talked about at the team meeting earlier that she deserves to know. And if we jump straight into sex, it feels a little dishonest, like I’m keeping things from her deliberately.

It could kill the mood. I know that. But keeping secrets—unless they’re about something like a gift or a surprise party—isn’t how I want our relationship to start.

So it’s with a resigned sigh that I say, “I think it sounds perfect. And I can promise there will be no jumping or injuring your head.”

She narrows her eyes. “But?”

“But we talked about some things at our meeting. Things I think you should know. We can wait, if you don’t want to hearthem yet. But since this involves you, I think you should decide, not me.”

Although if itwereup to me, I’d prefer not to tell her anything. I’d much prefer that Tate focus on her own recovery, with her yoga and gardening and playing with Dante and Sarah’s therapy dog, Rambo. I’d prefer that Tate spend time getting to know the other women here, since I’m hopeful she’ll end up spending a lot of time around them.

But Tate wants to know, and I can’t say I blame her.

Tatum frowns. Her teeth dig into her lower lip. Her hands twist nervously together. “Is it bad news?”