Page 57 of Crash

Holy crap, did I just say that out loud? I betmyface looked like it had just been shoved into the fireplace. His, on the other hand, looked … ravenous.

He had to clear his throat and rub the back of his neck.

Looks like I’d finally said something that made him squirm.

“I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

Yep. Totally squirming. Shame on me for enjoying it.

“Why?”

“Because now I’m going to constantly be craning my ears to see if I can hearthatcoming from your room.”

My neck flushed with heat, his eyes drifting across my skin. It took him several seconds to break the sexual tension and move onto something else.

“Look.” He gestured to the bookshelf. “Had my assistant grab all the best-selling porn from the nearest bookstore.”

“It’s not porn!”

“Really?” He moved to the bookshelf, plucking a novel from the highest shelf with those doctor fingers that I definitely wasn’t staring at. “Because this blurb implies the monster has two massive cocks.”

“I know what you’re doing.” I snatched the book from his hand, trying to ignore how his low chuckle and heat from his very close body affected my insides. “You’re trying to distract me so I don’t feel weird about all of this.”

“You seriously think a little food and some books are the most fascinating thing in this penthouse right now?” His voice dropped an octave. “You just admitted to having a vibrator, and you have a porn collection. I’m busy wondering how many of these books have anal.”

“I’m sure if I looked at your internet browsing history, your porn collection would be pretty interesting too.”

He smirked, holding this thread of … desire tightening between us for a few beats before stepping around me. But did he take his eyes off me as he did that? No. No, he did not.

“Come.” He waved his hand for me to follow. “No pun intended.”

I followed him down a hallway so massive that it probably needed its own postal code. We passed door after door, all standing wide open, except for two: one at the far end that he’d breezed right past—interesting since he’d been so eager to show off everything else—and this one, where he now stood, waiting.

“Your office.” His hand hesitated on the knob. “You mentioned being on a tight deadline with this wedding planning. I might have asked my assistant to do some research about what a wedding planner needs in their workspace.”

“Blake …”

“If you hate it, we can undo everything. If we missed something, we can add it.” He opened the door, and my jaw nearly slammed on the ground.

The office wasn’t a room; it was a dream materialized. Hardwood floors gleamed beneath pristine walls, adorned with elegant art pieces that somehow perfectly captured the essence of romance and celebration. An oversize window bathed everything in soft afternoon light, making the space feel almost magical.

My mouth fell open even wider as I took in the distinct stations he’d created. A primary desk boasted dual Apple monitors, flanking a brand-new MacBook Pro with an absurdly large bow perched on top. Bookshelves lined with every wedding magazine in existence stretched toward the ceiling. A cozy consultation area featured two plush chairs, separated by an end table that belonged in a museum.

Everything, from the pastel pinks to the silvery grays, blended into what looked like a headquarters for a seven-figure boutique wedding planning agency. Not my struggling business that was one canceled wedding away from disaster.

“Blake, this is too much.”

“Nothing is too much for you, Tessa.”

Based on the way his gaze latched on to mine and his mouth fell open slightly, he hadn’t meant for that profession to slip out. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. What to make of it. Was I picking up on desire? Like deep desire or simple hormonal desire?

Blake broke eye contact, and suddenly, I needed to fill the space with words. Lots and lots of words.

“You had your assistant import all my files from my iPad?” I finally managed, spotting my color-coded system on the massive wall monitor, displaying project deadlines and contact lists.

He’d asked for my ipad, and I’d handed it over, presuming he wanted to see my digital tracker of foods, which was moreorganized than my handwritten notes. Because, yeah, at one point, I’d kept both.

“That’s why I borrowed it.” He shifted his weight. “Not just to snoop through your medical history.”