One teensy problem with my brilliant plan: stress had a way of making my symptoms throw a party. A very unwelcome, very noticeable party.
Like the wave of nausea currently throwing a rager in my stomach.
“So, you fainted.” Blake’s voice carried that same authoritative edge he’d used on the nurse, only now it was laced with something else. Concern? Irritation?
I swallowed hard against the rising nausea, plastering on my best this-is-totally-normal smile.
“I skipped breakfast and, well …” I shrugged like I was discussing the weather. “People faint all the time.”
“Not you.” The words shot out like bullets. “Ryker’s told me about every scraped knee and broken bone since you were ten. Never once mentioned fainting.”
My heart stuttered. He remembered my medical history? But of course he did. Dr. Blake Morrison probably filed away medical details like other people collected baseball cards.
“First time for everything,” I managed, aiming for casual and probably hitting somewhere around guilty teenager explaining a curfew violation. “But I’ve always gotten lightheaded whenever I stand up too quickly.”
He paused, and I could practically see him rifling through his mental file cabinet.
“Has it gotten worse?”
“Look,” I blurted out, suddenly desperate to escape those too-observant eyes. “I appreciate the concern, but I only came to rule out a concussion. I’m fine. Really.”
Blake’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticcing there that I definitely wasn’t staring at. Not at all. After a few seconds, he pushed off the wall with grace, checking my monitor with a slight edge to his brows.
“Blood pressure’s low.”
“Always has been.”Please, just let me go. Don’t look at me like that.Like I’m a tantalizing puzzle you’re determined to solve, piece by maddening piece.
“Could explain the lightheadedness.”
Yes! He’s totally buying there’s nothing to see here!Almost home free.
“I’m going to examine you now.”
The stethoscope slid from around his neck, and suddenly, Blake was leaning so close. The scent of his probably organic body wash did all sorts of unwanted things to me. The cold metal pressed just above my left breast, and I swear my treacherous heart skipped a beat.
Don’t think about his hands. Don’t you dare think about how many times you dreamed of him touching you. Just pretend the simple act of listening to my heartbeat doesn’t feel more intimate than any first date I’d ever been on.
He glanced at the screen again, a flicker of … something … in his eyes.
“Your heart’s racing.”
Great. Now my feelings were literally being broadcast to him in high definition.
“Yours would be, too, if someone shoved cold metal on your chest,” I quipped.
“Sit up.”
His hand wrapped around my shoulder—warm, solid, confident—guiding me forward. That simple touch sent a flash of heat searing across my skin, and I silently cursed whatever twisted karmic event I’d done to deserve having him as my doctor.
“Deep breath.”
I inhaled shakily, and because, apparently, I enjoyed torturing myself, I looked up. Bad idea. Catastrophically bad idea. His mouth … God, his mouth was exactly as I remembered from all those forbidden fantasies. Soft yet firm, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top, the kind of mouth poets wrote sonnets about and artists immortalized in marble.
Our eyes locked, and I felt the air between us shift, growing heavy with unspoken tension. Heat flooded my cheeks as recognition flashed across his face. He’d caught me staring at his lips like a woman starving for a taste, not a patient awaiting a diagnosis. Time stretched between us as his smoldering gaze dropped to my mouth, lingering there with an intensity that made my breath catch. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Until Blake finally cleared his throat, the stethoscope finding its way back around his neck with hands that weren’t quite as steady as before.
Blake’s eyes raked over my body, a frown tugging at the corners of his sinful mouth. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”
“Stress.” I shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. “And I need to do a better job of eating three meals a day.”
