“Stop apologizing.” I lift a brow, gifting her with a glare my sister calls The Mini Rock, and explain. “Well, you should apologize for the fake amnesia because we’re not living in a daytime soap opera and that was just mean. But the accident was just that . . . an accident. The important thing is, we’re okay. Can you get out so we can check the cars?” We do need to do that, but mostly, I want to see if she can stand. Despite her quick-thinking joke, I’m prepped, ready to catch her if she goes down, because I’m still not entirely sure she’s as okay as she says.

But she’s steady as a rock on her feet, to my relief.

Whoops . . . spoke too soon. She swoons, and I catch her in my arms. “Hey there,” I whisper, way too close to her now. But with her this close, I can see that her blue eyes are shot through with streaks of white, her long lashes blink slowly, and there’s a small freckle beneath her right eye, not ruining her perfect face but just highlighting her remarkable beauty.

And her lips . . . full, pink pillows that beg to be kissed. Or bitten, as she’s doing right now.

“Sorry, sorry,” she apologizes again. “My heart is still pumping fast, and I’m full of adrenaline from the fight or flight response. Made me a little lightheaded, but I’m good now.”

Despite her words, neither of us makes a move for a long second where I memorize what she feels like in my arms. Sweet curves and strong muscles press against me, and I’m tempted to sweep her into my arms, full princess-mode style. And that is so not my way, usually, but she’s activating some possessive protector gene in me.

One I would’ve said I don’t have. I’ve always been proud of living by my mind and not my testicles. But this woman . . .

Too soon, she pulls away, straightening her back and then her black polo shirt. The embroidery on the chest is gold, a star encircled with Williamson County.

Wait . . . gold star, Williamson County . . . sensible shirt and sensible sedan.

Did I get hit by a cop?

From somewhere in her car, a ding-ding-ding sounds, and I realize that it’s not the first time it’s happened while I was holding the woman in my arms. “Were you on your phone?”

The accusation is harsh, and she goes as hard as steel in an instant. “Of course not! That’s dangerous. I’m an excellent driver.”

“Really? The evidence to the contrary is quite apparent, right in front of us.” The damage my question caused is done. Way to go, Blake. Super smooth, asshole.

“Let me get my card and my insurance information for you. I have to get to work. DBs don’t wait.”