Page 25 of Crossing the Line (Phoenix Ridge Medical #6)

Carmen stared into her coffee, watching steam rise between them, then continued, "I trusted her completely.

With my research, my techniques, and my career.

When she submitted our joint work to the Journal of Cardiothoracic Surgery under her name only, claiming solo development. ..it destroyed everything."

Harper's fingers tightened around her mug. "The professional betrayal wasn't just professional."

"No, we'd been together for two years. We lived together and were planning a future. I thought we were building something real, but she was building her career on the back of my innovations while systematically undermining my reputation with colleagues."

The silence stretched between them, filled with the weight of Carmen's admission. Carmen let her process the revelations and the reality of the personal devastation underneath—the reason she had built walls so high that not even Harper's honesty could scale them.

"I'm sorry," Harper said, and Carmen heard genuine grief in her voice. "Not just for what she did, but for how it's affected everything since. Including us."

Carmen looked up sharply. "Harper?—"

"No, let me say this." Harper leaned forward, her voice gaining strength.

"I lied to you about my name, my age, and my job.

I created an entire false identity because I wanted one night where someone might choose me without knowing whose daughter I was.

And when you found out the truth, I handled it terribly. "

Carmen felt her defenses rising, but Harper continued before she could interrupt.

"But I need you to understand something. Everything I felt that night was real. The way you made me laugh, the conversations we had, the connection between us—none of that was a performance. I wasn't lying about who I am underneath all the expectations."

"How can I know the difference?" The question came out rawer than Carmen intended. "How can I trust that any of it was genuine when you lied about everything else?"

Harper set down her coffee and stood, moving to the piano that dominated the corner of Carmen's living room. She rested her fingers on the shiny, closed fallboard protecting the keys.

"Because I'm still here," Harper said quietly. "After you treated me like a stranger and I realized how badly I'd damaged something precious and had every logical reason to walk away and protect what's left of my professional reputation, I'm still here because what we have is worth fighting for."

Carmen's chest tightened. "Harper, the complications?—"

"Are only impossible if we make them impossible.

" Harper turned away from the piano, her eyes bright with determination.

"Yes, you're my supervisor. Yes, my mother is your friend.

Yes, there are professional ethics to consider.

But people navigate workplace relationships all the time without destroying their careers. "

"Not people in our positions," Carmen said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Then we'll be the first." Harper moved closer, not quite touching but close enough that Carmen could smell the faint floral scent that had haunted her dreams. "Carmen, I've spent my entire life being safe. I’ve followed all the rules, met every expectation that weighed on me, and have been exactly who everyone needed me to be. Do you know what that's gotten me?"

Carmen shook her head.

"Loneliness," Harper said simply. "A perfect professional reputation and complete emotional isolation. Until I met you."

The words hung between them, honest and vulnerable in ways that made Carmen's protective instincts scream. But underneath the fear was the recognition that Harper was offering exactly what Carmen had been desperate for: genuine connection without calculation.

"You want honesty?" Carmen asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Here's honesty. Working with you this week has been torture.

Watching you excel in cardiac surgery, seeing your natural instincts, listening to your intelligent questions have all reminded me why I fell in love with medicine in the first place. "

Harper's cheeks tinged pink, but she stayed silent.

"And every time you look at me with those eyes that see everything," Carmen continued, "I remember what it felt like to be wanted for who I actually am instead of what I can provide professionally. You make me want things I convinced myself I didn't need."

"What kind of things?"

Carmen stood, closing the distance between them until she could see the gold flecks in Harper's dark eyes. "Partnership. Trust. Someone who sees beauty in the work. Someone who doesn't see my success as something to steal or my vulnerability as weakness to exploit."

"I would never?—"

"I know," Carmen said, and realized she meant it completely. "That's what terrifies me. You're not Claire. You're someone who actually matters, which makes the risk exponentially higher."

Harper caressed Carmen’s cheekbone with the back of her middle and ring fingers. "What if we start small?" Harper asked, her thumb now tracing the line of Carmen's jaw. "What if we stop pretending this doesn't exist and see what happens when we're honest about wanting each other?"

Carmen felt her last defenses crumbling under Harper's touch and the sincerity in her voice. "Your mother will kill us both."

"My mother wants me to be happy," Harper said with a small smile. "She just doesn't know yet that my happiness looks like you."

Carmen stared at Harper's face—serious, hopeful, beautiful in the soft lamplight—and felt the measured control she'd maintained for months dissolve completely. Harper was offering her something she'd thought she'd lost forever: the possibility of being known and chosen anyway.

"This is dangerous," Carmen whispered, but she was already leaning closer.

"The best things usually are," Harper replied, echoing her words from their first night. "Carmen, I'm not asking you to announce our relationship at the next staff meeting. I'm asking you to stop running from what we both know is real."

When Harper leaned in, Carmen didn't retreat. The kiss was soft and questioning, nothing like the passionate encounter that had started everything between them. This was an offering, a promise that they could build something genuine if they were brave enough to try.

Carmen's hands found Harper's waist, pulling her closer as months of loneliness and professional isolation melted away. Harper's lips were warm and familiar, tasting like cherry lip gloss and the future Carmen had been afraid to want.

When they broke apart, Carmen rested her forehead against Harper's, breathing in the scent of her skin and the realization that she was done fighting this.

"We keep this between us," Carmen said, her voice steady despite the way her heart was racing. "Just while we figure out how to navigate the professional complications."

"Agreed," Harper said, her smile radiant. "Though I reserve the right to look at you like I'm completely head over heels for you during surgical procedures."

Carmen laughed, the sound surprising them both. "That's highly unprofessional."

"Good thing I'm sleeping with my supervisor," Harper said with a grin. "I hear she's very understanding about professional boundaries."

Carmen's response was lost as Harper kissed her again, deeper this time, with the confidence of someone who'd finally stopped pretending she didn't want exactly this. And for the first time in months, Carmen allowed herself to want something without calculating the cost.

Harper's hands tangled in Carmen's hair while Carmen's found the curve of Harper's waist, pulling her closer until their bodies were flush against each other.

"Are you sure?" Carmen whispered against Harper's lips.

"I've never been more sure of anything," Harper replied, her voice rough with want. "Carmen, I need you to know this isn't just physical for me."

"I know." Carmen's thumb ran against Harper’s plump lips. "I'm terrified."

"So am I. But I'd rather be terrified with you than safe and alone without you."

Carmen took Harper's hand and led her toward her bedroom. At the door, she paused, turning back to meet Harper's eyes. "What we're doing?—"

"Is us choosing each other despite every logical reason not to," Harper finished softly.

The air between them felt thick, charged, every heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Carmen’s eyes flicked over Harper—her lips slightly parted, eyes dark with want, hands twitching with anticipation.

She let herself savor the sight, the way Harper leaned slightly forward as if drawn to her magnetically, and Carmen felt a delicious tension coil low in her belly.

Carmen’s hand slid to the small of Harper’s back, leading her to the bed gently, feeling the warmth radiating from her.

Before Harper sat down on the bed, she fumbled with Carmen’s blouse, a little more unsure than their first time together, and Carmen could feel the weight of what existed between them.

Carmen helped Harper remove her own clothing, standing only in her black lace bra and matching panties, before shifting her focus to take off Harper’s clothes.

For a moment, she stood there, marveling at Harper’s body—the way the navy bralette accentuated her natural curves and how her matching lace panties hung low on her hips.

She felt a tiny twinge of fear-based hesitation but pushed it aside as she guided Harper down on top of the comforter.

Harper reached up for her hand and pulled her down next to her.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” Harper said as she looked Carmen directly in the eyes.

Carmen felt a lump in her throat of all the things she wanted to say but couldn’t, so instead she leaned and kissed Harper, gently at first then with more passion.

When they separated, Carmen rested her forehead on Harper’s and finally said, “Me too. I’m glad you are, though. Really.”