Chapter 11

Fawn’s POV

When I opened my eyes again, the lighting had changed. Someone had turned off the overhead lights and put on a small light over the bed. It was also dark outside. The clock on the wall said I’d only been asleep for a few hours, but it felt longer. But no one had come to do more tests. Maybe Blake had scared them away.

Blake was still there.

Only now he wasn’t reading or glaring or watching me like a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

He was asleep. Why was he still here? He didn’t love Cassie… was, in fact, in the process of divorcing her.

The chair had turned into a makeshift bed, his long body slouched back, head tipped sideways against the wall, one hand still resting on his stomach, fingers slack. His other arm lay along the armrest, close enough that if I reached out, I could touch him.

His face, without the constant control, looked different. Younger. Less like a power-wielding CEO.

I stared, as something in my chest did a weird little twist.

Of all the people fate could have dropped me next to in this second chance—or whatever this was—how had I got the one man my husband… hated more than anyone? I had thought the same thing before drifting off to sleep, and it still puzzled me.

Richard’s voice floated up from memory, slurred with whiskey. 'Arrogant prick. Thinks he’s untouchable. Thinks he’s better than me. Has a wife that every man wants."

Looking at Blake now, eyelashes dark against his skin, mouth relaxed instead of tight, I could see why he’d gotten under Richard’s skin. Under the façade, there was… something solid. Dangerous, yes. But not empty. Not cruel for the sake of it.

Unlike some people.

I realised, with a jolt that felt very unfair, that I was… attracted to him. Not Cassie’s leftover desire. Mine. Fawn’s. Or whatever version of me existed now. Maybe I was a mix of the two. But I had read a book once about the supernatural that said two soul-minds could not co-exist peacefully, there would always be a fight for control. It made me think of The Exorcist. I wasn’t acting like that, though. I gave a small shudder at the thought.

But I was different.

Of course I’d finally grown a spine. I had lost my normal filter and could feel my sex drive kick into gear every time I looked at Blake. Timing really was not my thing.

The urge to move hit, sudden and urgent. I needed the bathroom; my bladder had zero respect for emotional moments. The problem was, Blake and his very broad shoulders were situated between the bed and the room’s only way to get to the bathroom.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath. “Obstacle course coming up.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, stood slowly, waiting for my balance to steady. My body held. Good. One foot in front of the other, bare soles on cool linoleum.

I moved past him. Close. Too close, probably, but there was just enough space between the bed and his chair for me to squeeze through.

I paused for the briefest second.

Up close like this, he was even more distracting. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes. The small scar on his chin I had noticed for the first time. The shadow of his lashes on his cheek.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached out.

Just a touch. I told myself, I just wanted to brush his jaw, because I needed to know if he felt as real as he looked.

My hand didn’t make it.

Fingers closed around my wrist, firm and fast.

I gasped, stumbling as his eyes snapped open, grey and sharp and instantly awake. There was no moment where he looked confused or lost; he went straight from asleep to locked in.

His grip tightened just enough to keep me from falling. My knees bumped the side of his chair. Suddenly I was standing between his legs, my hospital gown gaping slightly at the back, his hand wrapped around my wrist, my body swaying toward his.

We stared at each other.

His pupils were blown, dark swallowing grey. I could feel his breath against my face, shallow and rough, and the air stuck in my throat, reminding me of not being able to get my breath, a feeling I knew now since Richard had pinned me under bathwater.

This was a very different kind of drowning.

“I was just— going to the bathroom.” I started, my voice coming out softer, breathier than I’d meant.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I can see that.”

He didn’t let go.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The world narrowed to the heat of his fingers on my skin, the solid line of his thighs bracketing my legs, the way my pulse jumped so hard I was surprised he couldn’t hear it.

Then he tugged.

It wasn’t rough, just decisive, dragging me half a step closer until my shins bumped the chair properly and the front of the gown brushed his chest. My free hand flew out to catch myself and landed on his shoulder, solid and warm under the thin cotton of his shirt.

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

Oh.

Oh.

“This is a bad idea,” I breathed.

"Then you shouldn't have come so close." and he kissed me.

His mouth crashed into mine with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs, like he’d been restraining himself, and that whisper-light touch of my fingertips hovering near his jaw had finally severed the last thread of his control. This wasn’t tentative or questioning; it was immediate and consuming, almost desperate. His lips moved against mine with a kind of urgency that made my knees weak. He tasted and smelled so good.

The kiss tasted like possession and frustration and something darker I couldn’t name. It was the kind of kiss that demanded, that didn’t ask permission but simply took what it wanted. His other hand came up to frame my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with gentleness even as his mouth claimed mine with barely leashed hunger.

For a split second that felt like an eternity, I went completely rigid, every muscle in my body seizing as my brain tried to catch up with what was happening.

Blake Huntington was kissing me.

Fawn Jones.

Then my lips parted under his, and heat ripped through me so sharp I actually swayed. His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, holding me there while his tongue touched mine in a stroke that felt like being set on fire from the inside out.

My body reacted like it had been doing this with him for years.

My heart reacted like it had never been kissed before.

It was a problem.

I had never been kissed by him before.

I made a small sound in my throat, mortifying and needy, I felt his hand tighten, like he couldn’t decide between dragging me closer or pushing me away.

He chose.

The kiss broke with a sharp, almost violent exhale. One second his mouth was on mine, the next it was gone and cold air rushed between us. His hand dropped from my neck. The one on my wrist slid away, before he was pushing me back, away from his body, putting space between us one inch at a time.

“Blake—” I started, still trying to remember how to breathe.

His eyes were ice now, not fire.

“You will not pull me in again, Cassie,” he said, voice low and hard and absolutely not confused. “I don’t care how many miracles they write on your chart. I’m not doing this with you again.”

The again hit harder than the push.

Because it wasn’t me he was talking to. Not really. It was the ghost of the woman whose life I was wearing, the one who’d messed him up enough that a single kiss could make him look like he’d just stepped in front of a train.

I swallowed, throat raw. My lips tingled. My body wanted to lean forward, erase the distance he’d just created.

Instead, I did what I should have done the second I woke up in this mess.

I let him think it was all her.

“Relax,” I said, forcing a smile I didn’t feel, even as my insides shook. “If that’s your reaction, trust me, I’m not exactly tripping over myself to sign up for a sequel.”

His jaw clenched. He stood, stepping around me, putting a very deliberate gulf of air and floor between us.

“Sit down before you fall down,” he said curtly. “You still need help getting to the bathroom. Press the call button next time.”

He didn’t look at my mouth again.

“I will, next time. You're here now, you can watch me get to the bathroom, I still haven’t been,” I said. Then, not looking at him, I made my way there. On my return, I sat back on the bed slowly, my legs suddenly made of cotton, my fingers lifting to touch my lips where his had just been.

Blake Huntington was off-limits.

He had to be.

I had bigger things to destroy than whatever mess he and Cassie had left behind.

But as the taste of him lingered on my tongue and my new heart tried to beat its way out of my ribs, one treacherous thought slid in anyway:

If this was what my second life felt like… maybe revenge wasn’t going to be the only sin I committed. Because I had my answer about how Blake had been in bed… Hot didn't begin to cover it.