Page 12 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

Of course, he is. Look at him. He probably has a whole rotation of women at his beck and call. Women who don’t trip over their own feet or stutter around hot strangers. He’s not meant for someone like me. The thought comes forth, ugly and cruel.

I sigh, shaking my head, pulling the covers back over myself. I try to think of a clever comeback, but I’m interrupted by the opera that’s happening in my stomach.

“What’s good to eat around here?” I raise my hand, gesturing around the hospital room.

Alex turns back to me, his eyes mischievous. He looks like someone who could get away with murder and have his victim thank him for it.

“I could get the nurse to bring you some food,” he offers, leaning back slightly.

I gape at him and stick my finger toward my mouth, pretending to gag.

“Seriously? Hospital food is so—” I gag again for effect, and Alex’s eyes widen as he lets out a deep belly laugh.

“We can order in?” he grins, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Yes, please.” I smile, a little too widely.

“I should check with the nurse first, see if you’re okay to eat,” he says, standing and adjusting himself. I can’t help but gape—he’s so tall.

Stop staring, Elena.

“Okay, well, here.” I gulp, trying to recover, handing him my identification and health insurance card. “Would you mind passing that along to the nurse?”

He grabs the cards from my hand, his warm fingers brushing mine, and I feel a little electric shock run up my arm.

I gasp, aware of the way my body is reacting.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. His jeans hug his body perfectly, and as he walks away, I catch a glimpse of how well they fit his ass. I lick my lips without meaning to.

God, I feel like a teenage girl with a crush. I’ll sear that face into memory and cue it up for a solo DJ session the next time I’m alone with batteries and no shame.

What is going on? I don’t even know this person.

Snap out of it.

Moments later, Alex returns. “All good,” he says, walking toward the bed with a plastic wristband in hand. “Here.”

He grabs my hand like he owns it and fastens the band around my wrist. I should pull away—the audacity of this man—but I don’t, and time stands still. Goose bumps rise as his fingers graze my skin, and then his thumb drags slowly across the new band. My breath catches.

From this close, I can see his forearms—thick, veined, strong…and hot. My mouth goes dry.

New kink? Unlocked.

He takes a small step back, and I feel the air returning to my lungs.

“Thanks,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and breathy. I manage a shaky laugh. “Are you…normally this handsy with strangers?”

“I carried you from the store, into a car, and the emergency room,” he confesses with a smile. “You didn’t complain then.”

My eyes widen in shock.

He carried me. In his arms. Those arms . My heart thumps against my chest.

I assumed he would’ve called an ambulance, but he scooped me up like a sack of potatoes and went on his merry way.

Of course, I couldn’t complain—I was unconscious. The shame.

“My hero.” I cough, trying to clear my throat, and Alex chuckles, a smile spreading across his face. Oh, dear God, it’s enough to make me lose any composure I have left.

“Food,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket like he just remembered.

Stop staring at him like that.

I tell myself it’s just the drugs. Yes, that’s it—the drugs. That’s why I’m acting like this. That’s why I’m ogling him like he’s the one good enough to eat.

While Alex orders, I watch him through my lashes, lips slightly parted, my heart skipping a beat.

He looks up and catches my gaze. I flush and quickly look away, focusing on my hands as they clutch the hospital wristbands.

“Food will be here soon,” he announces, his voice smooth.

“Thank you,” I mumble, barely able to meet his eyes.

“You’re very welcome.” That heart-stopping smile.

I gulp hard, trying to stay composed.

“So, how exactly did we… collide ?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

“Ah, well, you were at the back section in the store,” he starts, his voice smooth and casual. “I was looking for a book. I noticed you were standing there under your hat, and the book was above your head.” He smiles slyly.

Okay, I get it, I’m short. Well, compared to him, I am.

“You turned and ran straight into me, and before I could grab you to stop you from falling, you lost your footing, stumbled back, and went down.” He finishes with a nervous laugh. “You hit your head on a nearby table, and well, now you’re here.”

He recaps it like a news reporter. It’s the most he’s spoken since I woke up, and I notice the vague accent. I wonder from what magical dimension he comes from. He can’t possibly be real.

“Yep, here.” I sigh dramatically, trying to make light of it.

In this hospital. With him.

I don’t know whether to die of embarrassment or thank the gods for this chance encounter.

“You should see the table,” he adds, cocking his head to the side.

I giggle. He’s handsome and funny—so unfair.

Before I can say anything else, a small man and a different nurse poke their heads through the door, knocking before entering. The man hands Alex a paper bag, and Alex gives him some cash.

The scent coming from the bag engulfs the room, and despite my hunger, Alex looks even more tempting. A thought that catches me off guard.

“How are you feeling?” the nurse asks, interrupting my train of thought.

“I’m okay. Just hungry ,” I admit, a little embarrassed at how crude that sounds in my head. I blush, hoping she doesn’t notice.

Alex seems to catch on, and I notice a cheeky glint in his eyes.

Oh, God, I’m mortified.

The nurse nods, unfazed. “Take these after you’ve had something to eat.” She hands me a plastic cup with two white oval tablets in it, then places the chart back at the end of the bed before leaving the room.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Starving.” My voice is a little too hoarse.

His eyes darken with a thought, but he says nothing.

“That smells good,” I comment, the smell of the food interrupting my inappropriate lusting over a complete stranger.

“I hope you don’t mind Chinese food,” Alex offers with a smile, casually rolling the hospital table over to my bed. “It’s usually quick.”

Shifting in the bed to sit up, my whole body feels like jelly.

Ugh, hospital beds are the worst.

“Chinese is fine right now. I could eat anything,” I say, licking my lips.

Including you.

Oh my God, did I just…I quickly shake the thought from my head.

Alex starts unpacking the contents of the paper bag, a banquet fit for two. He grabs two of the boxes and heads back to his seat.

“You could sit on the other side of the table if you’d like,” I suggest, feeling a little disappointed that he doesn’t want to sit closer.

He looks at me for a moment, his head cocked to the side. His eyes are so intense, and I feel like I’m being analyzed. He probably feels bad for me, and I’m reading too much into this situation.

“Okay.” He grins, getting up from his seat.

That one word sends flutters to my stomach.

He waits for me to shift and cross my legs to give him more space. Placing his boxes back on the table, he sits on the bed, slipping off his shoes.

I watch him intently—he looks like a model.

Maybe he is.

We eat in silence for a moment. I’m too hungry to care, but then, with a mouthful of pork dumpling, he breaks the silence.

“So, what brings you to New York?” he asks, his voice soft and casual.

“Family and work,” I reply between bites. My mouth is full, but I’m too ravenous to care.

“What do you do?”

He looks at me then, eyes narrowing slightly as though sizing me up. There’s a glimmer of something in his gaze, but I’m probably imagining it.

Chewing quickly, I swallow before answering. “I’m a recording artist.”

“Whoa,” he replies, surprised. “What kind of music do you sing?”

“Mainly pop,” I explain, my cheeks flushing. “And I dabble in a variety of different genres, depending on what strikes my mood.”

He glances down at his food, his attention diverted. I feel a little self-conscious about my answer.

So stupid. I probably sound like I’m showing off.

“So, what about you?” I ask, trying to steer the focus off myself as I shovel more food into my mouth.

He pauses, eying me for a moment, then smirks. It’s the kind of smirk that makes me wonder if he’s laughing at an inside joke I’m not privy to.

“I’m self-employed,” he states offhandedly, biting into his egg roll.

“Oh, cool.” I nod, unsure of how to respond. His answer is vague, but I don’t press.

“I’m Alexander Gustav Henrik Sigurdsson, by the way,” he adds, his smile widening. “But my friends call me Alex. It’s nice to meet you, Eleanor Josephine Montgomery.”

Wow, that’s a hell of a name.

I roll my eyes at the use of our full legal names. But when it comes out of his mouth, it sounds almost…poetic.

“Alexander Gustav Henrik Sigurdsson,” I repeat quietly. “Nice to meet you. And…please, call me Elena.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Elena,” he purrs, drawing out each syllable like he’s savoring it. “I like it…suits you better.”

He leans in just slightly, eyes flicking to my lips. “And Elena, the pleasure’s all mine.”

My heart races, and I feel a little heady.

His voice…

God, why does that sound so good coming out of his mouth?

Is this what happens when you suppress every teenage impulse for years? One tall, model-built man with heartbreak eyes catches me mid-concussion, and suddenly I’m ready to throw away my entire belief system just to feel him hold me again, this time fully conscious.

We finish the rest of our dinner in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

Occasionally, I glance up at him to find him already watching me.

Studying his features, his face is perfectly symmetrical, his lips are full, his eyes blue like the sky before a storm.

With his name, I assume he’s probably Scandinavian.

Eventually, the food coma takes hold, and I feel my eyelids grow heavy.