Page 35 of Crash

Cut to my brother yanking that spoon from his grip, shoving Blake back, and giving him a death glare that could have frozen the North Pole. Probably killed Santa and all his elves too. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who noticed the kitchen had turned into a powder keg of sexual tension.

“We’re getting off topic. Point is, don’t get all bossy on me, Morrison.”

His mouth curled again. I swear, he looooooved pushing my buttons.

Shelly McBride’s latest text popped up with yet another issue. Who knew wedding planning was less champagne and more battlefields?

“Why do you keep checking your phone?” Blake asked.

“I’m googlinghow to escape overprotective men in moving vehicles.The results are concerning.”

“Hilarious. Question remains.”

“I missed a meeting yesterday with my client. There’s a situation I need to handle.”

He seemed to digest this. “Ryker said you started that event planning business.”

“Wedding planning,” I corrected.

Irony was a wicked witch with a possible vendetta against me.Thirty-three-year-old woman, who hasn’t even come close to finding her soulmate herself, plans everyone else’s happily ever after. I should put that on my business cards. Maybe add some tearstains for authenticity.

“I’m sure your clients will understand you taking a few days off.”

I seriously tried not to roll my eyes. “I’ve burned through a zillion days off this past year in medical appointments and illness alone. Not all of us can afford to miss work anytime?—”

“Our heart stops?”

“Swim lane, Morrison. I can’t take any more time off work, and I can’t afford to lose this client.”

My only client.

“Tessa.” The way he said my name—soft yet commanding—made my stupid pulse skip. “You need to rest.”

“I did. All night. Will have a gigantic fat hospital bill to prove it.”

“Yet you look exhausted.” His gaze swept over me while I pretended every inch of my skin didn’t cheer him on, all shouting,Look here! Look at me!

“Turns out, hours of beeping machines and a hovering cardiologist aren’t exactly a spa treatment.” Plus, my chest still hurt. I got lucky. No cracked ribs from the CPR, but my bones were still yelling at me.

“The cardiologist suggested staying another night.”

“When someonesuggeststhey add another twenty grand to your already-bankrupt-inducing bill, the choice isn’t difficult.”

Oof. Blake’s face turned into granite.

“Trust me,” I assured. “If I thought death was still lurking nearby, I’d be demanding the penthouse suite.”

I drew in a steadying breath, wincing at the twinge, which, of course, he noticed. His eyes slammed into my ribs with the same force as chest compressions, and then that sexy mouth of his converted itself into a dash before returning to the road.

“Look, I know you care. And, again, I appreciate everything you’re doing. But this—the hovering, the second-guessing, the swooping in to save me from myself—this is exactly what I asked you not to do. I need my doctors to give me the facts, and, yes, Ieven need your medical opinion. But the final call? That’s mine. Can you respect that?”

The muscle in his jaw ticced, and his fingers tightened on the steering wheel until I thought the leather might crack. For a moment, I thought he’d argue. But he released a breath that seemed to carry the weight of our entire complicated history.

“Fine,” he said finally, though the word seemed to cost him.

Hallelujah. I could hear the angels singing.

“Thank you.”