Page 39 of Crash

“A duke in the streets, a demon in the sheets?” he read, his voice rough with amusement.

I snatched the pillow from his view, but it was too late. He’d already spotted the book on my nightstand, and I bet my stupid heart monitor logged the moment he picked it up in those big, capable hands. The contrast of his masculine fingers against the pink floral cover—complete with a couple locked in an embrace against an impossibly rosy mountain backdrop—sent an inappropriate chill through my core.

“What’s this one about?” The corner of his mouth lifted in that devastating half smile that undoubtedly made the nurses and female doctors swoon.

“Same as all the others,” I managed. “Love.”

“Ah, but you once gave me a twenty-minute lecture about how each one tells a unique story.”

He began thumbing through the pages and—oh God—found my highlights. And my margin notes. Including theOH MY GOD, THIS IS SO HOTI’d scrawled next to a particularly steamy scene.

I lunged for the novel, but not before his eyes caught the passage in question.

That smile of his grew three sizes. “Getting her pussy eaten in front of city lights, eh?”

My cheeks burned hotter than that ridiculous pink cover. “Did you find any MOLD, Dr. Morrison?”

His laugh—deep, rich, and entirely too knowing—filled my bedroom, making me acutely aware that we were alone. Next to my bed. My very unmade bed, with sheets still rumpled from my fitful sleep two nights ago.

His gaze drifted to those twisted sheets, and I swear the temperature in the room rose ten degrees, making my lady parts start her engines.

No. False alarm. He’s not coming inside.

Oh my God. I mentally cringed when I heard those thoughts in my own head.

“You okay there, Tess? You look like Ryker did when your mom found his browser history.”

“Gross.”Nothing kills inappropriate thoughts like bringing up your brother’s porn habits. “No mold in here. Moving on.”

I pretended not to hear his soft chuckle as he followed me, pretended not to be aware of the heat of his much larger body behind my own. Pretended Blake wasn’t the one I’d fantasized about doing those things to me in that romance novel.

“So, where’s the rest of your porn library?”

I spun around so fast that I crashed right into his chest. His hands shot to my waist to steady me, and suddenly, I was engulfed in his warmth, his scent a mixture of body wash and something uniquely Blake that made my toes curl.

“It’s not porn.” I pushed away from him, but the damage was done.

He’d switched to that casual stance, hands at his sides, that somehow made him look even more devastatingly attractive. Like aGQmodel who’d wandered into my home by accident.

“I saw the wordscuntandcock.” Blake arched a brow, his voice dropping to a tone that should be illegal. Based on the fresh smirk on his face, he’d said it to incite that fresh smokefrom my cheeks. “I’m not a literary scholar, but I don’t think that wasMoby Dick. Although …”

Glaring at him, I turned with a huff. “No mold. No mildew. I appreciate?—”

“The CPR? The lifesaving? The literary criticism?”

I glowered at him, but he’d shifted back into doctor mode, his expression turning serious as his gaze swept the walls again with renewed intensity.

“The thing about mold and environmental toxins is that they’re insidious. They hide in walls, under floors, in air ducts. Places you’d never think to look until it’s too late.”

“Are you suggesting my home is what’s making me sick?”

“I’m saying we can’t rule it out.” He ran his fingers along a dark spot on my drywall, and I tried not to notice how his shirt pulled across his shoulders. “Environmental factors can destroy a healthy body from the inside out. Sometimes so gradually that you don’t realize what’s happening until you’re in the ER.”

“My symptoms weren’t gradual,” I reminded him. “It started suddenly with an illness.”

“Still doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

“Anythingis possible at this point,” I replied. “Maybe I got infected by a pink elephant that blew a loogie through my bedroom window.”