Page 24 of A Game of Deception

Xander’s breath caught, his whole body going rigid. It wasn’t just pain—it was memory. His eyes flew open, finding mine, and for amoment he looked exactly like the seventeen-year-old boy who’d been pulled from that wreckage.

My mask slipped. I saw him—really saw him—not as my obsession but as someone who’d been destroyed by the same night that had destroyed me.

“Does that hurt?” My voice came out soft.

He stared up at me, those green eyes wide and vulnerable. “It’s an old injury.”

We both knew we weren’t talking about the muscle anymore.

“I know,” I whispered, my thumb still on that damaged spot, feeling his pulse race beneath the skin. “I know it is.”

The moment stretched between us. My hands had gone still on his shoulder. His hand came up, fingers wrapping around my wrist. Not to stop me, just to touch.

“Tara—”

The sound of my name, not “Dr. Swanson” but “Tara,” broke whatever spell had fallen over us. I jerked back, my mask slamming back into place so hard it felt like whiplash.

“We’re done for today,” I said, my voice sharp.

He sat up slowly, confusion flashing across his face. “But it’s only been?—”

“I said we’re done.” I turned away, busying myself with meaningless paperwork. “You can schedule your next session with my assistant.”

I heard him pull his shirt back on, his soft footfalls as he moved to the door. He paused there, and I could feel him looking at me,wanting to say something. But I kept my back turned, my spine rigid.

The door opened, then closed. His footsteps faded down the hallway.

Only then did I allow myself to breathe, my hands braced on the counter as my legs threatened to give out. For one moment, we’d just been two damaged people recognizing each other’s pain.

I was still trying to process the intense emotional whiplash of the session when I left the private room and walked back toward my office.

“Doc! There you are.”

I turned to find Diego Mano leaning against the wall in the corridor, blocking my path. He was still in his practice gear, a towel slung around his neck, a predatory smile on his face.

“I was just coming to see you,” he said, pushing off the wall to stand directly in front of me. “You didn’t answer my text.”

“I’ve been with a patient, Mr. Mano,” I said, my tone crisp and professional.

“Diego,” he corrected smoothly. “And I think you owe me that dance. Or maybe a drink, to start.” He was standing too close, invading my personal space in a way that was clearly intentional.

“I don’t recall owing you anything,” I said, trying to step around him. He shifted his body subtly, blocking me again.

“Come on, Tara,” he purred, his eyes raking over me. “That night at the party... you wanted to. Don’t play shy now. How about tonight? That new place on Collins.”

He was backing me into a corner, and I could feel my annoyance curdling into genuine anger. I was about to agree to a “one-drink date” I had no intention of keeping, just to create an exit, when a new voice cut in.

“Dr. Swanson? Sorry to interrupt.”

I looked past Diego’s shoulder to see Ben Carter standing there, a water bottle in his hand. His expression was open and friendly, but his eyes, when they flicked to Diego, were hard.

“Ben,” I said, a wave of relief washing over me. “What can I do for you?”

“I just had a quick question about the new hamstring exercises,” he said, stepping forward and positioning himself neatly between me and Diego, creating a welcome buffer. “Am I supposed to be feeling the stretch more in the belly of the muscle or near the insertion point?”

Diego’s jaw tightened, his frustration at being interrupted by a rookie palpable. He shot Ben a look of pure venom before turning his charming smile back on me.

“We’ll talk later, Doc,” he said, his voice a low promise. He brushed past Ben, deliberately bumping his shoulder as he went.