Blake spent an hour in the shower. Yes, he jerked off—twice—and no, it didn’t do jack shit for him, because the second he stepped out of the bathroom and saw Farrah sitting on the bed in that tiny T-shirt dress thing of hers, his blood rushed south again like it was never-ending spring break in Cancun.
Fortunately, she was so engrossed in her phone she didn’t notice he still sported a boner the size of Texas.
The earlier heat between them had retreated, but it still lingered in the air like a warning, reminding Blake he must be the biggest idiot in the world to turn down sex with the one woman who could unravel him.
He’d seen it in her eyes. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. But she wanted his body, and he wanted all of her. Heart, mind, body, and soul.
Forget his earlier strategy about getting close to her body to reach her heart. If Blake gave in now, it would only reinforce the idea that all he wanted was sex. Hell, he’d all but confessed he still loved her at the lounge, and she’d brushed it off like it meant nothing.
To her, his words were lies. To him, they were an unshakeable truth.
Blake clenched his teeth and sat on the other side of the bed—of course there was only one bed, because the universe took pleasure in torturing him—and stared at the tent in his sweatpants. It glared back at him. Fuck you for blocking me, his cock hissed.
I’d say fuck you back, but that’s exactly what’s not going to happen.
Not gonna lie, it wasn’t his first time talking to his dick, but it was the first time Big Blake and Little Blake didn’t get along.
I’m going crazy.
Blake cleared his throat. “Sorry I took so long. Shower’s all yours.” He thought a normal conversation would take his mind off the ache in his balls, but now he was picturing Farrah in the shower and fuck, that didn’t help at all.
“Thanks. I want to finish this chapter first.”
Minutes ticked by before Farrah looked up from her phone.
Blake had angled his body so she couldn’t see his hard-on, but the tiny smirk playing at the corners of her mouth told him she was aware of the effect she had on him.
He’d taken Justin and Landon’s advice and played it cool all day. It took every ounce of willpower he had plus some he borrowed on credit, especially when Farrah spilled her water on her shirt, and he could see the outline of her bra through the wet fabric.
Ever tried driving through Manhattan traffic with a raging hard-on while humming Taylor goddamn Swift to take your mind off your X-rated fantasies?
Yeah, neither had Blake. Until today.
The play-hard-to-get strategy seemed to have worked…a little too well. He’d noticed Farrah’s annoyance when the waitress slipped him her number, and he sure as hell noticed the way her body responded to him earlier. It was the chip in her ice wall he’d been waiting for. Too bad it was chipped in the wrong section.
While the rest of her melted, the defenses around her heart remained frozen.
“What are you reading?” Blake eased under the covers, both to hide his erection and to soak up the warmth. Despite the radiator humming away in the corner, a cold draft permeated the room and pebbled his skin with goosebumps.
“Leo’s new book. I always suspected he would be a writer someday.” Farrah’s mouth softened into a smile, and Blake wanted to strangle Leo Agnelli with his bare hands.
He hadn’t kept in touch with Leo. Hadn’t kept in touch with anyone from Shanghai, really, except Sammy and Luke, who was an assistant rugby coach at the University of Wisconsin Madison. He and Leo had been friends by default. They’d hung out because they ran in the same circle, not because they had anything in common. Not to mention, Farrah had had a crush on Leo before Blake, something for which Blake had never quite forgiven the Italian.
But Blake would have to be living under a rock not to notice that Leo was the literary world’s latest darling. He wrote sweeping tales about family and love that covered continents. His work hovered in that space between popular fiction and highbrow literature, and—wouldn’t you know it—the public ate that shit up like a pack of starving hyenas.
“Is it good?” Not that Blake cared. He hadn’t read any of Leo’s books, and honestly? He didn’t plan to.
“It’s great.” Farrah set her phone aside and unfurled herself from the bed. “I’m taking that shower. Be right back.”
The door shut behind her.
Blake laced his fingers behind his head and stared at the ceiling. The water running in the bathroom blended with the steady downpour outside. Thunder boomed, rain lashed at the windows, and the demons that stayed inside their box when Farrah was around crawled out, slowly at first, then all at once.
Screeching tires. Twisted metal. Blood.
The memories slammed into him with the force of a Mack truck going at full speed.
Arguing with his dad over some small thing—Blake didn’t even remember what—not because it was important but because he was exhausted, and panicked, and trying not to get crushed between the twin weights of starting a business and preparing to be a father.Storming out of his parents’ house with Cleo, despite the thundering rain and hazardous driving conditions.
Not seeing the deer in the road until it was too late.
The car skidding out of control and wrapping itself around a tree.
The blood. The doctors. The devastation. The blinding, suffocating, all-consuming guilt.
Blake’s chest rose and fell with short, heavy breaths. Sweat beaded his forehead; the food he ate at the diner churned in his stomach, making him want to throw up. He wanted to purge himself of everything that was bad and unholy and terrible inside him, but he couldn’t. There was too much of it, and it rooted itself in his gut even as its cancerous reach spread through the rest of his body. Tainting his heart, corrupting his soul.
“Blake?”
He jerked his head up.
Farrah stood in the doorway of the steamy bathroom with alarm splashed across her face.
“I’ve been calling your name for five minutes. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” The hoarse rasp scraped against his vocal cords. Blake cleared his throat and tried again. “Sorry, I was thinking about something.”
She climbed into bed next to him. It was a huge bed, and there was plenty of space between them, but the weight of her on the other side slowed his breathing and chased some of the demons away.
“Is it the rain?” Farrah’s eyes bore into him, warm as melted chocolate but incisive as a scalpel.
“What makes you say that?” Blake tried to bluff; she wasn’t having any of it.
“How adamant you were about not driving in the rain when we left the diner, and how tense you were the entire drive.” Farrah’s brow wrinkled. “You didn’t have a problem with the rain when we were in Shanghai. What happened?”
“It’s not the rain itself. Not really.” Blake was fine with the rain. He was even fine with driving, though it took two years after the accident before he got behind the wheel again. It was when you combined the two that he had a problem. That, and when he was alone with his thoughts during a storm. It always triggered flashbacks, and without people around to distract him, he’d spiral into an abyss of self-loathing that took him days to dig out of. “But I had an accident, years ago, during a storm. And I haven’t been able to drive in the rain since.”
Farrah’s face softened with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. Was everyone…” She hesitated. “Okay?”
No.
“For the most part. I’d rather not talk about it.” Blake raked a hand through his hair and changed the subject. “Tell me something that made you happy. Really happy.”
He needed a dose of sunshine.
Farrah’s bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth as she contemplated her answer. “My mom and I went to Paris together after I graduated college. Her present to me. The entire trip was fun, but there was one moment when we were sitting on a bench watching the sunset in the Jardin du Luxembourg, eating the most perfect croissant, that I thought…life is beautiful.” She blushed. “It sounds so corny, and it wasn’t a big moment, but it’s one I return to whenever I want to cheer myself up.”
“It’s not corny.” Blake wished he had that relationship with his parents. His dad? Forget it. As for his mom, he loved her, but when push came to shove, Helen Ryan bent beneath his father’s will instead of siding with her son. He didn’t need her to side with him all the time, but once—just once—would’ve been nice. “I’m glad you and your mom are so close.”
“She’s the closest family I have left in this world.” Farrah picked the bottom of her shirt. “Although she’s not too happy with me right now. I finally told her yesterday that I quit KBI.”
Blake winced. “Yelling?”
“Almost shattered my eardrums,” Farrah confirmed.
Blake did a quick mental calculation. He’d hired Farrah a month ago, soon after she quit her job, so she’d been keeping her employment status a secret from her mom for weeks now. “She can’t be that mad. You’re still working, and making damn good money, too.”
His accountant was going to throw a shit fit when he saw how much Blake was paying Farrah, but Blake would cross that bridge later.
“I know, but freelancing isn’t the same as having a steady paycheck. My mom’s all about stability. It was hard enough getting her on board with the whole interior design thing. She’s okay with it now, but when I first told her, she almost had a coronary.”
“Stability doesn’t always equal success or happiness. I know plenty of people in stable jobs who are miserable.”
“Yeah, Asian parents don’t see it that way.” Farrah smiled a crooked smile, and his stomach somersaulted harder than an Olympic gymnast going for gold. “It’s an immigrant thing. My mom will get over it, eventually. She’s pretty liberal, as far as Chinese parents go. It just sucks, feeling like I’ve let her down.”
“You didn’t let her down. You’re doing great. In fact, I think you should start your own firm.” Blake laughed at the shock on Farrah’s face. “Seriously. You’ve been handling everything so well, even when we had to move the deadline up. You shouldn’t have to toil away in an office somewhere, waiting for other people to tell you you’re good enough.”
“I’m not ready.” Farrah’s jaw set in that stubborn line he knew so well. “One day, I’ll go fully independent. But I’ve only been in the industry for a few years. I have no clue how to start a business.”
“Neither did I and look at me now.” Blake’s lips curved. “I remember someone once told me, no one has experience running a business until they run a business, and if it’s what you want to do and you give it your all, you’ll succeed.”
A direct quote pulled forth from the wells of memory.
Farrah’s eyes widened. “You remember.”
“How could I forget?”
She’d been the one who’d pushed him to go for his dreams. Without her, Legends wouldn’t exist.
What happened next happened in slow motion.
Farrah closed the distance between them until her orange blossom and vanilla scent wrapped around Blake.
His breathing turned shallow. He needed to get out of here. He’d barely been able to stop himself from kissing her earlier; he didn’t have enough willpower to do so again.
But he didn’t—couldn’t—move.
The scene hazed over like they were in a dream world. A part of Blake wondered if he was in a dream.
Then Farrah’s lips touched his, and he stopped giving a damn whether this was real.
Whatever it was, Blake was going to enjoy the hell out of it while it lasted.
