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What did he expect? That if he acted normal she’d think the weekend had meant something? She knew it didn’t. She knew he was a highly sexed man. After all, she’d benefited from all that experience. Repeatedly.
Then another thought hit her. Had she been so bad that he couldn’t even meet her eyes? Surely not, or he wouldn’t have made love to her again on Sunday morning? He had been right there with her, every kiss, every touch, and he had wanted her. He couldn’t have faked the desperation with which he’d taken her. He’d been driven, wild, as if he were branding her as his own.
Or was that how all men were when a naked woman squirmed on top of them? Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered who she was, or how good or bad she’d been, just that he got sexual relief?
She just didn’t know, and Blake hadn’t wanted to talk to her on the drive home or after they’d gotten to her apartment and he’d helped carry her things inside. He hadn’t even come into her apartment—just set her suitcase inside the front door and skedaddled as if he was worried she’d knock him over the head and drag him to her bed if he lingered.
Why had that hurt so much? Why had she cried herself to sleep for a second night in a row?
When she got to the office, she found exactly what she’d expected to find. A desk piled with things for her to do.
Instead of starting the process of clearing the mountain of work she went to Blake’s office, and found him diligently making his way through his own mountain.
“Are you upset with me because of what happened between us?”
“No.” Clearly surprised by her candid question, he leaned back in his chair. “I’m upset with myself.”
“Why?”
“Because we crossed lines we shouldn’t have crossed.”
Which said it all. Blake regretted what they’d done. Everything he’d done since Sunday morning had said that he did. Which left her with two options: pretend she regretted what had happened or tell him the truth—that she loved him.
“Fine.” She shrugged. “We’ll forget this weekend ever happened.”
Blake’s eyes narrowed. “Can we?”
“I already have.” She lifted her chin, stared at him defiantly, her breaking heart well hidden beneath the professional veneer she’d perfected years ago. “Haven’t you?”
It had been a hell of a morning and this afternoon was promising to be just as trying. Blake’s schedule was packed, and he’d had one call after another from the hospital.
But the worst of it was that he couldn’t keep his mind on his work. No, any lull and his mind went to wondering about Darby.
She’d forgotten what they’d done?
If only he believed her.
If only he could get the memories of her body arched into his out of his head.
He couldn’t.
Last night he hadn’t slept, thanks to missing her warm body snuggled next to his. The night before, lying in a strange hotel room, hadn’t been any better. He’d never missed a woman before. Not in bed. He’d always preferred sleeping alone. Apparently that no longer held true.
He preferred Darby.
He’d missed the way she smelled—missed it so much he’d gone out to his car to retrieve the pillow she’d accidentally left in his SUV.
When he finally had gone to sleep it had been while holding her damn pillow, surrounded by her scent, dreaming of her eager kisses.
“Dr. Di Angelo?” His nurse caught him as he followed the patient he’d just finished seeing out of the exam room. “I put McKenzie Bartholomew into room four just then. She’s having an allergic reaction.”
Blake immediately stepped into the room, took one look at his patient’s enormous lower lip, and agreed with his nurse’s assessment. “What happened?”
“I’ve no idea. I was outside in our pool and my lips started tingling. A few minutes later my lip started swelling and we headed straight here.”
Blake looked over her medication allergies, stuck his head out the door and ordered an injection to be administered.
Taking his stethoscope, he listened to the girl’s heart and lungs. Although her heart-rate was slightly increased, at a hundred and four beats a minute, her breathing was normal, with no wheeze.
