Page 91 of Crash

As if that were possible with you so close.

Blake pressed the stethoscope above my left breast, near one of the heart monitor nodes because, apparently, he needed to hear my heart with his own ears, too. There was something so intimate about this moment, knowing he was listening to my heartbeats, wondering if he knew that each beat of my heart pulsed for him.

It hit me then, with devastating clarity, why his rejection had wounded me so deeply. For one perfect moment on that terrace, all my dreams had aligned like stars. My business was open, and despite its complications, I was building something real, something mine, brick by precious brick. And there was Blake—the man who had haunted my teenage fantasies—finally touching me the way I’d always hoped. Like I was his everything.

For a handful of heartbeats, I’d held the world in my hands. Then it had all crumbled to dust.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice honeyed and low. “Now your lungs. Deep breath.”

I inhaled deeply, my chest rising and falling as he moved the stethoscope, first left, then right. His free hand rested lightly on my shoulder, steadying me. Or maybe himself.

“May I?” He fingered the hem of my shirt, eyes questioning.

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and the cool metal slid up my back beneath the fabric, followed by the ghost of his knuckles against my spine.

“Deep breath, Cupcake.”

Ugh, would my pet name rolling off his tongue always make my skin tingle like this?

“Again … once more.”

When he finally removed the stethoscope, draping it around his neck, his frown sent a different kind of shiver through me.

“Your lungs sound diminished.”

“What does that mean?”

“Lie back, please.”

I complied, trying not to think about how many times I’d imagined being in this bed under vastly different circumstances. Blake stood over me, his expression unreadable as his hands moved to my abdomen. When I flinched, his eyebrows drew together in concern.

“Does that hurt?”

“A little,” I admitted.

His lips pursed as he continued the examination, his touch still setting my nerve endings alight. Every point of contact felt like a reminder of what we were trying so hard to deny.

“Okay, you can sit up,” he directed, stepping back to create distance between us.

The loss of contact felt like a winter chill.

His gaze drifted to my packed suitcase by the door, and something flickered across his face. Regret, I think. He pulled a hand to the back of his neck for a few seconds.

“You should stay,” he said quietly. “At least until your breathing improves.”

I slid off the bed, squaring my shoulders. I refused to be that girl who fell apart just because the man she wanted didn’t want her back.

“I think we both know that’s not a good idea.”

The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything we weren’t saying, until he finally broke it.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Blake said, his voice rough with emotion, but then he just stopped. At a loss for words? Or presuming that was the only explanation he thought I deserved?

“One minute, you’re telling me you wanted to do more than just kiss me. Then you’re burying your face between my legs like you’ve imagined nothing else, but the very next minute, you push me away.”

“I made a mistake.” The muscles in his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on some point over my shoulder.

“Which part? Going down on me? Or making me assume it meant more than just sex?” I hated how small I felt in this moment.